The “happy” hue

Yellow is never a happy color,
At least for me it is not.
It looks too pretentious
As if it’s trying so hard not to be blue.

It’s not surprising if one day,
Yellow stops being yellow.
And most would ask when
it started feeling mellow.

Yellow is not equivalent to happy,
no color should bear that task.
Gray or black or green or violet
And any other hue that comes to mind
can mean happiness
even every once in a while.

So yellow, be free to feel
For you were never meant to color
just the sun.


“This is it. I’m done”,

Is a lie

I keep making. 

Just when I see no reason

In continuing,

I look back and 

Irrationally decide

To give it one last shot.

I’m pretty sure that one’s called

A thousand times before.

Because I’m a stubborn believer

Of endless second chances.

With my mouth,

I declare my defeat.

With my feet,

I keep going backwards.

And so in the end,

I am stuck.

While everyone else has moved on,

I keep giving chances

To the ghosts of the past. 

I wish I could stop myself from justifying why I should not feel sad and hurt, most especially when I am truly feeling that way. Having a sound and reasonable mind while having a highly fragile and anxious heart is an everyday torture. 

I wish I could stop getting hurt over little things that may or may not be consciously done to cause me pain. I wish I can put to words, without sounding selfish and petty, why my heart is crushed by your seemingly harmless gesture. I wish I do not have to hide these little episodes of crying from you. 

I wish I would stop feeling lonely when I do. It is hard enough to be out in a huge crowd and still feel isolated. It’s even harder to hear the silent echo of quietness when I am by myself. 

I wish I could stop being a walking contradiction. 

I wish I could stop chastising myself for feeling what I feel. I wish I could control my emotions when they get too overwhelming. 

I wish I could make me feel okay. 

I wish I could learn that some things I should just let go of, I wish the scars on my hand from holding on would remind me to do so. 

I wish I could witness more sunrise because I need that warmth.

I wish to bask in hundreds of sunsets and realize there is beauty in the afterglow and the onset of the dark. 

I wish I could stop being easily scared. 

I wish I could will myself to keep moving forward. 

I wish I could keep my resolves. 

I wish I could erase some thoughts and memories completely.

I wish I could stop feeling sorry and saying sorry for that matter. 

I wish I could stop wishing for things I cannot have, for dreams that are hard to make true. I wish I could stop being a pessimist.

I wish for these things that may or may not come true, and yet I still do. 

Blessed be…

Blessed be the easily hurt, 

for a simple word or action

can pierce their heart. 

An arrow,

not aimed at anybody 

can go straight in between their eyes.

Blessed be the easily hurt, 

for they will be hiding their tears-

like how one hides an illicit affair-

in the dark, 

and with cowering fear of being caught. 

Blessed be the easily hurt, 

for not everyone will understand 

the frailties of their heart. 

Blessed be the easily hurt, 

for their own minds can be their foe. 

Clawing and shaming them 

for feeling their truest emotions. 

Blessed be the easily hurt, 

for they are fighting a hidden war, 

may it be real or not to others. 

Blessed be the easily hurt, 

for their greatest weakness 

is also their strength. 

By welcoming hundreds of blows in their chest, 

every single day, 

each time a little harder than the first, 

they become more compassionate. 

Blessed be the easily hurt, 

for there will be more aches to come. 

Late night confessions: Piercing skin

Today I did something terrible.    

It was something I would have called stupid if I was on my better days. It was an act I would describe as pointless; but I did it. 

Maybe it was because I wasn’t feeling right since I woke up. It’s that cloud hanging over my head, or worse, an invisible cloak draped on my shoulders. I felt it all throughout the day. 

I had to stop and take more bathroom breaks because I don’t want to break down in front of my colleagues. I do not want to entertain questions I don’t have answers to. See, people love figuring things out, thus our thirst of knowing. 

It’s funny because I never would have pictured myself fake laughing with my colleagues, with our half-eaten lunch in front of us, digging my nails on my wrist. I can feel the pain but I dug deeper. I didn’t stop until I saw the angry red marks etched on my skin. For some unknown reason, I felt relieved. 

