Tags Posts tagged with "featured"


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Written by Siraj Aalaa Ibrahim (ME218) | Edited by Zantal Siah (CM117)

“You would think differently if this land was your land and if these people were your people.”

Ann Morgan, a British journalist and author, quoted from a Qatari novel, one of the first to be translated into English, the “Corsair”, written by Abdul Aziz Al Mahmoud, summing up a thought-provoking project she undertook in 2012. It was the year the Olympics were being held in London, and after a self-evaluation of how little she read from outside of English speaking authors, Morgan embarked on a mission to read a book from (almost) every country in the world, setting the goal to a 195 UN-recognized states plus former member Taiwan in one year.

Almost 200 books to read and nowhere to start, Morgan decided to ask the world for its help through an online plea on her blog. Having just decided that the countries were not enough, she needed to actually be able to get English versions of books from countries that had fairly little published in languages other than its own. And even then, choosing and acquiring a good book was going to be a difficult feat. She knew that in the UK, only 4.5% of literary works published each year were translations, and while this figure is already tiny, many of those books published would come from countries with strong publishing networks and titles primed to sell to English-language publishers. In her TED talk, Morgan gave the example of French books: even though over a hundred books are translated and published each year in the UK, most of these would come from countries like France, while those from French-speaking parts of Africa were hardly ever published. The reality was that most countries on Morgan’s list may not even have available literature published in English, masking a whole universe of cultures and standpoints under the barriers of language. And Morgan, having rarely read books outside of British and North American authors, was, as she described, “a clueless literary xenophobe who couldn’t choose a good story from the likes of Namibia or Swaziland”. This was where her online plea came to the rescue.

She could now reach out to and be reached out to by people from all over the world, from Malaysia and Burundi to even South Sudan, which had just declared its independence the year before. Writers and translators and even simply book readers of varying ages and nationalities rallied to contribute to Morgan’s reading. About four days after Morgan posted the online appeal, she was particularly touched when a visitor, Rafidah, from Kuala Lumpur, about six thousand miles away, offered to go to bookshops in Malaysia and Singapore on her behalf and post her some books. Excited and intrigued, Morgan received 2 books from Rafidah: the Ripples and other stories by English language writer Shih-Li Kow, and Fistful of Colours by Su-Chen Christine, published by a Singaporean company called SNP and found at Silverfish Books in Kuala Lumpur. Rafidah’s kindness and enthusiasm turned out to be contagious among the other visitors on Morgan’s website, and soon, she had her very own army of bibliophiles.

Some authors such as Turkmenistan’s Ak Welsapar and Panama’s Juan David Morgan even went as far as to send her unpublished translations of their novels. For states such as Madagascar, Mozambique and the Guinea-Bissau, such unpublished manuscripts were all she had to rely on, and for the African island country of Sao Tome & Principe, she depended on volunteers from Europe and the US who translated a book by Santomean writer Olinda Beja just so Morgan could have a version she could read. This was for the tales that were written, and then there were those that were hardly ever written down. In places such as the Marshall Islands, one simply asks the local iroji’s (chief’s) permission to hear one of the local story tellers. Similarly, for Niger, a country in West Africa, local stories and myths are traditionally passed on via the griots, who are expert narrators and musicians trained in the nation’s wisdom and folklore from a young age.

Then came the reading – a strict schedule of 100 to 150 pages (about 3 to 4 hours of reading) everyday – in addition to reviewing these books on her blog and holding a full time job as a journalist. The commute to-and-from work gave Morgan 2 hours to read, but she needed to find at least an extra hour in the day, so sometimes, she even read on her lunch break. On her TED talk, Morgan went on to describe the wonders she encountered on her brilliant reads, from marriage rituals in a remote village on the shores of the Caspian Sea in Turkmenistan to Kuwait’s answer to Bridget Jones. In an interview with The Austin Review, she described one of her favorites: a Mongolian coming-of-age book by Galsan Tschinaga, called The Blue Sky, a story of a shepherd boy in the Altai Mountains and the strange world where sniffing people was a way of expressing affection and children smoked pipes. Morgan further described this author on her blog as one that could capture the wonder and weirdness of childhood and vividly brings readers on the voyage to the protagonist’s hopes and dreams. On BBC Culture, Morgan wrote that in the company of Bhutanese writer Kunzang Choden, she wasn’t simply visiting exotic temples, but seeing them as how a Buddhist would, and with Nu Nu Yi as her guide, she experienced a religious festival in Myanmar from a transgender medium’s view.

Books have an almost magical ability to teleport you to the wildest and most unimaginable locations, and through them, Morgan was able to travel far and wide, as well as embody unique struggles and perspectives begotten only to those who yielded from those cultures. “For a while at least, you look at the world through different eyes,” said Morgan. In her TED talk, she further went on to explain how this could be an uncomfortable journey, especially if the culture may have values that differ from your own, yet how this could also be enlightening. It could show you the prejudices you’ve collected over the year and a different side to a story you’ve already made up your mind about. Morgan’s quest is one that inspires us to broaden our own reading so that we don’t simply succumb to the familiar stories around us, but so that we also surround ourselves with views that spark conversation and new thought, so that we don’t forget that our world is complex and diverse, and while our experiences may not align, we can still connect with one another in a very real and human way.

To read more about Ann Morgan and the books she has read, visit these links:

What I did

The list

Written by Shobana Gunasekaran, Maria Ahsan, Yip Song Qing, Alya Jasmine Ngu Ee-Lyn, Syahirah binti Yuan, Amutha Aruvi Kaniamuthan

On the 18th of October till the 20th of October, the Psychology Club of International Medical University (IMU) hosted a Model United Nations conference themed Psychological Continuum in the Bukit Jalil campus. The main purpose of this IMU Model United Nations conference is to enlighten young minds on the dynamic changes the world continues to face. MUN serves a great purpose in terms of being a firing table giving the youth a golden opportunity of voicing their thoughts and perspectives.

During the Opening Ceremony, Secretary General Ms.Amutha Aruvi Kaniamuthan welcomed the Deputy Vice-Chancellor of IMU, Professor Peter Pook Chuen Keat, who officiated the conference by hitting the gavel thrice. It was followed by the keynote speakers, Mr.Muhammad Rehhahn bin Daniel Tudball Rehahn, President of UNAM Youth, Ms.Archana Vijay Kumar, Law Graduate Brickfields Asia,Dr Suseela Nair, Former Associate Dean of the Taylors University & Language Center & Heartfulness Meditation Trainee. The Secretary General highlighted how vital this conference was as mental health is becoming a critically rising issue today. The opening ceremony ended and the delegates dispersed into their respective committees and council rooms where they would debate for the next three days on various council topics.

