Thursday, November 05, 2015


As much as I strive to absorb all the knowledge that is out there, however much as I revel in how this knowledge makes me here with my feet on the earth, the more I learn the more I realize that there is that one thing I could never really know: the measure of 'how much' there is to love. Even the oceans start and end. Even the sky starts here on this very earth and expands to a certain distances above before it ends. But this...even I don't know how to start to comprehend it, I don't know where to place the ruler to its beginning - how could I know where the end is?

Saturday, October 17, 2015


I hid in darkness for fear of tainting the world with my poison for as long as I could. I felt it almost tangibly, a black inkiness extending its tentacles glibly and fluidly in all dimensions, temporal and spatial. The hooks embedded inside of me tugged me apart violently yet still holding me together. Pain had no realm, dancing over physical and emotional and blurring the lines so much I no longer felt the pain because of the sheer numbing agony.

There were too many people who cared. Who shook their heads sadly. Offering tissues. I don't need help.

I have gotten off the train before its left behind the past for too long, just so I dont break down in the crushing claustrophia of the scant crowds. It didn't matter if it was one or a thousand. It was too much. Instead, I walked the two hour commute back, lost and rambling, and in the newly arrived cold.

A child patting my hand to tell me it's OK only reminds me of the child we have lost. It's not safe to talk to strangers I tell her with my eyes. She's just learnt to walk, how has she leant to decipher pain?

Small steps, he said. Small steps. But I've fallen. I'm down. I'm walking. But where is home?

Thursday, October 08, 2015


Love: a feeling, promise, or contract?

At the very simplest form, we understand love to be a feeling. What else is love if it weren’t for feelings; what is felt; experienced?

But it isn’t just quite that exactly. The feelings itself is exclusive to the other party: it’s all about the personal experience even if stimulated by an externalizing factor.

As a promise, love takes a step up: it could be still purely personal and isolated in giving all to the sentiments of the feeling, but more often than not this signifies a transfer of something from one to another.

And yet a promise - could that also be a contract? A contract implies an agreement between two (or more) parties, and somehow there is something being exchanged – a two-way connection is developed.

But what happens when circumstances alter the very entity of that love? When things cannot be the same, when the exchange of that something isn’t exactly as dynamic as it once was? Is that still love?

Does love mean you abide and adhere to that something no matter what? That you hang on just because of something that existed in the past, and in anticipation of a tomorrow that would provide rational for simply hanging on today?

But what if every today keeps adding up, and soon all the weight of the past todays accumulated suddenly outweigh what once used to be the past? What if every today is hanging on, alone?

Suddenly this contract, be it signed in blood or tears, seems null and void. Even promises break. Feelings disperse. Even blood and tears dissipate into nothingness once again. Maybe love does too.

Tuesday, September 29, 2015


What do you do when the one you thought was your lifelong companion forsakes you? Had swept away without a backward glance, dropping you like a fragile glass to smash into infinites shards, and in leaving you behind, trods upon everything that once was: hope, honour, dignity, consolation, love.

When you are left with echoes of your own voice calling and calling them, only to return to you empty and cold...what do you do?

When this love that once filled every thing so much that gold could not outweigh its riches, why now do I feel like a homeless begger sitting on the street, craving, hungry and thirsty for one ounce of your notice?

Originally posted on my private personal blog on Friday, 21 August 2015. Re-posted with my own heart's permission. 

Monday, June 22, 2015

Summer or Love

Sometimes I forget that it is summer. I keep waiting, but it's an ambiguous wait. A wait for something that is not yet definitive and without definition remains unfulfilled for the very reason that when it is had it will not be recognized. 

Instead, time tiptoes by. The clouds hover low and whisper winds that deny warmth. We hide away in our darkened rooms, backs turned to the glaring brightness of heat outside. We hop tentatively into air conditioned units thwarting away what we spend most of our year craving. And suddenly, we turn it off. We are perplexed to find that we don't need it. That suddenly, summer passed, but it was as if summer never came. The leaves change colour, die, and fall.

What were we waiting for? Why did we not embrace it while it was there? Why did we fix our gazes to our futures and ignore the moment that we actually had? How was it possible that we keep waiting for something that was in a future that we had already trodden on and left in the past?

Everything we are waiting for, maybe we already have it. Maybe it's there and has started before we even knew it begun. Maybe we should stop waiting for something that will never be because in waiting we forget that it is here now.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015


Sometimes in the middle of this everyday life, while everything is bustling about, carrying on, a pause comes over me, and I remember.

When you've been with someone so long, things tend to settle. Settle down, settle in place... less of the tremulous, less of the hovering and less of the unknown.

It peeks out at me sometimes, a memory of the thrill of falling. When things were new, and unknown, when the merest presence, the sensation of meeting, was beyond words to describe.

