Abstraction

src: dreamstine

It's a brand new day with no agenda. Chores, reading, chores, a movie, and more chores. Not that there are that many of them, but they tend to be the highlight of an otherwise sedentary lifestyle. I browse the internet and find this rotating cube at the bottom of news websites. Flashing numbers. Numbers that represent confirmed cases and deaths. But mere numbers all the same. 10 million. 15 million...a sigh of despair. Almost forced at this point. 

From a Virtual Recluse

src: vecteezy

Dear Social Media,

I got to know about you at a pretty young age. I'd sit next to my sister and read her chats in Yahoo Messenger. It was entertaining even though I didn't always understand her conversations. I was ten when she made an account for me on Orkut. I don't remember if I was particularly excited about it; none of my friends really knew about Orkut then. But I would still log into my account and embellish my profile occasionally. 

The Day of the Lasts

It was the day of many lasts. I wanted it to be special, something for all of us to look back and smile about. I wanted us to give each other the tightest of hugs and take the best of photos. So when I went up to that podium to give my farewell speech, I was all set for the audience to start tearing up. I stood there before my batchmates in that moment, waiting for the commotion to die down. Waiting and waiting some more. Until it was awkward to wait any longer and I started speaking amidst the noise anyway.