Morticia Morgendorffer

The year is 2013. Lady Gaga’s ‘Artpop’ album just came out. It has been about 6-7 months since I first started listening to Lady Gaga, and eyeing the new album like a vulture eyes its prey, I get on our hundred-ton desktop computer, and download the entire album.   Both my parents are educators. Which is to say, they know how to get kids to do things. I learned to be by myself from very early on. My mother looked after her school and our studies, and us, and used to be super exhausted to make breakfast in the morning. I remember she would pack bread and jam for our lunch day after day after day, so much so that I hate all kinds of jam, to this day. I can’t stand the flavour of jam in my mouth. And to rescue myself and my siblings from this (mar)malady, I would try and prepare lunch that was… well, not bread and jam.   One of the smartest tricks my mom played on me, which I am immensely grateful to her for is allowing me to play brain-searingly loud music of my choice on the condition t

  2020. What a year, amirite? If you look at it, 2020 seems like a beautiful number. So easily divisible by 2, 5, 10, 20. So round and complete. I don’t think I can explain, but I hope you know what I’m trying to get at.  To begin with, I didn’t know this year was going to be any different than all the others that I’ve managed to live through. None of us did, I think. I was home when it started, and even when I was surrounded by my parents, my siblings, and my 8-year-old dog, I felt alone. I was unhappy. I wanted to get out of that heavy, depressing atmosphere. I used to blame others for my unhappy self, used to attribute my flaws to the way I was raised, to the people who were unkind to me. I think human beings like doing that a lot. When we think, we’re always thinking in the terms of ourselves - I, me, mine. We’re all the heroes of our stories. Always. We’re the ones wronged, we’re the ones who stood up and got over obstacles and emerged victoriously. But we’re wrong. We’re all wron