The misadventures of the heart and sometimes, the stomach.


I wonder if fear can be learned.

I used to love flying.

That feeling when the plane takes off into the unknown of the sky; marvelled at the fact that I am in a highly pressurised tin can be powered by nothing more than two flimsy wings and a prayer.

But these days, the slightest turbulence sends me into a panic.

My life flashes before my eyes, wondering if I would be missed when this thing plunges into nothingness.

I wonder if empathy can be taught.

That if I watched enough documentaries on starving children, will I be less likely to waste food?

If I carried enough strangers’ babies, will I be less adverse to having my own in the future?

I wonder if distrust is hereditary.

That if you grow up in a home that uses lies for bricks and deceit as concrete,

would you always love with one foot out the door, in perpetual flight or fight?

would you spend your days worrying about his nights, and your nights sifting through his words for lies?

It’s just that I am worried.

If the only kind of love that I know is conditional and rationed, will I love the same way?

When two broken people make a child, does it become whole or more broken?

What if what they say is true – the apple never falls too far from the tree?

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