Trauma comes and goes in waves, ever reminding us of remains unhealed. Recently, this has been in the linking of similar pains.
Today was the first day of a one week retreat on the precious human life with my favourite lama, and we discussed the origin of suffering (spoiler, its ignorance).
I don't miss much from the country I grew up in. I'm only missing the space between the notable events and people.
The people here in the UK are known to have a stiff upper lip; they hold back on showing their feelings as emotional public displays are discouraged. But why is that dangerous?
A poem for Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe, a British-Iranian woman jailed in Iran. Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson's comments as well as UK-US impact on Iran in 1953 sealed her fate.
I was using public transport for the first time in weeks, and although deserted, I still encountered people in the same train carriage as me. My beloved London was quiet now, and the absence of people struck all the more with a deep blue sky above me. I was on my way to volunteer in... Continue Reading →
Restless and anxious, I come back home. Meaning, I sit back down with my laptop to write you a short story.The days are still dark now in February, one storm after the other blowing through the UK and my mind. Dark days indeed I think, scrolling through twitter: adults attacking a teen climate fighter, hate... Continue Reading →
Brexit is just as messed up, and the world did not go under. Boris Johnson had painted a dystopia in which the public would rise up if another extension was needed. It had to be sorted by today OR...? Whether one is a Remainer or a Brexiteer (because it is impossible at this point to... Continue Reading →