chaiNboli

  Dear reader, So yesterday, my hostel roommate went home. She has three days of leave. Now, obviously, why spend three days—aka 72 hours—aka some ridiculously long number of minutes. AMD unnecessarily large num er of seconds  (I’m very bad at maths, apologies to my ancestors) in this  little room, sweating under a half-dead fan? So yes. She took her backpack and left. Not before I reminded her to come back with a packet of homemade pickle or chips to help me survive the unforeseen future, obviously. Anyway. I was alone. And then, suddenly— POW. The power went off. And as always, my hyper-independence took charge. With great confidence and determination, I walked towards the adjacent room. Only to fall flat on my face in the hostel verandah. Well. It was dark. And most people clearly possessed common sense and were safely inside their own rooms. So, naturally, my first concern was not the injury. It was first-hand embarrassment. Because imagine falling...

  Dear reader, Have you ever received a bouquet? Or a flower? Maybe from your lover. Or a friend. Or perhaps from some kind soul. Or, I don’t know, a TikToker for a video? Because I have never received one. Yep. Not even a single flower. Forget a bouquet. You may find it hilarious that I feel bad about never getting a bouquet. Yes, I feel sad thinking about it. Maybe even a little jealous when I see those romantic reels and cute relationships where someone casually shows up with flowers because “I saw these and thought of you.” And please, don’t tell me to preach what Miley Cyrus said: “I can buy myself flowers.” I can. But I don’t want to. I mean, look—I can buy myself flowers. I have money. I have hands. I know where the flower shops are. I am perfectly capable of walking into one and saying, “One bouquet, please.” And it’s not because I’m a stingy one. (Well… that’s questionable. Anyway.) It’s because… don’t you see how intimate it is when a person sees a flower and...