the battle within you

dashing into the trees of the dense forest
running away from the world and its tremors
succumbed into your doubts and insecurities
as you broke the ice, plunging into the water

where were you when she needed you the most?
in the middle of a tangled mess you have made
crouched in a corner, shielded from the world
but the problem has always been within you
no point of fleeing -it follows you without fail

break down your walls, breathe in humility
mend your broken heart with forgiveness
start gathering your guts and fix things
it takes two to clap (she can’t do much more)

if you love her so, quit escaping from her grasp
if you love her so, run back to her arms again
if you love her so, overcome your own setbacks
if you love her so, stand by her side and remain
there is full of hope within her as she waits

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word barf #8: this is the era

This is the era where people take social media as a serious representation of our lives. Where many filter out the hardships and display the plain ol’ and same ol’ beauty. Where the other party may stumble upon their posts, and feel even much more insecure, because their own lives aren’t as pretty as theirs. Like thick icing on a cake, they make their lives presentable too. This is where the chain reaction begins.

This is the era where people make money and gain fame by copying from one another. Where I see the similar types of clothing on five different girls. Where they promote about skin care brand A at three in the afternoon and then praise skincare brand B two hours later. Where their lives seem magical as though money typically rain at their areas. Princesses –with prince, or no prince (or occasionally different princes).

This is the era where people think so much about solely themselves. Where family is only mentioned on pick one: (mothers’/fathers’/parents’ birth) day. Where occasionally an #appreciationpost for their siblings or friends are put up once every six months (or maybe for the first time because their own Outfit Of The Day was really good in this photo). Where their Instagram grid is full of new faces because “Hey everybody! I have so many many many friends! I am popular!” when honestly, they never spoke more than fifty sentences.

This is the era where people feed off from other people. Perhaps it’s the popularity they want to steal, perhaps it’s the top-notch photography skills they want on their photos. However we can never find out their true incentives (and the truth hurts as well).

This is the era people tries to be different to stand out, and flourish for just that little while. Because people look up to these successors, and inevitably, people will follow. That difference is now shared, and that makes it same. One paradox we can see is the fact that we call hipsters ‘hipsters’ because they stand out for not touching the mainstream, but being a hipster is ironically a trend.

This is the era where we can’t plan a proper road for ourselves in the future. We want everything this instant. We want fame, we want fun, we want these kind of friends. We want them right now. We are so self-absorbed in the short period of time where eventually, all these bits of nonsense will not matter anymore in the near future. (We still want these nonetheless because the future seems far.)

This is the era where insecurities are rising among us. We look at them through social media and think that we are not enough. What we forget is the fact that these platforms veils the drastic imperfections, making them unsearchable.

This is the era where we are much covered in flaws, and instead of accepting them, we have a need to hide them away.

And I too, feel guilty.


a ‘word barf’ is that typical thought post without proof reading and mostly nonsense. it is written and posted because many thoughts run away. and it’s better to write them down before forgetting them. 

inside the examination hall

in maroon sneakers he rushed in
and sat on the desk beside me
time ticking, legs of the chair
scraping the cemented floor

we started without him
already scribbling in blue
when he just started reading
the instructions and passage

sweat beaded his forehead
eyebrows scrunching as the
pen quickly formed strokes
hurry, not much time left

a drop of a ballpoint pen
which shattered the silence
was rolling towards a leg
of the desk belonging to me

should i?

too late.

i heard footsteps nearing,
bones cracking as the aged
teacher bends down to reach
for the common writing tool

surprised that the teacher
knew who the owner was
he set the object on his desk
instead of mistaking it for mine

and so the boy retrieved his lost pen
but i lost the chance to get him to notice me

word barf #5: by leaps and bounds

Sometimes the first flower that blooms is the first to die. Too early. Too young. Too vulnerable.

Yet things play differently to the brighter creatures in this planet. Perhaps it is alright to charge head on to the years beyond the present. Maybe it is okay to strip off everything and turn an almost 180 degrees.

Write a new chapter, not a new book which has no relation to the first. Chase for the things you’re meant to chase, not the things you will chase years ahead from now. Growing up is involuntary, but why are we volunteering to be much older than we currently are?