Youth Assembly: The Youth Assembly council for IMUxMUN conference 2019 discussed about reducing the stigma surround mental illnesses and the rates of bullying- physical, social and cyber bullying among youth. The delegates discussed on the contributive factors and solutions that may be a help to the mentioned topics.

Crisis Committee: IMUxMUN conference 2019 Crisis Committee focused on the summit between the current cabinet of the United States of American and the People’s Republic of China. The objective of the summit is to provide a peaceful resolution and de-escalate the tensions regarding the current trade war.

The Social, Humanitarian and Cultural Committee (SOCHUM):

The main topic under discussion was that of the Question Regarding the Basic Rights of People with Mental Illness. The council was alarmed by the number of people suffering from mental illnesses around the world. Bearing in mind that people suffering from mental illnesses are expected to tolerate discrimination, segregation, and judgment from others. And recognizing only 28% of the countries provide some type of constitutional guarantee of educational rights for children with disabilities. Since the mentally ill are still seen as a burden to society some of the resolutions consisted of providing education to de stigmatize mental health as well as easy access to mental health treatments.

United Nations Entity for Gender Equality and the Empowerment of Women: 

The main topic under discussion was that of Providing Assistance to Victims of Rape and Sexual Harassment as a Method to Prevent Mental Illnesses. The council acknowledged the definition of rape being, and was deeply concerned about the lack of assistance for rape victims, noting 90% of adult rape victims are female. Females ages 16-19 are 4 times more likely than the general population to be victims of rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault, noting with regret Women ages 18-24 who are college students are 3 times more likely than women in general to experience sexual violence. Some of the proposed resolutions included the need to spread awareness about rape, and increase sex education, better victim assistance as well as safer work and school environments.


After the hectic schedules of debates, the committee organized a social night for all the participants. The event encompasses of dance and performances from students along with delegates engaging themselves in games and activities that evening and a chance to bond and relieve stress with great food and music.

Closing Ceremony

The guest of honour for this year IMUxMUN is none other than Yang Berhormat P. Prabakaran, one of Malaysia’s youngest Parliament members, who further emphasized the importance of mental health awareness in his speech. It was indeed an honour for the delegates to have their awards presented by the Yang Berhormat P. Prabakaran himself. Professor Dr. Rozainee Khaiuddin, President-Elect Persatuan Psikologi Malaysia (PSIMA) was one of the two keynote speakers who presented on advancements in the field of cognitive neuroscience towards mental health. The following keynote speaker was Ms. Vizla Kumaresan, Clinical Psychologies who talked about the current issues related to youth and mental health.

Overall, International Medical University’s first ever debut Psychology themed Model United Nations proved to be a success in managing to bringing together over 170 participants from both Government and International Schools and Universities. Youths from more than nine different nationalities and races came together to discuss some of society’s pressing issues and contributed their perspectives in solving those issues.

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Written by Harshitha Canchi (ME218)

I often wonder about how my life would be 

If we hadn’t met.

If I didn’t notice your scent lingering 

long after you had left the room

If I hadn’t seen you for you, 

Instead of the spiky exterior everybody else knew,

And then it happened.


The smallest taste and my brain was askew

See, you weren’t like the rest of them. 

You weren’t subtle about anything. 

You were fierce, 


You contradicted yourself so beautifully

I felt guilty for being confused.

But sweet things too, turn sour eventually

Yes, the last thing people felt about you was indifference 

And yes, it was this same quality I once so strongly envied


But you,

You flew too close to the sun, Icarus 

The distinct smell I once recognised immediately turned pungent…

It was clear we were nearing our end 

I hated how there was so much of you I couldn’t comprehend 

The more I came to know, the harder 

you were to defend.


Suddenly you were too much 

Too loud, 

too unforgiving. 

Too much of something 

for me to just feel indifferent. 

So I decided to let go,

of what could never truly be mine.


I hope we’re acquainted in another lifetime 

And I hope we can be friends. 

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by Johnathan Yong Yung Chien (CM118)

          The human immunodeficiency virus, or more commonly known as HIV, is the culprit behind what has been infamously known as the acquired immune deficiency syndrome, or AIDS. AIDS has plagued civilization for decades on end. Ever since the disease dawned, an estimated number of 36 million people had died from the disease, with 70 million more and counting of the global population being sufferers of the virus. At present, no real cure has been discovered for the eradication of the disease. However, with the continuous discoveries and breakthroughs made in the field of medicine, the human race is closer than ever to counter and eradicate HIV once and for all.

          In the understanding of the modern-day society, AIDS is a sexually transmitted disease (STD). Mass media merely highlights that HIV spreads through the conduction of unprotected sexual acts via the exchange of bodily fluids such as pre-ejaculates, semen, and vaginal discharges. In reality, HIV can also be spread through other mediums, such as blood. This is where a healthy individual comes into contact with HIV-positive blood through means such as open wounds, contaminated needles, blood transfusions, etc. Besides that, the virus can be passed on from an already infected mother to her new-born child. There is also a chance for a baby to contract HIV from being fed breastmilk. Contrary to popular belief, HIV does not spread through mediums of air, water, and casual contact.

          In the scientific field of microbiology, HIV is more specifically identified as a retrovirus. The way in which HIV infects its host is through the integration of its own DNA with the host cell’s genome. The host’s genomic structure, therefore, will be changed, and subsequently, its functions compromised, effectively rendering itself a factory for synthesizing mass copies of its lodger. Once the host cell dies via apoptosis, the newly synthesized viruses will emerge out of the host and infect other healthy cells. This effectively creates a cascade of continuous attacks on healthy cells.

