Courageous Conversations

 As a poet, I have always prided myself on being a person who expresses my love, gratitude, and just overall emotions... albeit at times in a very dramatic way... to the people I love. I have always been a firm believer in telling the people you love and value that you love and value them, as often as possible. You never know when a person might need to hear it. We all go through silent battles we don't share sometimes. But I will admit, I have somewhat been a neglectful daughter. And today, as I usher in a new year (which, hands down, has to be my favorite holiday. Maybe only Easter will beat it, really), I want to show them some appreciation. As a child, my no-praise, no-physical-displays-of-affection, strict, and academically expectant parents were hard to understand or see as loving, not going to lie. And of course, after my quiet, down-to-earth, rule-abiding, reserved older brother set the tone for what they should expect from their children, a loud, larger-than-life, as the...

It’s been a while, and I’m not even sure where to start the update, but I guess, like every normal person, I should probably start with a greeting? Hi, how have you been?.... Yeah, that doesn’t sound natural even to me as I’m writing this. Oh well, let’s not do that again! So, allow me to fire off honorable mentions of updates before I get to my point today. I survived the year of chaos, I graduated, completed my pageant reign, checked two other things off my bucket list, and I guess, in small and simple words, I finally found my footing with God. And in more expanded terms, that is what today’s post is about. God. And my relationship with Him. A small testimony, if you will. While I don’t think I have ever really been too far away from God, for a girl who was born into a family of believers, I had to find God myself, in my own complicatedly simple way. But through the rollercoaster of it all, God is good! While starting from ninth grade might be too long of a story for one post,...

 One of the most profound, and perhaps saddest, realizations I’ve had growing up is the shift from the question “What did you do about it?” to “Why bother?” I believe I have always been an advocate, even before I had the language for it. If I trace the origins of that identity, I find it scattered across the quiet but powerful influences that shaped me; my parents, my teachers, the Sabbath school stories that taught me what it means to be human. They taught me to speak up against bullies, which later became my love for advocacy and poetry; to stand against injustice, which grew into my passion for the law; to show up for people, which shaped me into a mentor and, despite my attempts at being “ cool and mysterious ,” to be someone my friends would call warm and bubbly. They also taught me to forgive, though that is a lesson I am still learning. If I had to distill all of those lessons into one recurring idea, it would be this: I grew up being faced with one question, again and aga...

Allow me to use very Gen Z language for a second:  I was today years old when I realized that for some (perhaps many) people (particularly men ) special acknowledgment of Violence Against Women and Girls (VAWG) is framed as “protecting the weaker sex.” If you read between the lines, what this often means is this: VAWG is given special attention not because of structural injustice, but because women are perceived as physically weaker and therefore in need of extra protection. And what struck me most? This reasoning sometimes comes from highly educated, pro–women’s rights men. At first glance, you might think: the wording is uncomfortable, but maybe they’re not entirely wrong. Allow me to challenge that. Recently, I asked my 15-year-old sister a question: “Why do we say gender-based violence or violence against women and girls? After all, violence affects everyone. Women are human. Why single them out?” She responded: “It’s not just about the violence. It’s about misogyny and society...

There is something so inherently taxing about being a woman. Or maybe that is just my period talking. Yes, I said that out loud. Publicly. As if it is some radical act to acknowledge the simple biology of existing in a female body. I have never understood why we are made to whisper about something that visits us every month like a recurring storm. One week out of four. One quarter of our lives. And emotionally? Let’s just say I was not surprised to discover that there are barely two weeks in a cycle where a woman truly feels like herself, balanced, clear, steady. Imagine living in a body that feels like it is negotiating with you half the time. Half the time. That is not poetic exaggeration; that is arithmetic. If you are a girl reading this, consider this your validation. If you are a man, thank you for trying to imagine it. But trust me, it is heavier than imagination allows. Still, this is not really about periods. Or even about womanhood. This is about a confession. I am tired. Not...

What does it mean to be a feminist as a Christian woman? I want to preface this by saying two things: First, I believe that every Christian who genuinely seeks to understand the word of God, to some extent, embodies feminist principles. Second, no matter where I am in life or where I go, I will always be deeply grateful to feminism and the feminist community. The sense of sisterhood and empowerment it gave me has profoundly shaped who I am in a unique and beautiful way. With that in mind, I find myself grappling with a challenging realization: I stand at a crossroads where both patriarchy and feminism have, in their own ways, sown seeds of disillusionment toward men. Whether it’s the poor logic and judgment of misogynistic, patriarchal figures in my life or the growing reality of how men mistreat women—coupled with the idea that change is improbable and the narrative that good men are rare—both have led me to wrestle with an uncomfortable discontent. Yet, amidst this confusion, I hold ...

