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.

staring at the ceiling
once again the clock striking twelve
joints, you can’t be moving
once again feeling me dissolve

When I look at your smile,

My world spins on a dwindling axis,

When you hold me close in your arms,

My heart beats, matching your ebb and flow.

her smile was bittersweet
but it might’ve just been me
or more likely the not-completely-ripe orange
that i chose to eat this morning

Seven tickets. An island of dreams. The chance of a lifetime.