It was back in the summer of 1990. The classes were over for the day, but I was still in the classroom. There was a big chart hanging on the wall which illustrated the life cycle of a butterfly.

Fireflies remind me of her. We had been laying there for a while under the shade of a maple tree. The grasses were thin and translucent, glowing in the sunlight.

White clouds had blanketed the mountain peaks spread across the horizon when they reached the top. I heard them complaining, “Where are the damn mountains? Did we just climb all the way up here for nothing?”

We human beings are preoccupied with inventing a self for ourselves. We keep on doing so by gathering endless opinions about ourselves from the people around us—like pixels that finally add up together to give us an image.

One day, back in 1990, I lost my mother to stroke. One of my relatives had come to get me during the lunch hour at school. When I reached home, I found my mother’s lifeless body on the floor, draped in a white fabric.

Why do you think people watch their loved ones sleep? I have my own reasons.

Hope is like a paper boat. Only currents of water and wind can keep them going. Else, it is just going to sink, sooner or later

But love transcends all the boundaries, doesn’t it? Boundaries of space and time, life and death, gender and race

It’s your first day at college. You see a girl and it’s love at the very first sight. You can’t do anything about it.

A story about a whole lot of things that, at the end of the day, amounts to pretty much nothing at all