#Condition

A headache is a small-scale internal revolution suddenly convened within the skull for reasons as vague as they are insistent. It conspires perfectly with work deadlines and social stresses, dispatching an unwelcome visitor called pain into an otherwise uneventful day. A universal trial by endurance inflicted upon all mankind, it drives one to beseech the heavens for a dose of analgesics. And when the ache finally subsides, the self that has forgotten the torment appears as the greatest miracle of all.

Psoriasis is a perpetual festival of immune rebellion on the geopolitical border of human skin. It marks its territory in blazing red and flings white flakes like confetti of inconvenience. A stubborn skin terrorist that exposes our bodily imperfections and elevates moisturizers and medications to objects of worship. It wields the unknown as its shield to demand concessions in the name of steroids, granting no respite to the sufferer. Accompanied by an ever-present soundtrack of itch, it unrelentingly hijacks daily life as the covert main character.