I feel happy

when I feel well-rested.
when I am effortlessly articulate.
when I reconnect with delight

and hold Wonder in my hands.

when I drink a lot of water.
when I feel sharp and move with ease,

instinctive.

when I float around wrapped in the world of ideas and links,

gorgeous language,

good design

and explorative, dynamic conversation
filled with many quiet moments to let the breath catch up.

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Petrichor

This piece was originally a submission by a fellow student for a magazine that I am the editor of. After editing her draft, I fell in love with what it became and so I below is the version of her piece that I edited. The credit goes to her for much of the idea and mood though — it’s rather romantic. So, without further ado, enjoy the short piece below.

Peace, idacity,


It was raining outside — not a soft pitter-patter or a slight drizzle. No, it was a torrential downpour that obscured all of London from the rest of the world, as if London were holding its secrets close today. And it was there, in the middle of the heavy rain, that she stood drenched from head to toe but unabashed. In fact, she was smiling — an expression of joy that was so earnest, profound and unquenchable that some onlookers were compelled to hurriedly drop their gaze. The sight of such unreserved happiness made their jaded souls ache. So they rush on, willing themselves to forget that which they are void of. Other passer-byers hurried by, focused too intensely on finding the nearest shelter to even pay her a glance. While the people inside their cozy cars wondered whether she was mad. Some kind fellow even asked her whether she needed a ride or at least an umbrella. But no, she was happy just as she was. And so there she stood in the rain, grinning, for hours and hours — for as long as the London sky continued to cry down on her . No one looked for her. No one asked her, “Why?”, even though they were sure to have wondered.

However, she did not stand there because she needed medical attention — no, it was simply because she liked the rain. She liked the way it poured and poured onto her skin. She liked the sound, the feeling, the smell. “Petrichor,” she whispered. Yes, she liked the petrichor: the smell of rain on dry Earth. She liked how her shoes would squelch and squeak on wet ground and the way her hair clung to her skin. But most of all, she loved searching for the tiny details that rain illuminates and how, if you looked close enough, you would notice them. You would notice how the grass would look just a little brighter, the ground would be just a little smoother and the sun light would feel just a little warmer. On a regular day, life often looked slightly blurry or a little misty. But when it rained, the mist would dissipate and — with new-found clarity — she could see the world for what it really was. It was grand. It was wondrous.  And she was always left little breathless as she stood soaking in the beauty of the transformed normal day.