          Why is AIDS considered dangerous in the understanding of the medical field? While not directly causing any deaths itself, it does all the dirty work until there is an opportunistic infection that can finish the job. HIV predominantly sets a type of white blood cell as its target, which is the CD4+ T cells. CD4+ T cells, or more commonly known as the T helper cells, play an important role in the mounting of a regulated adaptive immune response against pathogens. These cells will mount an immune response at first contact with the virus, causing early symptoms such as fever, headache, tiredness, etc. However, for a time period ranging from a few months to several years, the virus will go into a ‘latency stage’. During this period, the individual may look and feel completely healthy, yet the virus will continue to replicate at low levels and destroy T helper cells of which the immune response against the virus is already impaired. The current stage of the HIV infection can last for years on end before a person eventually progresses to AIDS, during which the coexisting virus had already effectively caused the dysfunction of the T helper cells. With the T helper cells exhausted and greatly lessened in numbers, the body essentially will be unable to defend itself against even the most commonplace of pathogens, such as the fungus Pneumocystis jiroveci. This fungus is found naturally in the environment and normally doesn’t cause any life-threating illnesses. However, for individuals suffering from AIDS, exposure to said fungus can cause fungus-induced pneumonia, which can eventually lead to mortality.

          At the present stage, there is no identifiable cure for HIV/AIDS. However, further research carried out in recent years suggest effective pathways to combat the spread and progression of HIV in already infected individuals. Antiretroviral (ARV) therapy is one such pathway. It works in such a way that it targets and blocks the different phases in a virus’ life cycle, effectively impeding the virus from replicating and synthesizing new copies of itself within the host cell. While antiretrovirals do not work by killing the viruses, the viral load in the body can decline to a level where it can be considered undetectable when treatment is carried on long enough.

          Aside from that, antiretrovirals also help individuals who are not yet infected with HIV to prevent against contracting it. The approach taken by the antiretrovirals is known as pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP). PrEP treatment is conducted when people pose high risks of contracting HIV, such as having a sexually active lifestyle or performing unprotected sex. It works effectively among these individuals by blocking HIV from establishing and spreading itself in the healthy individual’s body. The drugs administered for ARV treatment should be taken consistently in both cases. However, there might be a risk of relapse or development of drug resistance should treatment be halted.

          A potential cure for HIV might be in the works, after all. There’s the one successful case of total HIV eradication in a patient in the year of 2008. Timothy Brown, or more famously known as the ‘Berlin Patient’, is the one and only person who is completely cured of HIV. After having been previously diagnosed with leukaemia, he had undergone chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant. The donor of the bone marrow transplant was apparently naturally resistant to HIV. Initially, the patient did not recover fully after the transplant; he had suffered from delirium, blindness, and nearly whole body paralysis. Eventually, he learned how to walk again and fully recovered after 6 years. The news shed new hope unto discovering the potential cure of HIV, for the successful case had provided important and valuable information towards finding a potential panacea. As what David Mixner, a human rights activist, once said: “Embrace and celebrate the progress while not letting up the pressure until there is a cure.”

          The research on HIV can unlock ever so many new doors in the field of science, but many more challenges may arise should such a cure emerge. Are these treatments readily available for individuals from all walks of life? What about the commercialization and patenting of such drugs? Should future governments place down huge funds for the welfare of its citizens? The possibilities are endless. However, I believe that it is the responsibility of the government, scientists and all healthcare personnel to make sure that the cure can reach to whomever most needs it as receiving these medications requires access to a well-functioning healthcare system. With continued research and progress, a world without HIV is no longer unconceivable.

          We are much closer than ever.

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Written by Shobana G P (ME119) | Edited by Zantal Siah (CM117)

Day after day, after a long tiring day, all we do is surrender our bodies to our soft springy beds. Our eyes grow heavy and the burden on our eyelids are lifted as we deliberately feel our consciousness ebbing away the moment we hit the sack. Many consider the relationship with their bed to be a sacred one. We can all relate to the attractive force that binds us to our beds, a force greater than Earth’s gravity, an impetus so great that we’re willing to hit that snooze button just to get a few more minutes of shuteye.

As one drifts off into deep abyssal depths of slumber, a vision depicting real-life scenarios beyond the realms of reality begin to form. These vivid delusions are sometimes remarkably apocryphal as they mimic much of our day-to-day activities. Alas, in the face of reality, most of us have to, without qualms, get going with our monotonous life and responsibilities. Oftentimes, we drowsily drag our feet to the bathroom and henceforth, the ritual of a new day begins. As the water sprinkles on us from head to toe, we reminisce the fresh images of our recent dreams before they peter out.

Howbeit, during those on average 7 hours of sleep, some of us weave nightmares while the rest of us concoct sweet dreams. Most of our dreams are incidentally parallel to our subconscious minds, feeding off scraps of memories and our feelings attached to them. That hairy monster from your closet closing on you was probably Uncle Damon from across the street whom you were avoiding. Believe it or not, a dream is usually what starts off our day for about a billion of us. Dreams can either be just another figment of our imaginations and thoughts or perhaps an inspiration of our deepest desires.

Dreams are astounding in the sense that you get to do unimaginable things. Lucid dreaming—now that’s another royal mind treat waiting to be indulged. You get to steal the show, be the scriptwriter behind the scenes or become the star in the limelight. The real deal, though, is for you to decide whether or not your reality is a cut above that because sometimes it’s a blessing in disguise that it was merely a dream and you get to wake up to a finer reality. At times, however, we dread parting with our beloved comfy fluffy mattress because the illusional world seems like a much better place than the bitter pill of our current reality.

We make sandcastles in the air, treating dreams as if they are a means to an end of creating temporary happiness, an ecstatic feeling that will soon fade. A dreadful wild goose chase. Dreams can be a vital component of ignition to chase after our ambitions and also our goals. Dreams also pave paths for bigger goals. It is important to remind ourselves that it is our personal obligation to carry out these dreams into our realities once we leave our bedsides. Many individuals dream but not all wake up and work towards it. Failure is the path to success and dreams act as a catalyst to give you a dribbling taste of the fountain of triumph.

So, instead of virtually enacting the world you would want to live in, wake up and start painting the life you are living in with all those colours you had dreamt of. Dreams are surely more than just illustrations from your soul’s book. They may even be today’s answers for tomorrow’s questions, as told by America’s clairvoyant, Edgar Cayce. Hence, force yourself off the bed to make your dreams come true.

The path less paved, the road less travelled, turn your wildest dreams into smooth sailing wonders of success.

Written by Shiroshini Periasamy (BM117)

Deepavali, synonymously known as Diwali or the festival of lights, is an annual festival mainly celebrated by Hindus. Deepavali, part of which literally means light, symbolises the defeat of evil and darkness in its various forms, despite the various stories of origin for the occasion. The celebration spans across several days and varies according to origin and tradition, but I’ll be telling you how I, as a Malaysian Indian Tamillian, have been celebrating it for the two decades of my life.

