Two people can never love each other the same way. Simply because they are not born out of the same life, same heart and same culture. They love each other different, but it is still love they share. Just not in the same language, or spoken tongue. 

But must that mean that one must love less than the other? Is it impossible to divide the feelings and actions born equally into half? 

Must love itself even be divided, measured and scrutinised? Can the emotion and the relationship be ever so calculative and cold? 

I am not sure. I doubt anyone else has the answer. Maybe I am only asking so much because I have always been the one to “love less”. 

Detachment, logic and priding myself in having battles between the two major muscles, have become a daily routine of mine. And something that showcases itself from time to time, which eventually became most people’s assumption on me of how I function as a human-being. 

And somehow, in fights and arguments, I naturally become the one that would have “less to lose”, be the”first to leave” and would be “moving on with no hurts” labelled on the voice that speaks my mind. 

It is strange that this happens, but I am not surprised that it does. 

But can I just say that as “someone that loves less”, I try to make up for it because I still love. I just love in a different way, maybe in smaller doses, but I hope that that is not to say my love is worth any less than a person that loves with his/her entire breathing heart. 

Maybe I can learn to evolve, change and love in the exact ways that you want me to. It is possible to shape yourself to fit into someone else’s hands for them to hold better and more carefully. 

But with all the changes, would I still be the one that you loved when you first held my hand? 

Or was it not me that you have loved all along?

Leaving will always hurt. 

Just because someone stays silent doesn’t mean it is not there. We just prefer to hide in shadows and heal by ourselves. 

It is easier to live with other’s assumptions about us than to change viewpoints one by one. 

Some eyes just simply stay the same. 

Image credit: ERYNLOU



One person occupying time and space as a lone being. Perhaps, absorbed in one’s thoughts and the mind is up in its own imagined safe haven. Or just having one’s own physical space with no one within arm’s reach, no one to call out to and no one to look for. 

Too far away, or just not close enough. Physically, emotionally or spiritually. 

Is that what it means to be alone? 


Maybe it is true that one feels most alone in a room filled with people different than you are. Then again, ask yourself if you tried to not distance yourself, to not judge and to walk up to the closest one to say hello. 

Or stayed in your corner, dying a slow death yet refusing to leave. 


What happens when all your plans, friends and pretence leaves you?

Like when you have a break from what you called life at a different time from everyone else in your circle of friends. 

How do you feel? Can you address it? Are you willing to stay at home in your room and face it? 

I know I can’t. I am still learning. I am trying to get used to the sound of my own breathing and my body just lying still. Fingers, eyes, mind and legs not rushing to any destination or to complete any work.

Just existing. 

It is difficult when you struggle all your life, and define your existence with the struggles. That struggling might be the only mode you have left, and tiredness is the permanent adrenaline you run on. 


Slow down. 

But would the world slow down with me? 

Can I afford to slow down when I am already running out of breath to catch up? 


I am the goddess of the common trees 

Amongst the lions 

That have yet to set me free 

They spin tales and let me be 

Making a mere spirit out of me 
I have lost a body 

Out of fear, anger or birth 

But what seeps into the soil will grow back up 

A force of nature, of invisible beauty
My eyes are moonlight 

I wear frangipani in my hair 

My skin as tan as the tree bark 

Hips swaying with the wind; no one to stare 
Just missing my life 

Of flesh and blood 

Sometimes jealousy rushes through me 

When it all becomes too much
Yet I have no body 

No physicality or boundary 

I am alive and free 

A goddess, I must be 

Questioning Nature. 

It is no secret that I question almost everything. I tear things apart, especially myself. 

I dissect. I ask. I scream. I ache. I think and think and think and drown and come up for air and think again. 

Why must one thing be this and not that? What makes one perspective more right than another? Who came up with the concept of right and wrong? 

Why must I always ask why? 

Is why a more relevant question to the who, what, when, where and how? 

Will it ever become illegal to question the world we live in and to fight for change? Is all change good? Or does what really goes around comes around? 

Why would you say that? Why?


Conversations go: 

If I kiss you, does that mean I like you? Or I just like kissing? If I hold hands, does that mean I want to hold your hand? Or do I just like being able to hold someone else? If I want to have sex, does that refer to fucking or making love? Are the two the same or different? Does it matter? Or are these just biological needs, and deluded into emotional needs? 

Do you think our perception about these gestures of romance are cultural, popular or just embedded in us through slow brainwashing by the media? 

If I cry, did you make me cry? Or did my perception of what you did make me cry, which actually results in me making myself cry?

Is that what people mean when they dismiss me and call me “too sensitive”? What exactly is “too sensitive”? How about you are “too insensitive”? Does that exist? Or is being more unemotional and apathetic the way to go to live life? 

Must it always be mind over matter, heart versus mind? Can they ever work together, while sharing one body? 

Can we all work together, laugh together, cry together and fight together while living on the same earth? 

The L Word. 

I am that thief 

That stole your heart off your sleeve 


Love will forever be the question 

I want to answer for the rest of my life 

With the taste of your tongue 

With the touch of your fingers 

With the twinkle of your eyes

With the tune of your voice 


You are mine 

And I will forever be yours 
Even though forever can just be a second 

Let’s just hook our pinkie fingers together 

Pretend it is a dead knot 

And stick together through thin and thick 

Skin weaved and knitted 


The future is numbered 

But who’s counting? 

But who is to say that a year lasts longer than a day? 
Life has an expiry, but does love? 

When nobody can uncover the true depth and wholeness of what those four-letters truly mean?