A Heart in Place

It’s been so long since I wrote that essay declaring my love for Medicine. Five years ago, I was 17 and hopeful. Dentistry proper was still a month away, and I entertained the notion of pursuing Medicine after graduation. I was young, naïve, and like Jon Snow, I knew nothing. I thought that life would work in your favor if you put in enough effort, if you wanted something hard enough—that things would magically fall into place, if you just pulled yourself together, gritted your teeth, and went through with it. I realized that magic, in real life, was nothing grand; it can be found in the little things: kind gestures, help when you most need it, the comfort provided by a person listening. I learned the hard way that people are made for some things but not for others. We have a niche in this world, where our respective skills, talents, and capabilities belong.

There is truth in the saying that nothing worth having ever comes easy. I was adrift for a while, untethered, searching. But even then, I knew what I really wanted. I could’ve been on my way to it earlier, had I written a different course for my first choice in that application form, or had I shifted as early as my second year in college. But I didn’t leave, at those crucial junctures in time when I had the opportunity.

So I got lost in the process, but I also found myself eventually.

Continue reading “A Heart in Place”


To the Brave Ones

It started around this time last year, maybe even earlier―how I knew I wasn’t going to stay. When I finally, consciously, acknowledged it, though, I was struck by the gravity of what I was leaving behind: more than the university, more than the sacrifices, more than all the time I have devoted to the course.

I was leaving all of you behind.

Continue reading “To the Brave Ones”


The hour wanes
like a daytime moon unseen.
Raindrops drip
brought by monsoon winds.
Is that thunder or a plane?
Do I miss you,
or am I insane?
All I know is
that I am haunted.
My mind teems
with memories
of species extinct,
your ghosts undead.
The truth is
that I am haunted.
If my brain bleeds
and the blood pours
from my arteries, my veins,
will I find your bones?
It is just
that I am haunted.
A flash of white,
a pain in the hand,
a whizzing machine,
all belong to a future I have now lost.
And it is because of this
that I am haunted.
Do I regret,
or simply forget
that it was my choice to flee,
that your ghosts are withdrawal symptoms
from a dream (a disease) I once had
of mirrors catching the light,
of teeth perfectly aligned?


So close. You are so close.

It is dark, but there is enough light for me to see your face. So close. You are so close.

We are quiet except for the sound of our breathing. You are looking down. I reach a hand to your face, to your skin. I linger at the angle of your jaw, tracing it slowly. I run my hand along your jawline and stop at your chin. I press my thumb on the slight depression there, feeling wonder. I’ve always wanted to touch your jawline. I feel your stubble, the shock of ginger. I trace the unshaven hair, thinking how beautiful its color is and how it suits you perfectly.

You smile without meeting my eyes. I smile back.


I dreamt of Ed Sheeran. This is what happened.

Real or Not Real

She takes his hand in hers, his long, slender fingers automatically enclosing around like a capsule of affection. His thumb brushes against the skin of her hand, leaving a million suns beaming underneath at its wake. She cocks her head to one side, straining to get a better look at the wonder that is walking beside her and is holding her hand like it were something only a few deserving could hold. He turns to her and smiles. An intense fire of yearning crackles within her, his mere breath air enough to let it burn forever.

Just as she lets the fire consume her greedily, everything recedes into a white blankness, a void in which she has been stripped off of her feelings like they were her own clothes. And there she is: stark naked and cold, her all-devouring fire being easily doused as if it were nothing but the tiny flames of a lit cigarette.

Her hand still clutches something solid, the texture of his skin friction against hers, though she can no longer see it. Slowly, she feels the solid change phase until she could no longer hold it, and it trickles away like flowing water. Uncontainable, never the same.

And then she is grasping nothing but air itself.

Nightmares Within Dreams

Even when I think of my dreams, I am under pressure. So many nightmares are conjuring themselves at the same time, it’s frightening. I ponder upon what I really want to do, but then, I think the future might just overthrow me by presenting scenarios (like not being independent at all, earning too little to support my own self, etc.) which make me tighten my grip on what I have right now. Continue reading “Nightmares Within Dreams”