Deepavali, a festival of lights

I have never celebrated Deepavali in my own primary residence in Kuala Lumpur. Instead, my family and I always go to either my paternal or maternal grandparents’ home, often both. That does not give me the excuse to escape the spring cleaning war my mum wages on our house though. We usually go to my grandparents’ house the day before Deepavali, or a couple of days before. All the biscuits and murukkus made weeks prior are arranged in little glass jars for guests to help themselves to, rangolis are made, and there is always that last bit of cleaning left to do. On the night of Deepavali eve, we light up numerous oil lamps around the house and pray to our deceased ancestors to look after us and ensure fruitful years to come. After my mum makes sure all the ingredients are in place for breakfast and lunch the next day, we retire to the living room to play games or watch television, being glad that this is an excuse among late nights of work and assignments for us all to be together. 



And the next day is Deepavali!!! What joy! Just knowing it’s Deepavali is enough to put a smile on one’s face. The elder women of the family rub sesame oil onto our scalp and hair as soon as we wake up, and later,after getting ready and donning our new traditional attire, we pray at home, and then head to the temple. After praying, we get the prasadham–sanctified food that is offered to God–and return home to mum’s scrumptious breakfast of idly, curries and multitude of chutneys served on a freshly cut banana leaf. That leaf makes everything so much more delicious, but before devouring the food, we take blessings from our elders. They give something to all of us, usually money, like the Chinese tradition of getting ang paos. Mum usually proceeds to finish cooking lunch as all our cousins and uncles and aunts begin to arrive. We watch the latest movies on TV, play games, eat all the delicious cookies and meals cooked that are fit for royalty, and continuously top up the drinks of our elders as they sit aside catching up with each other.

Oil Bath

That night, we sit back contentedly and watch various firecrackers being burst and lit, exclaiming when a particularly huge or colourful one lights up the night sky. Bed time is usually as late as we can go without succumbing to our parents’ scolding to turn off the lights as every minute spent with cousins is one that brings us back to our joyful childhood.

The next day is usually slightly sombre as all of us head back to our own homes, promising our grandparents and each other that we will visit every chance we get. The days after that are still spent wishing each other a happy Deepavali and sharing and eating murukkus for weeks with all our friends, ensuring that the joyousness of Deepavali captivates not only the ones celebrating, but everyone around as well.

by Anonymous

(1st Place)

My mother was a beautiful woman in her day. Even today at the age of 60 you could see the remnants of her beauty on the curve of her smile and in the depth of her eyes. I tip toed into her room as quietly as I could, because she had yet again fallen asleep waiting for me to come home from work. Her unconquered silver curls wreathed her face and there was the familiar scent of lavender in the air. She always did love scented candles. I took a few minutes tonight just as any other night to sit by her side, just breathing with her. Inhale. Exhale. Thank god she was still alive. Thank god she made it through. It was in these moments that I took the time each day to just be grateful. I would close my eyes and tilt my head back on the rocking chair beside her bed, letting the memories come gushing out of the trembling cracks of my heart. It’s been 20 years since we left and yet even to this day I could not think of him without it breaking my heart a little each time. Salty drops welled in my eyes and I let them leave a trail to my ears. Thank god. Thank god.  

I was 10 years old when I watched my father, drag my mother’s curls on the floor along with her. Too young to understand whythe only emotion I could feel was paralyzing fear. I can still hear her screaming for me to look away, trying to protect me. This only seemed to anger him, how blasphemous to make him look like the villain. With his fury, his hand hit with a harder force, this time she crumbled to the floor with blood. It was a loud and ugly sound, like the cracking of a bullwhip or the tearing of a limb. Power and malice, those were his weapons and he made sure we never forgot. This was one of the harder days. And one I doubt I will ever forget. 

I got upchanged and washed up for prayer. And as usual I spent an extra few minutes in quiet meditation not sure how to put into words but hoping god would understand my confused mix of emotions. I hated him so deeply and yet my mother had asked me to understand him. And if I could not understand him, to not hate him. Because that would do me more good. Because maybe, just maybe that would unbind me from the shackles I put on myself – the constant rumination over the past. And while I’ve spent many a year trying to forget and forgive, I’ve just learned how to numb. The scars have fibrosed and yet they’re easily friable and comfortably numb, all at the same time. I needed to change. 

It’s not that I don’t want to change. Sometimes or rather for most of my life-  I’ve just felt like an old oak tree with my roots firmly projecting through the soil, twisting and turning and descending into the depths of the earth. I’ve tried to get help before but I guess as much as I had to admit it – I never had enough drive to change myself. After all it was easier staying in what I knew, what I was familiar in – the self-hateI didn’t need to change when I struggled with major depression in college, not when I know that my husband, Subhi – the kindest person I know and the one I love most after my mother hurts when he sees me hurt. But something’s changed recently. My husband doesn’t know yet, but I’ve known that I’ve been pregnant for 3 months now. And for the past 3 months I’ve been in therapy. 

Subhi has dreamt of fatherhood ever since he was a kid himself. He’d excitedly and somewhat embarrassedly describe the details of these dreams to me over breakfast, giggling and laughing over the dirty diapers and baby bottles of comically variable sizes and shapes. I’d fall in love with this version of him over and over again – with this twinkle in his eye, passionately describing the minute details so I wouldn’t miss out on anything. And while I knew he would never force me into anything, I also knew this was important to him. For me, the idea had not crossed my mind, while somewhat naïve I simply didn’t think the shell of a person I was, was capable of harboring another life. I was a nurse, I knew how this sounded. I would’ve scoffed and mocked if I heard it too. But to me and what I thought childhood was – I never wanted that for anyone else. I knew my husband was not made from the same cloth as my father and yet I was still afraid. It was not something I could explain. 

For as long as I can remember – I’ve lived in self-hate and deprecation. I made it a point to be kinder to everyone else– after all you never knew what kind of scars even the most normal seeming people harbor. But when it came to myself – every thought was laced with contempt and every accomplishment was subpar. The slightest thing could go wrong and even if it was beyond my control it was inadvertently my fault. I live on the 23rd floor and if I came home and found the elevator right at level 25 instead of level 1 where I need it to be somehow that would color my day useless and while I realize that is incredibly insignificant, these small things had more control over my day that I did. I still loved baby’s breath and big bright sunflowers and Mozart and movies about the high school geek finally one- upping the mean cheerleader. I laughed just as hard in class with my friends when we talk about the times we mimicked Hannah Montana episodes and I always kept my grades up. By all definition at least on the outside I was a normal person. What they don’t realize though is that when the laughter stops and I’m all alone I used to let the familiar creeping despair come out. I was comfortable in my shackles with weights bearing down on my shoulders. If I was falling too far, sometimes I would call a friend, asked for the warmth to ward it off atleast for a night longer. But part of me always knew that this wasn’t who I wanted to remain as.   

