Tag Archives: drabble

The best feeling in the world is when you are able to stand up for yourself and fend off bullies.

There is only so much a person could take. Only so much hatred and frustration one could hold back.

It is absurd that a person does not feel safe in the confines of their own home. There is always the fear of being attacked, harassed or insulted and degraded on a daily basis.

The fight is rough, harsh shoves and raising voices but nothing beats the satisfying feeling of knowing that you can rely on yourself.

Proud.

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Hi World, I do not need for you to know me.

At a certain point of having this blog, I realised that I really wanted to be heard. I desired for my thoughts to be understood, for others to at least try to see it how I see it, regardless if they agree with me or not. But in all honesty that does not matter. I have discovered that now. That my goal was never to be understood by the world but by the few people I care enough to share what it feels like to see the world through my pair of boring, brown eyes.

Then isn’t it stupid for me to run a public blog when the obvious way to achieve what I really wanted is through personal communication? Well, I guess, but the more attached I am to someone, I find it harder to express to them my real thoughts. Especially the controversial ones I keep hidden. Also, I must say, putting my heart out on my sleeve isn’t something I am particularly good at.

Writing here is easy and between the two paths diverging ahead of me, I choose the easier one. As much as I know everyone who reads this are human, I do not put an identity on any of you, no faces attached to the views I get everyday. I am detached from you. So, I do not care what are your perceptions of me after you have done reading what I decide to tell you.

What I could do instead is maybe start a project like one of my friends have done. She writes letters to all the people around her. Despite the fact that she never sends them, it still serves the purpose: She gets her thoughts cleared up and it is kept private. Maybe I should start one as well. And maybe unlike her, I should hand them to people when I feel like the time is right. And just maybe, you might have one with your name written in block letters (cause I cannot write cursive)on a worn envelope with dog ears on two out of the four sides.

As for now, I have taken off the link of my blog from my public accounts. The only ones who have access to this blog now are people who have visited it or people who stumble upon it after being on the wordpress reader and they aren’t many of them. So now, this becomes more personal to me, well at least as personal as a public blog can get and I feel more safe writing what I feel like writing.

Ps: Also, recently I was hanging out with my sisters and I asked if they have read my blog and they told me that they had but they could not really understand what I was saying. They said it was too poetic (in a bad way). If you agree with them please tell me. I guess I sound like I am trying too hard half the time. Have I? I am not really sure myself.

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It’s been a while

I think, I think too much
And that’s another thing to think of
Besides the subject that is you
Running laps continuously around my mind
While I am always known as a slow walker
And I cannot keep up

My friends tell me they never know what I want
And I have never minded just settling with ignorance
But when every mention of you is accompanied
With multiples ‘i don’t know’
This once, I really care to know if I care for you

I seek left and right for some sort of advice
And there is one straight ahead who could help me
But how could I possibly ask you about you?
Even if your insights would be the most insightful

Timing is everything, I agree
So tell me if I should reopen this after a year
Or should I just let it go like I did three years ago?
You are 7 hours away but it does not matter
Because what are years and hours and memories?
They only make this sound more tragic than it is
When the only tragic thing is us stuck in GMT-friend

I’ll be honest, I am nervous
And if I’m lying I’d say I’ll talk to you today
All this time knowing today will never happen
Shall we trade experiences once this is over?
Today I wish for you to read this
Today I hope you could magically read my mind
Today I will stop being complicated and mess things up
All this time knowing today will never happen

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A reply to ‘Raison d’être’

Raison D’être

 

There are days when I force words out because my brain seems to act like a car sitting in the garage for too long, needing a few attempts before the engine purrs to life. Those days are hard and most of my work produced usually ends up in the draft folder I never revisit.

Then there are times when thoughts start to suffocate me and I cannot function. When my life looks like everything is right where it should be, but my mind is a mess I need to organise. It is then that my work seems less pointless. I guess because that is when I write the truth. Sentences that are not laced with exaggeration or randomly placed jargon to make it sound better.

I guess I write because there is actually so much about myself I do not know. This is partly because I never question anything really. When I am asked how my day went, it would take me a few seconds for me to actually think of it because I never do. I live knowing that I have to go through days however they turn out to be, so I never really cared if it was a good or bad day when I should.

