Floating Fingers. 

My body vanishes and my mind wanders away 

Away into the blinding white matter of space 

Space of all emotions and my floating fingers 

Fingers left drifting along with no more weight 

Weightless and carelessly trying to hold on 

On to pockets of fresh air and win over gravity 

Gravity that suffocates and sinks and smother 

Smother all rational thoughts and, only emotions 

Emotions in this blinding white space of nothing 

Nothing to grasp, so lost and confused 


My fingers keep floating 

Aimlessly drifting 


Month of January. 

(I had a difficult January. Perhaps my problems are small compared to others, but everything got me so tired. It is almost as if my will power is no more. Anyway, here’s a small list of what my days were like. If it happens again, I hope I cope better.) 

Wrapped up in a comforter

Stayed still 

Wrapped up in fear

Stayed awake 


11pm blinks at me. 


1am blinks at me. 


3.30am blinks at me. 


4am stares at me. 

And I stare back. 

Sleepless. Restless. Helpless. 

My body screams in agony, while my mind runs its marathons over night. 

Looking at the window away from my bed, the sun sets and rises – casting its calming orange-yellow rays through my room. It reminds me of the colour of my sleeping pills that I sometimes refuse to take. Sickening. 

Eyes burning and dry throat, I stay in bed staring at the wooden planks. Count them. Pick them apart. Imagine them collapsing on me. Think about what a death that will be. 

Body still unmoving. 

I look at the window again, before closing my eyes. 

Helpless. Restless. Sleepless. 

Body failing and mind whirling 

Spirit dying 


Why do I feel so stuck? 

Don’t want to touch makeup. Don’t want to touch my face. Don’t want to look in the mirror. 

I am a ghost, and if I look for my reflection, I fear I might not find it. 


Compromise: nightmares and worries screening late night movies in my subconscious while my body sleeps, heavy with fatigue. 


Happy Valentine’s Day!

Dear you, 

Thank you for never asking for the easy way out. Thank you for being the warmest embrace and the silliest smile. Thank you for looking at me like I am the sun (see what I did there?) with respect, care and love. Thank you for believing in us. 

May I hold on to your hand and keep walking towards the unknown future, with certainty. 

Here’s to never looking back. x

(Side note: Not everything is fine and amazing, okay. I am just not saying anything of that sort, yet. I am watching you. Hahahaha.)

Artwork of Tin Tin & his trusty companion found at Singapore Contemporary 2017. 

Just there. 

There is a crack. Right there. Small and insignificant, but a beginning. A cut at the edge of my heart. Squint to look, or simply turn away. It is not massive enough for an emergency. No need to panic, no use for SOS. People only choose to save when another’s broken. There is a crack, but only a crack. I feel it inside me. Pick at it. Trace it with fearful fingers. Measure it every day; has it become bigger? Should I be concerned now? Or am I just too sensitive? Sensitive… what a dirty word. Sensitive. The word hurled at you when they fail to feel. So I pick at it. Say something. But you don’t believe me, do you? So I pick at it. Make it bigger. Talk about what you are scared of. Name it. But you don’t believe me. You look at me just like the rest – that I am crazy, too much emotions and different. Is this tough love? Let it hurt good once and heal itself. A scar is bravery, a crack is weakness. 

But don’t we get the love we deserve? 

I knew that this would happen. No matter how many times you said it would never. Despite all your protests and non-apologies. Beyond your dismissals, shallow kisses and surface smiles. 

Reaching out requires trust and vulnerability. To deny, is only a privilege you have. Because it is still as real as it was before I said it. 

There is a crack. 

Can you see? 

1.24am, 16th January. 

Another one of those nights when I lost sleep, count sheep and battle myself. Up in arms in my mind. No shields, only swords and cutting words. Prepared to draw blood. 

Let the battle never end, until only one last thought stands. 


Perhaps I hold on to too much. Remembering the past, living the present and grasping the future. 

Looking at past faces, touching once familiar skins simply trigger so many sensations. Memories simply never die, or perhaps I just never let them try. Maybe that is because I am unsure of who I am so every struggle is my Girl Scout badge. Weak. No matter how rusted they become with time, I still pin them up on my sleeves. Hoping they still say something, though irrelevant. Who am I? Can I choose my lived experiences? And through my informed choices, derive a version of myself that I prefer? Or will everything constantly subconsciously affect me? Do I always get a conscious say in who I become day after day? 

Thinking. Thinking. Picking at Skin. Yelling. Breathlessness; lungs winded. Heart beating is all I can hear; emotions are winning. 

Sometimes I question how valid are my thoughts? Second guess, shut them down, silence. Let them crowd at the back of my mind until I burst. I recognise that I am an over thinker. But how do you identify when you are overthinking, and when you are simply considering all sides of a situation? Can I ever be fair in judgment? If I speak to myself, does that make my decision informed and my feelings valid? Are feelings ever not valid? Can I deny my feelings especially if the other person meant no harm? What does it mean to hurt someone? Does it matter if it is intentional or not? Why does this guilt of doubting someone causing me panic? It is my fault. Yes. I should apologise. But my intuition has never been wrong. My skin crawls and my teeth gnaws at my dry lip. Maybe I should apologise. My fault. Just trust and deny myself. It is too much. Yes, I am too much. 

Too much to handle. Too much burden.

My future is made up of choices. Like everybody else’s. I open so many doors for myself, in my mind, I don’t know where to go. I stay in the middle as the space swallows up. Black holes. A vacuum of time, space. Too many sounds to the point of white noise. Radio static? All the different voices taking over in my head. 

How temperamental. How unpredictable. 

My future is a roll of the dice at a hand I might not recognise. 

I am tired. I should sleep. The sheeps are dead and insomnia won. Blood, tears. Nothing.