I’ve been in therapy for 3 months – that’s 2 months and 3 weeks longer than I’ve ever been in therapy before. I used to always stop when it started to get real. It’s been a terribly hard experience trying to gnaw at years of fibrous tissue that had grown over something that died when I was so young. At first I was skeptical and found it hard to talk openly about my past, but I’ve been changing. One the first sessions she asked me whether I had any hobbies that I had lost touch with. I talked about how I’d always loved painting skies and oceans with brilliantly bright colors. She gave me an assignment that day and I went home and painted for the first time in years. My mother and husband complimented the aquamarine waves and pink skies and that was it. A flooding feeling of goodness filled me. I was so engrossed in myself I had forgotten how to enjoy those small things. Not just on the surface but really truly enjoy them. My pregnancy was what made me want to change but what I’ve come to want to change not just for my loved ones but also for myself. I am, atleast I am trying to equip myself with the tools to deal with the pain and rebuild myself. It’s a small step  but I  no longer grimace when I come home from work and I see the elevator at 25, rather I’ve started to giggle at why that had bothered me so much for so long.  I’m not completely cured and I don’t know if I ever will be. I still cry when I think about those hard times but I’m also hopeful to reclaim my freedom from my own shackles. For what may be the first time in my life I was really trying and I don’t think I could be prouder. 

I got up from prayer and went straight to see if Subhi was still up. I found him watching Netflix on the couch. “I’m pregnant and I found out 3 months ago.” I blurt out with no thoughtSubhi got up and stared at me for a bit, walked up to me and gave me the warmest hug. “I started going to therapy again just when I found out, and I wanted to be in a better place when I told you this, I’m sorry for keeping it from you.” I tried to explain. “I love you.” He said. I smiled. And we both stayed up that night, stories that we had missed from each other’s lives spilling out, laughing and crying and unbelievably happy. Before we knew it the copper hues of morning peaked through our windows. Streaks of magenta and soft pinks danced on the porcelain sky spreading with it the start of a new dayAnd I knew, I was going to be alright. I was going to be just fine.

by Nor Najiha Zulkifli (ME218)

(2nd Place)


I might sound like an ungrateful person, but my life is yet to be what I had hoped. I have a job and a boyfriend, Darren. And I was just promoted to assistant supermarket supervisor, it may not be glamorous but it pays the bills. And Darren is my modern prince charming. I still can’t believe we’re together. I won’t lie though, he has his dark side. And every day, I wake up with that feeling of hopelessness and despair. Like there’s something that I could, should be doing than checking supermarket stock.

Reminding myself I have this month’s rent and bills to pay, I swallow my unease and head towork in my car. What can I possibly do, I’m cornered.

All the while thinking of good thoughts, so that when I get to work I have a reason to smile.



“Good morning!”, I greeted my cute favourite cashier, Minnie, fresh off of high school. A part-timer until she gets her college offer. She replies with a less cheerful manner than she used to.

“Anything to report today?”, I ask her. Thankfully I’ve worked up a smile, but greeted by a haunted look on her face, I can’t help but frown.

“All is good, and today I’ll stick around to help unload the cereal shipment this evening.”, replied Minnie hurriedly, muttering under her breath about something. Something she was not
supposed to tell me. She then left.

As soon as I turned around, I meet Julie Holden, my frenemy.

Okay, I’ve been dying to use this word.

My nemesis.

“Why, good morning, Dork.. I mean Ashley, the new assistant supervisor. So glad you’re on time to work today.”

I don’t know what she’s trying to say, I’ve never been late. And God, does she have to use my name that way?

“Good morning to you too, Julie.”

It took every fibre of my being to suppress all the rude and inappropriate things I really wanted to say to her. In the end, I settled with; “I would love to chat, but I’m waiting for a truck load of goods and I have preparations to do. So, if you would excuse me..”, with that I closed the door, trying to sound as obnoxious as possible.

I don’t understand why she would pick a bone with me. I did absolutely nothing wrong.

Or did I?

I first started as an ordinary cashier. After six months, Darren, who is also the Supermarket Manager, confessed his feelings to me and after that we started going out. Two weeks later, the
Supermarket Director promoted me from cashier to Junior Supervisor. Three months afterwards, I was Assistant Supervisor.

I asked Darren if he had anything to do with this. He said no, telling me how much I deserved the job more than anyone. So that was that, until.. I overheard Julie.

“Can you believe that woman?”


“Don’t play dumb. I’m talking about Dorkus. She’s such a sl**, she had eyes on Darren from the start.”

“But do you think Darren would let himself be used?”

“Oh sweetheart, you give men what they want and they stay at your feet.”

“God knows what she let Darren do ..”
That was when I had to defend myself. I came out of my hiding spot and tried to challenge her.

But, I had nothing to say.

Julie saw me and nudged her gossip mate, Carly. “Well, at least she heard it straight from me.”

She laughed and left the common room, with Carly right behind her.

Why did I freeze?

The answer was obvious.

She was right.



I pushed the thought of Julie away and do my work.

During lunch time, Darren comes in.

“Hey babe. Wanna go out for lunch?”, casually he asks. He knocked on the door and went straight behind me. Wrapping his arms around my neck as he asks me out for lunch.

“I would love to …”, I stopped, a sudden thought occured to me.

Darren noticed and asks “There’s a ‘but’ coming along is there?”. He lets out a sigh and sits on my desk.

I didn’t like the look on his face. It was as if he regretted walking here, now forced to hear my ramblings when all he wanted was someone accompanying him for lunch.

This was one of his dark side.

But, I felt, no I knew this was important and I had to discuss it with him. I have been putting it off for so long.

“I wanna talk about us, it’s not what you think though,” choosing my words carefully, searching his face for any sign of worry.

“You see Julie has not been very happy with my promotion and she has started spreading rumours about me.”

Specifically about us.

“I know I’ve asked you this before but now I want you to be really honest with me,” His face was still unreadable.

