Don’t read this if you’re highly sensitive

This day felt like a day of survival. A day of waiting for the sun to set so it can rise again tomorrow. Such a paradox really but earlier i was getting a little impatient, yet again. Things don’t seem to be working. Walking along this path that has little to no form of lighting. It’s too dark but holding on tight with this wand of faith handed to me by God when He instructed me to go to this direction. My grip is tight, a bit afraid that it slips off my hand. ‘Cause it’s the only thing I have that keeps me going. To look past the limits of my eyes, to search beyond the unsearchable and to try to grasp the shaky uncertainty that tests me.

Should i keep moving or should i go back? What if there’s nothing in there? What if I’m just wasting my time? What if my intuition was wrong? What if this isn’t really where I’m supposed to be? Will there be light if i kept on walking or am I just fooling myself?

These are my everyday questions. My everyday eerie movie. My everyday battle against the demons in my head that are seemingly obsessive. Well, maybe the rollercoaster effect is to blame. The highs and lows of the ride that give the same amount of shitty feeling. The seesaw syndrome of my extremity. Of my duality that makes and then breaks me. It’s just, hard—To live in the present moment. To just be. But I’m trying. God knows I’m trying. But sometimes the pushing to be present hurts. Maybe because it requires of force. Not like a normal gravitational pull like how i am with my writing, with my words, with the world i create out of my imagination. But I’m not allowed to stay there for long. I HAVE TO stay in the present reality.

And I guess there would really be times like these where I couldn’t get my shit together and that I have to push things. And I think this rythym of pushing with so much force will never stop hurting if I don’t stop trying to control things the way i want it. And hell, I know this already, don’t I? Why do i keep on doing the same old shit?

Earlier i thought to myself: this transformation journey sucks. It fucking hurts. The breaking of old patterns just so i can be better. The changing of habits just so i can be consistent. The allowing of things to unfold at the right time so i can be patient. The loving myself first so I can love others more. The building of self-worth so I won’t be needing of validation from other people anymore. And the fucking slowing down and the fucking details! It sucks. It hurts. But it’s essential for my growth. And it’s all for my highest good. Fine. Let me convince myself of this positive fucked up self-help theme of the world right now. To be self-reliant, to know how to self-regulate and to be self-aware! They sound so simple but it isn’t.

P.s. I know this too shall pass. I just had to blurt it out and felt like posting it. If you reached until this postscript, then i guess you’re not highly sensitive at all 😁 (But please excuse my language.)


The silent Mayhem of beautiful Minds

Never in his life, did he thought too much about romance, until he met this woman who made him wonder whether it’s hysteria or love. He debated his way out of this comedy in his head, thinking it’s impossible that it’s the latter.

No, how could it be?

How can someone you just met a few days make you feel heavy in your heart but ironically makes you want to feel the feel of it? He asked himself this question in his head while she talked about the book she was reading and threw some lame jokes he labeled as boring. Well, that’s just his way of teasing her—to battle against the strong wind that brings him closer to her, like she’s a destination. A place destined for him to live in, or perhaps maybe a home. But he fights it, he fights the urge to look at her more than just how he used to look at girls.

She rolled her eyes and turned her back as a sign of unspoken surrender of losing a debate with him. And then sighed a deep sigh for an ambiguous picture of a future together. With her right hand sandwiched between her right cheek and her soft comfy pillow, she looked past the window and wondered how many girls he had slept with. With his charm and wit, she bet he could’ve easily made his way through their hearts, like how he managed to do with hers.

But ofcourse she would never admit it, she was quite smart enough to know it’s wrong to tell him how safe and heavenly she felt sleeping next to him and observing how his soul of masculinity seemed to overpower his femininity—in the sexiest ways of humanness. No, it’s wrong, what if she scares him away?

She liked him, well, she likes him very much but she feared the idea that he doesn’t like him the way she does.

Little did she know, that he cogitated more than she did as he studies the artistic view of her naked flawless back when she turned around. He wondered how come he’s so drawn to her, not just with what her skin shouts, but more with the language her eyes speak that required neither words nor voice. He wanted to trace his fingers from the abstract beauty of her nape down to the edge of her spine to savor the perfection of it but hesitated for a split second because he thought he should just play it cool.

Or should he, really?

Would it hurt much if he would make an exception? He thought, maybe she wouldn’t mind so he stopped battling against it and moved as close as he can, spooned her with his warmth and breathed near the outlines of her left ear.

The hair of her skin stood like it’s being magnetized by a powerful invisible sense as he embraced her from behind. He whispered something to her but she didn’t mind listening—the beats of her heart was louder as it raced like there’s a zombie apocalypse, like she should run for her life, or should she?

Isn’t this moment something she would want to freeze if she could?



Wrote this at almost 2am here in Iceland, ugh I couldn’t sleep 😂

Circling thoughts

Today, I felt empty. I buried my face on the table where I write, with my hands and arms reaching for one another like they both needed that warmth, that hug that could maybe lessen the intensity of the pain I have inside. I listened carefully to the chaotic rhythm my tears make as they run down my cheeks and each time it drops to the surface of the table like a raw melancholic beat. Tears that created a melody that nearly lulled me to sleep—that aftermath of crying that makes you want to just close your eyes, hoping for a beautiful dream that you believe show signs.

But then you realise that the things in your head still want you to keep blinking and think more and more til you reach that certain level of restlessness. I am restless, my mind exactly. Not sure whether it’s the right part of my brain that makes my head ache for the flood of words that wanted to escape or if it’s the Amygdala who confuses itself for the battle of emotions that fight against each other to find out which one stands out best. Perhaps, the latter. The war each and everyone of us create can sometimes get too damaging, worse yet, it could make you feel so down and even depressed. Needless to say, I reached that phase of downhill, of rockbottom, of almost losing yourself as you drown your own aching body to the bottomless ocean of agony you thought existed.

