Fifth

A week ago, you turned five, surrounded by your bestfriends. I remember much earlier in my parenting days, I was so fixated on educating you, obsessively imagining how your brain was developing, bombarding you with rows and rows of sensory trays around our pancake-scented room. Five years down the road, I realize there's so much more I need to work on within myself first, so much I'm lacking, so much room for betterment. And a lot of times I'm probably learning more from you. If parenting was a textbook, two thirds of it would centre around Patience, and girl - am I failing. So thank you for entering my life and placing me in this occasionally rowdy but doubly rewarding classroom. Some d

An Ode to the Misunderstood

If I was a book, I might be mistaken for an instruction manual, for Barbie Dreamhouse. Because the shade of pink on my cover might be a little too in-your-face, you’d be surprised to find me comfortably snug in between two books double my size in the Suspense genre. The same way you wouldn’t guess the anxiety I battle with everyday behind my flashy grin. So the next time you see a girl in a black cardigan and grey pants and black lipstick and a deep frown, don’t be too quick to conclude her story. She might be Self-Help.

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