A friend of mine recently coined a term that I have not been able to shake off ever since: Burned Hours. At first glance, it sounds harmless. It sounds like something from a productivity seminar hosted by a smiling consultant with a wireless microphone and an unhealthy obsession with colour-coded spreadsheets. The sort of phrase…
Regarding Borders
In the turquoise waters between the southern Philippines and northern Indonesia, an elderly man from Watunapatto sits in a small wooden boat he built himself from trees felled from the island where his ancestors once migrated when the fishing season changed. The sea breeze caresses his face, wrinkled by time and salt. He doesn’t know…
Ode to the Empty Chair
There are morningswhen silence has a heartbeat. Not loud.Not dramatic. Just…persistent. The house still hums,but it hums with absence.Every ticking clock rehearses a languageI used to know— your language. A mother calling without raising her voice.A father laughing like the day wasn’t trying to break him yet. Now the kitchen light feels like confession.The walls…