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.

Edit: How is it that when I reread the things I write weeks or months ago, I completely dislike them? I’m so sorry for what you’re about to read.



I finally learned
how to turn my blood
into ink and sound
Nothing profound though
I’m a broken record
playing one melody
steadily narcissistic
All I’ll do is make you frown

Why don’t you drown with me here?

Don’t listen to what I say
inhale and exhale
Stay away from my mouth
These soft lips only sow doubt
Got no filter, no excuse
Help me stop finding new roofs
Keep my feet on the ground
Help me chain my hounds
Can you?

Would you?

No pressure, honey
Sing with me in harmony
Put your hand in mine
Hope things turn out fine
I’m yellow, green, and blue
But you’ll never see me red

Would you be my fire instead?

a series of sounds.

I know what magic is
And it’s called music
Isn’t it incredible
A series of sounds
Make the fiercest cry
The saddest smile
The hopeless hopeful
A series of sounds
Is all that music is
And yet, it takes a lifetime
To sing the right notes
To write the right lyrics
To master an instrument
I’m listening to a series of sounds
And I feel so damn nostalgic
I’m sitting alone in a crowd
But right now
This series of sounds
Takes me somewhere else
I’m in a classroom
Six years ago
Tapping my feet to this series of sounds
I’m in a bus late night
Seven years ago
Humming this series of sounds
I’m in my room
Eight years ago
Dancing to this series of sounds
An emotional snapshot
Making you travel
Through space and time
I owe happiness and peace
To a series of sounds

If this isn’t magic
I don’t know what is.

girl, again.

February 13, 2018 // Tuesday // 11.30 p.m.

I can’t believe
I could be so naive
as to think he would stop
I stupidly thought
I was made of rock
Just get through
And never brew
over this again
It’ll soon end

I was wrong.

My mind and body go numb.

I can’t think
as I succumb
to a stranger’s whim

I might as well be dead.

Just your hips
Just your chest
Just your innerwear

Just flesh and bone
Be calm for a bit
Don’t create a scene

What if he gets angry and no one will ever know where you’ve been?


You’re always so terrified
Now, pay the price
Know your place
Live in silent disgrace
Never let go of your shame
You’re the only one to blame
You didn’t speak?
You’re so damn weak

You disgust me.


This is not how this story will go.

I wept my soul out today. I want to die in a million different ways. I blame myself for not getting help. I wish I was anyone other than a girl.

But that is not how I will choose to keep living, because I am a girl, goddammit, and I can’t ever escape that.

I have friends who care
Persons with whom I share
the darkest parts of my soul
They make me feel whole again

I’m writing my way out of this one, but as much as it soothes me to put my thoughts on paper, this ain’t exactly fun. My body is for my soulmate, not to sate a stranger. Fight or flight, no more of this disease that makes me freeze.

I don’t want to ever have to write about being a girl again.

So, I suppose I should just be badass.


We had a speech competition in school recently, and one speech really stood out to me. My attention span did not permit me to listen to most of it, but the opening line definitely had me hooked for half a minute.

“What is your why?”

Now, why is one of my favorite words, and always has been.

Yes, I was that kid who’d cause existential crises to adults when I kept asking why. Deal with it.

Unsurprisingly, I grew up to be in constant existential crisis mode because I’d ask myself, “Why?”

(And also ask Google, which does its best to keep up with my nonsensical questions.)

I always hit a point where I can’t answer my questions anymore, and then I sit back and reflect about all the knowledge out there that humanity hasn’t even begun to comprehend, and plausibly never will.

If I could be granted one wish for selfish purposes, then I’d wish for a time machine just so I could go millennia into the future to check out all the sweet tech and how far humanity has come to answering all our whys.

My favorite why, one that I have a wild love-hate relationship with, has to be “Why am I here?”

I don’t mean why am I here writing this or why are you here reading this. I mean, why do we exist? What’s the point of it all? Of being born, struggling our way through life as best as we can, possibly reproducing, and dying? Of the cycle going on and on and on? What’s the point of the human race surviving, anyway?

To ask perhaps the most cliché philosophical question of all time: What is the meaning of life?

If you said 42, please know that I am very proud of you.

That damned question is one that has kept me up at night. Questions with no answers frustrate me to no end. Questions that will most definitely never be answered, in my lifetime at the very least, drive me insane.

I’m not saying I’ve found an answer, but I think I’ve finally gotten a pretty great placeholder until we do figure out what or who caused our existence and why we’re here.

