Father’s Day. 

Father’s are figures of strength, a sense of resilience to keep the family together and the epitome of responsibility. I really believed that. When I was younger, being closer to my father was easier. He always seemed to be home more often, less strict and he is good with playing games. 

That was a time obliviousness clouded the future implications my father’s choices would have on the family. 

(More time at home is equivalent to less work, which means less money. So on and so forth.)

But when you grow up and that imagination has been proven flawed, it is difficult to reconcile what my father is, to me. And then, the questions come. 

Does a single mistake, even though it doesn’t seem like he regrets anything so far, enough to reduce everything else he did for me? 

He loved us, does he still love us despite the choices he chose to make? 

Did he really love us? 

Why does he not see the consequences of his actions? 

When he grows older and comes back to me for money, would I give? 

Is it ever an obligation to give your parents monetary allowance when you start work? 

Even when you know the money will be spent on ridiculous choices you never agreed with? 

What happens when you become an adult and your values go against your parents? 

When is the time you are able to speak up against your parents, as an equal? Is it age, holding a job, what is it? 

Does that time ever come? 

Is there even a time for that? 

The questions come and go. They make me recognise that I am not entirely okay with the current situation. It frustrates me that no straight answers exist and even I, am lost in my questioning and confusion. Never knew how annoying advertisements can be until I fund myself in this place. 

At this point, now, what is there to even celebrate anymore? 

That figure in my life, has gone. Beyond recognition. 

Too Familiar. 

This is too familiar a narrative to the point of choked up tears and a sense of shame. Perhaps we are bent on reliving the phrase that we always tend to hurt the ones we love, simply because the phrase has to exist for a reason. Perhaps we are all just cruel. 

Maybe it is how love is really just about choice, that makes everything sharper at the edges and scarier. 

Because we all know that years of relationships mean nothing in the end. The moment you choose to have out and to search for the greener grass on sides you have yet to visit, the love evaporates and ceases to exist. 

(Of course it depends on the intentions of the relationship in the first place, the reasons for leaving, the level of honesty and how the hurt is being discovered. Every relationship is different, and that’s why we may fail in so many ways with no one with a clear answer to share with.)

Suddenly you are free and the other person is free falling. You look at this face of years loved and feel nothing. To go from sparks to nothingness is a darkness in itself; never to realise how you found yourself in this place. The hands you yearned for are now let go off, with your own arms hugging another body, another soul so similarly but different enough for excitement. The crying face that used to break your heart and keep you up for days, now merely stains you with guilt that you can shrug off. Not think about. Not care about. 

After all, that love is no longer your burden to bear. Yes, it has become a burden, a bane and a burnt out flame of used to bes. 

And the entire process starts again. Never-ending. (Marriage is not a destination nor a remedy. Just a hope for stronger commitment and a legal bond that will hopefully strengthen resolve.) 

How do you say you love, only to turn your back on them when someone comes along? When you choose to hurt them deliberately? 

This has always puzzled me, though this narrative is too familiar for comfort. 

At this point in my life, I have found an answer that will keep morphing as I live but I hold on to for comfort now. 

I think this happens, because the choice of love was simply not strong enough for you to resist fulfilling your own desires (that probably weren’t communicated or swept under the carpet). Because your fear of disappointment, your being afraid of the consequences, laziness in not saying that you didn’t want to work on this anymore, was greater than “us”. 

You felt you were more important, than the other person you fawned over and wanted to protect with your life. But really, you wanted to protect yourself first and only when that was fulfilled did you open up your arms for someone else. 

Is that love though? No one knows the answer, but this question is worth thinking over. 

And would the problem be solved, if it was ever that simple, if two people came together only to love the other person more. 

Has that always been what we are all searching for? 

On a separate note, have we all thought about and are aware that love changes the way a person grows and someone being in a relationship, you might have contributed to the change that started to drive you away? 

How do you love a changing person? How does anybody love you? 

How do you love yourself? 

My heart is tired of hurting for other people, and I am tired of all this unanswerable questions. 

(Closest to) Silence. 

I remember watching this entire film that was silent. Yet it wasn’t called a silent film, because its exploration is about silence and not about the genre itself. I remember being fascinated, intrigued and a huge sense of calm wash over me. 

Today, I wonder if I can find silence but I know I can’t. The world is too noisy and the city never sleeps. 

Here’s a list of experiences I have that I think are closest to the silence I am searching for. 

Echoes in the mental chamber

Radio play on an Uber

Highway at 3am 

Heart beating in ear drums 

Air-conditioner whizzing 

Speeding motorcycles every blue moon 

Flickering toilet lights 

Wasp hitting the mirror persistently

Applying make up on my face 

Breath of the sleeping body next to you

Rustling leaves during windy weather 

Flowing tap water 

Construction workers digging underground 

MRT doors closing at every station 

Buzzing of traffic lights 

Yawns in a quiet classroom 

Shifting in bed under comfortable comforters 

Purring of a lonely cat under the void deck

Applying body foam to skin during shower

Clicking of high heels 

Lights going off past midnight 

Lights coming up past midnight 

Shy kisses on closed lips – slow and deliberate 

Running fingers through hair


Crickets in the dark 

Echoes of the heart

Bare arms. 

