What makes a house a home

Oh sure, I’m going to scatter things around, put up a few pictures, give all my things designated places. But then I’m going to displace them. And maybe that’s what makes it a home, more than setting one up.

Maybe it’s the one million problems that crop up, the hooks that fall, the acceptance after the grumbling when you learn where the bathroom light switch it. Maybe it’s also the lie in, rested bones digging deep in mattresses, sleepy eyes noticing how the sun falls in through the window. Maybe it’s that cookie jar, that stood beside you on the window still, for you, in your reach.

And then maybe it’s the first time forgotten food in your fridge goes spoilt. You won’t ever want to go through what comes after that realization, but sometimes it inevitable.

Some other things: when you don’t have to remind yourself to make that turn towards your house. When your desk beside your bed holds 3 midway read books. When you come home after a long day and collapse on your bed without thought. When it’s the fifth day in a week you’ve eaten noodles/ordered take-out. Maybe it’s eating on your bed, making room for your bad habits and sleeping with them (pun both intended and not). Maybe it’s day long stomach aches that keep you up and restless way past midnight and retching over the toilet bowl. And maybe it’s being taken care off, when you have a fever, too sick to give a bother to the state of yourself and the house.

It’s when you no longer speak your thoughts to the half furnished rooms, but when you sit in the living room watching TV with your thoughts scattered along with the furniture. It’s when your headspace fits and curves along the corners and edges of the house, and when you stretch your hand on autopilot to reach for your hair tie slash water bottle slash your animal soft toy.

To be honest, a lot of these are whimsical. A house to home conversion probably mostly consists of an endless string of problems till when you’re pulling out your chair without conscious thought after you think it’s finally all done (once again). But whatever, enjoy the ride/way.


Cupcakes are good.

They’re even better when made right. And trust me, this way is pretty right. (can confirm x2)

Buying books dilemma

So I happened to have a Borders voucher..

I had ONE year to choose. And how much time did I take to choose. Apparently, EXACTLY ONE YEAR.

Here’s the story. It’s super short, give it a lil’ watch.

my favourite youtuber…

is Haley Blais.

I love this woman for all that she is.
(I wish I was her (a hundred times over)).

A second close comes Barry Pierce, who is 118 years old, and also, dead.

If you bothered to read this, you are obligated to leave your favourite YouTuber in the comment box below.

(don’t let me tell you what to do.)

my eyes are shut in the shower

and in their place, take my hands
rounding all the corners, edges, curves

measuring the size
of my thighs

hoping to find bone sticking out
only to find fat hanging out

while i lather on soap.
-too much skin-

my eyes are shut in the shower

to avoid seeing
for seeing leads to feeling
under the mountain of doom

finds me covering
in despair, desperation, self loathing and hate

hence it finds me
covering my eyes.

my eyes are shut in the shower
yet to no avail
for my hands are there to take over
and scale every inch of the place.
-too much skin-

Harbouring memories of a stranger

The other day, I went out to throw the garbage, when I stumbled onto something.


It was a small box, cardboard, black, covered with paper on a few sides.

On the front side, on a square piece of white paper, there was a little picture of two cracked eggs with two kids peeking out of it. The text around said, “Oh Hello there, Papa. This is just a small gift of appreciation for all the things you have done for me and Didi (sister in Hindi). Open it Papa.”


On the bottom side to the front, it had, “Happy Birthday; Surprise box”, inscribed.


That was it. Oh, and it has an ornamental heart taped to it on the front too.

Inside it, it had a paper envelope. The opening read, “These are the gifts Papa. And Papa, Enjoy Yourself.”


Even inside I found a little piece of paper with a sweet little drawing and some words behind.

They read, “We are a great family to the three you are our only hope.”

Just below, was a tiny plea, “Please always keep us three happy.”

My heart was floored.

This little child’s creation of sweetness for their dad’s birthday found me smiling and full of memories. I felt as though I had stumbled on a private piece of someone’s life; one that we, the lucky ones are fortunate to have but don’t appreciate or be thankful for enough.

Through out our lives, me and my sister have made sweet little cards for our parents, much like the one I found.

In similar practice, these cards are given to the respective parent, liked, kept and then over time lost their value. Sure, my parents have always kept these cards, but their importance vanes and they become forgotten.

This lost piece of memory found it’s way into my lap and my heart. It reminded me of me, my family, of jagged pieces fitting together, of small favors, of just being through the good, the bad and the ugly.

I suppose we can only blame human nature for it settling where I finally found it. But that’s all right I think, another birthday will come around soon enough to change that.

Till then, I’ll be hoping this box reaches the hands of another, and it does what it did for me for them.

For nostalgia’s sake,