Tag: mint girl

Primp the ghost

This was another writing prompt based story! I hope you enjoy!

When Marie-Ellis saw a ghost for the first time, she thought it was a speck of dust. A rather large, somewhat translucent speck of dust. So she had picked up her broom and swept the poor thing away. The ghost, Primp, she had learned, had not appreciated this in the slightest. Yet, that hadn’t stopped him from being all too intrigued by Marie-Ellis. He insisted on following her everywhere she went, which led to their current situation- the small pouch tied onto Marie-Ellis’ belt. Primp resided there, all cozy and comfortable. Of course, the pouch lent itself to questions. Marie-Ellis was the managing director of a huge firm, known for dressing and acting sensibly, no frills or bits and bobs. Yet, all of a sudden, a pouch appeared. Marie-Ellis didn’t respond to any questions thrown her way, just flashed the questioner a serene smile and went on her way. It was evening- a time of day when Marie-Ellis didn’t really do much. She lived alone, and was happy that way. Primp had truly thrown a cork into her plans, but she supposed it wasn’t a bad cork. Not really. 

As she sat down at her sewing machine, she raised an eyebrow at Primp, “Well? What today?”. Primp had grown obsessed with plush toys. He found them enjoyable, reminiscent of his own childhood. So, today, he requested a plush dinosaur. Marie-Ellis sighed, then reached into her sewing handbag, pulling out the necessary green scraps of fabric and stuffing. She hummed a little tune as she worked, quite content with the little life she’d created. It had taken a while- she’d quit her first ever job on the second day of work- turns out, some people weren’t made to be air traffic controllers and her second job didn’t go much better. No matter how much propaganda they push out, being an  undertaker is truly an awful job.

But now, as Marie-Ellis sat at her sewing machine, and the rain began to first patter, then pour, she knew in her heart that she was truly happy. 

Winning the Lottery

Recently, I tried out a new writing website! It generates ideas for you to incorporate into your writing. The result, while a little over the place, was very entertaining and I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy!

You’d think that when you won the lottery, you’d spend the money on something grand. Something that truly wowed, something magnificent. Maybe you’d do something nice for your parents, maybe you’d treat yourself…Max bought a chicken. Just one. Not even a fancy chicken- to compete in shows or to eat. Just a chicken. And his reasoning? “I wanted a friend!”. 
I finally convinced him the chicken wasn’t the best idea and he should buy something else with the money. He bought a cat. A cute one, sure, but a cat. I did not see how this would help us in our investigation. Ms. Emme had hired us to figure out who had been behind the airplane crash that had killed her youngest daughter. And so, I’d advised Max, pretty wisely, I would say, to buy something to help us figure out who did it. Maybe save some money to bribe some corrupt officers, you know what I mean? Instead he bought a cat. And a chicken. I can’t forget the chicken. 
He said he’d “try to do right by me” today. I’m hoping he’ll use the money for information, for something that’ll help us take at least one step in the right direction. 
…There’s a knock at the door. It better be Max with the information. 
I’m back. It was not, in fact, Max with the information. It was Max with a random guy. A cameraman, for heaven’s sake. We don’t need a cameraman. And we definitely don’t need the eggs that the chicken’s been laying all over the place. I walked in this morning and there was one in my hat. My nicest one, too, fit with feathers and fabric. 


Some may call it drastic,  but Max’s delusions and unorthodox behavior have gone on too long. It’s time for some revenge. 
First. I’ll steal the money. There’s still around 10 million left. That’s enough for me to buy a new office, snoop around, and have tons of money left over. 
Then, I’ll get this company off the ground. We’ve been a small private investigative company for too long and with this money, anyone would respect us. 
Finally, I’ll buy a better fan for this office. Well. I guess that goes with buying a new office. But, seriously. Who rents a space with no fan? Max, that’s who. We’ve been surviving with paper fans. Paper. fans. 
Maybe I’d give some money to Max too. He was my best friend, after all. He never really enjoyed being an investigator. He’d probably become a DJ. He’d be good, too. Or maybe a blacksmith, though maybe that job interest was just a passing fascination.

And that’s how much I wrote in 10 minutes! I definitely enjoyed this exercise.

My Bharatanatyam Arangetram

An arangetram is a Tamil word that means to ‘ascend the stage’. And, on May 25, 2025, that’s exactly what I did. After 6 months of grueling practice, I ascended the stage of the Midtown Arts and Theater Center Houston (MATCH) to give my arangetram to an audience of around 300 people. 

