Sometimes I run the streets, sometimes they run me -Morgan Parker 

I don’t know what I think I’m doing

Pretending I’m well adjusted 

Schooling with the white people 

Club on a Friday 

Laughing in the library

Flirting with young boys and old boys 

Yeah you can come see me 

Dinner’s some fancy Thai food 

I’ll show you I’m made of that material 

While deflecting get-to-know me questions about home, about my blessed kin

With a careless shrug and an empty sigh

Why would it ever matter 

You say I’m repressing, I say I’m adjusted

I’m accustomed, a compartmentalising queen

I’m over it 

I don’t talk shit to death

Wouldn’t you rather appreciate this lingerie 

Under my dutiful apron and reborn appearance?

So no, I don’t answer calls from the motherland, if I can help it

Would I ever go back there, if I could help it?

Nevermind baby, nevermind 

See, I’ll have you know

If I’m never fully here, then I’m never really there

Always knowing I’m too lucky, too too ungrateful 

Over here stuck in my head 

Trying to come off as comfortable, in my own skin, well-adjusted.


Untitled #12

I don’t remember where I wrote this.

“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now- isn’t that enough?”

Someone is going to call you their soulmate 

Hold you like the answer

And rejoice that you are finally here 

To make the world make sense 

And you will want to be

For a moment, a month, a year

For them, the answer

To be the saviour, the muse, the angel holding them from the precipice of darkness 

You thought this is what you were made for

You thought this is what you wanted 

For him, this is what you could be 

If you can be perfect to him, you can be perfect to the world 

And yet.

As with everything the universe deems as inevitable 

Something will remind you that you are not the fixer 

You cannot be the answer 

There’s no way you could be

Because we can only be parts to each other 

Parts for each other 

He can only be a part of why you are here 

You can only be a part of his life 

 If you want to consume me whole 

Then what has all of this been for?

I cannot be the beginning and end of you

I do not want you to end me. 

Hope Springs Eternal

I don’t remember why I wrote this.

Write a poem about this. Write a poem about everything – Daniel Handler 

Honestly, if not for you

I don’t have much to say anymore

But yet you

With your soliloquys and your musings and your dreams

Showing me with your paintbrush and your pen

What life really could be

If only we could have enough hope

If only you could hold on to that hope

That you have gathered from a million success stories 

That you have gathered 

And kept dear

Like seashells from a beach I collected when I was twelve 

Oh, I have been on that beach 

And seen those precious shells

Iridescent and almost unbelievable 

Beautiful in the face of all doubt and distrust 

I wanted to keep them safe too

But the waves come too quickly when I’m around 

Somehow you can hold them calmly 

But I am always clinging and desperate 

The tide rises and rises until they are swept away just as I reach them 

And I do not know where your hope is now 

Those keepsakes only leave traces 

Visible enough

That I cannot forget them. 

Higher Powers

Of all the many wishes that I cast into the universe

Day after day

An obvious one 

‘I wish I knew what to wish for’

A thing I could point to 

With hope, pride, passion

And say, there, that’s what I want. To do. To be.

But it’s like trying to catch smoke

Elusive, unobtainable 

And sooner or later, it disappears 
Do you know what they tell me? 

That it’s all part of God’s plan

But don’t forget

It’s your life to live

So you’re in control

So better take control

Even if nothing’s really in your control

Because of God remember?

Or your horoscope? Or the planets aligning?
I hear it and you hear it

Kismet, luck and fate

All that inspirational drivel

That’s just begging for you to believe that there’s a point

Please, believe there’s a point 

To all this

Because if not

Then what?
Can you even answer that?
What is your label?

Are you a complacent believer, or a doubtful believer?

Are you a skeptic? A realist? 

Do you like dream catchers?

Or are you a flat-out atheist? And of all things, or just religion?

And to round this all out

Does it even fucking matter?
Luckily I’m no authority 

On any of this

I don’t make the rules, I don’t have to think too hard

All I have to do is pick a side

And hope it fits

And let’s hope it fits

Even if it comes on like a misshapen glove

Fuck, at least it comes on
And for you
I hope you don’t have to pick

I hope that fire in your belly, that drive

That it comes naturally

So you never have to struggle and wander in the dark

And I hope that it feels like it was made just for you

Hand-crafted and gift-wrapped just for you

And if that is the case

I do so envy you

Century-long Writer’s Block

You know what I need? An adventure. Some inspiration. Some change at least. And not simple change, change that jolts me awake.
I’m trying to write, writing is what I love to do but I feel like I’m having a century-long writer’s block. I feel so out of practice with it all that I doubt every sentence I write and end up not going very far at all.
I’ve heard that one of the rules if you’re just starting out is to write what you know. And that is just the problem. What do I honestly know? My life has been such smooth-sailing, there aren’t any distinguishable moments when I’ve felt acute love or grief. I know how to live in the middle-class, I know how to be quiet, I know how to be ungrateful for what I have, and I know how to fuck up. How to compile that into a story worth reading is beyond me.

