Ms.Matchsticks and the Machine

You would think that the world really cares about your trials but, honey! that ain't happening ever. Now, that's a lesson Ms.Matchsticks teaches everyone. Especially, the overly enthusiastic gremlins of hope. This time, Ms.Matchsticks found herself in one of those booby traps of an evening. You know... one of those events which you plan on bailing on for a week, to eventually get roped in by a co-worker in the last minute, kind. Such a waste of a windy, chilly evening, she thought to herself as she lightened her cigarette of the building ash, on to the ashtray. 'I could have been in my comfy bed, under my comforter reading a book. M,m may be a dirty book.....any BOOK!'.....Ms.Matchsticks almost said the last word out loud. 'Hi!' ....she heard from a remotely familiar voice but couldn't put a face to its kind. She heard again... ' 'Hi! I Think we met at the Classical Music Fest in November...right?' Now, she had to look. She saw a decentl...

The intersection of the collective experiences of womanhood everywhere in the world always kept Ms.matchsticks up. Actually not just women, but children, men, little boys. Everyone. It's a big price to pay to feel far too much, and be able to accommodate so many ideas, feelings. No wonder, he thinks Ms.Matchsticks is insane. Trying to bridge this gap between her mind and soul, she finally managed to get the hell out of that bed. Damini's story is still haunting her. She keeps wondering if there was more that she could have done for Damini. But, anyway everyone has their cross to bear. Ms.Matchsticks carries hers everyday. Everywhere she goes. Most of Ms.Matchstick's days pass by as an idle writer taking down two hundred trolls on news comment sections. But, last night was a little different. From all the feminist blogs she comes across, why is it so hard for a brown girl to have a conversation with a western feminist? Is it because of her color, she automatically m...