So I dug again and again, all the while talking and pretending to listen to my colleagues’ daily chatter.  

Maybe that’s how it all starts. At first it would be the nails. Not so sharp, but good enough to pierce through the first layer of the skin. And then eventually that won’t be any good.

Like I said, it was something stupid for me. I never was able to grasp the idea of self harm and why it would be of any help. Now I know that while it may not solve anything, it kept my mind busy. It was a good distraction. 

Would I do it again? I hope not. Does it feel right? No, it most certainly isn’t. Should I keep my mouth shut next time I learn my friend is self-harming? Yes. Should I try to dissuade them? Yes, I will. 

I’m not proud of what I’ve done. It left marks on my skin but more so it left writings on my mind. I was overwhelmed with my emotions that I did self harm. Any other day and I would’ve labelled it as an attention-seeking act. 

But no it was not. I wasn’t doing it for anyone. I won’t dare share the marks. I did it because at the time it felt like a better option. It felt like a solution, except that it’s really not. 

I’m sharing this now because I realized a lot of things today. I have better understanding of what drives a person to harm himself. I wouldn’t dismiss the idea any longer. Just like any of my friends would not imagine me doing self harm, I honestly thought I wouldn’t too; but I did, and I think that’s the scariest part of it all.

To you who says ‘I quit’ but don’t

You’ve said it countless times before it became your sigh of breath. How many times have you uttered it today? Yet here you are, still looking fly as you get on with deadlines. A quick flashback of today and maybe you can count.

When you woke up and wished the clock would show 12am instead of 6am, you said it. Dragging yourself to the bathroom to take a shower, your slow steps showed it. Still you made it on time to work. 

As you blindly go through the routine of opening your PC then sifting through your emails, your fingers lightly drummed on the edge of your desk. The beat echoed it. 

When you quietly walked to the water dispenser, hoping no one would come and make small talk only to be engaged in a one-sided conversation with your co-worker, you said it. Slyly looking at your PC and hoping they’d take the sign, your gestures showed it. 

As you looked at the clock willing it to tick faster so you can call it a day, your look betrayed it.  And when at last it’s time to leave, the unconscious congratulatory smile you had whispered it. Even more so when the smile faded when you gave tomorrow a thought, of how it would be the same. You almost shouted it.

But you didn’t and that is why I salute you. 

You are the epitome of courage in the scary world we have succumbed to. You are the champion of those who wants to give up. You are the hero of your own battle, without realizing you have become a leader to those fighting the same battles.

By surviving for yourself you help others survive and win too.

And even if everyday you fight this war, never think you’re losing. You’re winning because you did not let it own you. 

To you who says ‘I quit’ both in words or gestures but don’t, I believe in you. You can win this. Want to know why? Because no matter how much you’ve said it, still you’re doing the best you can. And that is one of the bravest thing you can do.


I am more than a hole

There must be something wrong in the society when there is at least one girl who wishes she was born as a boy. For me, this wishful thinking springs from a bigger problem, that we fail, still, to solve.  

I am not discrediting the great milestone that we have achieved in terms of gender equality. It is a beautiful sight to see couples, no matter which gender, walk hand in hand with their heads up high. I am proud of these brave souls who choose to listen to what their hearts say rather than the close-minded remarks of the homophobes. 

My opinion is that every single one of us must be able to practice their rights, regardless of which gender they belong to. No race or gender is higher nor lower. Everyone should be treated fairly and given the same opportunities. 

Unfortunately, this belief can be difficult to uphold in the society we are in today. I am not sure what made some people heartless and rigid in thinking. Maybe it is because discrimination, both in minute or huge scale, has been rooted ever so deeply in our culture and day-to-day living. 

The seemingly harmless ‘keep your legs crossed when you’re wearing a skirt’ or ‘dont stay out too late’ reminders to girls of any age are the ones that make me think that having a hole in between your legs makes you lesser. Being a girl makes you a prey. It signs you up to a lifetime of shackling lifestyle, lesser privileges and opportunities and all because you have that hole. 