Prior to my arangetram, I’d always been a lover of Bharatanatyam. I started learning the traditional Indian classical dance form when I was 5, under the tutelage of Dr. Sunanda Nair, a respected and famous Bharatanatyam and Mohiniattam artist. Since then, I’ve performed on stages around the United States and have cultivated a deep and sincere love for this ancient art form. As I’ve grown and seen more performances, I found part of myself on that stage. And so, doing my arangetram became my next wish. 

Practices started in August of last year and in those 10 months, I’ve gained a lot. My stamina has increased, I’ve become a stronger dancer, and I’ve learned so much about my culture. My dancing has given me a way to display who I truly am, who I have always been, and who I want to be through the rhythmic motions of my hands and the intricate footwork of my feet. By dancing, I feel as if I’m one with my ancestors from ages past, like I’m carrying on the torch first lit so many years ago. And so, getting to do my arangetram meant the world to me. 

Through mistakes and confusing choreographies, through 2 hour practices and even longer photoshoots, I never once regretted it. Yes, the process was tiring, and yes, I’d often wake up sore all over, but getting to dance so much was my dream and I was simply fulfilling it. And on May 25, my hard work paid off. 

Before the arangetram, I was incredibly nervous. A 2 hour solo performance, more complex than anything I’d done before, was no small feat. But with the expert guidance of my teacher and the music of the live orchestra, everything flowed. I’m so thankful that I was able to complete this milestone and I can’t wait to dance more!

The Recipe of the Future

The writing prompt I chose to follow was ‘Write a story in the form of a recipe, menu, grocery list, or product description.’ I hope you enjoy!

Grandma’s Brownies: recipe requested by Linda

This blog is just growing bigger and bigger day by day! And I couldn’t be more thankful for the support. We all know how it is- finding recipe cards and notebooks filled with the recipes of our ancestors, complete with pictures of decadent sweets or mouthwatering appetizers…only to scan the ingredients list and realize how outdated these recipes are. I, and I imagine you as well, have tossed out some truly wonderful-looking recipes. But no longer! I’ve found alternatives that make food just as delicious as the pictures I’ve seen. Please, please feel free to send in recipes of your past, and I will do my best to provide delicious substitutions so we too may enjoy our ancestor’s favorites!

This recipe was sent in by Linda, one of my largest fans. She’s been reading this blog since day 1 and has told me that my substitutions truly work! And so, I was just thrilled when she sent me this recipe, pleading for some substitutions. I was so proud and so excited to get to work that I finished this in almost 2 hours haha! Maybe this is my true calling :D. Anyways, onto the recipe. Thank you, Linda!

As always, the original recipe is written first, followed by my notes and a complete list of substitutions at the end. Hugs and kisses to all of you!

Ingredients:
  • ½ cup butter (‘butter’ once came from a creature known as cows…now extinct. use stream water mixed with tree bark)
  • 1 cup sugar (coarse dirt works best as a substitute)
  • 2 eggs (came from small vicious beasts known as chickens…use geodes- only the insides)
  • cocoa powder (used to be a human delicacy. substitute with red soil)
  • ½ cup flour (flour is rare if you didn’t manage to buy the last stocks of wheat. if unavailable, i’ve found that the outside of geodes, when ground up, have a similar texture)
  • ¼ teaspoon salt (bottled water shall do, i’ve discovered that it’s salty enough to mimic the flavor)
  • ¼ teaspoon baking powder
Directions:
  1. preheat the oven to 350 degrees. grease a cooking pan. (in place of grease, one may easily use tap water)
  2. melt the butter, then stir in the sugar and eggs. beat in cocoa, flour, salt, and baking powder. batter should be thick and slightly lumpy. (following all substitutions, batter may be thinner and lumpier. rest assured, you’re doing it right)
  3. bake in the preheated oven for 25 to 30 minutes. enjoy! 
Full Substitution List:
  • substitute butter for stream water and tree bark
  • substitute sugar for coarse dirt
  • substitute eggs for geode guts
  • substitute cocoa powder for red soil
  • substitute flour for ground up geode outsides
  • substitute salt for bottled water

With the limited ingredients available, the brownie may come out a bit differently than the attached pictures. Of course, this is to be expected. Many of the products found in our grandparents’ time have been eradicated, due to the diseases and wars of the past- I’m sure we’ve all learnt about them in history class- haha! Yet, with trial and error, I’ve found that these substitutions truly carry that same earthy, rich flavor through without the need for any synthetic ‘chocolate’ or ‘sugar’. Please leave any pictures below and any feedback! And if you have a recipe of your own that you’d like to see modified, just shoot me a message :). 

