This year, all I can fathom about are the ‘lasts’. The last time we took a school vacay. The last time we own a defective desk. The last time I sit in a classroom comprising teenagers who pretend to be adults. The last time when … Continue reading Lasts.


  He’s like aftertaste, bitter yet lingering. He’s like an afterthought, brief yet meaningful. He’s like aftermath, sometimes peaceful, sometimes destructive. The thing about ‘afters’ is they arrive after it has began. Like, his riches revealed themselves when he started fading away from my memory. … Continue reading After.


Isn’t it strange that we never got a picture clicked together and yet I remember all of you,every tiny detail and each speck of the moments I spent with you. The day you watched me dance on that stage surrounded by a thousand spectators and … Continue reading ;