A year is ending.

A year ends. Yes, it can end. It ends. The numbers on the calendar gets reset from 12 to 1 and we begin again. It is still tomorrow, we go to sleep and the clock passes 12am and it is the 1st of January 2018. How is it so different from waking up to today… Continue reading A year is ending.


How can we be so sure?

To get rid of all that noise. So many different voices, screaming out their own words for others to listen, but others also shout so there is no one listening. The chaos of these voices, what we feel must be universal, fundamentally what we are as human beings, but at the same time, there is… Continue reading How can we be so sure?

There is a sense of beginning after finishing a novel.

There is a sense of beginning after finishing a novel. Story becomes something, in the presence of blank spaces in-between the time actually reading and moving around in daily life. There is always a piece of each other, stories to connect with, memories and experience to store away and the colour of the heart. Emotions… Continue reading There is a sense of beginning after finishing a novel.


  I usually sit on the left side of the bus. It is the direction of sunrise. It is when morning tries to break itself from behind, between the thick clouds that covers its body. There are occasional holes the cloud has missed to fill, and the orange warmth streams through, onto my shoulder, my… Continue reading Scream