Oslo is a city of closed doors.Not locked. Closed! There’s a difference. Locked doors announce refusal.Closed doors are quieter. They…
gmrunner
I earlier wrote about how I discovered, “I was a natural storyteller.” Not because I chose it.Not because I practiced it.But…
I’m hungry. Always! Okay, if not always, then most of the times. It doesn’t matter how long ago was my…
My body weight is like a sine wave. It always has been. But, this is not something I could ever…
I have always been a storyteller. Not by choice. Not because I wanted to be. But because I had to…
I live in the Room 101. Room 101 exists. It is not a concept. It is not a theory. It’s…
I do not know when it began. The peeling. Maybe it was always happening, so slow and quiet that I never noticed it at first. And now, here I am. Still peeling. Still pulling at layer after layer, thinking—each time—that surely this must be the last one. But there is always more. More to strip away. More to lose. What if, after all of this, there is nothing left? Just hollow space where something should have been. I do not have answers yet. But maybe it is enough to just pause. To sit with the layers, with the fog, with the uncertainty.
I’m not a big movie buff. When I say this, I mean that I don’t watch them in my regular…
मेरे पास एक सूटकेस है। मैं कहीं भी जाऊं, मैं कुछ भी करूं, या मैं कितनी ही तेज़ी से दौड़ूँ,…
I have a suitcase. It’s always there, in plain sight, a shape-shifting burden packed with all the things I’ve ever feared, doubted, or avoided. Some days, it’s small and manageable, but other days, it’s a hulking beast that drags behind me, making every step a struggle. Anxiety whispers, “Don’t open it. You won’t like what you find,” while depression states, “Why bother?” Living like this is a relentless cycle, invisible to others. Yet, there are moments when the suitcase feels lighter, reminding me that even with the weight, there’s still a path worth following.