I’m sitting in my bedroom, amidst 200 unpaid bills and I ask myself- how did I end up with all this responsibility.

You see, I have been appointed conservator of my grandmother’s estate, as well as her guardian. It’s a long story but after my grandfather passed away in 2008, a seemingly good man moved in with my grandma. Shortly after, he started to have full reign of all her finances and personal belongings. We started to not hear from her much. She said that she had met a man- it felt rather quick but at that age no one can afford to buy green bananas, right? Some time later, An aunt who was on vacation realized that her house was “for sale”, there was no one living in it, and that she had been checked into the memory care unit of a senior living facility.

According to neighbors, this man had abused my grandmother verbally, and financially. Physically is something they suspect but no one wants to talk about that.

She was said to be once found running out on the streets, naked, at midnight. In retrospect, the neighbors now say that they think she must have been running away from him. Even though at that point the neighborhood had just thought that she had gone crazy and did their best to alert him to get her back “safely” home.

Subsequently, when we started calling the home, he banned all calls from family members. He did, after all have “power of attorney”. This scared me. I feared her dying, without me every getting to say goodbye.

We got a law case in order and after many painful months I have a responsibility that I never would casually request. In the process, so many family ties have been strung together and then ripped apart. Strung back together, and then torn to shreds that may never again intertwine.

I got in contact with people who I was thrilled to have finally met, only to come to realize that being the one In the court case is not the same as an onlooker who wants constant information but does not have to live In the case. My world became the case. I lost sleep, wondering if I even had a chance of winning this case.

I dislike John. He is the man who abused my grandmother. Drove her into insanity, told her she was crazy until her soul materialized the words that were nailed into her. He left her in a home, where he too lived but instead of spending time with Her, he was found in the rooms of other senior ladies. He sold all of my deceased grandfathers belongings, wrecked their beautiful house, dressed my beautiful grandmother in the most horrific of garments (my grandmother had the Best style). He then attempted to isolate all family from her. All for what? For money? For control? For power? I don’t know. I never will know.

Elder abuse is so real. I never thought it would happen to someone so close to me. So with cheque I write today, with every bank I call, I know that one less grandparent is victim to those who so heartless live for their own selfish ambition.

I see so many of my friends giving themselves to people who don’t deserve any share of such beauty, and it pains me. It makes me sick.

There is a difference. A difference between a boy, and a man.

A boy gets infatuated with you, and wants to bypass the foundations of friendship- straight to the point of passion, romance, and commitment.
A man knows the importance of the effort that needs to go Into that building process. He knows that the initial work to build that friendship will be what Sustains the relationship when limerence is no where to be seen.

A boy wants to possess every part you. He wants every second of your time, space and energy. He wants to crawl into the spaces of your mind that you have, with bold fond marked “work in progress, do not enter until ready”. A man takes what you choose to share with him, and respects the room you need to grow and blossom into someone who can inspire, challenge, make him see the world through unconventional ways. And to do that, you need time to be alone. To dream, create, explore, discover. And when you are filled with light only then can you shine what you have taken in on his life. Invasion does not equal love.

A boy makes you feel as though, you owe him some part of your body because of the feelings you share with him. The words you exchange. Because he bought you dinner for the past 18 dates. He feels like he is entitled to hold you in ways you Know you are not ready for. I know so many girls who have sex with the person they are in a relationship with, not because they want to, but because they felt obligated to. They felt like that’s what they owed the someone who signified the part of them that they could not find within them self.
A man loves you in a way that transcends the physical. Your body is not his playground, and he keeps a safe distance, reminding you that “our love needs no transaction”. You can feel his heartbeat from across the room, and even if your fingers never touch, his actions are enough to have you know that you are not alone. Your body is a temple, and He will Not violate that which is sacred.

A boy makes you feel insure. He digs at the wounds that you have been trying, so long to heal. He strategically strings together words that make you want to hold on to him till your knuckles bleed, for fear you may lose him to another.
A man makes a commitment to himself never to let you feel like you are second best. Your body is not a prerequisite. Bloody knuckles are something you will never have to have. You can be apart, and Know that he is working on parts of him that will bring light, life, and joy the next time you meet. He uses time apart, to craft himself into the very person who will Inspire you to be a better human being.

