Really Minnelli

The subway was bustling with people. I was lucky to have found a seat and I sat, my backside indignantly plastered to the hard metal chair. I often wondered if I'd ever be able to lift my weight off the seat, and when I wasn't contemplating the possibilities of me getting up in time for my train, I was watching the people around me in the subway. There was a mother dragging her two children behind her, desperately urging them to hurry up. I wondered where the father was. " So many broken families these days ," I thought. Then there was an old man who was being fussed over by a woman wearing several layers of make-up and too little clothing. She seemed too old to be his daughter, and too young to be his wife. What people do for money . A middle-aged father passed me by, talking to his unresponsive daughter that was too busy poking at her mobile phone. These teens are too self-obsessed . A train whooshed into the subway and there was a crowd that swarmed at the doors of

 I've been taking some time off writing and started painting for a bit because writing takes up a bit more time than it should right now. (You'll know if you read my previous post that I have some exams coming up). I thought of sharing my art with you, so I'll be posting them like a gallery in a few days (hopefully). I'll try not to keep you guys waiting. Stay safe! :)

 Hi! I haven't been posting much lately because I've got a few major exams coming up soon, so I won't be posting like before. I managed to get this piece of writing ready for you, but I'm still developing this story. I'll update this version as soon as possible. Hope you enjoy this. Stay safe! :) “See you later Dodge,” I texted. I waited for a reply and getting none, went offline to do the good stuff. And by the good stuff I mean the cool stuff, which was hacking for me. Because we all have that vice which is our downfall or our salvation, and for me it was the latter. Just then, one of my telephones rang. The ugly black one with its paint peeling off which I had scavenged from the scrapyard, which meant the Pig was calling. “Hello,” I said. “Hey Joey. I got a job for ya.” “I’m listening.” “I need you to rig the system,” he said. “The usual?” I asked. “No. This time it’s me. Get me out.” “Oh…okay, well I’m on it boss. And um, hey, I need the dumplings,” I said, rath

“James Perry, fondly known as Jamie, was the best eight-year-old that any parent could wish for. He was the sweetest little boy that loved taking care of others despite his young age. He’d hold his grandmother’s hand when she’d go down the stairs, he’d help his mum feed his baby sister, and he’d adorably carry little buckets of water to his dad whenever he had to wash their family car. Everyone that met Jamie agreed that they were truly blessed and lucky to have met the little boy. He was the epitome of positivity, and everyone hoped that it would be so for the rest of his life. However, noticing that Jamie’s drawings started to take on more dark and sinister themes, Mrs Perry questioned him but got no reply. His pictures showed a clear transition from bright colours to blacks and dark blues. One day, he approached his sister who was sitting on the floor doodling and tried to shove her on the floor and stab her with a pencil, but fortunately their mother having being around, the baby

Shakespeare is widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language. His works showcase the deepest feelings of humans, that the majority of us would be too ashamed to even admit the presence of. On reading Othello, I have been awed by such human emotion that is so vividly portrayed in Shakespeare's words. I also realised the amount of energy that a person, overcome with jealousy and hunger for power, is willing to put into another's downfall, instead of using this energy to improve oneself, and that even though this world has evolved in various aspects such as social and technological, those basic feelings are still prominently expressed and also underlie conflicts that occur at different levels, be it international or personal. The themes of his work are based on human feelings. He shows that by being infatuated by one thing, and by being overcome with strong degrading feelings, you become rather possessed and unable to function on activities that you believe to be

This is a piece of writing that I published on Reedsy's website. You can read my writing here , but I'll be posting them on my blog anyway. Hope you enjoy reading this. :) I kept looking at the door expectantly, watching the people come in and go out of the restaurant. I could feel butterflies in my stomach, and I wondered if I’d even eat tonight. I was nervous — not even the light instrumental music playing in the background or the bright little candles dotting every table could make me calm down — but it was a good sort of nervousness. Looking around, I noticed that there were a few families, but most of them seemed to be couples, all of which were busy chatting or clinking their glasses together and cutlery on plates filling the air with the sound of dining. The waiters bustled in and out of the kitchens, some even skilfully and effortlessly balancing a number of platters on both their hands and along their arms, making the aroma of food waft around the place. After watching

This is a piece of writing that I published on Reedsy's website. You can read my writing here , but I'll be posting them on my blog anyway. Hope you enjoy reading this. :) The bus-station this particular morning was deserted save for a few people dotting the concrete seats built into the walls of the station. I knew that I had to take the 4.30 bus to Kandy, but I didn’t know which exact bus to take. I was in the mystical foreign land of Sri Lanka that my ancestors had under their grasp a few decades short of a century; however, people that could converse well in English (and not send you on the wrong route, speaking from personal experience) were almost nowhere to be found. Undeterred yet, I decided to ask the stationmaster, or who I assumed to be was the stationmaster. “Hello,” I said warmly with a tinge of tentativeness in my voice. The little man in a beige shirt and black pants looked at me in an unwelcoming manner and returned to the piece of paper he was holding, which he

The keys fell on the ground with a clink. I picked them up and tried locking the door with my trembling hands. I dropped the keys again. I didn’t want to be late. Sighing, I bent down to notice that I had folded my jeans up. I hastily pulled them down, knowing how much she hated them that way. Without her around, I was living on autopilot. After a few more attempts, I heard the much awaited click of the lock slipping into place. I slapped my back pocket to check if the book was still there, and the even lump confirmed so. I walked past my car and the flower beds that only had brown soil and brown, withered flowers. I didn’t take the car; I decided to walk instead. I made my way towards the market a few blocks away. I was still trembling, my head dizzy, sweat running in rivulets down my nervous face. “This is a bad idea. I should go back home,” I told myself sternly. I turned halfway, but then strongly decided against going back. After months of worrying and procrastination, I got mysel

Sitting in my porch I watched the children run and scream in delight as they played a very animated version of tag. On Saturdays the kids spend the day at my place, and those are the best hours of my life that I ever so religiously look forward to. I wake up as early as my age allows me to, to bake some goodies for the kids. And every single morning the kids would fly into my arms and I’ll tell you that there’s no better feeling than that. I remember when I was that young. Those were the good old days when going from one place of the house to another didn’t take hours or make my joints ache as if they’d fall off any moment. Physical pain back then was temporary, much unlike now. Once, when I was in my mid-teens, during a netball match it started raining; however, the coach gave no indication of stopping the match, so on we went. But being the clumsy oaf that I am, I slipped and fell and somehow went and struck my knee on the concrete base of the post. I heard a crack (maybe it was