Now, as all of you have probably observed, my posts have been growing further and further apart as the bane of the education system saps me of creativity and vivid thinking.

In less dramatic terms, Year 10 sucks, Social Sciences are the next bunch of subjects I’m going to throw a party for when I say goodbye and English teachers need to stop saying “there are no wrong answers” when my practice papers say otherwise…

Be that as it will, something strange did happen. After failing a Geography exam, I spent two whole seconds grieving the non-existent loss of cartographic talent then proceeded to scream in utter joy and hysterically laugh, the realisation that this was one of the last Social Sciences exams I’ll ever fail hitting me in full force.

the sky is streaked

white trying to mix into the deep violet

turning into a soft blue

wait.

this isn’t right

Life’s interesting, you know? As much as you can mentally prepare yourself for a moment, that at first seems so daunting, when the expectation is succeeded, you don’t know how to feel. You were so caught up, so paralysed by the negative outcomes and how to cope, that you forgot how to live.
It’s crazy, isn’t it? A simple phrase. “I’m sorry.” Words that seem minuscule, insignificant, yet carry so much meaning. We were taught these words, “please, sorry thank you” ever since we knew how to speak, and despite this, they still stab like a knife in the heart.
But that’s life, right? What we’re always told. “Life’s hard. Life’s not fair. Deal with it.” Truth be told, it is hard to deal with it. So much history, so much time, and in the end, it all seems to have gone to waste.

Fueled by dangerous winds, changing directions and incredibly dry conditions, wildfires were kickstarted across various parts of Los Angeles last week. The Eaton and Palisades fires are still actively raging through greater Los Angeles, and a new onslaught of Santa Ana winds is expected to bring extreme wildfire danger to Southern California.

Santa Ana refers to a strong hot dry foehn wind from the north, northeast, or east in southern California(Merriam-Webster).

Oh 2024, what a wonderful time,

An amalgamation of scares, fails and sleepless nights,

From AI blunders to political gaffes,

You had us all rolling in utter delight.

Dear 11-year-old self,

As I found myself reminiscing over the memories and nightmares stemming from a whirlpool I have now been yanked out of, one which I lovingly termed Junior High School, a notification popped up on my phone, a mere number of days after my 15^th birthday. “Write a letter back to your 11-year-old self” was the event set, created on April 10, 2021, the day when you published your very first blog after months of deliberation, apprehension and stringent editing, courtesy of Mum. So, here I am today, your older, wiser, more experienced and far more scarred persona, writing a letter back to you, answering all those questions you had no answers for back then. Consider it a testament to the time capsule you created, a reminder of the straightforward, joyful childhood I wish I could return to. Guess what, it’s now three years until your graduation, darling, and time is slipping away like a flowing river, never slowing down.

Remember?

https://miliscape.com/dear-15-year-old-self/

When I first introduced myself to all of you, starting this website for the very first time, I’m sure the readers who stuck around from the very beginning would’ve remembered my avid description of Em, my younger sister, as the bane of my life, yet the person I relied on to make my days a slight bit lighter than usual.

May 16, 2021, she was introduced to the world as Em, the Empress of Mischief. Introducing… The Empress of Mischief! | Mili’s Mindscape

Sarcastic, dramatic and with enough sass to go around even as a newly turned 4-year-old, that attitude has only been further exacerbated by her rapid transition into pre-pre-teen mania, geared up to hit the dreaded 10 in two years. And today, I find this very creature writing as a very special guest writer on my blog.

Time really does fly. Four years, hitting a fifth next year. Looking at my writing back then, I do want to bleach my eyes and question everything I did as an eleven-year-old, but at least that’s a dominant marker of growth and progress.

So, once more, after a four-year hiatus, I hereby introduce (with the loud sound of a bugle), the Empress of Mischief, yes that’s right, my darling disastrous sister, whom I lovingly call ‘Em’.

I want to apologize for the long periods of delay between posts. I was swamped with yearlies and recurring assessments, losing writing inspiration at the rate of light years (1 parsec, anyone?). I will attempt to post more regularly henceforth and try my best to minimize the unnecessary wait caused.

The last time I wrote a post on Durga Puja was three years ago. Or something. All I know is time flew by, getting sucked into a wormhole, and I found myself, once again this year, celebrating the same Puja again.

For readers of Girl in Pieces and The Way I Used to Be comes an emotionally gripping story about facing hard truths in the aftermath of sexual assault. Mara and Owen are as close as twins can get, so when Mara’s friend Hannah accuses Owen of rape, Mara doesn’t know what to think. Can her brother really be guilty of such a violent act? Torn between her family and her sense of right and wrong, Mara feels lost, and it doesn’t help that things are strained with her ex-girlfriend, Charlie. As Mara, Hannah, and Charlie come together in the aftermath of this terrible crime, Mara must face a trauma from her own past and decide where Charlie fits into her future. With sensitivity and openness, this timely novel confronts the difficult questions surrounding consent, victim blaming, and sexual assault.

• Girl Made Of Stars, by Ashley Herring Blake

An entry for a writing competition I recently participated in, with the theme “Tomorrow”. It’s an allusion to the conflict we currently face, so find out if you can do some poem analysis right there :D.

Tomorrow, aren’t I brave?

Tomorrow, please take me away.

Tomorrow reaches out a loving hand,

Just to snatch it away.