Difficult times  

Difficult times bring out the best and the worst in me. 

At first, I would want to scream out loud and blame everyone but me. I may or may not be at fault and still I would plant hate in my heart. “Why me?” “What have I done wrong?” All of these questions ring in my head over and over again. All of them left unanswered. 

The mystery of the reason of my suffering seems to add fuel to the fire. Know your enemy, they say, but I don’t even know who I’m against. Fate? Others? Me and my bad choices? Or worse, it’s all a huge mess of coincidence and inborn unluckiness. The last one is definitely the worst.

Eventually, I’d get tired of asking. By then, there will be nothing left to do but face it head on. The only way to it is through it. And so, left with my own devices, I try to remain calm, survive and fail miserably.

In some moments I would even go back to questioning even knowing (all the while) that I’m not going to get any answers at all. Then comes the sweet and bitter surrender. 

It’s the come-and-throw-it-at-me-I-could-care-less phase. It’s the odd feeling of being in control of an uncontrollable situation. I am in control because I know there will be more to come and there is absolutely nothing I can do. Oh, not really nothing, I can pose as an arrogant being that has seen and felt worse. This statement can be true or nah but the fake confidence lasts enough to get you through a day or two. This is my personal favorite.

Im not sure how some people react when faced in a difficult situation. I can only speak for myself. Getting angry is my first instinct then comes all the yada yada listed above. 

I’m not even sure how all of it ends. Somehow, the situation passes, even if I swear it felt like it was not going to end. It really does get better or if it doesn’t, at least, it does not get any worse. 

Difficult times  

I lost my life when I lost my room 

To whoever thinks a room is just a four-walled space in the house, I wholeheartedly disagree.

To me it was always more than just a place to sleep. It was a place to pretend to sleep. There are nights when sleep won’t come and there are also nights when it is unwelcome, either way, my room served as the perfect hiding place. It was a place that knows no time. It doesn’t force me to do anything because it is what’s expected of me.

My room was the only one who saw the smile painted on my face vanish ever so quickly the moment I close the door. It was a silent witness to my stifled cries. It does not ask me to ‘stop’ and ‘move on’. It just lets me cry until I’m too tired. It welcomed the angry punches I throw in its walls until my fists bleed. It did not protest.

I can write peacefully in my room because it is where I can be completely alone in my thoughts. It is where I can be truly honest without feeling sorry about it.

It is the one who hears my sleep talks and quiet conversations with myself without receiving ‘the look’. I can dance or lie on the floor without being told to stop.

I can make songs and sing out of tune. It was the very first audience to my self-composed songs. I even think it feels proud that after all the procrastination and monotonous tunes, I am able to make one. I can almost hear it sigh or maybe just because it thinks the worst is finally over.

It is the one who welcomes me without asking too many questions that I don’t know the answer to. It does not judge me at all.

And now it is gone, due to unfortunate events. I feel like mourning for my long-time companion. I miss it. I miss its quiet presence. I almost think I took  it for granted.

Being alone in my room makes me feel like watching my life unfold in its self. Without pressure, without prejudice, without time limits and expectations, it just lets me unravel my life. It gives me freedom in its truest form. Sometimes I wish to expand it to Earth’s size so everyone  can feel it too. But just like most good things, it came to its end.

So when I lost it, I felt lost too. I lost my room and I am mourning for it and for myself. I want it back. I lost my life when I lost my room.

I lost my life when I lost my room 

The sad

I don’t think anyone ever likes to feel sad. But there is a kind of sad I despise the most.  

It is the kind where I know no song can comfort or console me. Usually, I’d put on some music when I’m feeling the blues. For this, I can’t even remember just one song to calm my nerves. 

It is the kind where I cannot fall asleep to try and escape it but no it won’t let you. It will leave me staring into nothingness kissing sleep goodbye. 

It is the kind that makes you feel empty. 

It is the kind that lingers even while it has passed. The memory of it still strong on my mind. 

It is the kind that cannot be accurately described with words. 

It is the kind of sadness I most often feel.

The sad

‘It’s okay’ 

One day I woke up and realized I have lost interest in the things I used to love before. And that’s just it.

I thought of myself as a useless person who cannot, for the life of her, even be good in the so-called skills she has.  I despised myself for not living up to my own expectations. 

