Have you ever felt so limited in the sense that even your thoughts cease to be your own?
Am I making any sense here?
I apologize for any confusion. I’m merely writing down my sudden stream of thoughts.
It feels to me that sometimes we imagine ourselves locked in a cage, both physically and mentally.
And that makes me question why exactly we are limiting our own minds? Should our minds not be preserved
for endless creativity and revelations that we would never speak out loud?
It seems to me that being physically limited can affect our mindsets erratically. One would not think so, as minds are our own
and are very easily controlled by ourselves. But could it be that having been set boundaries that cannot be physically overstepped,
we have chosen to stop ourselves from even hoping in our little fantasy bubble that they could be. Key word; hope.
Hope is something both good and bad. In a setting where we are very much aware of how the situation is going to play out, having any hope
can really give you false positivity that could be possibly destructive. Some people find it easier to not have any hope or at least not fool themselves
into thinking that they will end up having that “happily ever after”, than have that slight slimmer of anticipation crushed like a mirror crashing to the many
corners of the floor.
I think we all prefer flying in the air than laying on the floor.
Mimicking our limitation from physical to mental is a sort of cautionary repression of any false happiness. We don’t like to imagine these scenarios because
imagining them can sometimes make us believe that fantasy can be real. But no, this is not a Queen’s song where we can even ask that question. It’s not real at all.
So we don’t even allow ourselves to think of it as a possibility because as soon as we smile thinking of it, it will be crushed down with a sentence as simple as; “Be realistic”.
And then we stop. And we reel ourselves back in and continue our mundane routine of sleep, eat, work, play, sleep.


Some people are so broken that they forget to live.

Their breathing continues, their heart beats fiercely, but their minds are numb.

You’re not living then.

You merely exist.

That makes me sad.

It makes me sad to know that some people spend years and years just existing until their breathing stops and their heart gives up. Then you remain with the knowledge that the vehicle that had been carrying your tattered soul has finally run out of gas, and you can finally breathe a little knowing that you will stop breathing the next time you try to heave in the dusty air down your lungs.

Please don’t just exist.

I want you to live life and not just carry yourself around like a robot.

Please find joy in the small things that will light up your day. Inhale the smell of the daisies out in the garden, wiggle your toes in the river before you dip your whole body in, dance and sing in your house till your heart’s content, giggle stupidly about a funny memory in front of strangers, throw yourself down on the snow and count the stars on your two hands.

Just live.

Don’t ever settle for anything less than  joy.

But how can even I try to advise you on how to live? I might not be living myself as you read this. Maybe I have also succumbed to merely existing. Maybe I missed my chance at living as well?

Who knows.

I might not do the things I’m advising you to do. I’m not going to lie. But even I know the joy in small pleasures. Even I know the pleasant sound of the raindrops splattering like piano notes on the pavement. Even I enjoy waking up at 3 A.M in the cold winter thinking that it’s time to wake up for school, only realizing that I’ve still got 4 more hours to sleep. Enjoy the small things that you ignore in your daily lives.


Those might be the things that make you the happiest that you can be.




Author’s Note: Wrote this in my notebook, thought I would share it on my blog as well. 


Some days I feel amazing.

I feel like I’m floating, happy and…I don’t know, I guess I feel like everything is alright. 

Those days are great, they are so comforting to have. They’re reminders that life is OK. That I’m OK, and everything will be OK. 

But some days, I feel like there’s an intense pulling right in my chest.

Today feels like that. 

I feel anxiety rippling in my chest, and I’m trying so hard to distract myself from it, because the last time I let it take hold of me, it was horrifying. 

But I know that tomorrow will be OK, and the days to come, and all I can do is keep repeating that to myself so that I will calm down. 


There you go, just breathe. 

Tomorrow will be OK.

Tomorrow, you will feel like you’re floating.

Just breathe. 

Just because today is bad, does not mean that tomorrow will be bad.

You’re going to  be fine.

Life is full of fuck-ups, so don’t be too hard on yourself.

You can fix everything tomorrow.

Now relax.




that’s better.





You will be sitting in a room, or standing outside on the pavement, or maybe you’re just laying on the grass, 20 years from now on, and you will realize that the dreams you used to have at 17 don’t matter anymore.

I’m not saying that those dreams didn’t come true. No, I’m talking about the opposite.

Everything that you dream about now, your hopes and goals in life, your passion and happiness, they won’t matter 20 years from now on as much as they do now. Because by that time, you could have them all. Every dream you possessed could be reality, and you would have lived years fulfilling that dream until it was no longer a dream. You don’t get the same excitement about your future as much because you are living it already, and it’s become so normal and common to you, that you forget that there was a time when your life 20 years ahead was once the dream of a 17 year old. 

