Description

Her movements possess the languid grace of a cat. Unaffected by the boisterous laughter and chatter downstairs, the cigarette smoke spiraled upwards as the evening sun shone directly into her eyes. She sits on her balcony; her pen poised to record her thoughts.

“I write about women in order to write about myself, about myself alone through the ages.”

“Love for me, is not about intimate relations, not a vegetable nor a meal. It is an immortal desire that is the dream of the hero of ordinary life.”

Her female protagonists are self-centered, highly aware, aloof and compelling. These are real women that endure through the ages and it is this quality that has contributed to the sense of cynicism and bleakness in her writings. She writes to remind us of the fragility of man. She expounds on topics that she grapples with. Her forthright style and minimalistic technique reveal her own feelings towards love, death, passion and memories. Like the keenest needle, her words pierce and penetrate deeply to reveal the hidden nature of man. Verily, as long as one’s heart has been hurt, the scars of past pain and wounds will still fester.

And this how she writes – frank, candid and without regret.