does a writer have the right to change science?

a poem provoked by a question asked by john green: “does a writer have the right to change science?”
___
i don’t know much about science
but i know that

energy cannot be created nor destroyed
my love is energy
no, i believe we are energy
and darling, i will never be destroyed
my love for you will surpass the laws of science
every atom of being will call out for you
my love will transfer
from my heart to yours
until your cells are made up of the same love as mine
until you can feel my name pulsing through your veins
i don’t know much about science
but i know that
i love you so much
that it doesn’t matter
matter is anything that takes up space
and you take up all of the space
in my mind
in my heart
in my breaths
when we are apart
you are a part of me
naturally
we have adapted to fit together
__
stay brainy and stay beautiful.
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am i an activist?

activist /ˈaktivəst/ (noun): a person who campaigns to bring about political or social change.

campaign /kamˈpān/ (verb): work in an organized and active way toward a particular goal, typically a political or social one.

the question i’m asking myself then is am i a person who works in an organized and active way to bring about change? i guess the answer is yes.

i would never call myself a human rights activist. do i actively pursue the preservation of human rights? yes. but i always felt that the title “activist” was too powerful and esteemed for little old me to use. it should be reserved for people like emma gonzalez, who delivered an incredibly powerful speech to thousands of people on behalf of march for our lives. or marsha p. johnson, who piloted the legendary stonewall riots of 1969.

not me.

over the last little while, i’ve struggled with actively promoting what i believe in without arguing or fighting with the people i love. i’ve felt like a failure or a hypocrite when i sit silently instead of exposing and attempting to combat the ignorance of others.

but i’ve learnt that sometimes you can’t change minds. sometimes people will be stubborn and close-minded and apathetic and will refuse to see your perspective. that doesn’t mean you give up. it just means you keep fighting in smaller ways. you keep chipping away at the iceberg and one day, you might get somewhere.

i will continue to actively bring about change. i will not hesitate to correct you when you use words that should not be used. i will inform you of true facts when you believe in silly misconceptions. i will agree to disagree, but never for one second will i surrender my beliefs to please you.

maybe that’s the spirit that it is within all of the activists i look up to. and maybe, just maybe, if i keep fighting, someone else will be able to look up to me.

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i miss paris

if it wasn’t obvious from my instagram, i miss paris. every since i was eight years old, i’ve dreamed about visiting and last august we finally got to go! we were only there for less than 48 hours, but i made the most of every minute. so here are my favourite memories from paris. i should be studying for my french exam, but this is basically the same thing (right?!)

 

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the moment we stepped out of the airport and into a cab, it began to rain. though gloomy, it was already the paris of my dreams.

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we thought we only had a couple hours before our next flight (date mix-up) so we went to go see the eiffel tower at 2 a.m. as mentioned, it was raining and the drops created this sparkle effect on my camera that makes it look even more magical.

we went to a café near trocadèro, which is a viewpoint to see the eiffel tower. i got pasta and the most delicious chocolat chaud i’ve ever tasted!

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as a side note, paris has the prettiest architecture and the most beautiful streets i have ever seen.

we saw all of the famous landmarks!

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and i had this divine mango gelato from a bookstore called shakespeare and company (would def recommend if you are a book nerd!) that is right beside notre dame.

we also went to canal st. martin, which is not that popular but it was a nice change to walk alongside the bright, colourful boutiques and the quiet canal. also, if you are in the area, maria luisa has the best pizza in the universe!

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for dinner, we went to a halal burger place called BUTCHER! delicious food and really cool vibe.

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we ended the day by watching the sunset at the eiffel tower. i would suggest to bring blankets and something to sit on (!!) but we made it work 😉

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and finally, we got the exact moment we were waiting for – the eiffel tower lighting up. it was gorgeous. 

that was our day in paris! hope you enjoyed this post and i really should get back to studying now 🙂

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happiness feels warm

september 28th, 2017:

i’m walking home and it’s autumn, my favourite season. the leaves crunch under my feet, the winds sifts through my hair – i am content. i’m doing well in my classes, i’m editor-in-chief of the school newspaper, i’m not particularly stressed about anything.

i know i am a broken, though. a glass with a chip, an abandoned house with shattered windows in the cold of the winter.
but today, there is a fire inside of me. i can feel the flames licking my stomach. people come to warm themselves by the hearth, this house has become a home to many lovely souls.
so i sit. i warm my hands by the fire, the chill of the air cuts through me but it doesn’t matter. i am whole, i am filled with joy to the brim. and as i feel the heat of the fire on my face, i think of the days when the flames are extinguished.
this won’t last, i say, fires can go out with a flicker.
but i won’t despair. i will make fires, i tell myself, i will burn down forests in the blink of an eye.
so i do.
and to think, i didn’t know i had a box of matches beside me the whole time.
– happiness feels warm’
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i am poet, hear me roar

I AM POET: HEAR ME ROAR

Hear me whisper
Hear me think of 10 ways to describe the way he kissed her
Without using the word “kiss”
I am poet
Hear me scream
Hear my shout into the abyss
As I fall to my doom
And even after I lose my voice, I will still yell
In case someone just might hear
I am poet
Watch me crumble
Watch me fall and break apart right in front of your eyes
And then watch me put myself back together
And write a damn poem about it
I am poet
Hear my cries
Hear my lies
Hear my attempts and my tries at normalcy
Because I’ve tried to stop but the words just keep coming
I am poet
And I will listen
And I will snap
And I will clap and cheer and whistle
Because truer words have never been spoken
Because we are siblings
Bound by words
By oaths unkept, by promises forgotten, by love lost
The type of love you once compared to a river but you can’t remember why anymore
Because our love is fire, and our pens are matches
Watch our hearts burn like paper
And in this room
The hearts pounding are all broken ones
But we are still pumping to the same beat
Because we are the underdogs and the overachievers
The liars and the cheaters
The do-gooders and the comebacks
And we are coming back
This is the revolution
Welcome to the dawn of a new generation
We’re the people who write in discarded journals
Lines scratched on cheap napkins
Hastily typed in our iPhone notes
Just to get our feelings out
My breaths are rhymes
And my blood is made of metaphors
So like a sacrificial poet, I spill red onto the page
We are poets
We take our pain and mold them into stanzas of determination
We take our love and we turn it into beautiful landscapes
We take our heartbreak and laugh in the face of it, as if nothing were funnier
I am poet, hear me roar
Because I could not be prouder to be here and to be heard.
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on self-love

