Like wells

I often think of that quote by Haruki Murakami. I might be quoting it wrong. I mean. I know I am. I made it ineloquent. But this is how it reads in my head, words running over the grooves of my mind– People are like wells. You will never know what’s at the bottom. Only … More Like wells


We lived on the third floor. Outside, people hung their laundry. I’d peer at their linen waving in the wind, yellowed boxers, bras and shirts. Don’t air your dirty laundry. At night, I would hear cats squealing, cars honking. I’d wake up, startled, then fall back asleep. During the daytime, I lounged around, bored. I … More Motherland


Is there ever a point when you look back at your writing and think, wow! I hate my writing? That’s where I’m at right now. I look at old drafts and hidden posts. It’s all just… cringe. And yet here I am, still typing away. My private diary entries, on the other hand, are rambling, … More Rambling