Wednesday, 15 March 2017

The Salesman

I met him at a popular London hotel, where I was at for a business meeting. He sat across the lounge, a head full of dark, curly hair and looking immaculate in a dark blue three-piece suit. Despite his dressing nothing in his behaviour suggested a businessman, for there was an air of languor about him—from the way he allowed the winged chair to take all his weight, leaving only his crossed legs to dangle loosely, to the indifferent manner in which his eyes roved across the room, carelessly flitting from one observation to another.

Tuesday, 14 March 2017

My Windows Login Screen Is Scaring Me

I know, I know. I never should have upgraded from Windows 7 to 10.
But hey, hindsight is 20/20, okay?

Monday, 13 March 2017


All my life I’ve hated physical exertion of any sort, so I considered it life’s way of giving me the one-finger salute when I found out that the lift at my new apartment broke down frequently enough to make me wonder if the building super and my mom were colluding to get me to exercise.

Sunday, 12 March 2017


I don’t know where to start. I guess it doesn’t matter, really. Writing it all down won’t change my mind. But letting someone out there know, it just seems so important you know?
My parents always thought I was a perceptive child. In a way, I was, but just not the way they imagined.

Thursday, 9 March 2017

The Counsellor

If there was one thing Calvin absolutely loathed about his life, it was school—his schoolmates, in particular. It is a sad fact of life that teenagers can be exceedingly cruel to one another, especially to those who are different. And there was no one more different than Calvin.

The Play

We were all a bundle of nerves.

Mrs Wren bustled here and there to make sure everything was OK. She tinkered with the props, went through the lines with the actors and actresses one last time and made sure nothing was out of place.

The rest of us huddled in our own little groups, fidgeting nervously. There was an unspoken prayer on everyone’s lips.

Saturday, 4 March 2017


I’d known Melody since we were eight. Even at that tender age she was always quick to announce to the world at large her one true passion—music. Her mother was a violinist of international fame, a late bloomer who started shining only in her late twenties—a rarity in a field teeming with child prodigies.

I heard Mrs Wong play once, when I was ten. It was at the Carnegie Hall in New York, and she had kindly given me a ticket to join Melody in the audience. It was the very first time I remember being moved to tears. Every note, every strain hit me in places I never knew existed, drawing out each trembling strand of emotion into rivulets down my cheeks.