a day in my life | part two

Saturday, November 17, 2018


"Dear, please, be careful."

The words appear on your screen and sound all too familiar. "Yes, mom," you think, "I promise I will try my best not to get killed by a psychopath today."

You don't reply, but you understand. The responsibility to be safe is a large part of living abroad. It causes you to adopt certain survival tactics. 

Small things, like keeping your earphones off as you walk to remain vigilant, or moving briskly enough to get home as soon as possible, but slow enough so you don't appear too scared. Having the common sense of not passing though dark alleyways, staying away from quiet parks, or ignoring every drunk man that tries to capture your attention. Small things.

to all the girls i was before

Wednesday, October 10, 2018


12 - Dear Jo,
You think you know everything. But you don't. You'll hate hearing this, because you love planning out the next ten years of your life. You get lost in your own daydreams, and the future is literally all you ever talk and think about. Your visions are wide and exciting and often seem unrealistic. But despite all this, I love how much of a dreamer you are. I love how you don't apologise for your goals. I love that your big dreams are part of what brought me here. So thank you.

a day in my life | part one

Monday, August 27, 2018


7 AM. Your eyes flutter open, you check the time, and turn your head to the cold side of the pillow. Your class starts later, and you have no early morning plans. The bed feels eight times nicer than it did when you slept into it the night before. The world is silent and undemanding. You wrap a blanket around you. You wish to go back to sleep.

But you thought too soon.

At 8, you awake, startled by the sound of the garbage truck that pulls up—8 AM, on the dot, always on time—each morning. You retrieve all your thoughts as you stand up from the bed of your empty apartment. You move your body a little to shake off the remaining slumber. Stretch as if you're going for a jog. Then not go for a jog. 

You pour yourself tea, as you do every morning. As the water rises to a boil, you place your hand above it, to catch the warm steam that escapes the kettle's mouth. 

The teabag sits for a minute or two, the water slowly changing colour to accept its presence. Your hands wrap around it like a tiny cup of warmth. You hold it close, you take a sip, you breathe. People think you wake early just to drink tea. You don't tell them you have a garbage truck to thank.

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