Heroines.

They say, meeting your childhood heroes disentchants you. This glorious image you had will vanish. You will realize that your hero is just a human being like everyone else. So it’s better not to meet them when you grow up. Thank God I didn’t lose my ability to see the world as a magical place.

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Home.

When I quit my flat, it had just turned October. Summers’ days were fading, mornings and evenings slowly getting nippier and grey clouds covering the sky oftentimes. I was sitting in front of the window, watching planes of the nearby airport taking off, while I filled boxes with bits and bobs. Darkness started to creep

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True Blood fringes my Game of Thrones.

I admit it. I am highly prone to addictive behaviour. Especially when it comes to entertainment. When I have found a book or TV series that I like, I have to read/see all of it, end-to-end. I am probably a bit of a nerd, too. The kind of nerd that read The Lord of the

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the epitome of happiness (is radiant)

he remembered his schooldays. images which welled up from a river, one that emanated from him, underground. a hallway with brown banding, a smell of wood, turpentine and varnishes. a room with tall windows, from which he looked down, at the circular construction of the auditorium, and behind, the school sister’s exuberant vegetable garden. the

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The question is answered.

Why am I doing this? It all comes back to the people we encounter. A friend of mine once told me that her days are successful when she enjoyed them. She’s an artist. That’s an interesting perspective of success, I thought. So. After two years of working solely as a writer on a novel, far-off

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Kitty lives with someone else.

A part of me always wanted to have a pet. Of mine own. My very very own cat. With whom I would have a secret language, which only we’d understand, who’d sit on my window-sill, prowl around me legs in the kitchen, canoodle with me on the couch. (Yes. This installment is about cats. It’s

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Certified love transmitters

Miro can let my mouth spirit away. His mouth is a creature of its own. If somebody drew a caricature of Miro, it would be an enormous laughing mouth. Miro is the heart of hearts, says Monica. Monica, who sits in the garden at times, flirting with men twenty years younger than her. These men,

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Home is an infinite space.

39 hours between East and West The crescent moon doesn’t give much light tonight. Only a handful of stars blink and twinkle above the coconut trees. But the air is warm. Like every night. A few revellers stumbled by, on their way home. It was not quiet, where we stood, but it came as close

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God lives in a mango tree.

29 hours of silence As I wake up and realize my silent vow has begun, I can already overhear a conversation in my head. About what this woman said to me last night, just before going to bed. I showed a painting to my friends. She sat next to them. How come a few words

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