Change never just happens, it is crafted, shaped, directed, and engaged. — Interesting times call for interesting thoughts. Interesting perspectives, interesting walks. One of these “interesting thoughts“ surrounds the politics of nonviolence. As the events of the last few days and weeks have unfolded, the world seems to be bifurcated (yet again). There are those who decry the violence shaking our communities…

Originally written April 2019, Published Jan. 2020 because I’m a dumbfuck It’s 2 years since the first failure post. Linking it here for myself: https://medium.com/@abhinayar/failure-311f9a646536 And 1 year since Pt. II: https://medium.com/@abhinayar/failure-pt-ii-6ea4056aa757 It’s another year in the books. And it’s funny — I’m kind of in the exact same situation…

She watched enthralled as they fell. The first few wisps of winter air nipped at her exposed ankles as she scrunched her scarf tighter around her neck. She was in her favorite place. The lights, the sounds, the smells — even the freezing weather. They all brought back so many…

A sense of aggression burns deep. You’re unsure where from or directed at whom. A sense of entrapment, wanting to break the boundaries, the confines. Then a realization that there are no confines but the ones you placed around yourself. You want to fight something but there’s nothing there to…

He stumbled around the corner, righting himself by the handle of his suitcase. His body was tired. His mind was worse. As he walked forward he felt his vision blur around the edges. This was nothing new, and was a surefire sign of cancer according to WebMD. Unfazed, he attempted…

The stillness was what shook her the most. Not the screams — they came later. Not the pain — that was a constant. No. What really surprised her was the moment of absolute purity, that punctuated time between the very last blast and the first cries for help. It was…

He sipped his coffee- bitter & black. Headphones blasting rock he leaned back and stretched, taking a moment for himself. He watched the people around him. The baristas doing their best to keep up with the flood of customers. Pump, pump, push, press, pour, fill, cap, repeat. The mother bouncing…

It was 4AM. There’s a saying that 4AM isn’t a time for lovers. 4AM is a time for broken artists to throw down their broken bottles and try again. It’s the time for the night owls to crack their knuckles and call it a day. …

He leaned back against the table, absentmindedly twirling his pen, blank notebook page in front of him. He had painstakingly scheduled time on his calendar to “reflect”. Whatever that meant. Introspection, reflection, and their many synonyms all seemed like words people would not stop hurling around. …