How do otherwise calm people find a healthy outlet for pent-up anger?
Ask me how I feel on a given day, and you’ll notice my response tends to change by the hour. One can only assume that this capricious attitude is natural considering the long-term suppression of every emotion under the sun during The Lost Year ™.
On the one hand, it’s impressive how some of our best work is only produced under pressure. …
Two teenage boys are swept up in the early throes of an unexpected adolescent romance.
This is a free-hand creative writing exercise. I don’t often find South Asian men represented in these kinds of stories so I wanted to incorporate such a character here. This is an incomplete work: stay tuned for updates.
It took some time before the dark mess of curls acknowledged its name being called. Turning his head ever so slightly, Kaleb shifted his gaze to focus steadily on Shahin, who immediately stiffened.
There was no lilt at the end of his response. It…
I blinked. “What?”
Abbu nodded. What could only be described as a bashful grin split his face in two. “Lytton,” he confirmed.
I furrowed my brow, incredulous.
Visiting Dad several times a week was high on my “To-Do” list these days, particularly if I wished to remain on his good side. In an effort to avoid mundane discourse between myself and the man who I’d always considered an enigma, I began shamelessly probing into his childhood, prying into his former life with long-standing questions. To my surprise, I was on the receiving end of rather long-winded responses.
Writing Prompt: Write about a 13-year-old boy whose parents immigrated to the US when he was a child. He loves his family, but feels deep shame about his culture and his mother’s inability to assimilate.
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“Ma, come on,” Diyaan hissed under his breath. Unperturbed, his mother stood in the middle of the vegetable aisle, frowning down at the bitter gourd she held in her hands.
He glanced about him. It was nearly 4 o’clock PM on a Wednesday.
The final bell had rung just forty minutes before. Diyaan was aghast when he strolled…
I’ve been thinking. A lot. In fact, some might accuse me of overthinking — to which I reply...sounds about right. But instead of concluding with my usual brand of pessimism, my ruminating has unveiled an interpretation of humankind previously unknown to me, for the simple reason that I had not suffered through specific hardships long enough to learn their lessons.
In other words, the combination of suffering and reflection (with a healthy dose of self-awareness) is the trigger to leveling up your resilience bar, preparing you with the skills necessary to overcome the next hurdle.
Life — the art of…
Despite the early onset of her golden years creeping in, my mother still spends her days in the midst of neon pink tutus and toddler tees emblazoned with emojis. She methodically folds tiny pairs of trousers and meticulously counts inventory in the same vein as she has done for the better part of her adulthood.
After work, in my rare moments of stolen liberty, I like to drop in on my mother while she is in her element. …
Back in AP Psych class, we learned about a cognitive bias called the Framing Effect.
A term coined by psychologists in the 80s, the Framing Effect plays on decision-making skills in stating that our choices become what they are due to making them based on the way a situation is “framed,” or distorted to an audience through pointed messaging, context or ideas — influencing our perspectives in a way that is largely unbeknownst to many, unless you’re vigilant about viewing all information through a critical lens.
Quarantine has left us with ample time on our hands. Are we repurposing these…
Ever try to escape your socioeconomic barriers so desperately that your hunger fuels your drive and you succeed?
Ever transcend into the next stage so suddenly, with hardly any time to become accustomed to the transition, that in the attempt to find ground in uncharted territory you become out of touch with the community that reared you, embedded your values within you, made you…you?
Ever feel, as an adult, that when you speak or reflect on experiences that shaped your world views, they seem so far away and disconnected from your experiences now — even though it’s only been a…
Last week — the same week in which a long overdue civil rights movement calling attention to the history of police brutality against Black people in the US swept (and continues to sweep) the world— I finally finished reading Outliers by Malcom Gladwell.
In his book, Gladwell, who is biracial, decimates the myth of self-made success in his book and instead urges the reader to consider the historical and situational context that produces an ‘outlier’ — someone who exceeds the average individual in achievements, endeavors or some particular skill. Americans, he says, focus far too much on personal merits and…
Have you ever wondered what the cost of true confidence is? I’ll tell you: it’s hitting a ping pong ball with a paddle ten times in a row.
It’s the truth. How do I know? I’ve seen it. At the time, I wasn’t aware how a flimsy ping-pong set could reset a long-held belief, so I scoffed when my sister announced that we should be expecting an Amazon package on our doorstep the following weekend.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why throw away money on such a frivolous thing?”
I said nothing of the fact that I’d spent the last four years…
thriving in chaos is a double-edged sword.