I’ve always translated my family’s less-than-ordinary style of working into a sort of unwritten matriarchal system. I wouldn’t go so far as to claim that matriarchy is a conscious choice or an edict among my people, but the assumption is also not such a far cry based on the fact…

…and the one thing I myself don’t get yet downshifting noun UK /ˈdaʊn.ʃɪf.tɪŋ/ US /ˈdaʊn.ʃɪf.tɪŋ/ the practice of leaving a job that is well paid and difficult in order to do something that gives you more time and satisfaction… …but less money. (And let me add, it’s much less money) I was working as an hourly paid teacher of English with British Council when I decided to downshift. Ongoing mental health struggles that had played dodgeball with my brains since…

Disclaimer: In this essay, there is mention of things that I count as privilege, such as having a job during the pandemic, having space to isolate, not needing to go out to buy stuff, affording healthcare and entertainment. I apologise in advance for the way it excludes some people and…

No, really, it’s OK. It should have been okay for the longest time that I fought it, but better late than never, right? Some of you might think I’m being sarcastic and will be driving to a more inclusive and body-positive point soon. Well, you’re right and wrong. But the…

This need to keep asking, checking An incessant hammering of irascible ‘me…me…me’ Like a ringtone that cajoles its way into a dream, confusing it Dishevelling an already corrupt narrative. It’s not good. Questions should only want answers if they are ready to find out. When you ask me if I…

2020 was so much. Such a short year too, all told. So much of my emotion was directed at America’s blatant racism and disregard for basic human rights that I only had enough left to spend on cats. I don’t think I registered anything else beyond that. So this year…

I’ve written a lot about tears and crying. Like a lot of other people in tune with their emotional intelligence(s), I like the idea of crying. I have always found immense comfort in the act of ‘letting it out’. …

My two faces Left: me on a normal day. Right: me about to have a weeklong bout of anxiety. If you can spot the difference, good. If you come at me with 'oh, but you look beautiful always' or 'it doesn't matter, what matters is some other shit that is not my blown up face on axiety' and other such platitudes, you're not doing me a favor, you're reducing the importance and the validity of my actual, real life.