“Did you do anything, I mean even a small recommendation to Mr. Charling of me for the position?” It took all of my energy, afraid I’ve stepped out of line with Darren to finally utter those
words. Fear had stopped me to confront Julie but I can’t possibly be afraid of a discussion with my own boyfriend.
Darren took his time. He got off my desk and instead leaned on it.

“Look, I’ve told you before and I am going to say it again. No.”

He gave me a stern look and began to walk out. Guess lunch was out of the window.

“Darren, wait!”, I got up and went out to him.

As we were face to face, I asked him to do something about Julie.

That was the last straw.

“What do you want me to do? First, you accused me of using my position to win you over and now you want me to deal with Julie. You know I have a lot more important things to do than babysit my staff?”, Darren snapped and stormed out.

He didn’t even care.

I heard him loud and clear.



Darren wasn’t always like this. Or it was me who didn’t see the signs.

You see, I was never the popular kid neither was I the smart one. I was just … me. My name didn’t help but predefined who I was. A Dork.

School was a nightmare. No one took me seriously. Throughout the years, I just couldn’t wait to get out and finally be free to do whatever I want. I got through reassuring myself each day it was
the other kids that were holding me back and not me.

But now that I am where I am, who is in the blame?

My family?

My parents love me and so does my sister. They have always  pushed me to do greater things in life. But, they never understood my dreams.

So as soon as I graduated from college, taking some course I hardly benefited from, I moved to the city. A good four hours away from them.

So, when Darren told me he liked me. I went completely blind. I needed companionship. And I needed it bad. Friends from work warned me about him, but I didn’t care. I’ve been on my own for so long. Even if he turns out to be a jerk.

The cute guy likes me. I never said that before in my entire life.



With the glooming telltale signs of a failing relationship, I focused on work, skipping lunch entirely.

At exactly 2:30 pm, the electronics shipment arrived. As assistant supervisor, I was in charge of making sure everything that we had ordered had arrived and was in good condition. And this was my first shipment. I had to make sure all was in order.

The cereal shipment had also arrived but I gave the task to my junior assistant, Carly.

Minnie was helping her out as she had told me this morning.

After making sure all was in order, I made my way back home. Sending off the rest of the work to the staff.

Just as I was leaving, Julie stops me. She was the Facilities Manager, she had no business here.

“Good night, Ashley. Make sure to get enough sleep,” I was prepared for a mean comment, but her greeting completely caught me off guard.

“Umm, you too. Julie,” was all I could muster.

Just when I thought life couldn’t get any worse. My car breaks down. I called for help and me and my car was towed to the nearest workshop.

The mechanic, Sam, says it’s probably a problem with the engine. Something I couldn’t understand and says it will be a few days to get done.


“Your name and phone number, Miss?” Sam holds out a pen and notebook for me.

“There, thanks.”

Taking the notebook from me, he smirks. Letting out a stifled laugh.

“Excuse me, Miss Drakus? Am I saying this right?”

Yes, my name is a laughing stock. At school, I’m Ashley Dorkus.

Now that I’m an adult I have Julie to remind me of how lame I was.

One of the reasons I hate meeting new people. They’d laugh at my name.

“Drakus, that’s right. Just, just make sure to call when the car’s done”.

Without waiting for a reply, I rushed outside and called a cab.



Home. Finally. Today had been so exhausting, not to mention I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. But, I didn’t feel like eating.

There was a hole in my stomach, all the events of today had completely shattered me.

Julie, Darren, my car.


Instead, I slowly made my way to my bedroom and sat on the floor.

I tried to stop it, but why?

It would feel so much better. So, I let myself cry.

It’s okay for big girls to cry, right?

What have I done to deserve this?

There’s nothing in this life worth living for. The job I got is because of a favour, despite Darren’s reassurance. Because who would want me?


After all this time, Darren doesn’t want me anymore. He finally sees me for what I’m really worth.

Even he sometimes jokingly calls me Dorkus even after I told him I didn’t like it. Better to shut my mouth than offend him. Better to shut up than to lose him.
I’ve abandoned my family for so long, they probably thought I died somewhere.
And maybe that is for the best.

I finally climbed into bed, pulling my knees to my shoulders into a fetal position. My favourite hobby nowadays. Wallowing in self pity, contemplating about my life.

Just when I thought I’ve run out of tears, more comes out all of a sudden.

When my tears dried, I sit up. Taking out my journal from under my pillow.

Ashley’s Journal is written in big block letters. A book I confide to whenever I am in my moods.

On the first page..

To-Do List

1. Become a journalist
2. Continue Grandpa Frankie’s fight

Grandpa Frankie. Franklin Dorcus. He is the sole reason I’m proud to have this name. He was a fighter till the end. He battled with his demons that were way worse than Julie. But most of all, he fought for what he believed in.

Back at his childhood home, a shoe manufacturing factory had been built. And everyone went from menial labour with measly pay to factory labour with a monthly pay. However, the factory
was cutting corners to maximize profits. The chemicals they were using were dangerous. My Grandpa Frankie knew it but nobody listened. He saw the factory workers’ health slowly deteriorate so he knew he had to take action. Fast. Everyone deserted him, saying he was crazy. In spite of his college degree, the townspeople labelled him an attention-seeker, just wanting to be part of the town’s gossip.

Grandpa Frankie was right all along. He died due to lung cancer, probably after all the exposure he got himself into a five-day protest he organized against the factory. He died with a smile however, for days before, the factory was finally shut down.

After that, I vowed to myself I would do just that. If I were to die, I will die fighting.

Reading my journal always gave me spirit. One reason to keep breathing was all I needed.



The next day, I went to work as usual, well not as usual. My car was still in the shop, so I took the bus. At the parking lot, I saw Mr Charling’s car. Well, what a surprise. Usually, you’re afraid of your boss. Well, not me. I adore Mr Charling, he’s the greatest boss anyone could ever have. From the strength I’ve earned from Grandpa Frankie, I happily skip towards my office. Hoping to greet Mr Charling on the way.

Turns out I didn’t need to, he was already waiting for me.

“Good morning, Mr Charling!”, I greeted him with a smile. But as soon as I saw his face, I knew this was not a good morning.
He had a worried look on his face and when he saw me, it turned into a look of disbelief. Darren was in my office too. He avoided eye contact with me.

“Ashley, it’s been a while,” Mr Charling was referring to the last time we met.

“Yes, it has. How are you?” I asked, dreading the small talk as I knew there’s something to this morning meeting.