There are so many things that separate a boy, from a man. You just need to start looking at what is important.

‘Cause all of me
Loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections
Give your all to me
I’ll give my all to you
You’re my end and my beginning
Even when I lose I’m winning
Cause I give you all of me
And you give me all of you, oh

The morning after.


It’s the day after thanks giving. I did not have to throw up last night, and I don’t have to exercise compulsively today. It’s just another day. Yay!

Tried watching breakfast at Tiffany’s again yesterday. I could not do it. I absolutely hate Holly Golightly’s character. She comes off as painfully, and excruciatingly ignorant. I don’t know if one should call her a dreamer, or a bimbo. I really really don’t. But either way she is extremely beautiful and so I guess all her sins are effortlessly forgiven.

C’est La Vie, right? Why is that?

Almost thanksgiving.


It is almost thanksgiving! I have a lot to be thankful this year.

Firstly, I don’t live like how I used to. A year ago, this time of year meant that my battle with food would soon begin. My mind would be creating the perfect plan whereby I could just get away from everyone, and be with food. I never ever went to social gatherings for the company- are you crazy? I was only there for the Christmas cake, that if no one was looking, I would eat with both my hands. And on the other end of the spectrum, I would be so afraid of the food that I would create a morbidly restrictive diet plan, only to find myself in an inhumane binge, and even greater humiliation.

Last thanksgiving, I was on a mountain somewhere beautiful. I don’t remember how happy I was, but I couldn’t have been that happy. I was skiing and on a “everything is not on my food plan” type phase- because I was so afraid of everything, I just decided that if I eliminated everything, I would be safe. But I could never be safe, for I was a slave to food and my body.

I remember thanksgiving evening. I lost control- and who said I was ever in charge? Which deranged part of me ever even allowed me to think that I, even for a moment, was the one orchestrating my own steps? I remember binge eating like a person who had not been fed in days. I ate so much, till my stomach was in so much pain. Yet I couldn’t stop. I just kept eating and eating, until I had to throw up in order to be able to breathe. And after throwing up I went back into the kitchen only to do it all over again. I felt no dignity. I felt possessed by a demon. I just wanted to be left alone, with my food.

Looking back, It was not a physical hunger that I was trying to satiate. If it were, I would have stopped when I was full. I would be able to go to dinner parties, and actually have meaningful conversations. But I couldn’t. I only cared about the bread basket between us. It was something deeper that had a void. My heart had a hole, that no amount of food could fill.

This year I am thankful that I don’t have to live that way anymore. 365 days later and I am so grateful that I no longer am afraid of food, no longer have to think of how I am going to starve myself to “cleanse” myself from the food that I buried myself alive in.

Something more beautiful.


My life has transformed from something that once used to feel extremely empty and moderately stimulating, into something with so much meaning and value, I am so glad none of my old suicidal fantasies ever materialized.

I want this space to be something more than just a place of pictures, and meaningless rants. Rather, I want to write words that matter. Words that breathe life. Words that have the potential of adding something, to someone- somewhere.

So just for today- If you ever feel down, and like nothing really matters, it does. Or rather it will. It will and it will and it will.

Driving to have rice porridge in Koreatown now- yay!

A change of pace.


I’ve been so incredibly slothful, ever since my return from Japan. You see those pictures above? That is basically what I have been doing. Before class, during class, in between classes, after class. Just, frolicking in and out of the sun. Preferably in/under. I’m in the math lab now that sounds like meth lab when I say it out loud and gets people all confused, and unfortunately they only have One math textbook, which is currently in use. Part of me is highly disappointed that I will, once again be going home with homework to be done, the other part (the sloth within) of me is glad that I have a whole hour to do- nothing. Unless the existing book users decide that math is not for them, and leave. I secretly hope that happens, though highly unlikely. The way they are attacking the intermediate algebra makes me think that they are serious hopeful mid-day mathematicians. Unlike me. Just an accidental algebraic acrobat….. With no textbook.