HeyJaredthe papier-mâché
Here, I layer thoughts like papier-mâché. Personal essays on love and its aftermath, faith and its cracks, beauty and its costs. Building something I can hold from everything I couldn't.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 12
- Latest publication
- Sep 23, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 20, 2026
Latest issues
on taking chances (opens the original)
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I read 84, Charing Cross Road early this year. Letters back and forth—that was it, and I was sold. But little did I know it was going to make me reckon with everything I’ve been putting off.<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="358" s
on travel (opens the original)
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i’ve always been curious about this world. my first job got me on my first airplane ride and a lot of long-distance land travels. the next brought me to another country. soon, i was planning my own trips, fulfilling childhood dreams, seeing a panda for the first time. and then it became just a sort of default. whenever i needed a break, and i had enough money, i’d instinctively book a flight.i thought travel would save me. that it was all i could ever afford in this world—my short but sweet repr
Waking up the next day… (opens the original)
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It’s always the waking up the next day that’s hardest.Maybe it’s after your best friend’s wedding. Your graduation. Moving to a new city.Maybe it’s the morning after he moved out. Or that funeral.It’s when it hits you—the first time you open your eyes and realize it’s over.Sometimes, it’s comforting or feels like a relief. More often, it’s the first day of war.Either way, the morning after is a refrain. Reluctant as you are, the breaking of a new day reminds you that whatever it was is not
i wanna be stupid for love because it deserves to make a fool out of me (opens the original)
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i mean the kind of love that’s impossible to deny. the kind of love that leaves no alternative. no plan Bs. no betting on another life.it’s us, together, and nothing else. sometimes, i tend to overthink, searching for a reason to accept it. i was bound by fears that were often just unfounded—from scars left by a life i haven’t even lived yet.peeking and prodding with the latch on, i kept it waiting by the doorstep while i made up my mind.but now, i’m stepping out.for love, reciprocated, does not
Writing Is Like Cooking (opens the original)
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You gather ingredients.Some from the counter,demanding an expiry check,others have you pulling up the drivewayfor a quick supermarket trip.Some, you simply have to peel and wash,others you have to thaw, pound,slice this way, not that,blanche—remember the what-not.Then the cupboard creaksas you pull out pans,find the right ladle, spatula, tongs.And maybe you put on a song.(I love cooking with music
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