She wakes me up at 8:10 and I shrug her voice off. “Time for school already”, she says gently. And she repeats it and paraphrases it as if hoping to hit the jackpot with a certain phrase programmed to prompt a reaction. It’s highly irritating and all I want is to block out her voice with the blanket I have wrapped around my head and body like a cocoon. “Five more minutes”, I mumble, abstractedly waving her away. The difficulty I have getting out of bed reminds me of how I’ve often gone to sleep at eleven, setting the alarm to midnight to remind myself that I have to wake up and work, no matter how tired I feel. Every time, sleep cannot resist seducing me and coaxing me back to bed, leading me to wake up in the morning feeling disheveled, disorganized and panicked. I simply will not get out of bed unless it is absolutely necessary. Like, my bladder is about to give up on me, I’ve got an exam to take or there’s a fire burning my house down.
– – – – –

I start with the intention of taking a taxi to school but find myself walking briskly across red lights, past the hospital and finally through the school gates. I’m early for my Spanish orals and luckily, I bump into a friend who directs me to the right rooms. I am honestly so clueless. Then I bomb my orals.
– – – – –

The day is pointless, if not for my exam and CAS interview. I read the timetable wrong and rush into the room thinking that I’ve missed my appointment. “Sorry! I thought it was at 1:15 instead of 12:15”. He shakes his head and says “no, it is at 1:15”. “Oh”, I smile sheepishly and let him finish the interview I’ve just interrupted. As I wait outside and overhear an Indian girl (I could already tell by her accent) in the middle of a monologue about the place that India has in her heart, the principle walks by and I wave. Apparently, the wave is an invitation for a chat. He asks me questions and compliments my singing. I continue to say thank you and it’s awkward. Always awkward. And he’s always supportive and adorable in the you’re-old-and-excitable way. When it’s my turn for the interview, I can’t seem to say anything other than “cool”, “it was a great experience” and “it was rewarding”. Formulaic responses imbued with a false sense of enthusiasm. I swear, he’s heard it all before and he’s got no real interest in my activities whatsoever.
– – – – –

I write myself a note, sign it, and leave. She says “come to my house” so I roll with it. We get on a bus and we’re engulfed in fluffy white fog, rising from the trees like a scene from twilight. Soon enough we’re off the bus and we’re walking towards her house, along a street that looks as if it could’ve been lifted from another country. She gets changed into “ratchet” clothes, consisting of some random shorts and a t-shirt with hair pulled on top of her head in a bun. I think she just looks comfy and at home.
First things first, we snack on apple pie, coffee and huge chunks of Toblerone. We proceed to the basement and flop onto the couch, where it’s dim and quiet. Sometimes she says the most ridiculous things (the good kind) and she’s utterly sarcastic. You can tell she’s sarcastic by the way her eyebrows go up and how she speaks with the corners of her lips curled upwards, threatening to break into a real smile. Which does happen when you respond with laughter or another comment that takes the ‘joke’ a step further. We then look through thought catalog and mutter in disapproval over articles that try to justify cheating. Articles that are too long. Articles that are just lame. And then there are some posts; compilations of quotes by poets and famous people which we pause to appreciate.
After a while, we raid her fridge. I find pomegranate seeds and I pinch a few of them. “Don’t worry, I’ll only have like, five”. She raises her eyebrows and goes “fine, but only five. If you have six, I’m not your friend”. “I’m not your friend” seems to be her go-to threat.
We also have dumplings but she ‘cooks’ them in a way that I’ve never seen before. She dumps them into a bowl, pours water into it and then microwaves it. I’m hesitant and weirded out but she assures me “hey, I’d be dead by now”, so I take a bite and they’re great.

When people say “what shall we do now?” or “can we please do something fun?” or “why are our lives so boring?” I never know what or how to answer. What should we do? What better things are there to do? Eat chocolate cookies I guess. Savour the moment. Do teenagery things like watch Last Vegas and feel drowsy slumped on pillows in the dark.

We talk all the time it’s hard to remember specifics. But she said “I guess we’re lucky we found each other”, referring to our group of friends. And she is so right. We are kindred spirits and we each ground each other, support one another and understand each other in different ways. Friends are the best. And I tend to overuse understatements.

To remember.



My feet stuttered. My legs were so tired I couldn’t feel them. Each of my last strides was a thud disconnected from my body, and I knew I reached the finish line only because I watched it happen. My brain sort of hurt, as if my head was being compressed. It was so strange. What is it that makes some people better at sprinting than running long distance and vice versa?

I watched amazed as people slid over poles half a head taller than themselves. Bodies first, then the legs. Like a wave. Will I make it? Each successful jump for me came with a rush of relief. Then I started landing on the pole, leaving me with bruises that remind me they’re there when I sit.

My last sports day and we won. Speechless. Incredible. Couldn’t have gone any better.

I basically spent 3 hours watching Mr. Nobody, craning my head to see the screen with most of my face buried in a pillow. I kept thinking that I’d finally understand it if I waited it out… But I was disappointed. If a movie gets a lot of hype from a friend, expect it to be worse than it’s made out to be. It’s better to start off with little to no expectation. And this applies for many things. I did however, appreciate the idea about parallel universes and the branches of possibilities that come from each moment where choice is involved. These quotes stood out to me:

“As long as you don’t choose, everything remains possible.”
“Every path is the right path. Everything could have been anything else and it would have just as much meaning.”
“In chess, it’s called Zugzwang, when the only viable move is not to move.”

Then he tried to explain the Quantum Theory to me but I think he’s going to have to do that again sometime soon.

And then you go and write something like that and I see how much better you are than I am …. And that’s why it’s not a possibility. I may not know you well but you are a beautiful person. I admire you.

Sometimes when I’m walking alone, I wonder if you’ll pass by in a taxi. Maybe you’ll be looking out from a window as you’re riding the bus, bored and sleepy, when you see me. Maybe you’ll think ‘I think I know her’ and then forget me in an instant, or maybe you’ll think ‘ah yes, I remember’ and wonder how I’m doing and how things could’ve been if you really got to know me. But it’s all wishful thinking.

to remember