Cozy Cosy is not a place, and does not really exist. It’s more of a state of mind than anything else. The feeling of contentment that sweeps through you, and when I say ‘sweep’ I mean sweep. It is fleeting and you don’t even notice it, ironically because of how content you are. It is a feeling of utter warmth. Of calm. Of peace. Despite the deadlines on the horizon. The never-ending to-do list. The anxious pit of worry that sometimes looms around your mind. Cosy does not care about that. Cosy is just for you to feel sound.

For me, it is after a long day spent dashing from place-to-place and attempting to complete errands, before retreating – hot chocolate in hand – to the cluttered chamber of slumber that is my room. For once, I feel relaxed. I feel not-so-mindful of things to do tomorrow. I can sit and not think. Because thinking too much just goes in the direction of sadness. Cosy is about channeling out as much as I can. It’s hard but usually tiredness and exhaustion make it easy. Head back. Reclining. Not inclining to ponder over my many mistakes in the day. Embarrassing conversations and encounters. Moments where I didn’t ‘live up’ to expectations – of mine and others. Time to just do me. Knowing that tomorrow will be challenging, a battle against myself, I already take defeat. I bear a white flag as I slip into sheets of white linen. Because the only way I can have my moments of peace, is if I acknowledge that life is difficult. That I will probably cry every day. That I will carry around pain for at least a while longer. To make that realisation means that I have already lost. And with that, comes some degree of comfort.


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