Photo by Dane Deaner on Unsplash

As I was organizing my belongings for my next big move (which will hopefully be the last for a while), I was bewildered by my level of disorganization. It’s shocking how I can manage to be so productive in this state.

I found loose-leaf papers in the closet among the clothes. The drawers of my dresser are a calamity. I am fully aware that being disorganized will, without a doubt, affect my peace of mind and productivity.

This has just been a tough problem for me to solve. I keep telling myself that I need a system, but a system…

Photo by Mariana JM on Unsplash

No, we don’t have equality.

I am so tired of banging my head against the patriarchy all the time as I try to live my life. It is exhausting. I don’t understand why we are still dealing with this problem. I mean I get it.

I know that solving the structural and systemic oppression of women is not as much of a priority as it should be. I have come to realize the enormity of how complicit women are in self-oppression and the oppression of others.

I suppose what I mean when I say I don’t understand is that I am very, very disappointed with…

a poem

Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash

The sky wakes up before I do. Then commences the coaxing.
The commanding.

Rise up like every other morning. Brush my teeth. Immerse my face
in the cold water before I looking for signs of aging on a mirror that, really,
should be cleaner.

These are the daily rituals that mark me a new person
belonging to a moment never lived before, but it is so much
like the others.

Difficult- almost impossible- to hold wonder in my palm.

Humanness, like any other love, loses its radiance.
The big moments for becoming have stayed true to the ground from which

a poem

Photo by Jené Stephaniuk on Unsplash

Words a country removed from our shared language play in my ear. Your absence surrounds me. The air is humid from the emotions that trail behind you, slower in their egress.

Reasons you loved me are reasons I have loathed myself.

My silence. Obedience the mask on a rebel spirit. Trailing this new woman’s fingers across quietened lips.

Perhaps you gave what you know. Pain, a barrage. Happiness, a performance.

Perhaps I am the seal on your unfortunate fate, but you had more choices than you let on.

The first time my anger was finally given action, joy became a…

On Bollywood and misogyny

Photo by ABDULLA M on Unsplash

The 90s were a real trash decade for Bollywood movies. This isn’t to say that the 80s were any better or that the 2000’s were much of an improvement.

But, the lackluster quality of movies in that decade personally affected me during my formative years. These were the years when I began to gain consciousness of the world. My long-term memory began to blossom. I built mental models for relationships, for my surroundings, and for my place in them.

These were the years when I was learning without being fully able to challenge the information I was receiving.

Bollywood movies…

Don’t wait for another Point A

Photo by Florian Klauer on Unsplash

When I first started writing online, I would compare myself to writers with more skill. Much more skill. Back then, my anxiety would grumble its nefarious question from deep within my belly.

Can you ever write like that?

I longed to write informed op-eds and self-actualized takes on my life. I wanted to cogently express my observations on society and culture. Maybe, I’d even start dabbling in writing about technology. Technology is the field in which I have built my career, but I still hesitate when it comes to being an active voice in shaping it. …

Rebeca Ansar | blog and articles in An Amygdala

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