days of night

in loss. at loss.

since then, i have been trying hard to make sense of things. I have been grappling with the days that have been relentlessly throwing themselves at me, and I am surprised that I have made through 64 of them. i must have somehow caught those hours and sorted them through, teasing them open with these trembling fingers, on knees that knock each other.

Everyone has strategies to cope with something.. what happens to us when we have to cope with a nothing?
It doesn’t help at all to talk about it. Talking has become like a relief that is brought upon by intoxication. It fades away and for a moment, the weight is lifted off my chest and I gulp in lungfuls of hope. “It will get better”, I say, half to reassure them, half to psych myself into believing that it will get better.
As silence seeps into my body, i am surprised to find so many words to say, but at the very moment I open my mouth, they all disappear. It is that frustrating.

I have come to terms with the headache and the heartache that has made its abode with me. I cannot fall asleep without listening to Vivaldi’s “A Rain of Tears”. Among my frightful dreams, in one of them, she was so scared, and how she flung her little arms around me, so tightly, and I held her, so tightly. I woke up, afraid that I had lost her. will we be alright?

So they say, time heals all things. Haven’t we hurt enough?
I wake up and find my morning heart as tired as it was in the night. Hope has taken me a prisoner and while I am not the only one, I am perhaps the most miserable.

It has also brought about an indescribable hatred for myself. I alternate between convinced decisions of self-love to alarming self-deprecatory states.
I have begun to hate so much, yet appreciate with an equal fierceness, the question “how are you?
I hate it because I am forced, as if one has grabbed me by the back of my collar and wrung my head around, the way a child carelessly wags the head of a limp ragdoll who is forced to look in every direction of its unpredictable handler. It frightens me, the questions of concern force me to remember that I have not been doing well.
So, “‘All right,’ I say. I want to go. I want to curl up, bury myself in darkness. I want to be covered over.
I want to rage. I want to weep, I want to retch. But most of all I want to sleep.”
I told them that I have been very tired lately. Because “tired” can mean a whole lot of things if they were listening instead of just hearing. But they don’t seem to have been listening.

I shall always remember how Providence destined that day to be a busy one for me. It allowed me to forget for a moment, to graciously allow the shock to settle into my system. Yet my hands still shook, and the people around me noticed.
In the golden hour, I miss you. We miss you.

Time has kept me in limbo in some dark pit. Memory has been an escape and a torment at the same time.
Surely, after all the darkness, the light must be brighter than we can ever imagine. But I can’t see anything..
Is it there, all the light I cannot see?
Hope, which has taken me prisoner, will it one day set me free?

i wish you came back.


you’d drown if you rest.

Sometimes the tears just slip down my cheeks, and other times when it doesn’t, I feel it all accumulating in the rusty cages of my beaten-out hollow chest, and I’m not exaggerating, it makes it hard for me to talk without choking, it’s hard to even breathe.
And the rain of yesterday, I thought maybe this is what all the tears in me would look like, pouring from the sky. Making the ugly world wet.
So I made a mental note: never will I cry when I’m outside. never again. I can hardly imagine how repulsive it would look like, all the tears in me pouring from my eyes.
Making my ugly face wet.

I had always thought baby steps were alright, but now I know they’re not because they’re all insisting, jostling, telling me i should hurry on.
But see, when I do, they tell me to slow down.
And when I slow down, they tell me once again to move along.

One heart one mind, they said they all were, yet when they spoke, their voices all pointed me in a thousand different directions…
The look in their eyes, their hope for me. It makes me shudder and shake in fear to disappoint them. How did they see so much in me, how could they have so much hope in me for me, when I had no hope for myself and thought of myself the way years of calling me stupid instilled into me that I was stupid.

Have you heard the noise the voices make in my head?
Have you heard the growing rumble an approaching tsunami makes ?
It strikes fear in the heart of the most grown man.

And I look around for a safe place to hide, expecting everyone else to be scrambling for shelter with me, too… only to realize that they aren’t?
For a second and a half, I wonder why, but when the first waves lashed me hard across my face, it seemed like it also struck me in plain brutality, mocking me: this tsunami came for me, to get me. Me alone.
And all of a sudden, the water seemed to start to fill me up from the inside.
I flail and flounder in a pool of thick authentic confusion, infused with the pungent scents of reckless panic and bloody bravado.

Looks like they are going to drown you in you.
How clever.

