Cycle v2.0

You are tucked underneath the layers of sheets in your bed, a sanctuary away from the chilly rain. Your eyes wandered from the whites of the ceiling, inspecting its purity, and you questioned yourself, in the back of your mind, if you were ever as pure.

It’s the kind of evening where remorse hits, like the forthcoming rain, in waves and you shuddered amid the layers of sheets, hoping that it will pass. But you know, the sensation will stay and not dissipate even if the rain stopped.

You decided to distract yourself, but not with sleep because you’ll probably wake up from a recurrent nightmare.

So you reached for your phone and the Facebook surveys popped up amongst your social feeds. You clicked on them one at a time, enjoying its content and laughed at its ridiculousness. And time flutters by as you counter checked your personalities, quizzed your pathetic lexicon and reaffirmed your personalities again.

Before you know it, you had dozed off and a familiar scene of you, burrowed under the sheets on your bed, staring into the ceiling replays.

carpe diem

we are struggling souls,
trying to salvage what we can and
cannot, meeting deadlines and
exceeding expectations.
and it is only in the silent of the night,
the wee hours of the morning,
can we, truly,
be alive.


Life is peculiar.

Nothing is left unturned. The tides flow as they please, the wind howls as they desire, the menstrual cycle. Nothing is ever alone. Not you, not me, not the organelles on the skin that wraps us.

Everything is always in motion. By laws of nature, like the Earth’s rotation, the Moon’s revolution, the Planets’ orbit. And by laws defying nature, like the dew that trickles down the leaf’s blade, the coffee that drips through the filter.

Everything is always happening so quickly, like the death of the dragonflies. The lashing of a tongue, the flutter a little too late, a valiant struggle, the decapitated wings, the surrender, the retrieval, the stomach unemptied.

Nothing quite makes sense. Not the language we wear on our tongues, not the herbs in the broth, not the way currency evolves. Not you.

Not me.

days numbered 

​your days are numbered from
the day you were born,
and each breathe you take may
well be your last.
your only salvation,

is to cherish
those who existed and inked
their shadows onto
your pathetic, minuscule life

dangerous activity

i think it is dangerous to partake in late night ramblings but this situation calls for one, so i am going to heed my urges and you are going to read it. it’s been a few days since i began my internship. and already, i feel the inadequacy of my existence in the company. the praises that i used to get are merely vapours of the past, and adapting to a new life is yet again a big hurdle to overcome.

truth is, i wish i am less of a pessimist and more of an optimist. i wish i would think of this opportunity as a way to hone my craft. and i wish i am smarter and more resourceful. i wouldn’t deny that i once wished i was birthed with a golden spoon and that life would have been vastly different – maybe better. being a perfectionist hurts.

being a perfectionist hurts. and no right words, or phrases, or sentences can aptly describe this feeling. if i am forced to put these to words, i’d say something inside me is, slowly but surely, eating me alive. and while it may seem i am breathing and eating and sleeping fine, my soul may have already been shattered into a million shards.

that said, there is no beauty without pain.

2016, fin

Dear You,

2016 is coming to an end. So is our relationship.

Take it as a way of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, or the silver lining among the darkest clouds. We had, for the briefest moments, agreed to be a part of each other’s minuscule lives. You and your world of complicated math formulas and physics theorems, and me with my universe of books and late night dramas. We had, for the slightest of time, allowed each other into our world of paranoia. You and your compulsive mood swings when you are stressed or focused.  Me and my fear of social judgement. While we found solace in each other, I am afraid our recluse cannot last.

It has been a pleasant journey with you, at least for the four or five months we were together. But 2016 is coming to an end, so are we.

Take it as if you met someone, whom you reckoned will stay but did not. Take it as if you met someone, whom you thought would love the good and embrace the bad but did not. Take it as if it is a way of life, an act of growing up. Take it as if a door closes and a new one opens.

Nothing really happened between the two of us. We were just two confused youths who were trying to find our sense of belonging and entitlement. We were just two individuals who had crossed paths and walked side by side.

It never really was your fault. Truth is, it was mine. After all, I suggested the split. After all, my heart fluttered. After all, I realised I was not ready. I did lead you on a wild goose chase. I did waste your time. I did fail to embrace the notion of love – of its glorious rays of affection, of its sentimental ways of loyalty, of its never-ending cycle of forgiveness.

I was a jerk. You aren’t.

And I thank you for appearing on that crossroad in that impossible crowd. I thank you for appearing in that café where we managed to drown out the cacophony and immersed in what I thought was a meaningful conversation. I thank you for heeding my request for solitude. I thank you for showing me the side of me that I never thought I had.

And I am sorry. For everything that had happened.


2016 has been a cold, hard year. And I am glad it is ending.



Santa needs a new body

this body i am wearing
is no body of mine
it is wrinkled and tearing
it is not quite fine.

this body i am wearing 
has veins clogged with mercury
a heart i’m sure is failing
and in need of surgery.

this body has holes
in places hidden from sight
holes that turned into woes
like a stalker in the night.

this body had its youth
from the bloke it once belonged
too bad he was a sleuth
snooping on my prized lawn.

this body was sturdy
and quite unrelenting
too bad i’m equally burly
and gave him quite the beating.

this body had served 
for centuries through the nights
across the clouds I swerved
to catch the city lights.

this body had dove
a million times down 
and emerged above
safe and sound.

this body is old
and in need of change
so the search for a new soul
has now begun.