Smells Like Winter

Happy Birthday

I turn twenty-two in two days.

How poetic would it be if the anniversary of my birth became the anniversary of my death?

I’m holding it together because falling apart is a luxury I cannot afford.

And maybe the world would be a better place if we learned to love ourselves.

Just like mommy

When I was young, all I wanted was to grow up and be just like my mommy.

Now I’m all grown up, and I’m just like her:
Bitter and sad.

Not in wealth, in love.

The problem is that there will always be a problem. No matter where we are in life, what our social status is, there will always be something going wrong.

People are divided into classes. The “high class” look down on the “lower class”. But who gets to decide who belongs to the higher class and who belongs to the lower class? Why are we divided in the first place? And what makes someone belong to the higher class? Is it wealth? Is it fame?

I could be poor, I could be homeless, I could be viewed by society as the lowest of the lower class, but they wouldn’t know that I’m wealthy, I’m so rich. I don’t have all the materialistic objects they own, but I have love. I have love for my parents, for my siblings, for my friends, for the waiters, for the cat rubbing against my leg, for the laborers that spend hours in the sun, for the cleaners that spend hours in houses, offices, schools, just making sure the toilets are clean enough, for the taxi drivers.

If it were up to me, they’d all be rich. They’d all be considered the higher class. Because what they give to us is more than we could imagine, more than what we get from the corporate lawyers and the CEOs of the world.

Because the world needs more love. More compassion. Because we all need to be equal. Not in wealth, in love.


I don’t seek wealth, I don’t seek fame. I seek a life of simplicity, a life free of desire, fear, pain, hate, injustice.
Yet I find myself in this mess of a world wishing I had a little bit of this and a little bit of that and I start to despise myself. How can I rid myself of all this vanity?

The vanity that’s poisoning people, is poisoning me too.


Everything I love becomes everything I hate and the unattainable is always desirable.

Hollow shells

We do our best to stay sane in the insanity that is life. Stay grounded, stay put.


But we’ve become such great performers that we started believing that we’re in the audience and we can’t tell the difference between truth and fantasy, between truth and lie.

Who are we?

We walk around and suddenly catch our reflection – so confusing. The face looking back at us is so happy, so joyful, so eager, so motivated.

But we’re just hollow shells.


All the masks wear off when night falls. There’s no one to see who we really are in this darkness.
Alone, we are who we are.

The Final Destination

I long to be more than a temporary stop in people’s lives.

I long to be someone’s final destination.