SPERO AMBROSIA

Personally, it is quite a difficult feat to get my feelings across properly as well. A friend last night said that he is "emotionally constipated", something he very nonchalantly agreed and accepted about himself. The sentence didn't have an effect as dousing one in cold water as many usually put dramatically but I for me, I sat up wide awake.  Yesterday I had a pretty long day, keeping up commitments with society, friends, family and a bit uncompromisingly, with my own self as well. I thought, I'd go to sleep and that'll be the end of it but I decided to read through the texts pending on my cell and wala, my sleepy daze was cleared with a breath of fresh wind.  Something that I'd want to achieve.  I am known to be someone who is detached regardless of how moving the situation is. I didn't shed a single tear on my farewell ceremony in either of my schools and I looked pretty happy in the pictures from back then. I don't budge when my family gets into a...

Many a times, decidedly, I came upon the conclusion that "yeah, I have pretty much lived all fulfilling years" (regardless of my age, duh, I'm young and have a long way to go but again not much can be kept to the calendar with the raging pandemic cases). Now, with the onset of sweet dreaming summer (personally, I don't find the heat of summer sweet at all), I see my subconscious playing in front of me at night. Coming from a person who says "I've made peace with my past", it sounds absurd when I dream of an insignificant soul who I had a fight with in my school life. The colours I see the devil incarnate in, aren't quite the happy pastel colours I consciously associate with my school life but colours enough to adorn a Gothic Lord of the 18th century CE.  Being a Literature major, nothing is more embarrassing than following just a plain thought process with wrong interpretations clouding their mind. And even more fatal to one's ego is when that on...

Once there was a writer who didn't know how to write.  Every story has to start and the best way to put forward one is to start from the beginning. But what about the stories that had no beginning? What about the stream that never got to know which of the mountains in flowed from? What about the kid who never knew who the other parent was? There's only so much a story itself can do and the story of the storyteller begins, it the teller who weaves the rest of it, the God who designs the state of innocence for their listeners, well, in this case, readers. I started writing on Wattpad before I gathered up my bile to throw up on Blogger. I started out with simple fan fiction stories. It was a strange sense of Euphoria if I had to be real: my first book got a lot of recognition and reviews were overwhelming and it has been a bit over a year since I started writing there with days and weeks and now even months of not being able to type words. It took me so long before I realised that...