(End of March. April is beckoning and the insomnia is back, so is school. Plenty of things have happened. Many reactions I have or had, but now I am still processing and wondering about the side of events I am unsure about. Hazy and all grey in view. Some quiet will help but when the silence is plagued by endless questions, my overthinking will swallow me alive.) 

Left the house with 

No rings or bracelets 

No sleeves to hide my ink

No hand to hold

No baggage to strain my fingers 

Left the house with 

Bare arms 

And a face bare to share 

Sleepless nights without words said 

Left the house with 

Freedom in no pretence 


Bare arms to gesture my thoughts 

Shape the air when I speak 

Hold onto the thoughts I take back 

And wave away

An Answer. Perhaps. 

I have always felt that I have grown up. It is a long process and we all grow a bit every day. For better or for worse, we are who we are and there is no other way to be. 

But recently, I have rediscovered the older parts of myself that have stayed hidden. I found the little girl that has always been inside but I have never truly spoken to. Just tried to shut her up and drown her underneath my now. Unsuccessfully. I just simply don’t like her and how I used to be, as a person. 

Old habits die hard. Seems like old insecurities stay for longer than people tell you they would, too. 

Ever since young, I never felt like I have gotten much attention. Be it in school or at home, I always felt very left out. Maybe there was enough paid to me and I just wanted more, but those feelings grew on me. 

So I started trying out ways to get attention, to make people like me and to fit in. 

I told my first lie when I was four. Then lied again and again and again. My most ridiculous and outrageous lie was when I turned seven. Lied my primary school had a molestation case, complete with the perpetrator being an outsider and entered school grounds secretly. I witnessed it, I said, and went on to fill up all the gaps. My dad brought me to school, confronted my school principal… only to realise that it was all a figment of my imagination. 

Received a huge beating. I deserved it, but hell, it hurt. 

The lying went on for a while before I set my foot down to kick the habit. It would have destroyed me and all that I have started to stand for. 

By then, I was also in the rebellious phase of my life and discovered art. Thank goodness. 

While all that lying business was happening at home and with myself, I was constantly trying to make friends in school. 

My best friends left my primary school for elsewhere. I was frightened, all shy and really wasn’t good at making new ones. 

As always, desperation is always never a good element in any scenario. I was giving away jewellery that weren’t mine, telling classmates personal stories I had and would buy them sweets during recess. They were nice to me for a while, but of course that was just silly me being used. 

I asked for it – being all meek and simply nodding my head too quick for everything. 

Got bullied, rumours about me spread like the plague and I was still mostly on my own. I witnessed, at the age of eight and nine, how quick words become weapons and how cruel they can be at drawing blood. I saw how one bully became ten and one day the whole class would just not speak to me. Be it fear, or the common sheep mentality, I lost. 

I still cannot really talk about it without changing the topic. It is scary how those things are still incredibly relevant now – to children and adults everywhere. 

Anyway, I am going to stop talking about that now. Don’t like speaking about myself very much. 


I found it hard to love myself. I still do, really. But I am proud to say that those days occur way less than how often it used to be. 

Until now though, it is hard to say it, but I think I still want to make everyone like me. In some way. I want to form myself so well and be so professional that nobody can dislike me to the point of spreading untrue words. 

But this is life, and with everything that has happened, I really have to stop letting the uncontrollable control me. 

Others will say what they want, feel how they feel and I have no power over that. Why panic? Why fear? Why doubt? 

The fear is still there. But I think now that I have said it out loud, and finally come to terms with it again, I can finally let it go. 

I just have to do the best I can, and let my life I live to prove itself. Let my life be a statement of who I am and all I stand for. x

Okay. Just breathe. 

Speakers’ Corner. 

Speakers’ Corner 

A board kept empty 

To always appear spacious 

For alternate views 

And space to breathe

But really, 

It serves as a warning for

Thoughts that beg to differ 

A statement of all thoughts that came


Vanished, perished and condemned 

Behind bars we can never see 

Stifled and silent suffocation 

To never speak


(Weighing on my mind. Heavy and anchoring; unmoving. What is a luxury? So many things are seen everyday that we unknowingly take so many things for granted. Small but significant. They form so much of our culture – what we simply take without thought.) 

To be born. 

To be wanted. 

To have childhood. 

To be healthy. 

To breathe freely. 

To know what love is. 

To have friends. 

To use the entirety of body. 

To have power of language. 

To discover sexuality. 

To have an education. 

To be able to work. 

To find work. 

To choose and pursue passion. 

To be able to have choice. 

To be needed. 

To have access to food, water and necessities. 

To have time to fall apart. 

To have support. 

To find sleep. 

To feel the entire spectrum of emotions. 

To empathise, and be empathised with. 

To age. 

To find a partner. 

To be able to marry. 

To travel. 

To want to travel. 

To have future. 

To know yourself. 

To discover stories and journeys beyond oneself. 

To live, not just survive. 

The power of being able to think that you have viable options, choices and perspectives to take. Even that in itself, is a power. 

I might have missed out on so many aspects, but every small thing is a privilege. 

And sometimes I am so overwhelmed just thinking about it.