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Book Review: The Bluest Eye
“Quiet as it’s kept, there were no marigolds in the fall of 1941. We thought, at the time, that it was because Pecola was having her father’s baby that the marigolds did not grow. A little examination and much less melancholy would have proved to us that our seeds were not the only ones that didn’t sprout; nobody’s did…It…
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A Specific Kind of Comfort
Morning fog. A lingering walk, hem trailing through dew-moistened grass. Soft piano notes echoing in the background, marking the indelible theme – Dawn by Dario Marianelli and Jean-Yves Thibaudet. The beginning of Pride & Prejudice unravels slowly. This is a movie that I could tirelessly watch a hundred times over – from the tactlessness of…
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Is Language Deteriorating?
The Use of Slang Everyone hates slang until it becomes what we call “ordinary” language. If you think it’s a modern problem, you’d be wrong: ‘slang’ has existed for as long as spoken language has drawn breath. The word “jazz”, for instance. When it first appeared around 1912, it wasn’t the name of a music…
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A Brief Footnote on Immortality
I lied.I don’t just want to live a happy life; I won’t be content. I want to leave an indelible mark on this world; to be the name everyone reveres and fears in the same breath. The idea of “averageness” frightens me beyond all rational thought. The concept of every trace of my existence being…
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A Misshapen Lump of Clay
Tried sculpting with air dry clay yesterday, and quickly realised that keeping the lump of clay intact was far more difficult than the rest of the process. It seems that crumbling clay is a fitting metaphor for life, where every solution seems to undo the last.
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Almost.
We live our lives in almosts. An almost kiss. An almost love. An almost sent text. Our lives begin to look like endless spools of drafts, of almost dreams and almost truths. At the edge of our lips lies an apology, ceaselessly waiting for the day we decide to utter it. In our minds lie…
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A House That Sounds Like Winter
Winter at my house is a sensory overload. The house seems to soften under the glow of golden lights and frosted, fogged-up windows. Doors stay shut, and lights are filtered through layers of dust and winter sun. Our mornings begin with sound, like the clink of utensils in the kitchen, the impatient whistle of the…
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Contradictions.
In mathematics, contradictions aren’t defects, they’re proof tools. In a proof by contradiction, you assume the statement you want to prove is false, then use logical steps until you reach something impossible, like 1 = 0 or 2 = 5. But this paradox, this absurdity, only helps prove the original statement true. I am a…
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I think I am finally awake.
An endless stream of cars in the city. Highways knot themselves into ever-moving strands, glowing through a thick haze of dust and pollution. There, in the heart of all this chaos, a girl sits on a windowsill, breathing in the winter air, a brief respite from the claustrophobia in her own mind. She is battling…
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“There is no greatness where there is not simplicity, goodness, and truth.”
– Leo Tolstoy