Even now, writing this took a lot of effort. I simply don’t have the urge to string together words to complete a sentence in my head, much more so to write it down. It’s like wringing a wrung out sponge, useless and pointless.

But no, I have to get my point across and tell you that finally, I can say it is okay.

It is okay if the things that hold your interest before seem to be dull today. It is okay to not be able to write a single line to a poem you’ve always wanted to started, but never got the inspiration to do so. It is okay if instead of clubbing you bail out and stay home and do nothing. It is okay to say ‘no’ inspite of you being a ‘yes’ person. It is okay to not wear a smile when you don’t feel like it.

I’m saying it is not a crime to start feeling and un-feeling things. 

Although it can be unsettling, we have to accept that we are not formulas. We are complicated . We are made up of ever-changing patterns of behaviors and emotions and choices. We are unpredictable and beautifully fragile. We can be alive today and turn up dead the next day. We are but a flicker, burning ever so brightly but easily blown away.

Don’t get me wrong, this frailty makes life even more beautiful.

So instead of beating yourself up because you used to effortlessly write stories and can’t even bear to look at your pen, let the feeling in. If today you hate the rain, then close the windows. Its about time you start being kind to yourself because if you won’t then who will? 

Probably we feel unloved and unsatisfied because we keep looking for validation from others. It does not have to be that way all the time. 

Maybe it is time to start telling yourself “it is okay” more. It’ll work wonders. 

‘It’s okay’ 


I just wish for more time. 

I wish I could spend hours on composing songs and playing the guitar. But time, tricky as it is, seems to speed up when I do the things I love.

I just wish for a few more days.

Can there be a third day on the weekends? Why does it have to be five working days and just two days for rest, if you could even call it that. Those rest days are spent preparing for the working days. We do laundry and fold our clothes and clean our house. We still do chores. 

I just wish for longer nights.

For more peaceful silence shared with me and my bed, not sleeping and just lying. While the rest of the world breathes softly, let me lie in here and take my life all in. 

I just wish for more time. 

How I even wish to freeze time when I’m talking to you. The hours aren’t enough to accomodate both of our stories. Yet it still ticks away rapidly. We get trapped in our desks typing for long hours, way past our working time. We rarely talk and it hurts. 

I just wish I would stop chasing time. I wish to be in tune with its ticking beat so I could wrap my head around its concept. Why does time go by so fast? Why is it that I have to bid you goodbye when it feels like I have just said hello a few minutes ago. Why do working hours feel awfully long? Why is it that I don’t have enough time? Why don’t you have enough time to spare? Why is time too slow?

I just wish for more time. 

I wish to learn how to bend it. For those who cannot bear another minute in a party, let me speed it up. For those who long for even just a few minutes in bed to delay the dreadful day, let me give you a few hours more. For those who want one more chance to say goodbye to a loved one, let me take you back there. For those who wish time to stop for a while just to savor a particular moment, let me hold the hands of time for you. 

But this is way beyond me and I am but just one of the dials in a clock. My life ticking away each second. 

I just wish for more time.



One of the worst emotions that any person can possibly experience is not feeling at home in your own home.  It is that nagging voice in your head that you simply does not belong there anymore.

Home can be any place or anyone for that matter. It is somewhere one can feel the most secure. It is also where one can be his true self without anticipating an unwelcome judgment. Home is the beat place to be in this cold world.

This is why it is truly heartbreaking to know that the key you hold no longer fit on the newly placed lock on your door. It is unsettling to be lost in the streets you have known so well  like the back of your hand. It is the most painful feeling of absence of the home you loved as it holds the same foundation but contains the most bizarre layout and furniture. It is no longer your home and your safe haven.

So you move out with all of your precious belongings. You stay on motels and inns just to get by each day. Until the days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months and eventually became years. The memory of your home still alive. You long for it but not in the way you did before. Now, finally, you’re ready to start laying your foundations again.

How many times have you built your home only to leave it because it no longer feels like one? How many times have you promised that this time will be the last time you will ever walk out your door? How many times have you longed to go back to the very first home you built? How many times have you stood up and planned your new home? Who cares anyway? You are your own person who are allowed to have as many home as you want until you find the last place you’d grow old in. No one is counting. Maybe it is just you that’s keeping track and it’s time to stop that. Keep the old pictures of your previous homes, turn them into decorations or keep it in old suitcase, it really does not matter.

You are your own home’s interior designer. Keep it exciting.