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Walls

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We build walls around ourselves for different reasons, yet when someone asks us what we regret the most – we often pride ourselves by saying, “Nothing.” I’ve been one of those people. But the truth is, sometimes those invisible walls are silent testaments of times, experiences or decisions we regret. They stem from our traumas, big or small. They are also our regrets – moments when we’ve been let down, disappointed, heartbroken, etc. The moments in the past we’ve vowed to ourselves ‘No more!’ Looking back, I see that even though I’ve hesitated to admit it, those regrets are the very foundation of the walls I’ve built around myself. I often use those experiences as sources of inspiration, yet part of me wishes that I could’ve done some of the things differently, so I wouldn’t have to walk through some of those hardships in the first place. Why I often keep this hidden? Pride, ego, fear – call it whatever you want. We tend trust less because, maybe we trusted too much before. We he...
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So, who do we blame?

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Sometimes, as kids, some of us grow up feeling incredibly lucky, often seen ourselves as those who were ‘given everything’. While some may become alright as adults, others begin to question “Yes, I had everything. But were those the things I truly needed?” When these questions arise, the common response is often “We provided you with everything, how can you be ungrateful?” But I believe we shouldn’t generalize. Because, while the experience might be similar, each person’s perspective and how they process it can be vastly different. These differences shape us more than we realize. These experiences can foster confidence and empathy in some, while turning others into insecure individuals who require a significant amount of self-awareness and self-love to overcome their insecurities. It is also clear that there’s noticeable difference between adults who grow up in a physically and emotionally safe environment and those who did not. But, who is to blame? The parents? If so, do we blame...
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Reds and Cigarettes

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The red lanterns glow brightly, a stark contrast against dimly lit restaurant. As I entered, the smell of cigarette smoke washed over me – nostalgic and overpowering. As I sat there, I couldn’t help but to gaze around. There wasn’t much to see, but I had to admit, I loved that space. It felt like stepping into an old movie scene. The sunny afternoon outside sharply contrasted with the subdued atmosphere inside. Some might have called it mundane, but part of my mind whispered that this place is like a mismatch – and anachronism. It’s the vintage allure of ambiance, completely disconnected from the people inside. It’s as if some 21 st century creatures had transported into the 1920s. Sometimes, those little hidden escapes are all you need – even if just for a short while. For a creative soul, such moments fuel the imagination, which is a definite plus. I find myself watching a lady who was sitting alone at a table, and I wonder how she would look with a chin-length bob and a flapper d...
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Water and Oil

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I am writing because I like unmasking – revealing what lies beneath the mask. Occasionally, we are asked “Why are you the way you are?” Though not always directly, we encounter this question in various forms. And because of that, there are many different answers. For me, I used to give simple one word answer to people who are distant. But when it comes to someone close, I share a deeper truth. But that was until now: the reason I am the way I am or why I do things a certain way, is because I don’t want to be like someone that is very close to me.   That person is a woman who lost her authenticity to a man. I didn’t notice these immediately, of course. But as I entered my teenage years, then into my twenties, I gradually began to see how she had lost herself. Although I still care, I cannot ignore the growing grief I feel for her. Even though I understood how love can cause someone to lose their true self, it wasn’t until my first relationship that it truly hit me. Yes, I was naïv...
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Anger? Rage? What Do You Call It…?

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Each time I feel a surge of anger – I have to remind myself: “don’t let it distract you. Focus. Focus’’. It sucks when the source of the rage is something you are aware of, yet you feel helpless in the moment. Even worse when you’re not the problem but the real issue is not even aware of itself. Still you can’t do anything. You are in this temporary halt, where protecting your inner peace is all you can manage. This is not easy. Quick decisions often lead nowhere. Anger is a paradox – from the outside it might seem like a tool to escape a situation, but in the reality, it often leaves you feeling more trapped.   When the source of rage is layered with years of resentment, controlling it becomes even more difficult. Resolving years of built up emotions takes a lot of work – especially if “forgetting” isn’t one of your strongest strengths. However channeling anger into creation rather than destruction is always better. Whether through writing, painting, dancing, fashion – any for...
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What on earth is LOVE?

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I am not much of a writer. While it is true that I write short stories here and there for fun, I am even worse when it comes to writing about love. If someone asked me whether I am a romantic – I suggest you ask the people I’ve been with. One called me sweet and romantic while another called me a cold ice queen, making it impossible for me give a clear yes or no to that question. Like I said, I am worse at writing about love, which is why I usually avoid it. I think “Love” is pretty complicated, though may be not complex as quantum physics (not that I know much about science). Sometimes people kiss one person and sleep with another. Sometimes we develop a strong emotional connection with one, but lust after another. We might call someone the love of our life, yet marry someone else. It’s simple, yet complicated at the same time. We grow up watching Disney fairytales only to become adults who make countless mistakes – or memories? (Well I wouldn’t call those as ‘mistakes’ because so...
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The Killer Is One of Us

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  It was dark and gloomy when Helen shut the door of her apartment after saying goodbye to her longtime best friend, Melissa. Since she didn't have anything urgent to do she decided to go to bed, even though the clock beside her bedside table read half past eight in the evening. Helen was in deep sleep when she awakened by a loud banging. It took her few minutes to realize that the banging was actually someone knocking on her front door, she glanced at the clock, only to find out it was five in the morning. Who could be knocking at this hour? She wondered. The milk man won't arrive until seven. Despite feeling somewhat alert she made herself presentable and open the door. Standing there were two police officers and their serious faces were illuminated by the porch light. "We are here to see Miss. Helen Whitecliff," the police officer who seem to be in his late fifties said. His expression was serious and little stern. Helen’s stomach tighten. She have never be...
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