Plane Ride.  

Dawn: 
Can you please stop it

Pushing your seat so far back 

Inconsiderate 

Darren: 

I love airplane food

So tasty, so wonderful

My stomach is full

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Stuck. 

I am at the point of holding on and letting go.

The thread playfully tangling, slipping and burning my fingertips. Sometimes, I see where it leads. Sometimes, it is as naked and invisible as the emperor with his new clothes on. 

Thin. Frail. Delicate. 

It is difficult to hold on, but it is also not the easiest decision to just let go. 

Moving on and moving forward can be so similar yet different at the same time. 

So where do I go? 

Only the subconscious and the mysterious powers of Mother Earth will be able to answer this silent question rooted in my heart. 

This thread has gotten my heartstrings all tangled up and knotted. 

I know that suffering is inevitable in life, and it can be dramatic to use the word “suffering” so loosely. 

After all, it is relative. 

But right now, I just want to cut it off and breathe. 

Listen, listen, listen. 

– 

Just tie up this tongue, and speak no more. 

Voiceless is a common tribe. 

Touching Down.

My feet walked down familiar streets.

The walkways well-lit and every possible space was littered with people. The crowdedness of it all made this place both comforting and sickening at the same time. I saw the favourite shirt, shorts and slippers combination and I smiled warily to myself. 

My eyes scanned the landscape. 

Mostly concrete and grey in colour; very practical and dull, though some may argue futuristic. There are little bushes and great trees planted for balance and some fresh air – very systematic and has little resemblance to nature. (Not wild and growing naturally. We love shaping things; making them obey our whims and fancies.) 

My phone kept buzzing and vibrating.

 It lit up nonstop, as if spazzing awake from a short lived death. 

Five days of no contact caused a sort of clogging in the system. Thousands of messages flooded in and they all screamed for my attention. Responsibilities, worries, plans and other unstoppable forces that I temporarily left behind came back to greet me at the shore. 

I am home. 

Gutless Generation. 

Gutless generation
The careless, the dreamless and the poor

Oppressed 
Repressed 

Depressed 
And a lack of respect 

Made us crouch low in fear 

For the past has taught us that the only way 

To survive 

To live 

To breathe 

Is the nine to five and through the system

That’s why we are 

Blank dreams 

Blank face 

Blank body

when the voices say 

To follow your gut 

Because we have lost ours on the way here

Insomnia.

Constant awaking 
Never able to pursue sleep 
Or set myself to rest 

Stillness of body, mind and soul 

Sinking into comfort; counting sheep

Repeated misery 

Loves company but gets lonely

Dancing with the shadows on your walls

Limbs flailing and heart failing 

While your body was fast asleep next to mine 

– 

I pray for daylight. 

The Heart. 

The heart. 

Some days, it is like a balloon. 

A big red helium balloon that flies past clouds and birds and overlooks this paradise called Mother Earth. 

Some days, it is like a muscle. 

A muscle that works non-stop to keep the body going. A part of us that just sacrifices itself to make sure the bigger goal – to stay alive – is reached. Sometimes, this takes practice. 

To beat faster, steadier and calmer even during the coming of a storm. 

Some days, it is like a black hole. 

Void, empty yet filled at the same time. 

Not there and ignored, but always present. 

My heart will always be transitioning. 

A mirror that reflects my state of mind as a being. 

A chalkboard that gets filled and erased, again and again. 
The eye to my hurricane of a life.