Quiet Hands
The world keeps telling me to hurry. To rush, automate, optimise. To shave seconds off the tasks that once took minutes, minutes off tasks that once took hours. And yet, every time I tap a screen instead of turning a handle, something small slips away. Quietly. Almost unnoticeable, but it slips.
What words can’t hold
A contemplative exploration of language’s quiet limitations, this discursive piece unpacks how grief resists articulation, how meaning slips between words, and why some experiences remain stubbornly unwritten.