Asia Society + The Holocaust Museum

This Thursday, me and my grandparents explored two iconic museums in Houston- Asia Society and the Holocaust Museum.

First, we visited Asia Society, a small museum that illustrates the culture of 5 major Asian countries- India, China, Vietnam, Japan, and South Korea. They had stations detailing the traditional cultures of these countries, as well as their food, their languages, and their music. There were stations to “play” the drums from each country in tune with background music and a “train” that explored the countries. At the time we went, there was an art exhibition of Hung Hsien’s work- an artist who used Chinese ink painting techniques to create stunning and vibrant pieces.

Then, we visited the Holocaust Museum. This museum was dedicated to the Holocaust and the atrocities carried out by the Nazis in 1933. It was a poignant reminder of the horrors of World War 2 and the impacts that we still see today. The main exhibit featured a timeline of the Holocaust and there was also a side exhibit about current genocides and human rights, as well as leaders who fought for these rights. It was such an important museum and I’m glad I got to visit.

The Classroom

I recently wrote a short story for the prompt “Start or end your story with someone arriving somewhere for the first or last time”. I hope you enjoy!

I remember the first time I walked into that classroom. It was bright, welcoming, almost calling to me. The posters on the wall beckoned me to examine them- those childish drawings of friendly animals, the bubbly lettering a symbol of happiness, of comfort. I met my best friends in that classroom, when we were sitting around a multicolored rug. I remember the teacher- Ms. Miller- reading a ridiculous book. Something about dinosaurs in classrooms. It was all so perfect, so sweet, so innocent.
That’s all I can think about as I step back in the classroom- almost a millenia later. I shouldn’t be here. None of this is right. But the sun’s implosion was unexpected, especially as it shouldn’t have happened. All science predicted a collapse, anticipating the formation of a white dwarf. So, when the implosion happened…it caught everyone off guard. Not everyone survived. It happened so suddenly; a massive shockwave rippled through the streets. Buildings were hit especially hard. Not to mention, everything started working differently. People aged differently, the seasons merged into one, and most schools shut down. The world returned to an almost Pre-Neolithic era; no more complex societies, humans were on their own. In short, the sun’s implosion was an apocalypse of sorts.
And now I’m back. In the place where my first memories began. The classroom was found to have dangerous sources of radiation, set to be destroyed, but…I couldn’t just never see it again. The desks are pushed up against the wall, the very same mat I remember dragged to the center of the room. It’s…painful, in a way, to see this place of life, of vibrancy reduced to a room of ash and rubble. And soon, it’ll be gone. Gone, just like the park I used to play in and the house I called mine. Everything’s gone. Everything will be gone. Forever.

Independent Book Store Day

Last Saturday was Independent Book Store Day, a day to celebrate small bookstores. I visited 2 indie bookstores that I’d never been to before and thoroughly enjoyed both of them!

In today’s world, where we can order anything online, bookstores aren’t getting the same traffic as they used to. Therefore, Indie Bookstore Day encourages readers to support these small bookstores to help them thrive and continue to serve the community.

The first bookshop I visited was Good On Paper. Their shop was so pretty and had such a great collection of books for all ages- kids to young adults to adult/nonfiction. They also had lots of stationary, with cute journals and pens. It was so nice to check out a new bookshop and I can’t wait to read the book I bought from there!

After Good on Paper, I visited Kaboom Books, a used book store. They had so many books, filling every shelf, on all topics. I loved getting lost in the maze of books, just scanning the shelves. I exited with two books about mythology and have already started reading them!

Support Indie Bookstores!

The Meteorite Sample

Meteorite samples weren’t unusual, per say, but this was my first time dealing with one. Exciting for sure, but also nerve-wracking. The bosses were strict about anything from space- even the smallest misstep could lead to your reassignation to a lower, dingier job. So. No pressure or anything. The sample I’d gotten was small, just a speck really, especially compared to what Alice, at desk 9, had. But everyone had to start somewhere, right? So the speck it was. 

