BrainScramble Magazine. The world through our eyes. Toronto & Berkeley. Latest BSToronto i17: MEND, out now.

My hugs are my mom’s food.

The focus of this piece centers around the themes of nostalgia and the fear of growing up.

the words that describe the way She’s framed tended with loving affirmations petals age every passing october endless and endless ties of conversation love encapsulated in its seeds of saturation

Cathedrals are the product of the devotion of thousands. As I stand there, my grandfather tells me of a man, then his son, and then his son’s son, who all worked on the gargantuan mosaic that now splashes across the ceiling.

I’d beat the devil out of myself if it brought my maman a smile.

By Tara Khoo

As I sit on this bench and watch the cars pass, I am suddenly no longer a myth, a legend, a king rolling a rock up a hill. I am a girl packing her life into cardboard boxes in anticipation of leaving everything she’s ever known behind.

17. The beginnings of nostalgia and the time the crushing weight starts to set in, the truth of the rest of one’s life.

The sun is shining through Sarah’s blinds, bleeding onto her bare skin. I can’t take my eyes off her. 

My parents keep my baby photos in countless envelopes. Inside big cardboard boxes and plastic storage containers, they are stored away in the walk-in closet.

When baba cooks, he always slices the fatty parts off of the meat

I own five copies of Percy Jackson: The Lightning Thief. 

When I was twelve, I had my first real taste of failure.

An introspective tribute to Alanis Morissette’s musical masterpiece. 

I wasn’t aware of what “daddy issues” even meant until I began eighth grade.

You consist of my thickened blood and spit.

“I think I want to do theatre. Like, forever. I just think I would be heartbroken if I ever had to stop.”