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?
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
I am listening. The window is open to my right, the air has been cooled from the drop in temperature and the rain from previous night. I let myself to sleep hearing the spluttering on the roof, and I adored how I was tucked in the softness of the bed with the book set in… Continue reading I write for everything
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 was on the train to Tokyo station, and I remember myself thinking about oblivion, when I was staring at the stone wall of the tunnel entrance, the vines and leaves were covering nearly half the wall in front of me, my mind warped maybe thousands years later? and everything was covered with everything,… Continue reading Oblivion from the train
There was once a story of someone writing a story and that image just drifted into my mind so I am writing like this, listening to what my hand tells me to do and I have no idea what I'm writing but I keep writing. I have always thought writing was the furthest from… Continue reading Free to write whatever I want
Fascination on Blue. I was never satisfied with pink, that gender stereotype people think it’s okay to fore on a child with no say, and so little girls end up in pink and boys in blue. Maybe not so much nowadays, but when I was young, the world was still much like that. I… Continue reading Love letter to the colour Blue
I am sitting outside, on the stone stairs behind the art gallery, there are green all around, there are green lights streaming through the small gaps in-between and you feel so alive, there is a closeness of the voice ringing in my ears and a bird comes up close to stare and wait for something… Continue reading I am sitting outside, on the stone stairs by the art gallery
Sometimes, I want to show my writing to the world, literally scream at the small shell surrounding my being. Other times, I want to keep all the things I wrote to myself and show it to no one. There is a distinct line, I would know that moment whether I want to publish it as… Continue reading Writings to show and not to show