Her Living Letter

Any soul who knew her was blessed by her generosity, kindness, optimism, and warmth.

Death has always felt intangible to me, especially when the one who leaves this world is someone woven into your heart. You do not know how to face the sudden emptiness they leave behind. It feels like being shot in the stomach, a sharp pain followed by the hollow, the ache, the strange silence where their presence used to rest. It feels as if they take a piece of you with them. For me, that person was my grandmother, my Maman jan.

Mountains' Whisper, Oblivion

Seating precisely in the center of my room, the clock's tick tack, tick tack, weaves the rhythm of a world in miniature. I was struck by an epiphany, akin to quiet revelations found in the natural world: life itself does not hasten; rather, it is the human mind, a forgetful and fleeting thing, that lets slip the fragments and pieces of time. Life, in its boundless expanse, doesn't rush; time doesn't scurry.

I have around forty-one thousand photos and videos on my phone from the past six years. That's about five hundred sixty-nine pictures a month, or nineteen a day.

With the rise of social media and the quiet pressure to document every moment of our lives, it's impossible not to know someone who has become an "influencer" or a part-time TikTok archivist of their own existence.

I know I have to come back soon. I know it will happen again – and that is why this thought refuses to let me sleep. People often ask me if I'm still on social media, if I'll ever return, or why I deleted it in the first place. The easy answer I shall offer each time would be that I wanted to focus more on school and spend less time on my phone. But the truth runs far deeper than that.

It is my last day in Toronto, and I am sitting in this café that I have been coming to this past week to study. It is also the first day of the new year, 2025. I can't bring myself to study yet. Right now, in front of me, there is this beautiful view of the outside - ordinary stores, a Chinese takeout, a psychic clinic, a UPS store.

Day 789. That's the coded way I've remembered it. I left. Without a grand proclamation, without any warning. The weight of my decision fueled by an adrenaline rush, fear, and the ever-consuming urge to escape. I just... ran.

All I ever craved was clarity.

A roadmap, perhaps, to understand this vast universe that felt so alien to me.

Lost in the beauty that surrounds me.

I forget all sense of direction.

To heal myself,
for if I could,
I'd sing until the world's edge,
free as any bird.

I understand now
how blessed the children born of love are.
I understand where they come from,
how they come to be.

Three years have ebbed away since I last felt my mother's reassuring presence; my grandmother now battles with the relentless advance of liver cancer. My father remains a distant, unspoken thought. Love, in its traditional guise, has eluded me, yet I've discovered it in unexpected places and forms.

In a world where effort is often cloaked under the guise of indifference, where passion is dampened beneath a facade of apathy, there lies a rebellious heartbeat. This heartbeat refuses to be silenced by the trend of the 'effortless cool.'

Mom, I'm hiding from the phone. Not wanting to let you down is why. I can't say I'm hungry, can't say I'm blue. Up here, where happiness should be easy, I find it hard.

This is the is the end of something that never began

from the eyes of an old man who never saw his children again

I write, and write, and write. Life is this wild, continuous story that just keeps going. And I'm always amazed at how I manage it every time, every day, every glance. I'm amazed at my own perseverance amid everything. It's like losing sense, going slightly mad. I'm desperately searching for meaning, for purpose in the smallest of moments, in each new story, each new emotion. I'm looking for something to make these seemingly meaningless events feel meaningful.

Do we make movies because they depict lives we can never live? It's a bit disheartening to think about. We spend our lives watching these idealized versions of life, knowing we can never actually experience them. The entire movie industry thrives on this.

Then it got me thinking: do we listen to music because it expresses the emotions we wish we could convey, the words we wish to hear but would never?

Give people their space.

Forsaken and cherished. A heart as pure as snow, yet burdened with guilt, Brimming with love, yet ice-cold. Daily I pledge to my soul, To seek solace amid this paradox. I hope this time I don't retreat, I don't flee, From the love that is rightfully mine.

In the heart of Switzerland, a single moment encapsulated a lifetime of memories. There, on a street far from our beginnings, the three of us - sister, brother, cousin - found ourselves together again. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring us to this point, a reunion that transcended the mere crossing of borders.

If I could ever go back, I would hug my friend tighter and tell my mom I love her cooking. I wouldn't worry about the bugs and would lay on the grass in the yard. I would read all of my

In the shadowed corners of childhood,

I lingered, a restless spirit in the gloom.

A Plea for Slowness from a Fast Runner

You ever feel like the world's racing and you're not even a willing participant? Like somehow you got drafted into this marathon and everyone's far ahead, but you're just trying to tie your shoelaces? That's how I felt when I first immigrated—alone, trailing behind, while everyone else seemed to be on the track of their perfect lives.

You gently took my head in your strong hands, "Let me get that for you," you said softly,

In a small, quiet room, surrounded by shelves stacked high with books, she felt both comforted and overwhelmed. Every spine was a portal to a new world, every page a chance to

Drink deeply of the sea and lift me ever upwards,

Rest awhile, and with your truth, refresh my spirit. Guide me deep into your thoughts, planting belief, Murmur of the ocean's blue, the sky's claim on stars. Your presence eclipses

Why is it that, at my core, I seem to be the most anxious, the most heartbroken soldier, the saddest version of myself?

I marvel at the many faces I wear, how I change and flow. Yet, why does the most

I've paid my toll for dreary days,

A weight of grief echoes: I am an alien here.

How far I've come, free from the guilt, All those times I looked back, unable to stop, Feeling guilty for being happy, Tasting freedom while another part of the world burned, My heart on fire.

Every time, relentlessly, it's just me, alone in my own echo.

I see hope fleeting in a stranger's glance, a brief chapter in my unwritten book.

Belonging to Nothing

I hated small towns, suffocating me in their embrace.

In brilliance they stand Their perfection so sharp

I pause, not distracted.

The boredom sharpens my vision, brings clarity.

I hear the unkind melody of rain,

How the earth is beaten by this cruel beauty.