After – you


Maybe love just works like this.

Maybe even after all these time, I will still miss running my hand through your hair. Leaning on your boney but broad frame will still be my favourite thing to do when I am with you. Tilting my head to your neck and catching a whiff of your shampoo. Head and shoulders. No Neutrogena. Or was it Garnier. You laughing at how I can never remember what brand will still be my best memory of us. Seeing you smile will still warm my heart.

Maybe every time I see you, I will still get nervous. Looking into your eyes will still send my heart racing at a hundred kilometres an hour. Being around you will still make me feel at home. Silly jokes. Quirky expressions. Holding back on mean comments will impossible.

Maybe once in a while, I will still think about us. Smiling foolishly as I recall the stupid things we did will still be part of my bus rides home. Hearing our songs will still remind me of how you will get a tad angry when I forced you to sing. You never liked singing. You said you can’t sing and sound like a frog. Neither can I. But no one cares when it is just us. Still, you always get annoyed. You were cute like that.

Maybe on your birthdays, I will still wish I could undo some things. Not showing you what you really meant to me will still leave me with regrets. Getting upset at you for the silliest of reasons will still haunt me in my sleep. Accidentally getting too close to good guy friend will still be thing I wish I hadn’t did. Cross my heart. I never had anything for him. Never did. Never will. Still, it hurt you.

Maybe sometimes in the night, I still wish we had second chance. Hugging with the stuff toy you gave me will still be the only I can fall asleep. Staring at the ceiling feeling that you are so close yet so far will still make my heart sink. Wishing I could make up for everything will still be the last thought on my mind. Was young and foolish. Am older and still in denial.

Maybe for the rest of my life, I will still have a soft spot for you. Text me in the middle of the night and I will still stay up talking until you fall asleep. Reading too much between your lines will still give me tiny false hopes. Getting all close and then leaving will still be something I let you do over and over again. Asking myself why will still be a question I ask myself all the time. And I may never have an answer. But I guess that’s okay.

Maybe you will always mean something more to me.

Maybe I will always hold you close to my heart.

Maybe it will always be this way.

But maybe I need to understand that even though you will always be very dear to me. I cannot go back to five years ago. I cannot undo anything I did. I cannot fix this broken trust. I cannot heal two broken souls. I cannot keep you.

I cannot make you love me again.

So even if this is all it is going to be for the next five years.

I can live with that.


I guess this is what they meant when they said – first true love.


Dark – and twisted

It feels like I have been taken back in time. To the time when everything I slipped through my hands.

I laid there watching familiarity fade into the distance. I inhaled once deeply. The scent that lingered around dissipated. I took a second breath. It wasn’t there. My trachea constricted and I gasped for air. Third. Forth. Fifth breath. It was gone. It was gone.

My hands grew cold and my body stiffened. My left hand grabbed my chest, as I curled up into a ball. Each inhalation proved to be harder than the previous. My breaths shortened and quickened. I clenched my right hand into a fist.

I laid there, in a fetal position. Gasping for air as my body tensed up. It gave a shiver and jolted.

I jolted up and sat on my bed, with both my arms propping myself up. My chest thumped. In and out. I clinched the bedsheets. My head throbbed. What. What is happening.

I turned my head. To your side. The sheets were flat. Neat. Unmeddled with. The little indentions you left on the bed were no longer there. I clinched the sheets tighter. The scent was gone. You are gone.

I am scared of falling asleep. I am scared of that feeling. That fear that chokes me. That helplessness that sets in. That incomprehension of reality.

I don’t want to wake up gripped with fear, pain and brokenness. I don’t want to wake up knowing that you’re gone again. I don’t want to ever wake up.

I can’t do this again.

Once – I was twenty

Once I was fifteen years old, I understood what it meant to go wild, be crazy and have fun.

Once I was sixteen years old, I understood what it meant to fall in love and succeed in something you worked hard for.