The world is now moulded into something much more, and more does not simply means good. Society has set the bar much higher, and we have to reach those standards. Look at those trembling young fingers holding a makeup brush. See that fifteen-year-old spending all his savings just for the shoes currently in ‘style’.

They blossom too soon. Too influenced by the unconscious rules the globe has set. Too unmellow to think of the long term. That money can be saved for something much better. That ‘priority’ should be replaced with a responsibility much greater.

And when we grow up faster than we should, we think we gain. True, but it is not as much as how much we will lose. We say that we do not want to grow up, but ironically we indulge ourselves into more responsibilities which we should face when we are older. Perhaps by this we lose will our old friends and definitely we will lose our time. Nonetheless, the crucial thing of all is that we will lose ourselves.

Us in five years’ time will not be the same us we aspire to be in five years’ time.

Who are we to fiddle the clock? Let time take its course.

word barf #1: a penny for my thoughts

They say that money is the root of all evil.

True.

The world revolves around money as though it controls us with its invisible hands. They influence our behavior and choices. We get angry. We get stressed. We get envious of people who make tens of thousands, who has the latest mobile phone model and branded shoes and high-quality make-up products.

I am only a teenager.

I am not poor. I am not rich. Like most Malaysians, I belong to the middle class. The fact that I am studying in an international school gives many the stereotype that my parents make a good sum. Sadly it’s false -the money for my tuition fees is from my aunt. Sometimes I wished my family didn’t give in to my silly complain on how much I wanted to move to a new place.

Yet I am here, struggling with Chemistry and a bunch of formulas thrown at my face. By being surrounded with many rich children, I get used to the uneasy attitudes of spendthrifts. But then again, I see many who try to save every little cent, and these were mostly children who belong in the same class as me.

Am I a cheapskate?

I try to find many alternatives when possible. Instead of buying textbooks, I borrowed from a senior (so I can return them back for her younger sister’s use) and photocopied some. Starbucks and milk tea stopped being a thing because of the bottled water I have in my bag. My clothes, though mostly branded, were always from the discounted section. Big discounts were the best, some of my bought pieces were from RM59 to RM6.

Asking my dad for money makes me dispirited. He is working so hard to support my future as well as paying for my classes -what more can I ask? I cannot wait to start working, I’ll probably take a bunch of part-time jobs after graduating high school so I can stop depending on him, or rather, depend on him less.

As a child from divorcees and living with my father, I do not treat my distant mother as Santa Claus. She would ask what I want for my birthday and Christmas, and I’ll give her my reasonable materialistic desires. This is all. I could ask for so much more, for she earns a lot, but why should I? Although money is powerful, it is never as strong as genuine love from a mother. Many children overlook this.

There’s no conclusion to this thought bubble of mine. We cannot help but let money play a huge role in our lives. Maybe it’s good to take some time to be grateful for having a roof over our heads, to have a smartphone, to have a closet full of clothes, to eat good food once in a while, to be able to go to school, and most importantly: to have enough.

before & after

when she was sitting side by side with him
racing to be the fastest in completing schoolwork
when the both of isolated themselves from friends
being immersed in each other’s (mostly his) speech
sending letters as though being in school wasn’t enough
the gifts that he sent from the places he had traveled
deep talks -although it’s rare- secretly at the back
counting down the seconds for class to be over
hour-long phone calls, fingers tied to the cord
a little insult or gossip followed by some sniggers
shooting hoops where he was great and she tried
lending books, sharing homework, stealing food
pat on backs, holing hands, the night when they-

now she sits alone in the corner by the window
taking her time, no more competition on speed
she plunges herself in the sea of her friends
and blocks out the noise whenever he speaks
the postbox now seems like a great distance
presents she still keeps but no longer in view
currently the space behind looks hollow; lifeless
counting down for class to end, now only alone
like the postbox, the phone rarely gets a visit
gossips and insults being said from another mouth
he remains on the court but she’s no longer there
his books sits on her shelf; hers are never returned
a body of air between them grows vastly