where the wild things are

Dearest ______,

Since I’ve been kind of delinquent with the letter- writing, I thought of telling you where I spend majority of my time in:

Work, where the wild things are.




I am, thankfully (more often than not), being literal about this wilderness:

I work away from the city now and while I lament the fact that i haven’t been “out-and-about-town” for the past six months, I could say that this isolation has done wonders to my temperament.


The building itself sits on top of a hill such that at certain angles, it feels like we are gliding on giant clouds of leaves.

The nearest train station is a 20- minute walk away and I’ve spent many a 9:30 evenings walking along an almost deserted sidewalk and through a small jungle made of trees, stone steps, a lone lamp post, lizards, squirrels, noisy night insects and a couple of sneaky monkeys.


Some days, I ponder on how much Victorian writers and artists praised Nature straight into the heart of cultural history.

It was only, well, natural of them.



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Photography and text by Author unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved.

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