And the others, all standing on their two firm feet, tuts at me, shakes their head at my struggle, my fight to keep my head above the waters. I wonder if they know that I can’t swim …
Also, I think I’ve heard laughter coming from the land. I think they’re all laughing at me, amused, and despising me for sinking in this.
But they haven’t heard this noise, definitely not the one in my head. I’ve heard it roar many times before, but this time it’s different.
It’s a monster of a million oceans crashing mercilessly on the roofless head of a lost child.
Like how I power up my rank 6 Colt to take out a Nita that is merely rank 1. Hundred percent victory. A brawling star.

And I, who dons stupid smiles and polite bows, am wearying, breaking, weeping, under the strain of a thousand ages of stress.
Their eyes are on me and I know they are watching me with bated breath.
What’s worse is that my body is aching, my arms are tired, my legs are cramping but I still do stubbornly want to swim well, to reach the land, the land that never seems to get closer no matter how hard and for how long I swim. I’m not sure, maybe I want to do this for myself, maybe to impress them, and maybe to impress all of them, to prove that I am not a child anymore, not someone who holds to a non-existent self-esteem, but someone who is like them, one of them, someone who is actually really bursting at the seams with eager confidence and zest for life and everything she has yet to see.

I still plug in my earpiece, this days a little deeper, half of me believing that it makes me a little more invisible, and the other half of me believing that it would stifle the screams I’ve heard inside me. As if it would make me a little less afraid of every one and every thing going around me.

Then in the deepest night, familiar darling Despair comes searching for me, her cold fingers are the only ones I feel tightening around my ribs that I am feeling more every day through my skin.
She turns what should be frightening thoughts into frighteningly calm ones.
As she lessens my fears of drowning, then I also realized how much I have been craving, for someone to tell me, “Good job. It must have been hard. You’ve worked hard. It’s alright.” Maybe just that enough would have made me stay…

Then to wake up and find that my morning heart is just as tired as it was last night, I ask myself, what is hope?

And I fear that I will disappear before I can do anything for the good of them, the millions out there.
Not even for just one of them. all those poor people.
poor me, but who cares.

rain on

It’s here, the rainy season. it sprinkles, showers, storms.
The sun still shines but the air is cold throughout the day.

I think maybe people enjoy the cold more cos they are cold themselves…
It would probably be a cold day when I disappear…

Rain like a heartbeat.

The difference between you and I is that you enjoy the rain,

And I only think about when it will stop.

“Where people see light,
I see darkness and its
And trust me its scary.

Its like you enjoy rain,
and I feel the pain
of water hitting the

Hurting me so well.”

Shreya M.

summertime sadness

there’s no need to be, but it’s okay, perfectly okay, to be afraid of your pain//

if you could read my mind, you’d be in tears.

On days in my self-labelled ‘dysthymic dimension’, my mind becomes a non-stop boombox with echoes of a million versions of my voice bouncing off the walls of every corner of my body. One ricocheting thought hit me square in my stomach and sent me reeling more in shock than in pain when i realized how awfully lonely it was to be a container of all these thoughts and fears with no one else to hear it but me.

I don’t think I could be honest to share all my thoughts to one person, always depositing an amount of words here in one body and there in another;
torn by an inexplicable fear to open up to someone before my thoughts swallow me whole.

I collapse into what I call a foldable version of myself. I only open my true self up once in awhile to people I feel comfortable with and even then, the words i say are sprinkled with generous amounts of “i-don’t-know-but”s, “maybe-it’s-just-me”s, all the while stuttering as I speak.
but they can’t hear me stammer if i write.

And writing here, for awhile it was a relatively safe haven.

Safe for awhile until you know adults print out your writings here to share with other predators to satisfy their pleasure of finger-pointing, to judge you, criticize you.
So i was thrown into a worrying frenzy once again and I can’t remember when ‘safe for awhile’ was anymore.

Beginning to wonder why people wants to know about you, wonder why would people even want to know about you.

Wondering why people stupidly make countless plans so they can feel stable without actually being stable, why folks only celebrate for those that follow behind them and tell the rest that don’t they’re on their own, when they tell you they want to support you then turn around to say you’re not independent enough, when even family doesn’t feel familiar anymore.
And I know I’ve always been different, have been seeing things so differently from everyone else ever since I can remember.. don’t know if that makes me crazy but i think i know now why I feel the way i do.

