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“Life goes on” and “time doesn’t stop for anyone”; there is a poignancy to these phrases that we ignore. Oftentimes, these lines are uttered as condolences to ease the pain of grief or loss. But, I wonder if it truly is a thing of comfort—at a cursory glance perhaps yes—the idea that life finds a
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It must have been the early 2000’s. I was a child, though there was some debate around that. I was accused of behaving maturely for my years (like it was a choice!). There was certainly a child in our home- my younger brother, who usurped all the privileges of being one. I should have known;
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The narrative reflects on childhood memories tied to a mango tree that intrudes upon a family’s small home, causing structural damage. The author juxtaposes resilient childhood imagination and fears of collapse with adult recognition of reality. Ultimately, the tree becomes a cherished companion, symbolizing both beauty and the sometimes harsh truths of life.
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I was traveling by train recently and while the passengers boarded, I happened to look at the small makeshift establishments that had sprouted near the tracks. In those tiny houses with fluorescent lights an the entire family was up for display. I watched them curiously imagining the life that they lead. A bright blue tarp
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I look outside my window, it’s cloudy with no promise of rain. Cold, dry winds shiver up the trees, a few loose leaves let go of the crusty branch, and some stubborn ones still wear a nonseasonal green color braving the winter. Somewhere behind the knotted curtain of woods a fire glows warm; the smoke
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Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. —Robert Frost It was the fifth standard, and all the students in the class were trying to adapt to a change; for the first time, we were writing with pens instead of pencils.
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Perhaps it was the movies that first made me believe that memories had a gentle yellow sepia tone to them, that looking back, adds a warm softness to the edges of life—a softness I miss profusely. But, the cozy yellow of memories is not all an imagined invention, there is something of the real in
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