It’s okay to crash, as long as you’re not the one who set the coordinates

“If you allow yourself to have safety nets, you’re just setting yourself up for a fall.” -N.M.

So many times I’ve heard friends, family members, teachers, advisors say that it’s best to have a plan C/D/E when you’re figuring out what you want to do with your future. Until recently, I would’ve agreed with that advice, since plan A’s can often backfire and hit you in the face harder than the backlash of Voldemort’s Avada Kedavra. But I’ve long since come to learn that positivity is the best way to form (and maintain) your future. It’s become second nature to me to remind myself that what I want to do is directly tied to what I can do, or what I strongly believe I can do. In other words, why not have just a plan A, as long as you’re going to dedicate yourself to that plan until you get to where you want to be? It’s all about mindset, and making whatever you want to happen…happen. OK, so having a Plan B is also a good idea, not as a just-in-case, but as a second, simultaneous option to go along with A. Having multiple projects to work on, so that you could potentially mold them into one genius idea that is (almost) immune to failure, is a good way to assure yourself that you can, in fact, do it. And it serves to cater to your positive attitude.

Some might say that you need a fall every now and then so that you can appreciate where you’ve been, and I agree with that, to an extent. Falling when you’re not expecting it is fine, because it comes with the territory; aiming high is sure to end in ugly slips every now and then. The problem is when people believe that they can’t really get that position, so they apply for something else. Or they won’t be able to learn a second, or third, language, so they don’t make any attempt. The mentality has to be positive at all times. You are, after all, who you set out to be. Nobody’s going to worm their way into your thoughts and take it into their own hands to submit the book that’s been stewing in your mind for over two years, as awesome as that may be. You have to find the courage and press the button. Where it takes you is a different matter, but at least you knew you could do it.


“The Practice of Civility”

I am Referee
Standing at a stance
Arms splayed open
To accommodate for the
Distance left between
The two of you
My tiger stripes stand for courage
To help me make the call

I am Peacekeeper
Consoling you while
I comfort her
Reassuring words pour forth
Time and again, recycled
Churning in my belly before
Spewing out to tell you that
“You’re right. Yes, of course. I know it’s not fair”

I am Healer
Holding on to the
Shredded love between
You, watching as it
Melts in strips through
Warm fingertips and you
Cling to my shoulder, shedding your
Troubles and your crocodile tears

I am Mediator
Once again between you while
She tugs and you shove
Neither to be outdone, eager
To have justice on your sides
But justice takes to the sidelines—
Vertigo and gravity make
For a better team

I am Counselor
Having to explain
The difference between
Being listened to
And being heard, yet still
You refuse to free yourself
Of the leash that Pride
Holds doggedly against you

I am Caught in the Middle
Ensnared in the back-and-forth
That is your life’s work
Praying silently for your silence
I close my eyes and wait
For one of you to lose interest
Who am I to stop you
When you’re at your best?



She remembers watching

Her mother run practiced

Fingers through, beneath

And over pieces of colored cloth

Her mother’s hands knew

Linens, silks, satins

Intimately caressing surfaces

And stitching patterns

That ran zig-zags across

The span of time

She remembers standing

Obediently while those

Same hands held up countless

Dresses up to her thin, child’s

Body, her mother’s pins

Hanging limply from smoker’s lips

She still recalls the way

The needle pierced where

The seamstress wanted it to pierce

The way patches of cotton

Would become her father’s shirts

She remembers how often

Her mind would turn to

Thoughts of loss

Whenever she saw those fingers

Deftly craft countless dresses

And infinite shirts

She sits now at the same machine

Not to make a dress

But wondering if her mother would know

How to stitch together pieces

Of a little girl’s broken heart


I am not afraid

Because I choose

Not to acknowledge fear

I am not unhappy

Because I have chosen

To re-define happiness

I am not weak

Because my strengths

Lie in my greatest weaknesses

I am not hurried

Because I understand

That life is just a glimpse

I am not relenting

Because I have a voice

And I recognize its power

I am not normal

Because normal is for

Those who settle for ordinary

I am not satisfied

Because I know that

My reach can extend further still

I am not right, nor am I wrong

Because, frankly, that

Is irrelevant

I am not alone

Because you are like me


To Strike A Chord

To strike a chord in the heart strings of those who seek beauty and truth, to make an unsuspecting reader smile, to pave a new wave of thought, to connect with the masses, the unseen and unheard, to show the silent that they have a voice, to merge fantasy and reality in such a way that no distinctions can be made between them, to erase all boundaries holding back the imagination, to captivate a reader in such a way that he begins to think of himself as a character, to share experiences and experience my share of things, to record adventures and make unlikely characters heroes, and to start a conversation among those who otherwise would have never met…this is what I hope to accomplish through my writing.



They don’t understand

Why he insists on

Isolating himself

And jotting down wisps

Of ideas by light

Of the moon. He tells

Them that he has no

Choice, that he must

Transcribe someone else’s

Plans and make them

His craft

They don’t believe him

Of course. Instead,

They discard the yellowed

Pages of his journals,

Pages with curled corners

And curious scents. They wait

Until he is six feet under

Before they read his careful

Letters. And there, beneath the

Glow of a waning moon

They finally understand