Introspections & Retrospections

There’s a Lonely Place Between Worlds and Words

There are two kinds of loneliness; three, if you include the discipline of writing.

An empty house. A solitary stroll. Working on a project by one’s self. There’s a sense of loneliness in them, but not all the time. More often a longing for companionship, a teasing reminder that it sucks to be alone.  Continue reading

Short Story | Fiction

A Parable For The Lost

It was almost 10:00pm. Elsewhere, people spent the night with friends and families, or resting in their homes. Others were already on their way, albeit stuck in overcrowded buses or jammed roads; still, they’re on the move — unlike us, still waiting for our own ride. Unlike me, simply watching each bus pass me by.

A taxi glided towards me, rolled down its window, and waited for an offer. I tried to ignore the expectant face behind the wheel; I’ve learned to distrust their service, even when I understood their plight. I couldn’t tell what the driver thought as he drove past me; eager passengers had already raced towards his vehicle. A few frustrated people cussed at the taxi driver, but it didn’t matter; there was one less competition in the waiting shed, one less rival to a decent ride home.

And I just wanted to go home. But not right now; not right away. I was tired, but it was not as tiring as spending the nights in abject solitude. Amidst the standing crowd of stranded commuters, I didn’t felt alone. And soon enough, I felt satisfied, reminded fully well why I often chose to be alone. Continue reading

Introspections & Retrospections

On Depression & Contentment

We all, or at least most of us, have our moments when a darkness settles in and sits beside us: quietly, like an awkward lover trying to make themselves felt, their presence matter. And we try, desperately try, to push this unwanted attention away— even when at times, it is what secretly crave for, if only from someone else, from something else. For it always start with a longing: whether it be triggered by some faint nostalgia, a distant almost forgotten reminder to one’s self, or even half-remembered fantasies from dreams that the night stole away from us.

Hello, Depression, some of us who have known it well through the years would greet. Sometimes, it would not say anything. Most of the time, we simply don’t like listening to it, or try to understand. Because most of the time, it simply wants to tell us something we don’t like to hear. Continue reading

Short Story | Fiction

It’s Time

Hello, Time. Can we talk?

Make it quick. Don’t waste me.

You’re awfully blunt.

Well, you’re awful. Why don’t you just get straight to the point?

Fine. They say you heal all wounds.

I don’t.

Wait, I haven’t asked any questions yet.

That’s because you’re making a question based on a wrong idea.

Which wrong idea?

That I heal wounds. I can’t. That’s not what I am. Continue reading

Introspections & Retrospections

The Playground

Nothing haunts us as maddeningly and painfully like beautiful, sweet memories.

Like staring at the rickety, old see-saw, wood worn from countless years of play and getting soaked in the rain— and for a moment, children and childhood friends (or what seems to be a spectre of your shared past) intrudes your reality, and you find yourself back to that moment, half-remembering and half-imagining what was and what should have been timeless, ageless, unchangeable. Continue reading