Step Into My Shoes..

I remember a time when I was in my late teens; I had a huge crush on this guy. And as things turned out so did this other girl from my class. Even then, I knew that my crush had just been nothing but childish. I didn’t really want the guy to be my boyfriend or anything. And neither, I recall, did this other girl. It was a battle for attention. I didn’t want this girl to be my enemy. There were no cat-fights, no discord; just a private psychological war. A small tug here, a little push there and copious amount of joy at tiniest victories - [he flirted back, he smiled at the hallway, he gave a ride in his bike] I remember a time when I felt enough was enough. It was beginning to be a little too much. Our childish games were lengthening for no good. I was tired of disliking this girl for liking something I liked but didn’t really want. I remember wondering if it was possible for everyone to be happy. Could we all walk away with something and that something not being disappointment a...

It doesn't happen very often but there are times I wish I was taller. It will be an understatement if I said I was not tall. I am short. Like, just 5 feet tall-short. Although most of the times I am quite content with my height (I live in Sydney where there are people from all over the world, all sorts of people, which means, yes there are short people too; and before this I have lived my whole life in Kathmandu, Nepal, where the average height of Nepalese women is...well, not much). The only times I wish my legs were a tad longer is when I have to buy clothes like pants and skirts and they don't fit on most occasions. But this post shall not revolve around the things that I lack in life, contrarily, it will express the gratitude I feel for the things I have. I wish I was taller but I am thankful I am not a midget (no offence). I might be thin but I am not anorexic. I might have acnes and acne marks but I do not have serious skin diseases. My hair might be frizzy and dry...

Last night as I lay down poring over the pages under the bright orangey lamp light, I was being nibbled by a feeling that the day had gone to waste. The day had been glorious. The sun was out and the sky had shone like new furniture. I was up early, too early for a day without work and classes. I had begun the day with the book. Like, I was up and had started reading without even getting up. After two hours of reading, I had been up and working out. For someone who is a huge fan of sunny days, whenever the morning graces with a bright sunlight, it is an open invitation for going out. And yet for someone who is also a big fan of reading, staying home and having a good read of a good book is equally tempting. I did go out for breakfast, and although I spent some time looking for places I could go, none fit the shoes of convenience. So I ended up laying down on my bed with sun pouring through the window, bright and warm, and reading. And I didn't just read. I lived three liv...

“Everybody has a secret world inside of them. All of the people of the world, I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside, inside them they've all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds. Not just one world. Hundreds of them. Thousands maybe.” In my head, I can talk in several accents. In real life, of course I can't. I don't even know what accent I have. I know I'll sound fake if I try and use one of the accents that I know of. But in my head, I'm like those actors who have all the help to act like someone from an entirely different country. In my head sometimes, I can also talk in various languages.  Have I thought about Parseltongue? Yes, but not often.   In my head, I have a great voice, and I can sing beautifully in front of a crowd. And when I sing, people get mesmerized and regard me with awe, which is not true in reality at all. I got a reality check fourteen years ago when I took par...

Sometimes I wonder if I have had too much effect of reading in my life. What a man reads defines who he is. That is true. Of all work of literature, I am not at all shy, even in this age (almost mid 20s, yes) to say that I am still a huge fan of the Harry Potter series. You might think I like the heavy loads like, hell I don't even know many of them. I just read what I like and like what I feel most close to. But let’s not wander astray from the main thing I am about to discuss here, although some of it does have to do with a Harry Potter thing, and significantly it is. May be it because I have read a little too much of the Harry Potter series, especially the third edition, maybe it is not, but when I was in school, I couldn't just get the notion of seeing myself as an adult out of my system. I used to say to myself, One day, one day the older me, a twenty-four year old me(that's just about now) would somehow pop out and I(the then sixteen year old me) woul...