Life makes me itch

Life makes me itch and squirm. It’s getting harder and harder, which is expected, but it feels as though my body isn’t growing accustomed to a higher threshold for hardship. It feels as though my body is instead rebelling, intentionally making itself weaker so I’m more sensitive than I really should be about inconsequential things. I feel things too strongly now, my mindset being that the happy things last only a minute and the bad things last forever. I’m blowing things out of proportions these days, my mum says I shouldn’t eat too much chocolate and I get resentful, thinking she’s fat-shaming me. I’m only at peace by myself. I get angry, angry, angry so often that it’s fortunate I’m usually alone. I feel broken down all the time even though nothing has happened to me and I really should be grateful for everything that I have. That’s another thing, the guilt at being constantly sad over nothing, it cloaks me, I carry it on my back everywhere I go, pissing myself off at how depressed I get in a not at all depressing situation. But I can not shake the sadness any more than I can shake the guilt.
I can not stand my family. Honestly, I’m never so angry as when I’m around them. And that’s really too bad. I have vague thoughts about how I might not like them as people if they were not my family and I wasn’t obligated to love them. The situation is no better with my ‘friends’, all of whom I feel uncomfortable and only a surface version of myself with.
I don’t know. It seems that I am either depression prone or I just need to develop a thicker skin. I’m hoping it’s the latter for obvious reasons. Hopefully this will end as one of those cheesy teen angst stories where ‘it gets better’ and I can look back on this from a better place in life.

This is pretty pathetic I know. But it is my blog.

Morals. Or a lack thereof

I find I’m in a constant state of confusion. I’m either thinking of myself as a conformist or as a hypocrite. I thought I had relatively clear-cut morals but nowadays, as they’re constantly so wishy-washy, what good are they? I thought I’d done enough self-exploration (so far) to know my limits. Apparently not. My stances on things are forever changing and if it were due to my becoming more learned, that would be a different case. But nope. I’ve noticed, as things become more acceptable, I become more open to them. Being very honest, I was pretty disappointed about this revelation about myself. I’d like to think it’s my mind expanding to the enormous scape that is the world but I don’t want to give myself excuses. I’ve never been strongly opinionated but this is a whole other level of being a pussy. I’ve tried to curb this bad attitude but frankly I’ve got so much else to do that self-development isn’t really high priority right now. I mean, I don’t beat myself up about it, since I’m still young, I’m constantly changing and not completely self-assured.
So, I’ve decided to give up on good and evil, for behaviorism (what up, Hannibal reference). No, not behaviorism actually. But I’ve decided to at least not proclaim that I’m either strongly for or against anything. Except very clearly wrong things like murder, abuse, racism etc. So I won’t feel like some sort of hypocrite if I switch sides on an issue, or decide to pick a side. Therefore, nothing will be in black and white, just in a sort of division between dark grey and light grey. At least for now. While I’m too busy with my overly spectacular life to think too hard.

Much love!


I feel the nagging urge to post something but I’m not feeling the words right now. So I have shamelessly decided to recycle something I wrote like two years ago. Not on WordPress but in my journal.
Enjoy this little excerpt.

‘I am going to tell you the truth. No, not the truth that spares people’s feelings and thinks it knows what’s best for everyone. The real truth. The cold, honest to God, die-hard truth.
And what truth is that exactly? When I’ve been so very honest and innocent from the very beginning? When everything up until now has seemed so simple? Honestly, when I sift through my many thoughts and reactions and broodings and dreams, I’m not completely sure what what the truth is. Because I may make up my mind about one thing being true and it may not take the space of a heartbeat for it to change and I’m left wondering which one was actually right in the first place.
All I know for sure is that somewhere inside me, there is a truth. And just as equally, there is a lie. I can’t tell if at times, I’m deceiving people or if it’s just me changing.
So where do I begin? Anywhere really. Because I could pick any aspect of my life and start ticking off all the injustice I’ve done to all the people I’ve ever met. But maybe I’m just writing this to talk about one particular aspect. About the aspect that affects you. To explain all my reactions and moods and silences which have probably rubbed you off the wrong way. Because the last thing I ever meant to happen was to hurt you.
So really, I want to tell you the truth about my broken life so that you can understand that I never meant to break you too.’
Writing it back now, it seems so much darker.
Much love!



True shit.
Just wanted to post that pic, it’s really true to what I feel at this point in my life.
Not to be ungrateful, I’ve had a very fortunate life and I know God’s got me.
I’m just still waiting, I guess. It won’t be in vain, hopefully.
Too lazy to go on.
Promise a longer post this month!
Much love!