“I’m doing great, Ashley. Well, how about we skip the chit chat and great straight to the point.”

“You see yesterday’s shipping from Pansonic was supervised by you, I believe?”

“Yes sir. I’ve logged everything and every appliance was in good shape.”

“Yes, yes I read your log. But, there seem to be some discrepancy.” Mr Charling said hesitantly.

“Discrepancy? What do you mean?” I asked not understanding what was actually going on.

Mr Charling then looked at Darren, who then took the logbook where the details of the shipment was written down.

“The amount of appliances we ordered were different from what is in the store room. And yet, you didn’t notice this.” Darren explained, with a glazed expression, with almost a defeated look.
Saying there is no hope for Ashley.
Mr Charling then explained that last night, an unmarked grey truck was let into the loading bay by my access card. There were no plates on the truck and the men who came along with it were all wearing masks. They knew very well that there were cameras in the store room.
So it had to be an inside job.

And all fingers were pointing to me.

Mr Charling gave his ultimatum, either return everything and he won’t file a police report or go to jail. Either way, I had lost my job.

When I tried to explain that there has to be a mistake, he turned a deaf ear and stormed out.

Darren on the other hand, stayed around in the office. I started crying when Mr Charling left, but Darren just stood there at the corner of the room.

When I finally stopped, I looked up at him. He had his eyes fixed to the floor.

“Darren, do you actually believe this?”
“That I would steal?”. My eyes were still wet from crying, with blurry vision, I looked at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know. When I saw the imbalance, I was hoping you logged it wrong. If that was the case, I could’ve talked to Charling about your mistake.”

“Wait, you expected me to make a mistake?” I asked, my voice suddenly steady and an octave higher. Tears dried now.

“Y-yes, Ashley you’re not really fully trained yet for this kind of responsibility. You, .. truth is you got this job because of me,” finally he tells me the truth.

I couldn’t take anymore of all this nonsense, so I began walking out of the door. Not before Darren grabbed my hand.

“Hey, Ashley. If it isn’t you, then why don’t you take a few days off. To chill out.”

“And if it is me?”

“Then, I advise you to turn yourself in,” with a stern voice Darren replied. Without missing a beat, he continued, “And Ashley, you know what this means for us?”

“I’m sorry, for now you can keep your job, but I can’t have you as my girlfriend,” I was bracing myself for that. I didn’t expect the impact was this bad, though. Like my heart was ripped out and beaten with sticks then put back in. Only to be yanked out again. But unlike the situation
with Julie, I knew exactly what to say.
I took a deep breath and searching for my confident voice, I told him, “You know, our relationship was over the minute you lost your faith in me. Well, I lost my faith in you way before. So, goodbye. Darren.”

I planned on saying more but I was too wounded to stay any longer.



A couple of days passed since disaster struck me. And still no word from Mr Charling or Darren.

Is this it? Will I be sent to jail for something I didn’t do? Will my freedom be taken away from me so forcefully?
Maybe, I should just admit I was involved and pay for the stolen appliances. Maybe even convince Mr Charling to let me keep my job.

And face Darren again? No way.

Lie out of this problem? What would Grandpa Frankie think of that?

He fought for truth, and I’ll do the same.

I took out my laptop and began searching.

Time to relive my dream of writing. I signed myself up for a writing course at a college. I had enough money in my savings to keep me afloat.

Truth will prevail. I had faith in that.

Just as I was finishing up, my phone rang. Unexpectedly, I rushed immediately towards it hoping it was Mr Charling. At this point, Darren calling wouldn’t be so bad either. But whoever was calling was not in my contacts. Turns out my car is ready. Well, hooray.. At least something in my life is repairable. Calling a cab, I rush over. I needed the fresh air anyways.

“Hi, I’m here for my car,” I was pointed to the desk at the back of the shop.

There was no one there, so I rang the bell on the desk. Then came a man in overalls, dark-skinned but quite handsome. Great, with Darren gone I’m a free woman and do whatever I want. Or be with whoever I choose.

“Hi, I’m here to get my car,” I told him. On his overall, he had his name patch. Michael.

He took out a clipboard and asked for my name.


“And .. a last name?”

Of course, time for some humour.

“Drakus. Ashley Drakus,” he gave me a puzzled look.

“Drakus, for real?”, he said while instructing another worker to my car.

“Yes, no need to hold back. Go on, laugh but can I just please get my car back.”

“No, I wasn’t about to laugh, it’s such an unusual name,” he said, giving me a smile that would’ve melted my heart if I weren’t facing possible jail time.

As Michael opened his mouth to continue talking, Sam came in with my car. I paid and left. Not wanting to hear any hurtful comments about my name.

Although, on the way back, I couldn’t help but replay Michael’s smile in my mind.



After a whole week of silence, I finally showed up to work on Monday. To beg for my job? Hell no! To own up? Neither. I wanted to know what exactly was the evidence they had against me.

The only thing tying me with the crime was my access card that I had lost a week before the robbery took place. I had also reported this to Julie. She was in charge of access and security, could she be responsible?

I had my own problems to worry about and blaming somebody else without proof would do no help at all. Mr Charling realised this too so handed the situation over to the police. I gave my
statement and after further investigations, they had no other proof or motive to prosecute me.

So, I was off the hook. Officially by the police.

I only found out months later who the real culprit was. Someone I least expected. Minnie. She claimed to be forced by her boyfriend to gain access into the storeroom. She was a good girl so I believed her. I could only hope that the police would believe her too.

The next day, I went to Mr Charling with a resignation letter. He understood the ordeal I have been through, apologizing for accusing me. Stating, the job was open if I were to change my mind. But I’ve made my decision.

I’m destined to do more and this event has opened my eyes. While I’m battling with bullies and thieves, constrained by fear and a feeling of incompetence, people are actually hurting and
dying with no one to help them. Battling with diseases and corrupt governments. They are the ones who are truly imprisoned. I should be the one to help them. I am Franklin Drakus’ granddaughter after all.

So, the first small step I would take is to apply for a writing course I’ve been dreaming of. And afterwards, obtain a job as a journalist at that magazine company that focuses on stories of famine and environmental issues. Writing about these events would definitely help to spread the news of such real-life horror in a modern sophisticated world we live in today.

That is what I should be doing.



Exiting the supermarket, I went to the sidewalk to get a hot dog.

As I was leaving, a familiar face came by.


“Umm..,” was all I could muster.