 "I do not wish to be protected, I wish to not need protection!" The recent news of yet another woman—a mother—enduring unspeakable brutality in the name of culture and tradition left me in shock. If you haven’t heard, this woman now lies in critical condition after being publicly beaten by her husband, an act sanctioned by community elders. Tied to a tree like an animal, she was brutalized in front of her children and neighbors—people she once trusted—all because she refused to return to her abusive, addict husband. A man trained by the military, he beat her mercilessly, and not a single person stepped in to stop him. Time and again, I hear "culture" used as an excuse whenever I demand basic human rights for women. But after hearing this story, I had to pause and reconsider its meaning. The dictionary says culture refers to the shared beliefs, values, and customs that define a society. Is this what we believe in? Is this the behavior that defines us? Have we become...

Trigger Warning This post discusses sensitive topics including assault, abuse, and trauma. If you or someone you know may be affected by these issues, please take care of yourself while reading. It’s okay to step away if you need to. When will it be enough?  When I was four years old, the mentally ill brother of the owner of the house we rented dragged me into a storage room while I was on my way to the toilet. He pulled out his penis and asked me to "show him mine because he showed me his". It was terrifying, by some miracle the wife, his sister-in-law, unexpectedly opened the storage room, and I survived. She instructed me not to say anything and to ignore him because he was ill. I didn't understand what happened, and I was even more clueless of what could have happened.  All I knew was for my four year old brain seeing the male genitalia was traumatizing. So I did what every child does, I cried to my parents when they came home, completely forgetting the warning I was...

 The Quest against Time and the Fear of aging:  "Age is a funny thing. When you're young, you can't wait to grow up, excited for each birthday, bragging about being older, all because it symbolizes the freedom of being able to do anything, to be anyone. Your fantasies ranged from astronauts to presidents, models to princes or princesses. Then years go by and you find yourself dreading the next year, finding yourself under the pressure of becoming someone, walking away from the belief that you can be anything or anyone you want to be. You put yourself in this four-sided box, always trying to be this idea of someone you should be.  And instead, each approaching birthday feels like another reminder of how many years you've been on this planet and how little you've accomplished; another reminder of feeling unaccomplished and not as powerful as you thought you were; and you then find yourself racing against time to be somebody, do something, because then you'll be w...

"Let my faith change my life, not justify it!"   Years ago, when I was struggling in high school, I announced I was an atheist; I didn't want to believe in God anymore; I was even doubting His existence. Looking back, that was one of the biggest cornerstones in my life, and I mean my whole life, not just spiritually. It was the first time I had seriously questioned and even walked away from the religion I had inherited—the religion I was raised in. I saw God through new eyes, and I got to know him personally. When I did, I knew I had found my home.   It's funny how, now, I can't even imagine not having God in my life. Not know him like I do or have the relationship I do. If you had asked me then about miracles, I would probably give an answer that would let you know how cynical I was, but today I would say, "Of course I know about miracles; I am standing here today because of not one, not two, but millions of big and small miracles God has given me throug...

 "A little step goes a long way." I don't remember when I first learned about the concept of mental health , or even when I started to try and understand mine. For a young girl from a  'developing' country it is not exactly a term that is normalized. And though it has not been an easy road, I am glad that I did. I had once read a quote that stuck with me; it was something along the lines of '... how sad it is to have to live your life translating your love because you love someone who doesn't speak your language...' I may have butchered the quote, but you get the gist. I had then thought it was worse to have to live your life translating their love because they fail to love you in the way you deserve.   Now I think it is worse to live your life misunderstood because you never knew how to translate your pain in a way those around you could understand. How can you when you can barely understand it yourself? That feeling of doubting yourself—feeling like ...

" Maybe it was never about fitting an imaginary timeline..." I think year 20, will always be one of my favorite years of all times! It is by fare my favorite so far. If I could describe it, I would say it was everything, everywhere, all at once but in the best ways possible. twenty days before I turned twenty, I travelled to my first country outside of my own. I had always wanted to travel at least once out of my country in my teenage years, it had long been a dream of mine and just twenty days before I had permanently exited my teen years, I did it. The universe can sure be funny that way, I had all but given up at that point. Since then I have travelled to four more countries, two of them being outside of my continent, crazy right? But what is even crazier is actually everything I got to do during those travels! I am honestly so grateful. It is amazing how life can change so fast though, I was dreading turning 20, felt like I was too old but had nothing to show for it and i...