Meanwhile, boys are taught that they can have all the adventure without any worries. Without looking behind them in case they have to stay up late outside. Let him be, that’s the way he is, he is a boy. These few words are enough to justify their behavior and why they are seen as stronger and better. 

This used to be the case until boys also are forced to behave in a certain manner. We are all familiar with the phrases ‘dont bawl like a girl’ or ‘man up’. This may not be the first observation, but I will say it as well, these phrases also insult girls. A known writer has said this before, and I wholeheartedly agree, it seems like in the world we live in, being a girl is the biggest insult. 

I really cannot blame girls who wish they are boys. I myself had thought of that time and time again. I wish my parents are as supportive of my escapades as they are with my brother’s hiking activities. I wish they would stop using the excuse of him being a boy and me being a girl. I wish they would stop telling me to wash the dishes because it is a girls’ chore. I wish they would stop telling me I cannot when I know I can do so much more. I wish they would see me as a wise woman instead of an angry and rebellious feminist when I demand they give me the same freedom they give my brother. I wish they would lessen telling me it is a harsh world outside when it is also the same state inside our home. I wish I am not a girl sometimes. 

Not that men are never discriminated, but that’s another matter entirely. All I’m saying is with these remarks being a boy seems to be a much better option. At least boys are given the chance to speak and be taken seriously; not the ‘hormonal-overly emotional’ girls who ‘whine’ any chance they get.

I am not saying I have seen so much and known enough to be the ‘proud’ girl that they label me as. It is never about being proud when you demand the same rights and be treated as an equal of a man. It is about being acknowledged as so much more than a person who has to live within everyone’s standards of its existence. Everyone except its own. It is about being seen past the hole we have and realizing we are so much more than that. 

I am not a hole to be filled. I am a hole that has so much to offer if only the world realizes that no gender is more preferable. 

My latest attempt ┬áin wooing you (Yes, you!)

No words can ever explain

how you changed my life

but this is my feeble attempt at trying-

and try I will.

Oh, and this will be pretty long.

It is like waking up one day 

and realizing why you’re where you are. 

And oh, finally feeling, 

after years of muted emotions. 

You made me feel again, 

and by that I mean everything – 

excitement, anger, resentment, glee, jealousy, longing

and everything in between.

I am scared of the vastness of the ocean,

but with you I no longer am. 

Come to think of it, 

at least I would not drown alone, 

you are also a terrible swimmer love.

Kidding aside, 

I realized, I am already drowning – 

gasping for air as I fall deeper into you.

I can easily say, 

it is the best way of drowning, 

And I surrender, 

and boy, was it the sweetest defeat.

I know now 

relationships are complicated. 

What works for others, 

may not work with us. 

Hear, hear!

I am willing to make sloppy mistakes.

I am ready to mix and match solutions 

to our bizarre and mostly petty problems. 

If you have never believed you are beautiful, 

well believe it now. 

For I am no liar and I don’t have time 

for empty praises. 

Here it goes: 

No one is as beautiful as you. 


you are not flawless,

You are queer and sensitive

You are oblivious to a point it hurts. 

But I wouldn’t trade you for the world. 

I dare not leave you for these flaws. 

I apologize, 

but my love for you is bigger than that.

Look here, I say to you

I am not perfect and so are you –  

but our flaws match each other

and that makes us the perfect ensemble. 

I told you this is a feeble attempt

for no words can properly describe 

how a person can change your life

without downplaying it – 

just like how we photograph sunsets,

and capture its downgraded beauty

and still be proud of it 

(hence me publishing this)

But still, I will continue

please bear with me, 

a few more phrases and this will be over. 

I just want to emphasize a point.

Please, please know that when I look at you

I see past your boyish smile and serious eyes. 

I see you as my lifetime partner, 

my bestfriend, 

the other end to my red string of fate – 

all mixed into your figure. 

I must say, 

that was a pretty good blending. 

In this part, 

I will say 

a relatively comon phrase with lovers: 

I love you

and here comes a direct translation of a subconsious thought whenever I say it: 

“I may not say it as much as you do, 

but remember, 

as long as I am with you, 

know that I truly, honestly do.”