Once I was seventeen years old, I understood what it means to have my heart broken and struggle to get back up.

Once I was eighteen years old, I understood what it meant to break my parents heart.

Once I was nineteen years old, I understood what it meant to grow up and be responsible for my life.

Now that I am twenty years old, I understand what it means to have so much weighing on your shoulders but no one to share them with.

Parents don’t always get it. And I don’t blame them. Late night outs. Staying up through the night. They think it’s all fun, game and laughter. Some nights it is. Many others it’s about responsibilities. I don’t say much because I know their “freak out” alarms will turn on. I can’t say much because I know if they knew, I can never wonder the streets till late at night. I wish I could tell them more. Be  responsible. Be accountable. Be every other thing a grown up should be. But how can I tell them that I stay out to make sure troubled friends get home safely. How can I tell them that I get calls from crying friends at four in the morning. How can I tell them that, sometimes, I leave the house in the middle of the night just to comfort a friend. I rather deal with them yelling at me to get up because it’s way past noon. I rather deal with them telling me that I am an unaccountable and irresponsible person that gives no fucks about her parents. Than deal with the guilt of not being there. Three years I wasn’t there and look at where things are now. It’s three years I can’t take back or change. And ever since I knew, I lie awake every single night asking myself what if. What if I didn’t leave. What if I had been there. What if I fucking had the balls to patch things up earlier. Damn it val. I could have done something. I could have possibly prevented it. I could have fucking been there. I could fucking have. And now, I spend every waking moment thinking about damage control. Thinking about how to better get through to them. Thinking about what I can do differently. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I am this aloof fuck who treats this house as a hotel. I’m sorry if I am a disappointment who gives no shits about family. I’m sorry but, right now, I cannot be a daughter and a friend.

I guess this is what growing up means.

Dancing – on my own


Three years was a long time. A time of learning to let go, move on and start over. To piece back what’s left and find yourself again. To get busy and occupied. To know that you’re doing just fine all alone.

Three years was enough time. Enough to realise that through it all, the thought of you. Of us, came creeping back when I least expect it. Enough to notice that I’ve been shelving all these emotions because I never thought it would be possible. Enough to finally understand that the whole time, I’ve been doing it wrong. Enough pretence. 

Three years was too short a time. Too short for sufficient personal growth. Too short to start believing again. Too short to hope for more. Too short for a new beginning.

So you wait for another three more years.

I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home.

Two – broken souls


I use to think that I could fix a broken soul.

That I could be what that shattered soul need.

Comfort. Support. Healing.

But I met you.

And then I realised that some souls.

Like mine. Were far too damaged to be fixed.

And in our valiant attempts to fix each other.

We cut ourselves on each other’s shattered pieces.

Leaving only more hurt and grief.

Can two broken little persons.

Ever find comfort in each other.


Such a shame how we all became fragile little souls.

From – our eyes


Not many people get it. They sort of empathise. They sort of try. Try to relate or “understand”. But I haven’t met anyone who truly understood how it’s like.

They know. They know that when we face problems, we will turn around and run away. They know that we give up easily. They know that we are too afraid to try.

But they don’t know. They don’t know that every time we face problems, we never intended to run  to away. They don’t know that we give up because we had one too many setbacks. They don’t know that we really do want to try.

They say get up and try again. But that very simple act of getting up and getting a grip is probably the hardest thing to do for us.

How hard can it be?

Imagine with me.

With each failure, you tell yourself the next attempt will be better. The next opportunity arises and you try. And like before, your genuine attempt takes a wrong turn and you end up crashing into a wall. Annoyed? Yeah, definitely. But instead of taking it within your stride, you flare up. Throw you hands in the air and call it quits. You leave furiously, swearing you will never try again.

But you walk away only to realise moments later that you never truly wanted to give up. You were just frustrated. Disappointed. Upset. That your hard work just wasn’t enough. That you weren’t enough.

