when I was younger
home was the best place ever.
whether it was birthdays
which now feels like
a long-lost dream. since we lived in a tiny
house. a family of six huddled up together
in a tiny room to celebrate. maybe times
were simpler or maybe we didn’t have much then.

or on days, mum cooks
which always was a rarity.
she never played an active role
but our younger selves made sure
at the end, we’d be grateful.

things began to shift
when we grew older.

the happy house felt like a dark
gloomy one. smiles began to
be replaced by shoutings.
birthdays began to be less common
and sooner like we all imagined
it would become something
attached with the past.


when i became older
i tried becoming friends with
my younger self. somedays were
a disappointment. somedays we faked it.

I’m still trying to.