Feelings relegated to memories. And yet, not entirely gone. Sometimes in the middle of looking across the room to you, something stirs. It's partly memory and yet partly something still new.

Sometimes my breath stops, and my heart quickens. And that's when my mind tells me this is so familiar and yet --- when I inhale it feels as if it is not air that is filling me up but everything that is you.

Wednesday, April 08, 2015


I have found myself wrapping myself around the idea of you. Around the idea of us. Why, I am not really sure. Yet; because suddenly I have only realized this. Perhaps it is to wrap up close what this you and I is, so that nothing escapes, nothing floats away.

But in this I have become so molded in the frame of you, in the grooves, valleys, chasms, hills that are your landscape. Have I changed my own to better fit to yours? Have I lost something that was myself in becoming myself-with-you?

Why has it become my responsibility to wrap us up and protect, why has it been me that has settled to walking a steady pace instead of flying, soaring wildly, to ease your fear of heights? And it is true, you did not ask:

Maybe it is my fear that has always been at fault. A fear of losing what may be lost. Maybe holding on so tight is already the cause of having now lost so much.

What will happen if I unwrap this gift? Let the air flow, and let us fly free. What if I make you stand on the edge and open your arms and fall; maybe you too will fly with me.

Friday, February 27, 2015

I Am Dying

In these countless moments so many tears and fears have been, and so many have they fallen and arose that I have lost myself. So deeply the tears have rendered me apart, gaping wounds so raw and rot. So disfigured my visage upon reflection blurred in shattered glass that sightless I have also become. Inward this gaze, total oblivion yet pulsing pulsing a pain undeterred. So often have these sorrows breathed that they have burrowed deeply embedded under my skin. Deep in the marrow, in the breast, these sorrows keen softly, yet growing, growing. Oh mother these lumps have lost you to. If I don't die of these too, I shall die of my sorrows.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

The Conditions of the Sun Shining

Out from my palms my blood flowed, but it was without pain I had let the wound open for you; it was after all straight and genuinely from the heart.

This was the heart that beat quietly in pursuit of you, in the rhythm fulfilled by the existence of you. And so the constant flow dripped off my fingertips to give and give and give.

I lived this far with the knowledge that you would be mine. Somehow and someday. And to do so I have navigated these uncharted paths by living as good a person I could have tried to be, all things considered, because somehow, someday I had to be worthy of my desires.

My desire was you, and to love you the way ki have alwaysmdone, before I even knew you and before we had ever met. Constantly and unconditionally.

My belief in you existing solely for me has been tried and tested in more ways than even you could know. Even in the knowledge that everything was shared as we became one, I shrugged off the layers of scar tissue and scabs to better embrace you and be stronger for you. And though I has hurt to attempt to remove, these same scars were blessed with my gratitude if only because my strong belief that they had to exist as a test of fire in order to endure and experience the obtainment of you.

My belief is that you are for me and I am for you. But stronger still is that you be eased of all pains and burdens, and at peace of mind; with or without me. Because, this my love, is without condition.

But you don't want my beliefs until they safeguard yours.

If i have asked of you to alter or amend, this too is in belief that you would be better off. Health and emotion so intertwined they have fed off each other, eating and eating until nothing was left except the raw, rotting and bleeding. To prevent and heal, I have asked of you may things which my prayers alone have no been enough to assuage. And my belief in you recognizing the goodness of my requests for the sake of our love had to withstand the powerful resistance to change.

My heart has waited, in all the heartbeats it had lost in waiting, and with each beat sighed the unwavering prayer that was you. Then to spend each moment in fervent hope that each moment of yours was better. To give each waking moment to praying for your state if being, instead of mine.

How is it that this blood, pouring steadfastly from my palms has started to turn from red to black? That this snow upon which I have tread so as not to stain it from its purity now betrays my footsteps, seeping cold and unmercifully into my skin, burning my beliefs with icy cold acidity? Why now, the fulfillment of loving you comes at the precipice of your rejecting the very same power which brought me to you?

Perhaps from henceforth I will not pray that your every moment is fulfilled to your own wishes, perhaps now I will not pray that you hardships ease and that the sun will shine upon you in you on darkness or for the things you yourself want for you. I will pray that you learn to believe in your own stead and believe with as much as I did in you, that you learn to believe in yourself without me so that you own prayers will come true with the same faith we had in mine. Instead of the amount of energy I have spent in your smaller things coming true, I will pray that you own come true, so that you will no longer need mine, nor me.

The blood will continue to flow. Black or red. It will not abate, nor is it possible that I can stop it. It flowing for you has become the definition of my being, so much that to press down on the wound, to stitch in up, will sooner choke me as if my breath itself has stopped. But thus, my beliefs, they have crippled. I continue to walk despite the frostbitten soles, but only so in a direction far away from where I had left my heart.