I never really knew what I liked and what I do not. They used to be the same to me. I just power through whatever it is that comes my way. Maybe because growing up, I was never really in a position where I could choose for myself. Lessons are pre-chosen by my school or parents, I wear what is approved by my family, I do what seems to be appropriate to everyone else. I am a produce of a relatively constraint surrounding I would say.

Writing makes me question every underlying assumption I previously had. If not, what I write would not be convincing and if I am not convinced by it how would it ever help me sort out conflicts between the thoughts I have in my head? I do hope whatever I write would bring people pleasure or some sort of joy or satisfaction but essentially, they need to fulfill the main objective: for me to fully understand this loaned soul of mine and once I achieve that, hopefully I get to be a better person. Although that is arguable.

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You take up too much of my sleep

You take up too much of my mind
And I hate how I allow this to happen
It is like I am saying
‘Hey, I see you lurking around the corner,
Come closer and let’s see what you have for me’

This is not a poem of devastating sadness
Of a love unreciprocated
Or about undividided attention
This is me too lazy to write paragraphs
But not poetic enough to write lines that rhyme

There are things I need to say out loud(figuratively)
To validate and maybe promote them
From being muddled thoughts
To half-assed poetry or whatever you call this

*

The people you love are not the ones
You whisper sweet nothings to
But the number you dial immediately
When you feel like the whole world is closing up on you

The people you trust are not the ones
You share your deepest secrets with
But the ones whose advice you accept
Because you have allowed their opinion to shape your decisions
It is almost similar to consensual dictatorship

The people you respect are not the ones
You speak politely to
As if your tone would hurt them physically
But the ones whose words you value
Even if they are completely not what you stand for

And if all these made up assumptions
Are actually true
Then you are the person I love, trust and respect
But that does not mean we are anywhere better
Than we were before I said it
We are too deep in debt with our own selves
To even start owing each other a part of us we cannot provide

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Let it be

Let our meetings be awkward,
It is not like the familiarity,
Would make any difference,
It is not like I could stop myself,
From stretching a grin like a Cheshire Cat,
When I see you on the streets,
Forgetting for a while,
That you are someone I could only have,
In fictitious 3 am dreams.

Let our fingers brush,
When the deck slides across the table,
And I will force the ends of my smile,
To uncurl itself painfully,
Cursing under my breath,
Because it felt like untainted bliss,
Cursing, as I look at you,
To deceive everyone in the room,
And partly, to deceive myself.

Let this slowly die,
Even if it drags a part of me along,
Even if it takes all the time in the world,
Because I should be revived,
Shiny and new with a few polished cracks,
Ready to be auctioned to needy beings,
As a vintage piece of soul,
Weathered and worn,
With value higher than it ever was before.

Let months pass,
And I will still be across the road,
No longer waiting, no longer thinking,
But I can’t say the same about feeling.

 

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In the window 43 degrees from her left,
A boy whose lips shape like curses,
And two crescent like craters guarding his smile,
Lies on his bed unknowing,
While she stared out, hoping he would notice,
How she stopped sending her heart his way,
But he did not.

5151 miles away under the blazing heat,
A sun kissed boy waits silently,
For the slow change of heart,
In his partner in crime,
Who he wished could be his partner,
In more than just that.

Somewhere on the equator,
He breathes in the suffocating humid air,
The tight strangle that choked him since 10,
Has been released when he told her,
Things that he should have just kept inside,
Because now she is choking him with silence,
And that feeling is 10 times worse.

She swallows the frustration down, making her nauseous,
Wondering how it is unfair that she could not love,
The people who would appreciate it most,
But instead she throws all she has,
Feeding the drain of indifference,
Wasted in the sewers of unrequited feelings.

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Prologue (mostly just word vomit)

She blinked, confused. Her eyelids curtained her sight, showering her with visions of the corners of a low-lit cafe. It was not that she was unsure that this large space in front of her is a cafe, she knew right away after her first intake of air. The nutty smell of freshly grounded coffee -most likely single origin- and the sweet smell of molten dark chocolate from her half eaten lava cake gave it away. She heard the clutter of porcelain against porcelain, the result of graceless lowering of cups to its designated saucers. She knew this place is what it is but the unanswered question keept repeating in her mind like an overplayed vine that just did not know when to stop: Why is she here? How did she get here? Why was her first conscious breath in a cafe? It should have been in her room with the smell of her lavender laundry softener waking her up as she nuzzled deeply into one her numerous pillows. Her first sight should have been the window with the view of the sun, angry at her for wasting precious time or the blank ceiling with lights as eyes and a water blotch for a mouth, probably from a leaking pipe from the unit above her. But it is not.

