Liminal Spaces


I’ve been thinking about liminal spaces a lot lately.

It’s an incredibly intriguing concept: a liminal space is essentially a transitional space. Think of it as a waiting area – you land here to cross over to another point in space/time.

’Liminality’ comes from the Latin word ‘līmen,’ meaning “a threshold and is the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of rites (according to wikipedia.) – Think of it as the in-between stage where you’ve left something behind but you haven’t quite reached your destination.

I had a strange feeling hanging in the airport terminal at 3 AM, waiting for a flight, half-asleep, sipping an okay cup of coffee. And as I wandered through the empty stores and the deserted lobby, nothing felt real and every responsibility felt like it was miles and miles away. I liked that weird energy. It felt like I was quietly floating in this limbo we call “existence.”

I also love the space between wakefulness and sleep. That moment where the world starts dissolving, reality begins to warp and my dreams start to take over.

And just off the top of my head, time flows so differently in these spaces/settings:

  • Highway food-stops at/after midnight when you’re on a road trip
  • Highways after dark
  • Bridges
  • Empty parks after sunset
  • Abandoned parking lots
  • Sunday nights
  • A theater stage with no one in the audience seats
  • My roof after it just stops raining
  • A petrol station in the middle of nowhere

If you’re simply aware of this glorious concept, it adds a certain magical essence to your life. It may feel kind of unsettling when you land in a liminal space, but if you can make sense of the idea, and open up to it, it can be a doorway to some wonderful, eye-opening experiences and revelations.

It’s nice to slow down, pay attention and learn something new when I’m hanging here. This space is an ultimate teacher to me despite (or because of?) all the confusion and anxiety I tend to sometimes feel when I’m here.



(i) What keeps me breathing is w(o)(a)nder and most days,

playing with perspectives helps me remain centered and grounded.

(ii) One does not have to be loud to be thunderous,

and one does not have to be tangible to be a masterpiece.

(iii) I come to think of it,

when the day turns to night,  I always have the light (and I’m ever so grateful.)

– I’m living in clouds of chemicals

In Pursuit Of Meaning

i. Twenty-four has taught me that happiness isn’t the highest aim of life or even a consistent phenomenon. As I look back, I’ve always yearned to get to the ideal mental destination, where I’m at peace with things, but that destination is an illusion. I’ve come across countless people, songs, books, films, experiences, dreams, cultures, and will continue to do so, till I die. So the only constant thing perhaps is change and this flux of consciousness, as I grow each day.

be patient, becoming is perpetual

ii. I’m utterly in love with silence, and with listening, and absorbing. I was up till 5 A.M this morning, and as I sat up on my roof, I was so in tune with the whispers of the earth. Letting go and slowing down is significant to simply declutter my being, and stillness is so powerful. A little bit of quiet never hurt anyone.

-the late night novelist

image source:

Lost and Found


Have you ever felt spellbound by the beauty of a simple moment?

When you’re gazing skyward and you feel like your heart is drenched in the light of the sun,

and your thoughts for once aren’t swinging all over the place.

You’re aligned with timelessness and are just being a humble observer.

Some places do that, don’t they?

The waves kissing the shore somehow silence my heart, every single time.


A Short Story

So I had to write a story under 250 words for work, using a line from the book ‘I Capture the Castle’ by Dodie Smith as a prompt. Here’s some flash fic in response to the prompt – “I write this sitting in the kitchen sink” (didn’t have much time but this was quite fun.) 


I write this sitting in the kitchen sink on a warm, summer evening. With a glass of sparkling wine by my side, I wash away the weariness of my day. I take a moment because lately I’ve been so fleeting and this sole spot by the window makes my world stand still for just a bit. I can’t tell you the name of the song that’s playing on the radio because I can’t remember it.

It’s strange how all it can take is one insignificant second to change your life forever.

It was one foggy moment and the next – I crashed into the side of the bridge, falling off into the cold water under it. When I woke up – I felt like I was born once again. I had no memory of who I was – all the happiness, pain and misery were swept clean from my mind. I could feel stitches under my skin and smell disinfectant and blood.

I panicked and bawled my eyes out like a newborn.

I felt like I accidentally hit “delete” on myself and I couldn’t even remember the man who claimed to be my husband. He looked incredibly hurt but how could I have helped for I didn’t even know him.

I write now, to remind myself of the self that remains although my memory is lost. After all, what are we without our experiences and memories?

I sit here with this glass of wine and grieve over the death of me.

Continue reading

September Blues


(noun) A word with Ancient Greek origins, psithurism is defined as the rustling whispers of the trees in a windy day, or the melodic swooshes from the leaves on the ground. 

  • etymology: psithuros = whispering 


2:19 A.M

i. I keep running into you,

In the middle of your favorite song,

And in the tattered notes I find in old books.

It feels like we’ve lived so many lives together.


ii. In the backyard of my house,

Beneath the pile of fallen leaves,

We buried our love alive under an unnamed gravestone.

-The Late Night Novelist

Labyrinth of Gloom

When I was younger, I used to believe in possibilities and happy places. I wanted to grow up faster to experience life all at once. And then suddenly, I grew up and I lost faith in things like magic. I’ve felt numb on days – this general lack of emotion was completely alien to me – I couldn’t even cry when I felt like dying – when I lost loved ones to death or to life – I just stood there, feeling nothing, watching as life spun around me like a whirlpool in slow motion.

But there are days, when I step outside and I’m warm in the sun and there are nights, when I sneak up to the roof and watch the stars shine while listening to Chet Baker, and for a brief moment, I feel like I’m back to my self again – the one I seem to have wandered away from.

Dark days are unavoidable but I know I’ll come back home to myself, even if it’s for just a little while – I will.