I don’t know why, but it’s been hard to get my fingers back dancing on the keyboard. My mind begs for it to be done, but everything else works against it. I feel it though, inside. It’s begging for daylight. Abstract thoughts with a desperate desire to be turned into concrete words. I don’t really know why or when exactly it started, but it just keeps flooding my mind. Scenes and memories that are so minuscule and insignificant grow and fester inside me like a cancerous tumor.

A simple moment standing on an escalator as the world rushes past you.

The way the train sounds so much louder when there is no one you know around you, but the way that noise silences when you’re in the company of a friend.

The way my parents speak quietly to each other and laugh quietly with each other. The way they laugh ever so loudly at our unique humor few would understand.

Minuscule, and insignificant. They grow like cancer.


I have been feeling this deafening urge to write. To just write. It happens a lot in my mind. Words seem to swirl around and reassemble themselves where they feel most comfortable. But when it comes to the physical action of it all, I’m at a lost. Like a stuttering train running out of coal. It putters and coughs out sad, pathetic clouds of smoke. What is it that I want to write about? Why do I just end up writing about wanting to write? Perhaps I need a plan of some sort, a plot, at least. But no! That is not what the soul is asking for right now. Listen to the soul. Fulfill its desires. All it wants is to see words come out. To visibly see them appearing letter by letter. A letter may disappear, they may come out in the wrong order, and sometimes perhaps too many letters. But it’s okay. Let the words putter out. Maybe you’ll realize that the train isn’t coming to a stop after all. You just needed the time to enjoy the scenery. The moments.


I am reminded of Sumire, from Sputnik Sweetheart (Haruki Murakami). She writes to think. Despite my best efforts to not put myself in the books I read, Murakami so accurately described what words are to me. But then again, how many people must have felt the same way?


I hope I’ll write more. It’s a shame¬†to think these thoughts won’t see the light of day. Not that I think they’ll be of any value to anyone in particular, but when your car’s full of fuel – you drive.

Constantly discontent

Constantly discontent

with the self and its abilities

a moment of pride and self-worth is the most impermanent

never-lasting feeling.

Whatever you’re good at,

there is definitely someone who’s better.

There will come a time, surely

but when

will I just be happy, just see, not be plagued

by this constant paranoia and insecurity.

Self-worth, esteem and confidence non-existent.

Must learn to just not care.

Fuck it.


“Okay sir, 8 ringgit sir, just 8 ringgit sir, please sir?”

He asks after almost losing his patience,

when I declined his offer of 10 ringgit to wash my shit stained car.

Sir, he calls me.

A sir who would say no to 10, but yes to 8.


He looked exhausted. When I handed him the money

he took it

and placed it in a tiny plastic bag in the basket of his bicycle

which carried his work equipment of pails of water and dirty cloths.

It seemed oddly arranged, my meeting with this man.

For a person who usually chooses escape, I now long

to be in the midst of it all.

I wish I could listen to every single person’s story and understand them and laugh and cry with them.

Tell me your stories.

Forgive me for all my shortcomings – especially my ignorance.

Tell me, please, sir?


Senses heightened

Emotions soaring

Ground level diminishing

I fly away.


It felt like a perfect moment to die

Does that ever happen?

That everything just feels right,

that things come together and that maybe

you should just leave.


The radio was playing classic songs

“Crazy, I’m crazy for feeling so lonely.”

“I took the good times, I’ll take the bad times.”

Dark outside, I flash by car lights

In a daze I somehow get to my destination.

What has happened to me?


I can’t stop saying I’m sorry.

I am patience, not


I am patience, I am not

Insincerities, insecurities

Light another one, sizzle, blow

watch it flow

a rush of deoxygenated blood to the head.

Dizzy, stumbling, thoughts that don’t make sense.

The quiet obsessions are the worst

No one takes notice, it doesn’t cease

I’ve lost my head.


Words Though

It’s been a while

you’ve been appearing, swirling, rearranging

but never made into a tangible

Kept you inside, pushed you away

Didn’t need you, want you? still I come back

Nostalgia, the essence of you

Light you up, inhale, release.



Aesthetics subjective

It’s a choice, the thought is a choice.

Do you choose to think it is pretty

I choose to think it is prettier than before

Perhaps I’ve been fixated too long

Pleasant change

Prettier, happier.

Flooding of thoughts, sudden.

Must find distractions.



In everybody’s eyes I am the enemy

Or so my mind tells me

Paranoia strikes, can’t block it

History repeats repeats.


Truth is relative

hard to understand hard to accept

but must, it’s a must

my truth, your truth, different truths.

Understand that.


Plagued by a black past and a vision of a bright future

bright future comes to present and goes

black past stays black.



Who to turn to when hopeless

Find hope in words, in spontaneous overflow

Hope within? None.

Numb self with world distractions

do work pay bills smile be a good person.



my truth, your truth, different truths.

Understand that.

Sounds from above

Click clack clack
Sounds from above
Heard at 5:22 in the morn
A mother prepares breakfast
For a family still sound asleep
The only thing that’s alive at this hour
besides the rumbling air conditioner behind me
and the constant buzz of electricity that keeps my monitor
shining its bright luminescence illuminating the smoke that my hot tea gives off.

Simple Craving

I have a craving.

It’s simple,

but not often can I satisfy it.

My craving.


I want to feel human

I want to feel another human

I want to reach out to a stranger and dig in

I want to slice open the tiniest of cuts and push myself in and under their skin

I want to slide smoothly to reach the deepest core of their soul and who they are and what they’ve experienced.

I want someone to tell me their stories.

It’s simple.


Asleep beside me

and asleep behind me.

Windows down,

wind rushing past

winding, bending roads.



Sing, shout, scream

in the early morn.

In front of me the Earth rotates, spins, orbits

a gradual show unfolding of hues and colours and smells and emotion.

Asleep beside me

and asleep behind me.

I am awake.