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.
The feeling of loss when you are in bed with the heaviest body, sinking into the mattress, and through the crumpled sheets, to the centre of something failing. Your head is falling into the depth of despair and you cannot wake up but not fall into sleep enough. I have always been a sickly being.… Continue reading Just staring into space
The fragility of moments is what we all think we know, and we don’t, really. We remember them when we are nearly dying, or sick or lose it. It is already gone when we think we know what it is. We are always too late for so many things. So smart and knowing the way… Continue reading Moments are fiction
I was writing about "intensity" in various places, I came up with more than I wanted it to, raw, exposed emotions arising and I couldn't keep writing. I turned them into a poem instead. Because it scares me so much. That intensity. The way dark falls upon from above, crushing hearts and mind… Continue reading That intensity
I fantasise myself being swallowed into the night. Walking in the direction of the sun disappearing, and there is no more light to stream the warmth through. The street lamp will start to show itself, the orange standing tall in the night, noble and almost human. I stand under the street light alone. There is no… Continue reading Of being swallowed into the night
There was a sense of rain in the air last night on my way home from work. Maybe I knew it from the morning of that day, when I wrote about the sky burning down onto the ocean and felt like the whole world was on fire. It is usually 1-3 days later that it… Continue reading Before it rains
Mellow rhythm and sound walks on a tightrope spread out into hundreds of directions. It is the softness, but not too soft, it is that feeling of being alive with the sound, like the beat flowing through your veins, not an attachment from the outside but there with you, and therefore, you cannot get… Continue reading Mellow
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
Listening is an act of respect. To face the person in front of you, look them in the eye and drink in all the words, verbal and those unspoken, is how we can be a little more to one another. We all want to be heard. Maybe one of the reasons I write, is to… Continue reading To just Listen