It's a strange time to feel lonely with lockdown easing. And yet, my heart aches for connection and validation.
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 →