Self-Reflection
If You Knew the Ending, Would You Still Choose the Life?
The courage to keep writing in the dark.
memoir writing
The Courage to Leave
Not to demand a fixed ending, but to have the courage to leave.
Existential poetry
When The Ground Beneath Was Ripped Away
I didn’t find it a coincidence for me to be back home for the final few days of the year that ended. I cried on the first night when my father asked me how I had been. The emotions I had bottled up for the past twenty-seven years needed
Rewriting the self
Echoes of Self, Every Voice
The winning piece for the End-of-the-Year Contest
Society
A Passing Year, A Passing Self
As a person who has always lived in emotional highs and lows, the lead singer of my stage had always been guilt. My mind constantly inhabited a place between worry and self-blame, replaying memories and linking possible causes of resentment back to me. In time, accountability faltered, allowing others to
Creative non-fiction
The Myth Before Fire Left Its Flame
The Tale of Fire and Ice
Self-Reflection
The Weight of a Promethean Future
Prometheus was gifted with forethought. For him, the future was not an idea but a pressure weighing on his chest, because he could feel it pulling on the present. He saw humans fearing the dark, shivering in the cold and he took fate into his hands by mistaking the future
Self-Reflection
The Road to Perfection Has No Destination
My story traces back to the very first time I was broken. The first and deepest heartbreak I ever carried came quietly, settled deep, and reshaped the way I carried every heartbreak after. As the youngest of three daughters, I lived in the soft glow of being my daddy’s
Reflections
Death and Immortality are Inseparable Lovers
My deepest fear was not the end of my body. It was the end of being remembered.
reflective essay
The Softest Truths About Love
Don't wait to be seen. See Yourself.
reflective essay
When the Waterfall Cries Out the Forsaken
What do tears stand for if one is meant to remain iron?
Poetic prose
The Medicine Said: The Light Waited for Your Return
Each breathe is a quiet proof of being chosen by one's existence.