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Back to Muskan. She felt awful, just awful, that I had received a dented Tjena

I’m left in a color wheel of confusion. What could I have done differently? 

I blame my mother. She hated making dessert, too — and so she didn’t

Shouldn’t I be able to get everything done if I’m not working?

I chuckle at the illusion, at the simplicity of her complete faith in the trusty Band-Aid

Here, I needed Waze just to find my lost identity, let alone my missing sense of perspective