Wednesday, April 16, 2014 0 notes


The letter curled into ashes as the tendrils of flame swallowed it. The fragments of expression floated into the air as it disintegrated into nothingness. These are words you wouldn't read.

"I daren't."
Sunday, March 2, 2014 0 notes


“Nobody is telling you to care.”

“Yeah, but you want me to. Funny how that works huh?”


There’s a silence between the both of them. For a moment, her face looks like she wanted to say something. It was always so obvious, her nose scrounged and eyes glossing over. But she ends up silent, hesitant. Nothing changes.

“I’m just tired, see? Tired that I’m sitting here in silence not saying anything. Just hoping you’d look up and notice.”

“And you think I don’t care?”

She shrugs. It was dangerous to answer that. And she could expect the reply as it were. He sighed and looked away. There was an expression written on his face, one that speaks of tiredness. One that plays annoyance, exasperation but also pity. She wondered, for a moment, how much did he care.

“You can’t expect me to do that. I cannot do that.”

“I’m not expecting you to. I feel guilty that I feel this way. That I somehow wish you’d care. But I can’t – I can’t keep this… Burdensome thing in me.”

“Then don’t.”

“You speak like it’s so damned simple.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it’s just you who refuses to accept it.”

“Because I fucking wished you would care!”

He stepped back, astonished. Clearly, this wasn’t expected. Her sudden outburst. The bubbling waters over spilled, the vase broken. She sighs and sits down cross-legged. She didn’t look at him and neither did he. His arms were already crossed.

“I’m sorry.”

It was a while before he replied, his voice sad. “I can’t.”
Saturday, March 1, 2014 0 notes

ten ways to die

You commit suicide with ten ways.
  1. Jumping off a high building
  2. Cutting your wrist
  3. Suffocation
  4. Jumping in front of a moving vehicle
  5. Drowning
  6. Shooting yourself
  7. Hanging
  8. Poison
  9. Drug overdose
  10. Sepukku.
I cannot promise that you won’t feel pain. Some will be fleeting. Others, excruciating. But the methods all meet your wanted conclusion. End to suffering. What is it that drives one to suicide?

Is it when pressure has mounted itself on top of depression? When your voice is drowned out by the faceless crowd on the street? It is the silence in your shout. The weariness that heaps onto you night after night. It is the knife that cuts into your soul and you feel a little bit gone by next morning.

There is no cure. There is no answer but death. A quick way out. An answer to the paradoxical problem. When you can go unnoticed, who will care? Who remembers the face of the man who only brings in the daily papers? He, who walks around, utters a greeting in a meek voice. She, who passes by you, catches on your conversations, smiles but says nothing.

The façade breaks. The night envelops and the struggle begins. The bottle in hand, the gun in the other. Which is faster? Which is painless? Choices, choices. Because even in preparation for the final master, choices are important. It is choice that leads you down this road. The only sense of individualism that lies in your own hand. The dictation of life. Yours. Only yours.

You cock the gun. The cold barrel pushes against your tongue. The trigger feels slim, sensitive, fragile. Your close your eyes and darkness envelops. You pull.
0 notes

chasing waterfalls

The knack for differences thrown to the wind. Where it carries away the flying paper plane to faraway lands. Where will it fly next? Where will it stop and will any bird distract it along the way? It soars above oceans, across plains of green meadows and unending mountains. It pierces past clouds and sews together the sky. Inside, I wrote words that have no meaning. I shield, I cower, I lie and I lament. As your soft fingers ran over the paper and feel the rise of the words, you trace its meaning. Its heartbeat and its essence. Can you feel the truth? The cry for felicity? The ultimate bond forged between two souls through ink. Words have no power over me, not whilst I write them. I die the moment my ink ends.

Will you tear this letter? Will it make company among the paper cups and loose tickets? When you walk the street, feel the ground and its call. It calls for you to stop, to listen and to submit. To raise your gaze and look upwards, to see the paper plane that just soared over your head. That invisible relationships are formed, every other minute, day and second. Hold in your hand, your truth. Grasp at his touch and rest your shoulder on his. Grip his sleeve as the winds twirl around the both of you and close your eyes. Listen to his whisper, to the wind's - and to your heart's. Where now will he lead you?

Feel his passion as he pulls you, drawing himself closer. Throw yourself into him as you both fall down the waterfall. Feel the drops of foam hit your face - calm, fresh yet invigorating. Where will you fall and is it the end? Amidst the chaos of azure and cloud, you see an infinite space past the mist. Free-falling and letting go, your arms hanging loose by your side and your ears deaf with the crashing of the water. The body weightless and your heart has slowed down to a beat. You hear nothing yet everything. It is darkness yet a light has erupted from within.