Certain days I think I would go to a psychologist and beg to be diagnosed with some kind of unidentified form of anxiety or depression, classified as some sick person, just to give myself an explanation on why yesterday my head swam with intrusive thoughts, just to assure myself that the reason why I didn’t mind wildly walking across whole roads with traffic of big construction trucks without looking left or right last week isn’t my fault.
It would be easy, not easy for those who bagged the best scholarships, but easy for someone crazy like me,
so i think when the weather is right, when it fits me just right, I might whisper a contented goodbye somewhere high up as close as can be to my favorite sky, with no one by my side.

It is a fact that this doesn’t bother me every single day. and I don’t stretch my down times.
There are days when I am really fine and I don’t even think of these things and I’m really happy and bursting with hope and eagerness for all the future holds for me. It doesn’t bother me every day, but sometimes that’s what scares me more, the unpredictability of when my insecurities, my anxieties, will catch up with me and then I’m not sure i’ll make it through the whole process of struggling again.

Psalm 27:1 KJV The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

Maybe He makes me weak to teach me that He is strong.

So I will hold on to Him for as long as He holds on to me.

may the skies

I keep thinking of Monday’s blue fluorescent evening skies,
it was almost as if they were wearing a kind of film-worthy filter in real life.
I thought i’d take my phone out and take a snap for remembrance’s sake.. but i grimaced then, and now again, thinking of how my camera quality would only ruin the memory. I chucked the thought aside and looked at them some more…


some things are too beautiful to hold in hand:
and those things that would have been jinxed by touch,
are carried forever by the mind and heart.

pretty in pain

There was a seemingly endless scroll of dusk, gently painted over with a candescent pinkish hue.
Skies on fire. Almost as if they were consuming themselves with an unknown vengeance.

I stood underneath them, and I began to wonder if perhaps the skies could feel, perhaps they did, and at that very moment were convulsing over an unspeakable turmoil within them. And they were well aware of me, standing where i was beneath them, blissfully ignorant.
The chaos churned among them and yet, I could look at them and smile with child-like delight, fascinated by the palette of passionate colors, a product of their pain.

And in my mind I penned a note to them:

dear sky,
how are you so pretty like this?
are you struggling? is it painful?
you’re not the only one.
but maybe you should know that you are more fortunate than others;
at least you look pretty in pain.

time to trust

i don’t know where to start. my mind is almost tangled up like an i dont know what even.
funny how i seem to always go back to writing only when i feel confused, lost.
turned 19 on 1st Jan. another year to live, another year to learn, another year of  struggling, perhaps harder than ever before. im beginning to guess that some things in life won’t really get much better.

waiting in silence, His silence, sounds like an easy task. but not for me.

courage, to do something despite your fears.
it’s sad how people laugh and look the most happy when they’re most afraid.
almost as if they’re trying to hide, to put on their best smiles so no one will think of lifting their cover and find out what a quivering mess lies underneath.

i find silence amusing. should the solitude guarantee me sanity or bring me to insanity? find myself often elapsing into periodic silence, wandering into frightening daytime nightmares; it makes me dizzy sometimes & i wonder if you can see me self-destruct.
still my soul, if i should fear.

you’ll never win if you quit now, i tell myself.
drawing with silver is not for you, and you’re afraid of heights. im not sure if being honest like this helps, most people avoid and shun talking about this, i guess they dont know what to say, i dont really know what i’m looking to hear either.
we’re all in the sea, but i’m the only one who doesn’t know how to swim.
but i’ll keep trying, till i can’t do it anymore.
you’re at least working hard in living, if not anything else

on train and bus rides to my temp job, i often fall into fits of musings. the world has become a scary place, all the hundreds of bodies milling around, moving, churning, living. and no one knows how fearful i am of them, trembling as i step into their world.

but i am thankful for this fear, again and again, it drives me back to the arms of Christ. He is very near, very real, and i need Him every hour.
He gave me life and so i shall live strong, not in my courage, but in the grace that is in Christ Jesus. i cannot turn from Him.


Faith is unutterable trust in God. A trust which never dreams that He will not stand by me.

Faith never knows where it is being led. But it loves and knows the One who is leading.



instead of wishing you all a happy new year, i wish you all a meaningful one. life won’t be always happy. but it can be meaningful, no matter how slowly the days and months crawl by only to tear your heart apart, it is meaningful with Christ in your vessel.