Stories By 'MAMINA SHRESTHA'
I remembered the blue windows on the white walls. I remembered the white windows on the blue walls. One after the other, I assembled, dissembled and reassembled every detail from the pages of my memory. The weight of every moment was hurting the back of my head, the core of my chest. Little did I know, the details: their remembrance and absence both would hurt as much.
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Papa and I have been walking partners for a long, long time now. Maybe having no personal vehicle at home brought us together in taking long walks. We enjoy each other’s company, even when the walks are mostly quiet. We are not big on conversations.
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When I faced harassment last week and fought back against it, people told me I took a ‘brave’ step. Some came up to me and told me that I did something many couldn’t. Others told me I had done something they didn’t.
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It is mid-December already. The hours in the morning and evening are cold and harsh. But I like cold. I love winter. I, however, can’t say the same for that day.
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With a new smartphone releasing every other month, your mind might be clouded with choices.
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Letter by letter she tells a story,A story of aches, a story of joyShe writes them one letter at a time.The Braille on her wrists and
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