To the 14 year old me

Dear 14 year old self,

  1. Do not try to escape the awkward teenage phase i.e. no makeup, no hair straighter, no curler. Stay ugly. Be humble.
  2. Having a hobby is way more important than looking pretty.
  3. It is okay to not have mongolian features.
  4. You are already very good in public speaking. Speak up when given a chance. If you have a mic in your hand and people in front of you “Speak” but please don’t begin with quotes. Like ew no quotes please!
  5. If you have cellulite, you should run, squat or play a sport; do not “not eat”.
  6. If you don’t like someone, have the balls to not like them. You don’t have to post a picture calling people your friend, sister, godmother or whatever!
  7. Do not listen to your teachers when they say “you need to improve your studies and behavior”. You are a very sincere straight A student.  के भन्न खोज्नु भएको सर?
  8. Always remember, if people call you “pretty” when they meet you they are saying it because you have a shitty personality.
  9. Boys will not like you. Deal with it.
  10. Use sunscreen.
  11. Stay home with your grandparents on February 9, 2012.
  12. Watch beauty pageants. You will win the national pageant in 2015.


22 year old self.







I went upstairs and looked at the moon,
wondering if you are looking at it too,
I asked old moon to deliver a message,
that I live each day waiting for you,

Right things comes at the right time,
the moon is patient and so am I,
and when the stars finally align,
I know we will meet eye to eye,

Make love to me with a touch of grace,
hold me tight and caress my face,
but until that day we are together,
I ask the moon to keep you safe.

I aspire to be happy

I had a friend who when entered the room made all of us smile. She was the definition of happy.
In a world full of pseudo sophistication, it was incredibly fresh to see someone so happy and candid.
She was contagious. She didn’t have the perfect set of teeth. Yet, she was so serene, that all of my problems faded when I looked at her.
From that day onwards my aim in life has become to be incredibly happy, like her.


They made fun of me. My accent, my sharp nose, my facial hair, and even my mother.

They made fun of me because I was more fluent in my mother tongue than English.

I can still hear their laughter.

I can vividly remember them mocking me when I asked something.

But everything changed one day when I put on my crown.

The day I knew my worth. The day their laughter changed to some unrhythmic noise.

I am not a victim. I am a symbol of perseverance.

I have become more than them but I don’t laugh at them. I pity them.

A letter to my love.

Dear Love,

It is ok that you picked her over me. Who wouldn’t pick a rose over a wildflower?

A rose is beautiful. Poets, philosopher and lovers are hooked over its magnificence. Even gods stare at it. The scent is celebrated and the color is worshiped.

But darling despite the beauty, you crush the rose when you pluck it. A rose hurts you with her thorns. Rose is vulnerable. Rose is dependent. Rose craves attention. Rose craves love. It is withered by storms and the wind carries it away unlike the ungroomed wildflower.

The messy wildflower stands still. Patient, strong and unwithered .It blossoms, spreads and grows without any attention. No man can crush it, and it will hurt no man. A wildflower is undemanding, independent and unbothered.

But I get it you picked her over me. Who wouldn’t pick a rose over a wildflower?




Cheers to all the girls!

Who fell for words

fell for guys that had the sweetest things to say

Cheers to all the girls!

who believed him when he said that he cared about you

Cheers to all the girls!

Who gave themselves to this guy,

Their safe place, their home

Who became a monster after he was done

Cheers to all the girls!

Who let a fuckboy take a part of them,

Cheers to all the girls!

Who survived the rumors that motherfucker spread,

Cheers to all the sluts,

Who hoped that he would be dead.

And now,

He is dead.


Today I am thinking of him

More than I should

I don’t want to remember him

I know he doesn’t think of me

Yet I still check my empty inbox

Still check his twitter feed

Thinking if there is a status about me

Am I crazy?

Or Am I mad?

To love a guy who has never loved me

To love a guy who looked at her

The way I wanted to be looked at

Am I crazy?

For trying to bring him the moon,

In hopes to impress him,

I painted his picture,

Painted the sky,

Wrote a poem,

Yet it never touched him

I couldn’t give him words,

Because I am not good with it,

So I gave him my heart,

It is still with him.