Pocket of time

Listening to a song while staring at the floor of the train, watching the sun flash its flickering light in-between passing shadows.

Everything kind of seems to glow, everything defined by a line of white. And I’m sitting next to a little toddler who has a brilliant smile, wide bright eyes. And he smiles at me, muttering something nonsensical.

The crowd starts to fill in, a sea of foreign languages streaming in slowly and all around.

When I used to write all the time, I was always alone.

It’s hard to write when you’re constantly with people. There are things you don’t notice, and things you can’t think about.

I feel like the day I stop writing down a few things here and there would be a very sad day. It means I’ve stopped thinking, or at least I would have forgotten whatever I did think about. It would also mean I stopped noticing things. And the kind of beauty in the world that we can only see for ourselves.

Thoughts are wonderful. They’re something you can call your own. Something you create.

And when written down they’re immortalised and it becomes part of the physical world. Or in this case digital.

Now I’m looking out the window, and I wish the clouds didn’t glow so bright that it hurts to stare at them.



Last Sunday, I met up with Vic, and she told me she bought her first packet of cigarettes.

And I watched her smoke for a few minutes. I feel like I will never see smokers the same way again.

You know how something doesn’t seem as strange anymore when someone you know does it? Vic made smoking a cigarette look like she was just popping a tic tac into her mouth.

And I held a cigarette for the first time in my life. It felt so strange, and foreign. I sniffed it (unlit, of course) and it smelt like sweet, spicy, tea leaves. I guess that’s what tobacco smells like.

Should I have tried harder to stop her? I don’t know, she knows I don’t want her to smoke. She knows why it’s bad and she doesn’t care. I’ve told her what I think. But it’s her choice in the end. And I didn’t want to interfere in her choices. It sounds like I’m defending myself, well, maybe I am. Maybe I feel guilty for not trying to shove the whole pack into the bin.

But I don’t think she’s going to keep at it.

Honestly, I was really tempted to try it and see exactly what it feels like. She said it was really soothing and menthol-ish, and it cleared her nose and throat.

That kinda sounds like woods cough syrup. So I’ll just take it as that’s how it’d feel like.


Always and Never

I realise I never really wrote anything after that night when I sought closure.

I think I was a little scared. Because honestly, I’m probably burying a lot of feelings and thoughts.

But I think I want to finally dig them out and seek my own closure.

How do I feel?

I guess a word for it would be sad. But I didn’t cry. And I didn’t feel that piercing feeling in my heart I would have expected to. I’m just sad that things change and things go lost every now and then. It’s always sad if it’s something you can never gain back again. Even if I was never meant to have it in the first place.

How someone who was once so close to me could end up being a stranger I pass by once a week and how I can’t even bring myself to make eye contact and smile. Yeah actually now that I put it in words it really is quite sad.

Friendships are rather fragile, aren’t they? I used to think nothing could break it apart. But now I know that everything dies if you don’t take care of them.

I’d like to think that I came out of that night unscathed. That it didn’t do much to my already healed wounds and that it went exactly as expected.

And that it didn’t matter what happened.

I’m honestly not sure if it’s really true. That I didn’t feel anything after knowing that something I said could make someone feel suffocated. Even typing this now, my heart feels rock solid. Nothing.

I find that quite sad too.

Because I know it’s true.

But I’m not sad that it happened. Both the start and the end. i’ve learnt a lot about myself, the things that desparately need working on. I’ve learnt about a dark place, and how I should never let myself stay there too long. I’ve learnt about insecurities and how filling them up with the wrong things can be so devasting. I’ve learnt about what it means to let go of something you tried so desparately hard to keep. Oh man, was that a torture. Maybe it’s because letting go marries the two roots of tough times: Uncertainty, and disappointment. You feel them both, in overwhelming levels.

It was fun, it was exciting, it was warm, it was painful, it was empty, it was everything that I never would have expected it to be.

I am definitely different now. And I am definitely thankful either way.

Let’s always walk forwards and never backwards.

Untitled (for now)

When I woke up, The first thing I saw was the night sky. It was pitch black, and it looked as if it were suffocating the few stars that managed to shine through. I felt like there was more to it than that. There should have been more.

Somehow I knew.

