The Unabridged Journals of Karissa Gupta

Crimson sparks shooting through my bursting veins, flames mercilessly erupting from every fibre of my being, churning my mind into an endless abyss, anger and resentment being my sole companions. Whenever I let my emotions overpower me, whenever I succumb to the mighty forces of my crippling ego, whenever I fall to my knees before the haunting shadows within, the same words always cascade upon me like relentless rocks. The same five words are hurled at me, tackling the exploding animosity with a splash of cooling serenity, stabilising the broken pieces of my mind’s constitutional parts. My mother, the greatest symbol for tranquillity and peace, always tells me “Hate is a strong word.” Younger me always rolled her eyes when she heard these words for what felt like the millionth time. But now, it dawns upon me that my mother was right (don’t tell her). She always knew, and what I now realise, the complexity and multifaceted nature of the word ‘hate’. Hate is intricate, interwoven with a ...