You want to go back. You want to try again. But going back just seems rather awkward now. And you fear that you will once again throw in the towel when things go wrong. So you find yourself giving up simply because you wouldn’t give yourself another chance.

Take it from me. From a girl who fails in probably everything she does. From a girl who feels like she lets everyone down over and over again. From a girl who no longer has confident in herself.

We really want to try again. But somehow we just cannot see things objectively. Instead of seeing that particular failure as it is, we see it as an addition to our already long list of failures. Thus, when faced difficulties, we fall back into our same old pattern. Instincts.

And each time we give up, we feel smaller. We hate ourselves a little more. Until it comes to a point when we give up before we start trying. Because we no longer believe in ourselves anymore.


Change – just because


It has been too long. Too long that I can’t remember when I last did something for myself.

You get defeated. Once twice thrice. And everything is not going your way. 

Most people would tell themselves to recover and try again. Some would die trying. Other would give up trying.

But I gave up before trying.

It is about time. Time to start trying.

Enough of feeling sorry for myself. Enough of feeling inadequate. Enough of feeling deserving of all these negative things.

I am capable of doing more. I am worth doing more. I am deserving of more.

So for the rest of the sem, I really do hope that I will get my shit together and try again. Because the only time you really fail is when you give up on yourself.

And the journey begins.

One day at a time.

Just hope I wouldn’t give up on myself again.

Sell – this soul

Weird how we always go around asking for advice when all we need to do is decide.

It’s not as if we are completely clueless of what we want. We question. We ask. We deliberate. Just to seek some affirmation or some sort.
Truth is somewhere deep down we already know what we want. We know what’s best for yourselves.

Problem is, we are looking for a reason not to give it a shot. A reason to pin the blame on when things go wrong. A reason to run away from things we do not wish to face.

And in the end, what we put ourselves through is nights and nights of torment and distress. The constant deliberation of choices. Weighing of opportunity costs. The perpetual state of being so heavy hearted.

Why can’t we just decide and move on?

Don’t sell your soul to someone who simply doesn’t care.

Let – love and let live

It’s not easy. It hasn’t been easy.

It hasn’t been easy to pin a smile on my face and get on with things. It hasn’t been easy to concentrate on work.

Decisions to be made. Deadlines to be met. And all I am doing is running away. Yet again.

Perhaps I am just not like everyone else. I wasn’t built for greatness. I wasn’t built to achieve much. Maybe I just wasn’t built for anything at all.

There is the void which I can’t seem to fill. It’s not like I want company. Some will be good at times. But I rather much be alone.

It is just something. Something more than the routineness of life. Something more than the ordinary. Something to keep me going.

In any case, I just can’t. I can’t invest in anything knowing that all I get in return is disappointment. I can’t invest knowing that everyone will walk out on me. I can’t invest knowing that I will always mess up when it counts the most. I just can’t.

I no longer have the capacity to keep hoping. To keep believing. To keep trying.

I used to believe that good things happen to good people. But with each heartbreak. Each mishap. Each let down. I began to think karma is picking on the wrong person. But then again, perhaps I am just not good enough a person to deserve anything.

These accumulated disappointments have broken me. So much so I no longer believe. No longer believe in anything.

I am just a soul so far gone there is no turning back.

And maybe the only way to move on is first acknowledging what is. 

The – serenity prayer

Someday, we will all come to a point in life when we feel completely helpless.
When the displays on the medical monitor show nothing but straight lines.

When the friend calls you on the phone crying.

When the eyes are so full of sadness that nothing you do can rid them of the pain.

We feel powerless.

And maybe that’s why as humans. We need to believe in something greater.

In hopes that. Maybe. When we don’t have everything in control. We have something to hope in.

Because as humans. Sometimes. The only thing we can do. Is pray for the senerity to accept the things we cannot change. The courage to change the things we can. And the wisdom to know the difference.

So let whatever be may be, may be.