The air was cold, and I was lying on my back, the sharp ends of damp grass blades prickling my skin. I lay there for a while, still in a daze as I took deep breaths to focus my vision. And when I realised that was as clear as it got, I sat upright, propping myself on an elbow. Surrounding me, enclosing me, were the silhouettes of tall, looming trees, and darkness weaved through their trunks into the depths of what lurked beyond the furthest I could see. It felt like exactly just that as I sat there and thought long and hard, searching into the depths of my memory.

But It was all I could see, and it was all I knew.

Honestly hope I’ll come to the end of this one. It’ll probably take me a few years.


Things would be so much easier if you could look through another person’s eyes. See everything they see. Feel everything they feel. To truly know.

Sometimes it’s so hard to reach someone. No matter what you say, or do, it just doesn’t get past.

How do you get through these many walls, hiding a person inside, scared and afraid of going out again? If only they could see how you see them.

You know what’s beautiful? If you’re able to reach them. It’s in the trying. When you scrape those walls with your own cracked nails. When you pound on the door, or wait patiently outside for hours. And one day, you’d finally be able to touch them.

I’m sorry I’m so afraid. I’m sorry for being a coward. There’s a lot that I haven’t seen while I’ve been hiding. One day I will step out again.

Dream log #23

I’m in a shopping mall with my parents, and a crowd is gathered around an art exhibition.

An animation is projected onto the floor. It’s style was simple, kind of 3D-ish.

There is a faceless man in a room, that was sort of divided into two. The first half of the room had a noose hanging from the ceiling and a chair, the second half had a spinning blade.

He had to choose whether he would hang himself, or be lowered down slowly into the spinning blade.

And the man stood on the chair for a while, holding the noose over his head, but then there was a cut and he was lowered into the blade instead.

Watching that I think I almost puked. Seeing bits of his animated body smashed into smithereens,
Blended almost. Head last.

The video was on a loop, and it started again, showing a group of students taking a test.

I wonder why the guy chose being dismembered.

Maybe there was something more than that. Maybe he was told that by choosing the blades he would save the others who would enter that room.

The thought of me being in that room still makes me feel like throwing up.

But I guess it’s on situations like these where you find out what you’re really made of.


During tuition today, she showed me a wrist full of cuts. Well more than the wrist: almost the entire length of her arm.

Slash after slash after slash.

Some people say that doing it just for attention isn’t as serious as a displacement of emotional pain.

Attention sounds like such a shallow thing, and I used to think that, but after hearing stories and meeting people for myself, I realise how it drives a lot of things that we do.

It’s a need to feel like you exist. That people see you. It’s a need to feel human.

Today was fun though. I really love teaching science. By science I mean biology because I suck at the rest haha. Ha.

And a bit of math. Everyone needs help in math. RACHEL TEACHING MATH?!?! You know honestly, I have a theory that people who knew what it was like to suck in math are actually better at teaching it. It’s like how we’d understand how some math stuff really just can’t be understood just like that. And we’d use unconventional ways to get the message across. Or maybe I’m just making this up to give me a confidence boost.

Okay I have to sleep.

But today was a good day:D


Honestly, I think I hide a lot of things from myself, and I tell lies to myself. Why do I even do that? How is it even possible to lie to yourself? It’s like we’re made up of two separate consciousness.

It hurts when you realise that someone has lied to you. I think it might be even worse when you realise you’ve been lying to yourself.

It’s a time loop.

I feel like I’m in one of those whacky space phenomena you’d see in something like Star Trek. Over and over and over again. Not knowing that I’m living the same thing, stuck and unable to get out. I’ve written about this many times. Here I am, still writing about the same thing.

I want to be a Kintsugi bowl. Mended by gold. Mended by God and no one else.

God, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being broken without a substance. I still am broken, and always will be. But your gold will keep my broken pieces together.

Please heal me. I’ve made enough of a mess of myself. Oh how desperately I’m calling out to you. Words can’t possibly describe no matter how much I wish they could.

God, I need you. You are everything and more.


Perspectives are a very powerful thing.

It could make you blind, letting you see only what you want to see.

It could make things clear, letting you realise things you’ve never realised before.

I feel like everything is clear now.

And I’m grateful for that.