Create your why.

Fun fact: 42 is actually ASCII code for an asterisk. A blank. The answer to the question of life is anything you want it to be.

Yeah, that’s pretty much it. You’re probably mildly disappointed. Or extremely disappointed, depending upon how gullible you are.

Without a definite why that we set for ourselves, there’s nothing to stop us from walking off a rooftop, because there really is no point to it all that we know of.

So make one.

My personal answer is to help other people as much as I can possibly can, and travel the world as much as I possibly can. Without those concrete, unchangeable reasons, I would have had absolutely no will to live.

I admit that there are days when I wake up and have no will to live anyway, but sooner or later, I remind myself of these long-term goals. Considering that there are billions of people to help, and hundreds of countries to travel, my nihilistic tendencies quieten down most of the time.

Good luck finding your why.


I have stars in my eyes, but today is one of those days when I’ve got black holes in my mind.

Today is one of those days when wrapping myself in blankets and never waking up seems like a great alternative to living.

Everyone has one of those days, but I’m the one who complains on an invisible blog.

Today is one of those days when I think about all the people who’ve stopped breathing and I wonder what that must feel like. But then again, you feel nothing when you stop breathing.

What does nothing feel like?

I don’t know.

All I hope is that it doesn’t hurt like today does.


When you enter the drama that is life, it is the color of the doctor’s scrubs, the first to hold you.

When you see the world for the first time, it is the color of your eyes, blinking with wonder at everyone.

When you draw your first picture, it is the color of the vast sky you scribble so proudly all over the paper.

When you sit down with other children at lunch, it is the color of the lunch-box you take out.

When you chew bubblegum, it is the color that stains your tongue.

When you finally get to high school, it is the color of the ink that someone spills all over you accidentally.

When you go to prom with her, it is the color of her elegant gown as she hooks her arm around yours.

When you leave for college, it is the color of the plushie you find so hard to leave behind.

When you get your dream job, it is the color of your tie on the first day of work.

When she says yes, it is the color of the stone on her finger, because she always told you she found traditional rings boring.

Besides, it became her favorite color once she saw your eyes.

When she tells you the news you’ve been waiting to hear, it is the color you paint the guest room all by yourself.

When cold terror washes over you at night, it is the color of your anxiety telling you that you will fail to be a good father.

When he turns one, it is the color of the fruit that he becomes obsessed with.

What a weird kid.

Pride can barely begin to describe how you feel about him.

When he sneaks out of the house at midnight, it is the color of your cold anger when you find out, but she’s there to make sure nothing goes out of control. You were a teen sneaking out to meet her once, too.

When he begs you to let him change his look, it is the color of the dye he uses on his hair.

What a weird kid.

But you’re still so proud of the man he’s turned out to be.

When he begins to work and saves up, it is the color of the shiny new car he buys you, despite your protests.

What a weird, wonderful kid.

He’ll always be your little boy obsessed with blueberries.

When he inevitably moves away, it is the color of the emptiness you and her feel, the color of the cold wind that seems to blow from nowhere.

When your bones start to creak, it is the color of your hands and feet as you desperately try to warm yourself by the fire.

When your lifeline ebbs away with no one to hear you and rush to your help as you struggle to breathe, it is the color of your body going numb.

When she walks into your room, it is the color of her shock as she falls to the ground.

When she weeps in quiet heartbreak, it is the color of the tears she wipes away.

When your son gets the news, it is the color of his thoughts in frozen denial. If only he’d booked his tickets on a different date, if only he had come home a little earlier, if only he’d been there to help you, if only, if only, if only.

Blue is happy skies, blue is quiet reading, blue is calm, blue is cold rage, blue is deadly storms that will stop at nothing to destroy everything.

Blue is not the color you see when everything fades away.


Twenty-seventeen was terrible
so here’s to a pristine twenty-eighteen
I started at the bottom

and then I hit rock bottom.

The voices got louder
forcing me to cower
I don’t know how the
man upstairs allowed a
lemon boy to nest
Don’t say it’s all for the best

I was either sleeping
or wasting my time crying
trying to assign and define
the lines that this mind of mine
finds carved into my reality
reminding me of every fallacy

The white light’s gone
Shadows creep around
forming cobwebs
as I beg them to stop
telling me I’m better off dead

Their faces made me lonelier
so I scribbled away every tear
and every fear
and every queer tendency

but suddenly

it was all so clear
seared into my gray matter
making me feel crazier than the Mad Hatter —

These words might be sad
but they’re mine
and they’re all I have

These brushstrokes aren’t clean
but they’re mine
and they’ll never leave

These sounds took me all day to play
but they’re mine
and they’ll always stay

My loves weren’t there most times
Kept wishing I could rewind
to twenty-sixteen
but who cares for pointless dreams?