“I’m Michael, the mechanic from the other day,” he extended his hand towards me and I took it.

He ordered a hot dog and I silently prayed that there’s more to this chance encounter.

He got his food and we started walking together in no particular destination.

“So, how’s the car?”

“Well, I had a great mechanic. So it’ll live,” he laughed at my remark.

Something like a child’s laughter that was somehow very pleasant to my ears.
We found a bench and sat down. I finished my hot dog and so did he.

“I’m really glad we met, I feel like I’ve offended you,” he turned to face me. I gave him a puzzled look.

“What do you mean? We’ve only met,”

“Yeah, it’s your name. It’s unique,”

Here it comes. In that split second, I made a solemn promise to myself, if he makes a witty remark of my name, I’m leaving no matter how cute he is.

“Drakus, do you know what that means?”

“Umm, no not really,”

“Drakus, prince of dragons. Well, in your case the Dragon Princess. I bet you’ve been through a lot to gain that title.”

“Well, as a matter of fact..”

And so I told him the recent events that led to my resignation. He sat, listening patiently to everything I say.

Then it was his turn to tell me how life had been for him. Racism hit him hard back home, and in a way we had something in common. He had to work hard to open the workshop, not to mention cut the stereotypic chains people had against him. Having a darker skin than anyone else has labelled him a criminal, simply because of statistics. It’s not in the genes, just that they were poor and forced into that title.

Trapped in a world that has already predefined us as who we are supposed to be, not who we want to be. Breaking free from those chains would take a lot of effort and courage. Not to mention the fear of being wrong. What happens when we are destined to be what everyone tells us to be? What happens if our dreams are too far to reach? That they were right all along. Well, if it is too high to jump, grow wings and fly. If things go south, turn to the other pole.

If my name destined me to be a dork, then so be it. Sitting there with Michael made me realise no matter what I’m destined to be, I am always free to be happy.



Inspired by:

My definition of a free society is a society where it is safe to be unpopular.”

– Adlai Stevenson (31st Governor of Illinois and United Nations ambassador 1961-1965)


“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes”

– Mahatma Gandhi


informal : a person who behaves awkwardly around other people and usually has unstylish clothes, hair, etc.

by Sarah Z. Virani (ME118)

(3rd Place)

I could feel the wind rushing past my face, the birds whistling, the ground crunching and sweat trickling down my back. My breathing, initially erratic was now more controlled as I trudged along. I took another moment to take in the area we had covered and made a mental snapshot. My heart skipped – it looked like somebody had painted the earth in all these wonderful colours. No matter how many times I stopped to look at the view, I never tired of it. The hills stood gracefully, with maize plants growing at various levels and carving steps on them. The water of the lake glistened reflecting the beautiful blue sky, streaked with cotton-wool clouds. The branches of the trees swayed giving breeze scented with the fruits they yielded. I wished I could plant my feet into the ground and stand there forever. I felt on top of the world. I’d hiked such a great distance, I’d reached a point where I was as close to freedom as I’d ever hoped.  

My whole life I craved to find the one thing where I could lose myself, empty my mind and come back feeling renewed. Being a girl from a conservative family, it was difficult for me to be as adventurous and my thoughts wanted me to. My brother would travel with the school on treks, while I’d stay home because it was “better” for me. It really didn’t sit well with my heart and I longed for an escape.  

I got my chance a few years ago to spend a day hiking in the jungle and my experience was absolutely breathtaking. I felt like I’d found my wings – they’d been hiding in my feet all this time, itching to stretch out. Suddenly I found myself hiking every other Sunday and every time I came back, my wings felt stronger and my heart lighter. Every peak I conquered, pushed me to climb a steeper one and gave me a new perspective on the world around me. Every time I thought the I knew a place, seeing it from a different angle, opened up a whole new world. Every time I came back down I felt changed. I’d go back to my normal life, but I never forgot the world up there.  

Fears, I’d never known I had, erased themselves. I learnt to trust my instincts because nature gave me clarity that the city silenced. I let go of the negative thoughts that made me insecure and my worries about my life. As a hiked, I let the sounds of the leaves calm my mind and the sound of feet hitting the ground create a soothing rhythm. I allowed nature to take control of what I could not and seemed to fly higher. Flying higher meant I’d come back down even faster, with more power and energy to deal with my problems.  

The world is so beautiful. Sometimes we’re going through a really tough time and you really wish something significant would change in your life. But sometimes, we have to make that change. We have to put ourselves out there because, as cliche as it sounds, after every hard climb there is freedom and there most definitely is the most incredible view. So, fly so high your troubles can’t reach you. 

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Written by: Sachi Jhingran (ME119)

To take the term, “International Friendship Day” literally as an international student at IMU, it means that my friends are indeed overseas.

It was only after moving abroad to Malaysia to study that I realise the value of friendship as a manifestation of your personal values, morals and ethics. The metaphysical bond between you and your friend isn’t tangible, yet it remains an embodiment of your similarities and mutual care.

When you’re physically separated from your true friends whom you trust, whom you confide in and who mean something to you, you learn the gravity of those 6 letters. It is easy to belligerently throw the term “friend” around in regards to people we may not have any emotional bond with. This is a result of Zuckerberg’s idea of Facebook friends – revolutionising the implication of the term “friend” in itself. It’s mistaken for knowing someone, rather than caring for someone.

After frequenting visits to Australia, I essentially prioritised which friends I would have the time to see and which friends didn’t make the cut. Some might consider this approach emotionless or primitive, others pragmatic, but it filtered through what I call the “Zuckerberg zone” and distilled my social circles to those people who enhanced the experience of life. They were constant but never in the forefront and it wasn’t obvious who those people were until now.

It was through this I learned that the mutual trust and solidarity that exist between real friends are unbreakable nexuses of connections beyond our conscious reasoning, and often we must allow time or physical barriers to reveal what connections withstand compromise. After all, one can only test the strength of something by making it susceptible to breakage.

Ultimately, friendship is manifested through intrinsic bonds of camaraderie; they’re not apparent but they are powerful. Without bonds, salt wouldn’t be able to form a crystal lattice and season your spaghetti. Imagine a world without seasoned spaghetti. Horrific. Coming from a girl who’s physically separated from her lifelong friends, let’s remind ourselves that we have the privilege of making friends that add flavour to the dish of our lives, enhancing the experience.

That’s the food of friendship.

P.S. I apologise for reducing my friends to salt in an analogy, love y’all!