I’ve worked at the lab for a good 3 years now. 3 years before I finally got to do what I’d always wanted. 3 years to achieve my greatest dreams. I’d spent all morning fiddling with the microscope, knowing that if I messed this up, I’d miss my opportunity. For good. And that…that would be awful. 

When the sample was finally delivered to my station, I had to physically hold myself back to not tear open the packaging. Careful…careful. This thing is worth more than your entire life. The meteorite sample I’d gotten was barely a shard, but it was enough. My hands shook as I carefully lifted the sample out of its package and set it on a slide, placing it under the microscope. As I adjusted the lens, twisting it ever so carefully to zoom into the rugged surface of the rock, something that looked almost like words caught my eye. But…surely not. How could there be English words on an outerspace rock? But as the lens panned across the meteorite, it was clear- words carved deep into the rock: “If you see this, call this number. Do not tell anyone”.

My hands shook. But in my mind, there was only one thing for me to do- call the number.

Why I Write

I recently wrote this for the prompt of “Explore your impulse to write”. I hope you enjoy!

I write to be seen. My art craves an audience, craves understanding, and visceral, true reactions. I want others, friends, you, to see my work and think- I know. I get it. Me too. 

I write to express my emotions. When it’s too hard to talk to people, when it’s too hard to spill my true feelings, then I write. I turn to the page, to the screen, to the savior and safe space that I can find only in a blank page. The blank page of terror, yes, but the blank page of opportunity, the page of truth. The page of uncertainty, but also the page of making mistakes. Of being allowed to try and learn. The page of looking back and cringing, but also the page of growth. 

I write for myself. I write knowing that everything I do will be for my eyes and my eyes only. I write stanzas of poems, words and words of prose to let my emotions flow, to let myself express, to let myself feel finally and truly me.

My words are my outlet, my way of creating worlds and lands where you believe in magic, even if just for a second. A place where you can really see what I’m talking about- whether it be the resplendent jewel-tones of the Garden of Envy circus, or if it’s the flower field where two lovers took their last breath together. 

 I hope to create words, sentences, stories that evoke emotion. Emotion of any kind- a deep, wrenching pain, maybe, or instead, a hopeful joy that lifts you up.

I’ve always searched for a place to call my own. Something that’s really mine, even as a kid, even as everything I own is not really mine. I’ve always, since when I could first remember, craved that feeling of independentness, of true belonging. And writing lets me do that. Writing won’t judge. Writing gives me a space of love and kindness and acceptance. Is that silly, finding all that in a blank page? Maybe. But I like to think that as I fill up that blank page with my dreams, my hopes, my fears, I lose that “silliness”. I can be me or at least a version of me that can be me without rebuke, without fear of failure- because there’s no failure in writing, just growth. 

So, overall, I write for emotion. I write for me. I write for life. I write to feel alive, to feel free, to feel in general. I write to live, to grow, to be a better human. I write to chronicle, to tell the truth, and most of all, I write so I can find my place in a world that seems destined to shut me out. I write so I exist. I write so that I am me. 

I hope you enjoyed!

Spring

Since spring is now officially here, I wrote a poem about it. This is a sestina, made up of 6 stanzas, each stanza ending with the same words in different orders. I hope you enjoy!

It’s spring again
The flowers bloom, the birds chirp
Rain patters on the windows
The season of life,
that’s what spring is known for
beauty, not just in the eye of the beholder, but everywhere

The greenest trees, everywhere
Saturated by the rain again
whimsy bleeds through for
just a moment, as the chirp
of new life 
echoes outside the windows

The spring breeze, crisp, clean, wafts through the window
And for a second, everywhere
is united, under the life
and love of a new spring again,
where the buzz and chirp
just signify the land we all live for

Spring is cleansing, for
finally there are no cold gusts against the window
just the melodic chirp
that echoes from everywhere
Yes, beginning a new season again
truly brings some kind of life

And everywhere you see, the earth erupts with life
with no concession for
the ones who wish for winter again
The pollen will still coat your window,
maybe it gets everywhere,
but that is just the price to pay for another chirp

Life grows anew when you hear that tiny chirp
proof that spring brings life,
that spring brings joy everywhere
not just for one, but for
all, so open your window
and embrace the magic of spring come again

When you hear the first chirps of the season, winter is done for
Life blooms outside the windows 
and everywhere is bathed in the light of spring again