Hung out at the club for weeks
Can you believe
I danced in the dark with
people I barely knew?
Life was bright
under those disco lights
Regular days meant
we were mild
but damn, that basement
got us wild

Childhood hero’s in the afterlife
Gray clouds turned to black
as I drowned in paperbacks
Kept praying it was a hoax at first
but when the bubble burst
all I was left feeling was
“I still haven’t stopped
my pointless dreaming.”

Wrote a speech that never reached anyone
And then we were chilling at the beach
at midnight, that’s right
Sipping coffee with my family
in silence so deafening
I almost heard the stars beckoning me

– And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.

Watching Tom Holland understand
that with great power
comes …even greater power?
Shiny badges, clueless people
Where’s the laurel?

I wore suits and leather shoes
pretending I understood
complicated political issues
But it’s a lot of fun actually
what I look forward to most annually
Went with my world in blue
and made a friend or two
by the end of it
Anxiety keeps trying to fight me
This weekend is when I say
come at me.

But who am I kidding?
Scared is all I’ll ever be
Damn, I really should stop
caring about pointless dreams

And then we were all literally shook
Looking up from our books
“Earth, could you relax
I’m trying to clear this stack
of homework that keeps piling.”
But really, we’re just whiling
away our time doing things like
Keeping Up With The Cheeto
and listening to Despacito
(if you’re basic like that.)

Apparently Indian dresses
are all that can impress
a mass of strangers
I thought I’d signed up for science
But it was really just useless advice

I’ve got so much more to say
but I’ll stop before you’re bored
(But you probably are anyway)
It’s been a year of
so close, but not quite there

So here’s to a year of actually capturing the flag.

I look at twenty-eighteen with new hope
as I keep making stupid jokes about dope
(Yeah, I just had to mention weed)
Because it might be a new year
But it’s the same me
And that’s all I’ll ever be


I meant to write this before 2018, but now I sit in a class penning down thoughts when I’m supposed to be studying, trying to ignore the two guys next to me having a very NSFW conversation.

The urge to wash my ears is strong.


I’ll always admire you, and you’ll never cease to inspire me.

Your mind inside is filled with only screams and broken dreams of places you want to visit, messed up habits you need to quit, and yet, you soldier on.

You walk around like you’ve never been down, like you’re the happiest you’ve ever been, like today’s the greatest day the world has ever seen.

Look at you.
Stunning, with a Slytherin’s mind, ambitious and cunning.

Look at you.
Dotted with freckles, a soft side that dislikes quarrels.

Look at you.
Deep dimples, your ridiculous love for Pringles.

I can’t seem to stop smiling when I think of you.
Damn, I’m in love with every inch of you.


Terrified of uncertainty
Terrified of what’s in store for me
Light and dark in constant conflict
Look, they’re watching now, quick —
Happy thoughts, stretch my lips
Show them I’m not about to rip
Apart at the seams; oh no, no, wait,
Tears fall, I’ve handed them their bait
Now they see beneath the mask
It’s not too late though, act fast
Turn that frown upside down
With all the demeanor of a clown
Pull myself together with a shaky laugh
Pretend my heart isn’t split in half
Put on my makeup
And sing a song of buttercups
Accept the roses, take a bow
They’ve forgotten the tears now
Sigh with sweet relief as they believe
My sugar-coated lies with wide eyes
When I tell them I was never terrified


Prompt: Write a poem about yourself in which nothing is true.

Ah, a poem about me?
I’m quite perfect, you see
I’m a bit tall, with perfect vision
My work done with immaculate precision
My speech tends to be unending
I swear I’m never condescending!
I’m always smiling, always cheerful
And you’ll never see me be fearful
I never get into fights
And no matter what, I’m always right!
My writing deserves admiration
I’m basically Shakespeare’s incarnation
Oh, and my posture’s perfectly straight
Did I tell you I’m very proud of my weight?
I love parading around in a dress
And in life I have absolutely no stress
Finally, of course, you’ll never see me yell
Lyrics to songs by Adele.