Protected: Tell Me, Honey.

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Lists/ MCQ’s (24/01/18)

*TRIGGER WARNING*(?) A 17-year-old girl makes a mental list of foods she wishes to consume even though her Graduation Day Ceremony is in four days, she has to wear a saree, and she demolished a whole entire Oreo Silk after doing the same to a Twix bar less than 24 hours ago

  1. Strawberry Cheesecake Ice Cream/  Lemon Cheesecake
  2. Taco Bell’s Cheese Quesadilla
  3. Red Velvet Brownie (a CCN rant is overdue)
  4. Chianti’s White Sauce Spinach and Mushroom Ravioli
  5. Thai Green Curry with Rice
  6. Eliza’s Halloumi Pasties (should maybe stop watching MasterChef)
  7. Honey and Lays Belgian Waffles (yes, Lays chips, the blue packet, with waffles)

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Editor’s Note, Entropy (12 B)

To the family I thought I’d never have,

Hey, you.
Yes, you.

There’s a lot I’ve been meaning to say to you, and for a while now. I would like to apologize for my inability to assign as major a portion of my daily schedule to you as I was able when we were younger. Do you remember playing running-and-catching together in the school grounds? Those blue carpets at the back of our old classrooms? The swing-sets that were and still are the foundation of countless friendships?

I could write a (really, really fat) book (or an entire school-life’s worth of class magazines) just reminding you of the past 12 years in detail. Make a mental repository of those memories. They’re all you’re going to have of school life a year from now, and you will cherish them like nothing else, I guarantee.

Today, I leave the job of recollecting the joyous moments we’ve shared together over the years to you. Today, I’m writing instead to tell you just how much you mean to me.

We met twelve years ago. I’ll admit I was rather apprehensive at first. You were a strange person, in a strange new place, doing your own strange things. Strange. Not a bit like everything I’d known my entire lifetime (all five years of it)! Perhaps it was the almost comforting unfamiliarity we shared that united us.

I’d like to call us sailors. At every point during our school careers, we’ve taken over different duties and steered this ship successfully together, and we’re nearly at the end of our voyage. Every time I’d waver, you’d be my anchor, help me tide over the rough patches each wave brought with it. I trusted you to never let me sink. To this day, we are each other’s safety boats, and are so willingly. We’ve taken turns being Captain, guiding each other, never letting the other lose sight of what’s ahead. You’ve given me the courage to look directly in the face of fear, until it backs down. We’ve hit icebergs head-on, our little navy with a bond stronger than the Titanic could ever have been.

Thank you for the petty fights, and the major ones, and the ones that weren’t really fights at all – just unnecessary drama before vacations because we were afraid of how much the absence of the other would hurt, but also too egoistic to admit it. God, we’re capable of immense immaturity, but some of our exchanges could’ve come straight out of a movie.

Thank you for lending me your sweatshirt when I forgot my name badge, keeping my horrible ID card photo a secret, even switching shoes when I had PT. Thank you for the badge fights, hand cricket, Sudoku and crossword races, basketball and dodge-ball games, PE exam practices, and yam cheese, yam burger, soft potato, chipchipchip. Soft potato, chip chip chip.

Thank you for the field trips, for declaring that we are family through the smallest things – dancing, singing, laughing, crying. Together.

Thank you for the inside jokes. And for laughing with me at jokes our teachers cracked, and maybe for being that one kid who had the audacity to ask out loud, “Why’d everyone suddenly go so quiet?” on the rare occasions we did all at once for no apparent reason during class. As if that wasn’t how we should’ve been for the entire duration of the lesson anyway.

Thank you for always having my back. And for literally standing behind me, beside me, in front of me, as I drew in the sand with my foot and cleaned my black shoes on my socks in/ out of “height order”. And for letting me use your bag as support for mine on half days.

Hey, you.
Yes, you.

I’m going to miss you so, so much (just in case I haven’t made that clear).

– Maithree with Maitreyi
(Editors, among other school-related things, this one last time.)

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From the Moon and Stars

Dear Dark Night

You don’t give yourself the credit you deserve. Sunshine, for some reason, equates to happiness (they call it “sunniness”) in the world we live in. People crave light. People see themselves in the daylight. It reassures their insecure selves.

How powerful you must be, dark night, for you make me feel beautiful when I cannot see myself, by only whispering into my head what I look like to you. You make me feel like magic.

Dear Dark Night,

You’ve taught me to make sense of the mess I am to create the matchless constellations that fascinate people so. 

Dear Dark Night,

Thank you for teaching me that sometimes it’s okay not to shine. And that never should the sun’s shining make me feel unimportant or irrelevant. I have to come back graceful, brighter, and more divine and know that I’m worth everything when the sun isn’t.

Dear Dark Night, 

Thank you for knowing to summon the clouds for me to hide behind whenever I needed. And for convincing me I must come back each time, because I am needed.

Dear Dark Night,

Thank you for coaxing me out of my retreat every time my flickering threatened to die out. I’m so lucky I can be confident that our love means you would be dull in my absence. Your sky would be less well-lit. I couldn’t ever do that to you.

Dear Dark Night,

You’re always there when I am, and I am ever so grateful for that. Your constant presence in my life comforts when I feel lonely, for you ensure that I’m never really alone.

Dear Dark Night,

Never doubt that you’re beautiful. Exquisite. Truly denightful. Never feel like no one sees you. You are not an absence. You are not a substitute for the sunshine when it needs to rest. You are irreplaceable and capable of things I, and everyone else, can only depend on you for.

Dear Dark Night,

You are, after all, what makes the moon and stars worth looking at.

Love,

Your Moon and Stars.

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A Note To Routine Things

Dear Table,

I apologize dearly for how little I get to see you, your surface. I know it’s my fault that I rarely bother with cleaning you up. I really should place those stacks of books and piles of shirts elsewhere but I can’t bring myself to do it! You’re rather cluttered, yes, but hey- if I know exactly where everything I need is in that mess, it doesn’t count. Right?

“Accessible design is good design.” – Steve Ballmer.

Table, I’ve done you good design.

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