I’m finally a hipster with a blog. Yayyy.

Could you feel the sarcasm?

Honestly, the picture above is quite nice. Thanks, WordPress.

I’m not really sure what I’ll post here. Interesting content that keeps you hooked for life? Hahahah, you wish. (I wish, too.)

I keep a handwritten journal. What am I doing with a blog? Well, that’s a question that might never be fully answered.

Strap in, it’s going to be one excruciatingly boring ride.



April 5, 2017 // Wednesday // 1 a.m.

Look around, friend.
Do you see what I see?

Observe and listen.

A whole new world of details opens up.

When she laughs really hard, her face gets all red.
It’s one of the most adorable things I get to see.

Or how her braid is slightly messy, strands of hair out of place.
It irks me, but then again, I’d be a hypocrite if I were to complain.

Or how his dimples deepen so much more when he looks at me and smiles. “Good morning!” He never fails to say that every single morning in the exact same tone. I never fail to say it back.

I hope that routine stays for years. I know it won’t, though.

Or how a stray cat’s purr feels like when you’re softly petting her. I’m forbidden to touch her, but I don’t care.

There’s always Dettol.

Her big yellow eyes looking at me, with just one question–do you have food?

I always do.

I loved the way she licked my fingers when I got to place the bowl of cat food in front of her.

She may have been a stray hanging around our block, her once-black fur now gray with dust, but my family and I always took care of her.

I’m glad we could make her last couple of years as comfortable as possible.

I run my fingers over my beautiful acoustic guitar. Two years, and I’m still in love. The polished wood, so smooth under my fingertips. My finger tracing the paw sticker on its body, slightly raised at the edges.

I play a chord, watching the string vibrate.

Birthmarks. My legs are dotted with them. I’ve even got one between my toes; I didn’t know that one existed until about two years ago. Nor did I notice the birthmarks above my stomach, in a weird triangle.

I’ve got constellations on my body.

Funny how I didn’t notice them earlier.

Wear thin-soled shoes. Walk on an asphalt road. Feel the stones massage your feet.

Try not to get run over by a vehicle.

Look up.

Clouds, the cotton candy of heaven. See how they swirl into different shapes every day.

I think that one looks like… well, what does it look like to you?

Look around, friend.
Do you see what I see?

Observe and listen.

A whole new world of details opens up.


Eyes closed, headphones on
Listening to sad songs
You don’t wanna be like me
Wishing I was carefree, like I used to be

Still, I’m just trying to play it real
But I’m pretending like my skin is made of steel
When it’s really not, I really ought
To stop thinking these abstract thoughts

All they do is make me panic
Seeming like I’m some sort of manic
Struggling to breathe, suffocating
I’m getting tired of this self-perpetuating
cycle, of existential crises
Why can’t you see?

I should be drawing or reading
Feeling what the average person is feeling
But here I am, staring at a blank wall
Wondering how I could fall this hard
And here I am, putting on a facade
Refusing to show people I’m just as flawed
As anybody else, conjuring a mask of happiness
To cover up my loneliness

Eyes closed, headphones on
Listening to upbeat songs
That talk about changing the world
With love and music
And now, everything seems a little less confusing.


Our fingers laced, an arm around her waist.
My head’s resting on her shoulder.
It’s beautiful knowing we’d walk countless miles for each other.
My eyes closed all this while, her lips in a faint smile.
She doesn’t care that people are watching.
She doesn’t care that rumors are spreading before her very eyes.
That’s when it hits me;
There are few places safer than your best friend’s shoulder.


I pushed them away because I thought they’d come back, like rubber bands that seem to stretch for miles and miles and snap right back.

I was wrong, wrong, wrong.

They weren’t rubber bands, they were fragile threads.

And now they’re broken, and I’m broken.

I’m breaking and crumbling and falling apart, with no one to glue my pieces together.

I pushed them away and now they won’t come back.

What have I done?

black holes.

Despite wanting to have a career as an astrophysicist, I strongly dislike black holes. Am I fascinated with them? Endlessly. Do I like them? Nope.

Why, you ask?

Because they’re essentially clinical depression in celestial form.

They’re stars that have collapsed in on themselves. Black holes are literally born from death, from a celestial object not being able to handle its own weight.

Sort of like a really emo phoenix, I guess.

Also, they’re invisible! Are you seeing the parallels I’m drawing here?!

What’s worse is when black holes are born in my stomach.

An angry void, intent on devouring every happy thought I have the energy to conjure up, leaving me with a vacuum in my emotions.

I wonder what happens when you give in to the black hole. I wonder what happens when you stop fighting and succumb to the emptiness.

Does the black hole get bigger till it engulfs your very self and you cease to exist?