Temporarily Somewhere

The inertia to write, after stopping this long, becomes so great that it collides into a fear of having lost the gift to write. The things I can talk about seem to be an airy emptiness not worth putting down into words, because I feel that I no longer have it within me to phrase something or talk about anything that someone can feel for, relate to, and know that they’re not alone in their frailty.

Even using the word “I” requires consideration, with each “I” typed, a pause follows, which side of myself do I want to reveal now, if any is revealed at all. Why does it matter if I am only writing for myself, and not for anyone else. I guess it matters when I dig deep into my emotions and invest them onto paper, knowing that someone would go through these lines of thoughts, comforted by the knowledge that they’re accompanied in their thoughts.

Writing, like everything else, is a therapy of sorts. Every single activity that we engage in is therapeutic. Drug taking, praying, smoking, jogging, they’re all therapies for different individuals coping with the world. And writing too, is a therapy that provides such a surprise because I never know which direction I am taking, what I am going to talk about, or how I sound like.

Just as I didn’t know this would end up sounding guarded and tired. Suddenly, the image of huge plastic Chinese masks with enormous happy grins, the kind with black glossy paint filling those large grins appear. And I think positivity can be blinding sometimes, especially for the weary who wants to sleep and slip into a quiet kind of solitude, before appearing all smiles again.

On Writing

If prostitution is selling your body, is writing akin to selling your soul?

Cyril Wong said, "How far in(to yourself) do you want to go?" I wonder if people can construct fake experiences and write them so well,- they become relatable. This is written for an assignment for a poetry workshop:

My White Flag



I am victorious, I declare.
The sun shines and your presence lingers,
a black shadow that grows
longer as the day extends.

Your multitude of shadows
strain and strip
my heart.

Even in the dim moonlight,
they reign on.
In this war of mind games,
I versus I,
I surrender.

"shine Your light"

“The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever.”

I haven’t been writing for long because fatigue usually takes over or perhaps, I’ve found other forms of release, if writing is an engagement to release. Tonight, I sit here, refreshingly awake, and excited. This is one of the times when I wish that there exists a machine that measures out emotions and intricately matches them to identical perfect words.

“For God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything.”

I sit here, with a heart filled with gratefulness. I don’t know how I can possibly describe this feeling, because I badly want to extract every inch that is within me, yet replication is difficult. From within comes a gratefulness for a love that is so pure and so real and so magnanimous, for an ever constant guidance that always keeps watch as I move across a clueless sky.

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.”

I sit here, in awe. I sit here, grateful for a love that blesses all, touches all, and overflows our cups.

“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.”