what stars are made of

It was easy for him, always. All he had to do was knock her up, mess her life up, and then leave without a word. Like nothing ever happened.  Not that she wanted a word. God, no- she doesn’t think she can even look at him without breaking down into tears- the mere thought of him makes her body tremble with fear. It was all doctors from there. White sheets and hospitals, the smell of cleanliness, tubes being jabbed into her body. You can file a police complaint. She didn’t file a police complaint. It was too much, way too much- the thought of it made her head spin. She didn’t think she could face anyone ever again. She sure didn’t want to. They were all dangerous- shadows looming over her constantly. Her father stopped talking to her, mother only spoke angry words: what now , what have you done to yourself , sometimes I wish you’d died instead , I really do . She holed herself up in her room, wanting to scream, wanting to fight back: I didn’t do a thing! It was all him

darling nobody, the homesickness eventually wanes away, clearing the way for what will be one of the best weekends of my life. it begins with my weekend host mom taking me to a beach- my first beach in cancun. it’s infested with tourists, crowded and commercial- a huge rubber parrot with mexico written all over it, jolly roger cruise ship for kids, rows of shops full of souvenirs - but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful in my eyes. the water is clear, blue, the sand is white, and the sea is everywhere. i don’t own a swimsuit yet, so i cannot go deep into the water, but i’m still happy, unable to hold back a smile. i haven’t seen any places in the past two weeks, and for now, anything will do. i roll up my jeans and step into the water, loving the coolness of it on a hot, hot day. i try to forget everything around me- i’m practising the art of living in the moment- and i do, for some time. for some time, it’s just me and the feel of cold water against my skin. i don’t

the rain starts falling two days before we do and it doesn't stop– it never will. when you laugh, it's all blurry to me, but the sound of it rings in my ears for two days and it doesn't stop– it never will. we fell into a kind of madness, cat and mouse and eventually, it ate us away and we let it. we waited and waited for the magic to happen, believed and prayed and hoped with all we had but if we believed already, why did we need to pray at all? we didn't. we never did. and the rain fell onto the burning buildings, set us on fire, they all thought this was rebirth– a  phoenix rising from the ashes but we never came back, i don't think we wanted to. your eyes, as i see them now, reflect all the stars in the sky as we lie in the car, the radio playing tunes we haven't heard in years your eyes, as i see them now, reflect all the sorrows in the world and for the first time in eons, i feel truly alive. we never came back from the de

darling nobody, my host mother’s cellphone here has the same ringtone as my mom’s. every time her phone rings, i am suddenly back in india, and my mom is asking me to check who’s calling. + the homesickness arrives four days after i do. it’s unexpected, but also entirely expected. i suddenly cannot talk about my family without feeling a lump in my throat, followed by tears- which is inconvenient, to say the least. i begin to wish i was back home- and it’s strange, how homesickness works. when i leave school after a long day, i think of my bunk bed back at home and somehow, believe that’s where i’m going. it’s the only thought that comforts me, but then i remember i’m not in india anymore, and i won’t be- for a long, long time. i sleep in another bed, and i won’t see my room until june next year. it feels an eternity away. i regret coming here, a world away from home. i keep thinking of my family- would i be eating dinner now in india, would i skip college today, maybe

I am thirteen when I first listen to Troye Sivan. It is seven in the evening, and I am seated in front of my computer, typing out happy little pill into youtube.com. It is my best friend’s current favourite song, and anything she likes, I have to, too. Troye is fairly young- probably looks younger than he actually is- but his music is just as magical as it is now. It’s a slow tune, one that I love instantly. One that seems so distant to me now, as Bloom plays in my head on repeat. Back then, I didn’t know just how much Troye Sivan would change my life, but it’s only a matter of a few more months before I do. + It is 2015 when I am reminded of Troye Sivan again, and I am also a completely different person (or so I like to think). When I look him up on the internet, the result is a photo immediately makes me feel at peace: it is the cover of the Wild EP, Troye looking angelic as yellow flower petals fall upon him. Will his music sound like this picture looks , I wonder to

darling nobody, school starts. it's an enid blyton story, and i'm living in it. the uniform is a blue blouse with a checked skirt that i instantly adore. the building is fairly small, the classrooms freezing cold. the sky is visible from the classroom. i enter the school on the first day, to see three of my friends, other exchange students, waving at me from the window of their class above. i grin, waving back, excited to be in the same class as them– before i find out that i'm not. the teacher leads me right past the door of their classroom, and suddenly, everything seems a little harder. i stare at the door of my classroom, the words year 5 engraved on it, and the door stares back at me, daunting. when i enter the classroom, all eyes are on me. but the faces are friendly and i relax as i am introduced to everyone. there's twenty people in class apart from me (i count in my head), and all twenty of them are smiling at me comfortingly right now. i move to t