Chapter 1

Tried writing a short story, it kinda turned out like this. Tell me what you think! Should I continue this?

Suppressed noise. Sounds wired into headphones and eardrums, couples hold hands, some tensely. White noise humming from those minds temporarily blank as the wall they stare at.

Plastic handles sway like ominous pendulums. There’s a couple just above my head, millimeters from my face, which floats, reflected in the black glass within a metal door. I never noticed this blouse was the same color as the walls of a train compartment, white, dubiously sterile-looking. Opposite me, the girl leans her head on his arm. Their faces get closer, almost touch. I lapse into mock sleep, it gets harder to breathe-

Relief comes with the slowing slide of the train floor. The crowd comes murmuring back to life, awakens at the dead-sounding, doorbell-ring. That familiar, detached voice, ignored. “Please do not lean against the train doors.”  Body heat. Someone’s sweat stained shirt. Someone shoves me from behind, and I almost fall in my high heels. Sweat drops. The tide swells and bursts as the train doors open, and I rush like a bat out of hell.

Passengers from reverse direction approaches. I blink and realise, It’s August.

Jostling,  a quickening of breath. Thoughts like muddy footsteps-

Fingertips brush against a soft, flowery sleeve. “Hey!”

I was the one who stopped her. Once again, I reached out into the rippling sea of people and snatched a slippery, golden fish.  Here she is, clothes trapped in my fingers again. I’m hoping she can’t feel how hot they are, blood burning under my skin like her vivid blush.



Translation (qiuqian)








Continue reading “Translation (qiuqian)”

Excerpts from Keats and Donne

Yes, I’m alive, I’m alive! Not much to report here, other than some poetry I’ve been reading recently; realised two are by poets named John, though written more than 200 years apart:
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmasked, and being seen—without a blot!
O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!

“I cry your mercy-pity-love! -aye, love!


John Keats


Our two souls therefore, which are one,

Continue reading “Excerpts from Keats and Donne”


The train winds to a stop like a cog turning,

Broken air-con suppressing us like tissue-paper,

like a rubber band stretched – suddenly melting,

Hydraulics, simple force of will,

freedom within others confinement,

I’d smash through a window, escape through the tunnels, for a breath of stale-fresh air, 

steal a boat, no waves or unfair wind to stop me from reaching you

-or perhaps simply walk on water, water molecules inert, fixed in place-

best friend;

I’m longing to put a stop to time,

drop ‘who I am’ like a heavy suitcase

And run.


Response to the Daily Post prompt:


Part of  a-to-z challenge


I stand before the inanimates,

Ankles soaked, standing by that painting of a lake…


Does anyone else feel this way sometimes? I want to live but, I don’t feel happy.

I’ve always been a bit of a unhappy person, but even more so recently. I enjoy talking to my friends, and I’m numbed by endorphins during exercise, the grunt of and sweet friction of muscles, and also by study; I can satisfied by a sandwich; but sometimes it just feel like life’s a little too empty?

I’m not in one of these moods right now, hence I’m able to write this. I’m quite unsure of a number of things right now…

I’ve been thinking about talking to my school counsellor, but have been constantly flip-flopping on this decision. I’m not sure if my problem is serious enough, since I have gotten these moods in the past too. However, this time, there has also been another event regarding a friend which happened a month ago, which I haven’t gotten over that I’ve been quite upset about. Only a few of my friends know about. I want to get advice on how to get past the incident, but…

I’m unsure about the level of confidentiality my school’s counsellors would keep if I told them everything. They’ve previously said that they would contact the student’s parents if the situation required. What the hell is this benchmark exactly?

I could use aliases for the people involved/ keep the situation as vague as possible of course, but I’m afraid something may slip out if I’m too emotional. The circumstances are also such that it would be quite obvious who the friend is if they ran  a background check on the students in my school or simply spoke to my teacher. Both me and my friend would be in quite a bad situation if her identity was found out/ our parents learnt of our situation.

Ever had that feeling that your friends are just day-to-day acquaintances, and not people you can connect to on a deeper level? Should I try talking to my friends about my feelings right now? I feel like I can’t though they’ve been really caring and supportive when I’ve gone through troubles/ had my lows in the past. But this time there’s no clear reason to my discontent/ I’ve been acting as though the event has not affected me at all?

My friends  probably don’t even know I’m feeling quite low right now, except one to whom I have mentioned my intention to speak to a counsellor. I can’t open up to my family entirely, though I’ve told my sister quite a bit. Maybe also because I live in an Asian society where we aren’t encouraged to speak much about our feelings? But mainly because of a certain aspect to my troubles I can’t tell them about.

Not that I really understand myself also, which is why my words come out in a mess when I try to explain it. I should probably

  1. Stop listening to sad songs
  2. Email one of the counsellors

But certainly, ranting here has given me greater peace of mind…

I’ll get through this, just that my feelings are a bit more irrational and directionless this time.

Is my truth untrue, or is human communication an illusion?

Just when I thought I’ve started to forget, 

crystallized inside me like a peach stone 

my longing to hold the dial tone to my ear, vein pulsating

endlessly; though nothing waits for me on the other end,

the familiar ring of your old number, dead now;

  the intensity of petals stroked by the wind, 

like how old people listen to rain;

hear the falling of water drops

If you happen to cross a black sidewalk

in the evening,

those sighs

are me.