When I write I’m trying to convey meaning the most – it’s more of an egocentric endeavour, me distilling my truths.
When I speak, I concern myself with the other in a more intimate sense, it’s not necessarily about what I’m saying but how the words will be received.
I am my kindest self when I speak, my most honest self when I write. Writer me seeks to elucidate, speaker me primarily to connect. With my new obsession with the personal essay, I think conversational me is finally bleeding into writerly me – I look forward to the amalgamated voice that will emerge

If art imitates life then I want to believe the reverse is also true. For is life not art unfiltered, uncut, raw? This relationship cannot be one directional, both are inextricably linked and exist symbiotically. Perhaps if I put more of how I see me – myself and my kind – and how I would like to be perceived into my words, I will see it reflected in life. Satre says: “The other sees me, therefore I am.” Is it too much to want this other’s gaze to be understanding, if not kind?
I will fight this war with words, my pages the battle ground. One woman, armed with a pen. Here’s to hoping mine is as mighty as I’ve heard it can be.

Le Cancre

Splish. Splash. The water resonated mockingly as he swished away at it in his bathtub. Another loss. His team was never going to reach the playoff with this abysmal performance. No worries, at least now he’d have time to finish his model Iron Throne. He never cared much for volleyball anyway. Joining the inter-house team was just an easy way to gain extra action hours for his CAS requirements. He already had well over forty and no fucks left to give. To hell with playoffs, to hell with it all!

He chuckled. He did have quite a flair for the melodramatic. Not a month had passed since stood on the cafeteria tables, face painted blue screaming in protest over the school administration’s latest attack on the student body.


The room erupted with cheers as let himself fall into a welcoming sea of  undulating hands and ululations. It took five school guards, three teachers and thirty minutes to reign in the budding anarchists. Two week suspension and prep isolation. Not the ideal result, granted, but the exeats remained. A job half well done.