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Creative Writing

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Literature

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Travel

Between Patriarchy & Silent Shrouds.



The Sargasso Sea is the area of the North Atlantic Ocean that lies between Europe and the Caribbean. Ships often found themselves caught amid this space and it was concluded that the people on these ships would be stuck between two cultures, due to the central location of the sea. This centrality forms the basis of the novel Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys, the protagonist residing in an unfeasible space between two cultures. The novel is about colonisation, a battle with identity and belonging. Upon reading through the narrative, I recognised the correlation between Antoinette’s life and my own.

My life has always been a perpetual navigation between two conflicting cultures.

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Inside The Bell Jar.


My earliest memory is of me sitting in my grandfather’s window, leaning against the glass, marvelling at what appeared to be life; the effervescent world outside.

My grandfather was a barber, the front of our house had been converted into his shop. It was positioned on a busy road with a convenient bus stop beside our front door. Sometimes the line of people awaiting the bus became so long that passing cars would slow down to inspect the source of commotion. Others walked by, momentarily glancing and then losing themselves in their strides.  
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Walking The Plank On A Sinking Ship.


Sometimes I couldn’t access myself because the darkness was too alive in my veins and I didn’t know how to get out of my body.

I had to massacre this sadness; all I could do was bleed it onto paper to forge a sense of vacancy in my body. I wrote endless myopic words, I kept going because sometimes it was a way for the secrets to surface, the only means of survival. Just words on a page, letters touching, infinite spaces between them. Sometimes the letters didn’t have any correlation and other times they met like long lost lovers under the sun.
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Too High On Ourselves.



I immediately wondered why the bus driver could not have waited an extra few seconds for everyone to be seated before perilously manoeuvring the vehicle back onto the road. I held onto the metal pole for dear life, searching for the least suspicious-looking person to sit next to. I needed to make a quick decision because the driver was going to turn left in approximately three seconds and there was a high chance of me losing my balance and being unable to retain my composure. I fell onto the closest seat and greeted my neighbour who proceeded to unapologetically mock the vivacity of my hair. The scent of Calpol and cigarettes lingered on his leather jacket; it must have been a wild night.
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The Emotional Gauge.


I was thinking about our capacity to experience emotions, the extent to which we allow ourselves to feel them, the magnitude of their depth, and their transitory nature.

Emotions arrive in various intensities and frequencies, but how do we measure them? How do we establish whether to feed or disregard a sentiment? What is it that determines how much of the emotion we are going to allow ourselves to feel? Are we confining and desensitising ourselves from our own sentiments through this process of extraction? By eradicating our capacity to feel something or not feeling it in its entirety, are we internalising pain and storing it in our bodies?
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