Truth is, it’s all in my head. I knew it’s not real when something invisible poked me in the head that made me release my face from drowning in its own tears. Something that cannot be seen, like maybe an angel who whispered to me saying, “you have to look up”, thus I did. I looked up and looked out the window from my left. There I saw a rainbow that showed up like a unicorn passing by with a full smile on his face. Why, I asked myself, does the rainbow suddenly filled my emptiness? And is it really the rainbow that made me feel better or it’s just me wanting to use that rainbow as a tool to lift my spirits up and keep on fighting?

Sometimes, we know where to find the answers but our fears don’t allow us to get there as swift as we want to. Perceiving the road as dark and scary instead of looking at it as a trail of colours with such extraordinary beauty. Some days it’s okay to be empty, it’s actually an opportunity for you to seek for ways to fill your heart with gratitude as you search for the signs you’ve been praying for. But please, don’t stay there. Stop doing that to yourself. Get up and fight the voices in your head that kills your confidence. Hasn’t everyone told you yet that it’s in your hands? Isn’t it too cliched already if I say that the choice is yours to make? Cliched or not, I’ll say it over and over again to strengthen that belief system we all need to guide our way. The power you used that made yourself feel miserable for the nonexistent fears that has lead you to such disastrous episodes is nothing compared to the power you have to turn everything around. You decide your own destiny. Shape it the way you want it with the guidance of God who knows what’s best. Everything’s going to be alright, trust me.


Photo credit: Pinterest

Believe me, it’s there..

Life could sometimes be confusing, throwing you a bunch of questions in your face that forces you to impatiently seek for answers—heedless of the odds that it’s just there, beating for the light you may have overlooked, speaking for what God wants you to do. A heart that speaks of love and faith has never failed, never. Believe me, it’s just there. ♥️

We are no longer in love


We are no longer in love. Something I have come to realise since we got sick of each other’s movements and scents. His scent became too familiar that it seemed my nose needed the presence of fresh coffee beans, it’s almost always ridiculous––when I think of it. Guess that’s just the way it is. When reality starts to bite, you will absolutely feel it, and ache for it. I wish I could think of romantic thoughts as I stare at him while he sleeps but hell I couldn’t.

We are no longer in love. But we choose to stay, nonetheless. The honeymoon stage was over, no more spice, no more thrill, no more extra hot scenes, no more remarkable positions to discover. Notwithstanding the death of excitement, I never regret choosing to stay with him. Despite the plateau of cycle under the same roof we’re in, I never thought of leaving him. And in spite of the thousands of fights and arguments and disagreements, I never imagined living life without him. For even if we are no longer in love, it didn’t mean I don’t love him.

He turned around and faced me, still with his eyes closed, he moaned a sensual moan perhaps due to a wet dream. He subconsciously pulled me from my waist, towards him and moaned yet again, in a whisper form this time that triggered some of my buried wild emotions. It’s been a while since he held me this close. Though his scent, like I said, was too familiar, the warmth of his breath was quite tantalising. The lines on his face was too vivid, being only a few inches away from his face, yet it made me smile. I couldn’t remember the last time I looked at him the way I am looking at him now. He’s still looking good, after all these years of a rollercoaster of marriage.

I wanted to kiss him. I wonder how those dry lips taste and if it will bring back nostalgic memories in my head. I have forgotten how his kisses taste but never the way they made me feel. It would only take me half a second to do it, but I stopped myself from doing so. The idea of it makes me overthink––what if he awakes and find it disgusting? We’re old and ageing. Like I told you, being married for so long was to blame for the absence of spice and thrill. What if the way I look at him now and the way he used to look at me when we were younger, was something he has already forgotten?

He moved his hand down from my waist to my hips and then stopped in my legs. He leaned a bit closer that the tip of his nose touched mine, I got a little claustrophobic. I got trapped in his dreamy self with no space to breathe but I didn’t want to leave. Guess his body’s telling to stop overthinking and just do it.

And so I did. I kissed him and put his hand in between my legs and closed my eyes. I began feeling his fingers gently penetrating me, bringing old hot memories back to life. I felt embarrassed with the roughness of my skin and the saggy baggy belly I carry with me but he owned me anyway. He owned me, touched me, and felt my bones crack in play. With his eyes open, he made love to me as tears start rolling down my face. We are no longer in love, but love still remained.






The irony of hot showers

She turned the heater higher, so the splash of the shower burns her skin to its numbness.

With her head down, eyes gently closed and her hands touching her breasts—she let the strength of the maximum heat of water embrace her raw self, her nakedness, her pained and tired body.

Did I just say tired?

Yes she’s tired.

Just like you, she feels very exhausted.

A hot shower is her way out, a treat, to make herself feel numb as she cries it all out, til she becomes empty, til there’s no more left inside.

Don’t we all need to sometimes be numbed?

For too much feelings are now stories in the past.

For too much analysis kills the protagonists and that some days it’s better to feel none.

For you need to sometimes let pain overrule and cling to you, til there’s nothing left as it burst out— a certain kind of nothingness that alleviates the state. Nothingness that rescues you from the dark.

Let the irony of hot showers send you cold shivers from your wrinkly palms down to your sore soles saying: You’ve been there for too long, you needed to get out.

Cold shivers despite its massive heat that remind you that that’s just the way of life. A cycle full of metaphors, riddles and fights.

Cold shivers that will now make you turn the shower off, because you’re done.

And this is the part where I hope we can all say we’re truly done and mean it.