She took a deep breath, as deep as her lungs could manage. ‘Okay’ she mustered silently, running her eyes slowly from the small wooden table with a cup of untouched latte and high calorie dessert to the outfit she was spotting. She swallowed, her mouth tasted minty with a hint of chocolate but what surprised her was how she was dressed. She looked poised and classy, the kind of person who would frequent places like this. Well she does, but she never looked the part. Today was different and it was not just because of what she was wearing.

‘Excuse me?’, she cleared her suddenly dry throat. The waiter passing by turned back, snapback covering his eyes but a warm smile spread over his face, too widely stretched.

‘How long have I been here?’, she continued, her eyes wondering around trying not to show any hint of fear or panic but she accidentally swallowed hard at the last minute, too nervous at the answer she was about to hear. He squinted his eyes but she could not see. With his head slightly tilted as a silent sign of ‘are you okay?’, he answered, ‘Around 15 minutes  and I’m assuming you were waiting for someone.’ His smile faltered as a look of concern started to morph onto his face.

‘Oh, yea. Of course.’ she answered.’ Just completely lost track of time’, she tried to justify, putting on a well controlled smile and shrugged.

‘Alright, then.’, he said without a hint of sarcasm. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’

‘No, thanks.’ she lied, clumsily taking a big gulp of her now cold latte while looking away just wishing the waiter would leave her alone.

Through the corners of her eyes, she saw the retreating back of the waiter wearing all black except for the grey trainers he had on. She approved of his fashion sense even if it’s nothing much, it was something she would definitely be spotted wearing: an all black gear with a hint of colour if you were lucky.

She closed her eyes, wanting to block out her overreacting mind and frenzy thoughts. ‘Alright.’, she muttered. Starting from the beginning, she coerced her brain to recall the last thing she could remember before it all went, blank? How did it suddenly go blank? What do you mean thoughts just went blank? This is no movie, memories do not go all sci-fi and turn into a self-destructing black hole. Her mind went on overdrive and she tightened her knuckles, feeling the distracting pain of her blunt nails trying to pierce her soft, fragile skin. ‘Let’s do this again’, she mumbled to herself not realising a certain pair of dark eyes locked on her from behind the espresso machine. He too was doing some thinking, completely ignoring the milk frothing over the mini metal jug he was holding.

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I met a man who knows he’s beautiful,

And it saddens me how his beauty suddenly lacks the true value it holds as he parades it, as if it would decrease if people stop paying attention to it.

His beauty -as blinding as it could be to eyes as mundane as mine-  was sadly shrouded by his arrogance.

And I should be devastated
but seeing him now is bearable. He is almost human this way.

A man I met in 2010

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What type of shoes are you?

It is easy to hate the people you see on tv, the ones who take up spreads in magazines. You do not feel guilty pointing each flaw and provide non-constructing criticism, throwing words you would not dare to say to people around carelessly.

And you know why?

Because we do not see them as human beings. We view them as objects. Or maybe a hybrid of both, I do not know. It has never occurred that that person on the billboard have the same flaws as we do. We dismissed the fact that what has been to said to them is hurtful just because they are not there to hear those upsetting words. We completely forget to see them how we want others to see ourselves. It never registered that we are made of the same flesh and bones.

This happens to me as well.

That changes when I see them in person. Having them in the same room makes me understand that he is just like me. We have the same skin tone and his smile reminds me of my dad. His greying hair a sign of endless thinking and stacking problems and his touch was similar to the touch of all the other people I have touched. I expected a smooth, stiff material, for his limbs to click when he moves and technical problems to arise when he nears a microphone or a speaker. But of course that did not happen because he is human. Like me. Like everyone else in the room.

Because most of the time we think the shoes that fit us are the only shoes that exist and that the rest of them, the ones we have never seen are not considered shoes at all.

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