i don’t write poems about my crushes

about infatuation
or the
tingling feeling
in your stomach
when you see them
i don’t write poems about
“i love you”s
or shy glances
across a classroom
or the one who you are
meant to be with
forever
i write poems about love lost
about heartbreak
about the sinking feeling
in my stomach
or my brain
i can’t decide
i write to make you fall apart
i write to shatter you
into a million pieces
i write to heal
i write to put you
back together
it’s not that i’m above love
or that i haven’t loved
or that i won’t ever be in in love
it’s that i have a strong inkling
that i can’t be loved
i have been cherished by my parents
and doted on by teachers
and thanked by friends
i have been texted and told
and whispered to
“i love you”
many a time
but i can’t be loved
i am sure of this fact
i am not a horrible person
evil does not flow
through my veins
only love,
for i have so much to give
and yet
none to take
do not look at me with pity
say you love me when you
don’t mean it
because i know,
i know i can’t be loved
because i
have tried so hard
and have met
with defeat
 – on self-love

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a woman’s dna

i am cautious

i watch their every move
i have heard stories of hurt and betrayal
i will not be one to be taken advantage of
i watch
i watch and calculate their proximity
in an empty hallway
in a closed classroom
in an elevator
i stand in the opposite corner
i try to remember what my self-defence instructor taught me
elbows tight, knee to the stomach
if he grabs you, break free
if he grabs you, then scream
if he grabs you – he might take you – just remember the knee
knee to the stomach, elbows and knees
he’s moving closer
is he coming towards me?
my imagination runs wild
i forget how to scream
the elevator has stopped moving and so has he
and for a second – a brief second – panic fills my chest
the elevator door dings
he smiles and leaves
i wait until they close,
breathe a sigh of relief
i’m lucky, i say
not touched or harmed
lucky, i say
didn’t have to sound the alarm
but some girls do
some girls wear whistles around their chest
like stars painted in blood on doors
some girls don’t wear skirts late at night
they know, they’ve been warned
some girls
some girls are not lucky
and that is why i am sorry if i cower away
i am sorry if my fear is misplaced
but it is engrained into my dna
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you are a storm, my love

i am a ship, crashing against the tide

or we are crashing against each other
tired, broken, lost, too far from the seaside
i’m drowning in your love, too far under
sinking in your anger, your loving rage
here comes the rain, lightening then thunder
you perform for me, the ocean your stage
holding steadfast, but in the wind i sway
fighting for nothing, no real war to wage
i need to leave, i know i cannot stay
but my heart wants to wait here forever
tossing and turning, in your clouds of grey
so i persevere through any weather
we somehow find our way back together
– you are a storm, my love
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the tragic lover

i have a fatal flaw
a hamartia if you will
i care too much
and too deeply
my heart is not a gradient scale
it is an on and off switch
i do not smile
i grin and
i do not giggle
i laugh with my head
leaned back
i do not cry
i sob, i heave breaths
until there are none left
i do not love
i do not love
i do not love
i fall
i fall too deep
i feel too deep
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anywhere but paris // a short story.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost see it.
She can see the Eiffel Tower rising above all buildings, high in the sky. She can feel the cool summer breeze blowing against her skin. She can smell the freshly baked bread coming from nearby bakeries. She can taste the sour lemon and the sweet sugar on warm crêpes. She can almost see it – the beauty of Paris. She can feel the magic of the city with him. It plays like a never-ending song in her mind.
“Val!” He shouts, running after her. “Valerie, slow down!”
She gives him a coy smile and pauses when she reaches the rose gardens. He takes her hands in his and looks at her innocently, his soft brown eyes looking into hers.
“You really seemed to like that girl over there.” She says, raising an eyebrow.
“Val, I was asking her for the time.”
“If I remember correctly, that is how you got me to talk to you.”
“Come on.” He pouts. “Valerie, you know I love you.”
She cannot hold back the smile from making its way onto her face. He pulls her towards their favourite bookshop across from Notre Dame and buys her mango gelato. They spend the evening in the gardens reading books quietly, only stopping to show each other their favourite quotes.
The summer comes back to her in flashes, like that warm august day. She remembers their apartment with its used furniture and the scratchy record player and the Michel Sardou vinyls stacked along the windowsill. She remembers hot chocolate at Trocadèro, red lipstick staining her teacup and his cheek. She remembers pizza by Canal St. Martin as they walked hand in hand by the colourful walls and fancy boutiques. She remembers riding bikes along the Champs-Élysées, laughing as they flew past the handfuls of tourists walking.
She remembers their last night together, lying down on the damp grass and looking up as the Eiffel Tower lit up the night sky. It sparkled above them and he kissed once more, but this was the last time he would kiss her that summer. And forever. Suddenly, the lights are too bright and they blur her vision and she is shaking her head as people’s voices rise in volume around her.
“How do you feel about Paris?” The wedding planner asked.
“Pardon?”
“A destination wedding in Paris!” He replied. “What do you think?”
“No.” She said. “Anywhere but Paris.”
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