You open your eyes and see blindness. It is not dark. It is bright, and is this how we see? A flurry of rainbows crashing into one another and exploding into fireworks of white. Where is darkness? Where is darkness in this blindness? You crash. You die. The rocks at the bottom. There was no lie. The truth is in your broken back, your bleeding forehead and your glossed eyes. Your lips utter the final truth. You shout but it is drowned. The waters, they know your secret, and they keep it. Your skin, it stretches and expands and snaps. It breaks and your blood flows among the clear blue river. Your bones become harder, harder and harder - then they break. They too, become part of the little pebbles of the waterfall.

This is your truth. This is who you are. This is what we become. Nature takes our place and us in this existence.
Thursday, February 27, 2014 0 notes

two goodbyes

Silence swirled around us. I looked at her. Her expression was solemn, her hands clasped. The lights cascaded on her face as we drove down the highway. Neither knew where we were going. Ahead was a long road, uncharted and desolate. I could not see beyond the faraway hills.

“It’s painful,” she said. “That you make me feel happy but every time you go I feel miserable inside.”

I didn’t answer. My fingers half-gripping the wheel, unsure. Years back, I had driven down this same highway, hopeful for what I would have met on the other side. “The last time I was on this road, I was heading to you.”

She smiled, the memory striking to her amusement. "I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve put you through," she added. I returned a smile, saying that I would not have done it if I had not cared. "Still –"

"Still, we’re all tied by circumstances aren’t we? I did what I could with what I had. We all did” I took her hand, squeezed it. She squeezed back. The softness lingered, memories trickling between our fingers. I let go, my hand back on the wheel. Sometimes, you feel the thread of connection stretching and you wonder just how far the red string extends. And that it is just a matter of when the thread ends. “I cannot be there for you.”

Her eyes glistened as she softly sobbed. A single tear ran down her cheek. I extended my finger, almost expecting her to recoil but she didn’t. I wiped it off, brushing lightly against her cheek. She took my hand and cupped her cheek in my hand. I sighed, my heart torn. I left it there for a while, then took my hand away.

I stopped the car and looked at her, “This is it”.

She opened the door, looked forward, then at me. Past the tears in her eyes, I saw something I had never seen before: I saw acceptance; resignation. She smiled like one who had genuinely found closure. “You’ll be free of me now. Take care and thanks for everything”.

She stepped out, walked and never looked back.

I'm breaking free from these memories

I've said goodbye, set it all on fire

Gotta let it go, just let it go.
Sunday, February 23, 2014 0 notes


I peered over the computer screen. Both Zooey and Heidi were sitting next to each other, chattering away. I caught snatches of the conversation over the din in the room. "So what next for you?" Zooey posed to Heidi. I leaned forward to catch the answer but the noise drowned out Heidi's answer. All I saw was her mouthing something distinctive.

I gave up and continued work. The story on the screen before me was a grisly one. Two women were found murdered, raped. I winced at the thought of it. The report mentions no sign of struggle. Did these poor women resign themselves to their murderers? I wonder how it must have been - to see one's end before you.

Zooey and Heidi stood up from their desks and started walking away to the restroom. I sat, glued to my chair, wondering what opportunity would befall me. I needed to talk to Heidi.

It wasn't before long she returned, without Zooey. I stood up from my desk and walked to her. "Where's Zooey?".

"Oh, she's in the restroom" Heidi answered with slight discomfort.

"Is everything alright?" I prayed for an honest answer.

She looked away and kept silent for a while. Then finally answered. "I'm engaged". Oh. It was not surprising to me. At least, not to the magnitude I had expected it to be. That didn't stop me from feeling a lurch in my gut. I smiled and congratulated, uncertain if it passed off as sincere. At times like these, being cordial was a virtue. "They're engaging me in a debate" she added, turning the topic away.

"Wait, what?" This was too much to take. First, the engagement. Now, she's actually coming out to publicly defend for what she believed in. She nodded. "What about Hussein?".

"He's already caught, remember?" I felt a tremor. One tingled with fear for the unknown. But more devastatingly, for her.
Friday, February 14, 2014 0 notes

golden ridge

I knelt down and picked up the golden leaf. Its ridged edges brushed against my fingers. I ran my fingers over its soft velvet skin, trembling a little bit inside. To acknowledge that this leaf was once part of a grander life that itself.

This leaf had only seen less than four months before breaking off into the abyss - releasing itself unwillingly in the sunset of its shades.

The winds blew around me. I pinched the leaf between my forefinger and thumb, examining its veins. I held it agains the will of the wind. It was uncanny, how similar it looked to the veins running in the flesh of my arms. The same life-line that gave me my will once fuelled this leaf - now lifeless.

But even in death, it had grace, beauty and preservation. In the face of autumn's death, it submitted itself to a grander design, soaring into the unknown. The winds blew harder - I let go. Who was I to change its destiny?