The Last Word

Death is inevitable and even though it is sure to knock on the door of everyone, it still somehow manages to deliver an astounding shock every single time; even in cases where it has been highly anticipated due to illness.

I miss dating whenever I hear about the stories of some of my girlfriends even though I abhor  that it often felt, and probably still feels, like an unending time-wasting Netflix series.

After so many countries have plundered and dug through their lands or invited others to do so for them, exhausting their environmental limits and pushing local communities out for capitalist gains, we are yet again reminded that climate change isn’t just a safe cause or talking point.

Childless people navigating friendships with people who have children can be a prickly issue.

If I were 93 years old and on my fifth marriage, I too would probably rock sneakers to my wedding, I thought when I came across Rupert Murdoch’s latest wedding photos.

I received so many perplexing reactions from friends when I shared that I was travelling to  Qatar. 

I always hated bras. From the wires, the heat they drive, restrictive feeling and the labour intensive duty to find a suitable one for every outfit, what is there not to hate.

There is something about trying to lose weight that feels almost impossible and pointless in the beginning.

I think that one of the best ways to show you appreciate someone is by offering them your time and effort.

Holidays are weirdly tortuous when you are an immigrant. It almost feels like an endless marathon, trying to recreate the magic of the holidays that you were once accustomed to,   knowing fully well it will culminate with feeling a profound sense of loss sandwiched in droplets of happiness and disappointment at having yet another season come around and still not managing to get it quite right.

When I think about my school days (primary and secondary) in Guyana, much of it feels like a blur.

 I always swore to myself that I would never become consumed by any reality TV show.

As I look on and observe from an incredibly far distance while the nation’s teachers protest for both liveable wages and decent working conditions, I remember two stories my late Godmother who worked as a nurse in the public healthcare system shared with me growing up.

A few days ago I came across a snippet of a viral  radio interview which featured a local beauty influencer as its guest.

A little over halfway into  Bell Hooks’ book “All About Love: New Visions”, and my mind  cannot stop reshuffling memories of my past relationships, friendships, family dysfunction, and my own shortcomings when it comes to  consistently enacting a love ethic in all aspects of  my life.  

There is much fear and anticipation when it comes to pregnancy and bringing life into this world and understandably so.

There is something magical about the start of the New Year.

How can anyone, at this point, muster up any joy to celebrate Christmas?

There is something deeply traumatising about navigating online social spaces in moments of absolute political turmoil and instability.

Living in a western country and seeing the traditional Indian beauty ritual hair oiling rise in popularity when it was once scoffed at, is perplexing.