You forget how passionate you were about your goals. You forget how much you stayed up at night, studying to make it happen. How much you cried because you didn’t believe in yourself, how angry you got when others didn’t believe in you, how happy you got talking about the possibilities that your dreams could one day become true.

And when they do, they don’t matter as much, because you’re no longer hoping for them. What’s there to hope for when your wishes have already come true?

How do you find that passion again? How do you find the passion that you lost when your dreams became true? You’ll never be as happy as you were those years ago when you wished for it all. 

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. 

I’m studying, and trying my best to acquire my hopes and when they are acquired…Well, what else do I dream about? 

What else is there to dream about? Is it an endless cycle of discarded passion and renewed lust for dreaming? 

When one dream is fulfilled, do I simply dream about something else to fill the void of that intense pleasure I got when thinking about what I could be? 

Do we lose our passion as quickly as we get it? 

Is it the same when chocolate would be beauty in itself and highly prized because we rarely got to eat it? But then we grew up and had pockets of money, chocolate was no longer as rare and exciting as it used to be. 

Do we lose our appreciation for the things we once desperately sought out after, but now is a daily occurrence? 



I think we do.

It makes me sad.


The dreams that have come true 20 years from now on, will never be as electrifying as it was dreaming about them at 17. 



My first day back at the school,

it was alright.

I was very nervous because I’m retaking my second year and I knew I would be seeing my old classmates in the halls and whatnot. 

I’m a bit awkward about being older than my current classmates, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it in time.

I haven’t met them yet though, that will be tomorrow. 

Did I mention I was nervous? 

I have to meet these people and do this all over again, and hopefully it will be better this time around. 

I know I was in a lot of regret and guilt and all these emotions that I just distanced myself away from the people who tried to approach me last year. I know it was my own fault because I didn’t let my mind stay where it needed to stay.

So I’m hoping for a new chance to make a better impression.

I know the teachers are a lot more wary this time around because of my past history, but I’m hoping this year I will be able to prove myself and make a lot of people proud.

My little sister went to her second year as well (to a different school), she thought it was alright but she wanted to try to get into mine and well, she emailed today and she got a place, so she’ll be joining me at the school. It’s a bit strange to be in the same grade but I’m just happy she’ll be there and that I will definitely have someone on my side.

We’re both gonna be each other’s motivators, companions and teachers, so this year better produce great results. 

I just want to hurry up and start college already so that I can start my education for the midwife occupation. 

But, I need to get through high school first. Do well, feel well and achieve well. That sentence may or may not have made sense.


It’s been a while since I’ve made a post here, but I’ve honestly had nothing to tell. But today I had loads, so yay if anyone was ever wanting a read from me. 

This year will be good. 


PS: I just checked and I won’t be having the same teacher as last year for International English, boo, makes me sad cus I really enjoyed him. But oh well, hopefully, this one will be good too. Gotta stay positive!

This is exactly what I’ve always been thinking and always been trying hard for others to understand. Our education system is so flawed and our students are merely zombies on someone else’s command.
We need to change that.
Watch this video, and I’m sure you will also agree.




I’m such an ass.

I didn’t even inform you of the thrilling news! 

That is if you are still interesting in my life, at least enough to feel excited for me.


I sent in my application to repeat my second year and voila, it worked and I got accepted into the school I wanted, AKA, the one I did horribly in during my second year (hence the repeating). 

So that’s settled.

My sister just got her news and she got accepted into her second choice. It’s a great school, she has some old friends there and my best friend might go back there or come to my school for her third year. Anyway, a little bummed out that my lil’ sis won’t be going to the same school as me, but it’s cool, it’s just close by anyway. 

I can feel this school year is going to be good.

I hope it’s going to be good.

I’m determined to focus and ace my report card the way I know I could.

My mental state is well improved and I am honestly desperate to get back to school and throw myself in assignments and work. I could really use a good routine right now.

I’m going to try to put myself out there and not distance myself the way I did last year.

I won’t skip a single class. I will do all my work.


I will not fall captive to my own mind.

I will thrive! 


OK, great pep talk for myself.


This school year better be good.

Damn, I will make it good.





I have been writing poetry a lot lately. 

Well, maybe not as much now.

During a bad part of my life, I wrote plenty of them, just to find a release. 

I’ve been very invested in reading poetry and trying to understand them. To feel the world and live through the tellers mind. 

Poetry is beautiful, isn’t it? 

I never paid much attention to it before, but I do now and I’m glad.

I love being able to read the most private thoughts and memories of a stranger and feeling a strong connection fueling through that. It’s blissful to know how much words can really affect a story. 


I wrote three poems, just a few days ago actually. 

I made the mistake of explaining to my sisters what the poems were about. The minute I told them, I realized I shouldn’t have. Why would I actually explain what each word meant? 

You’re telling a story and it is not your duty nor your job to tell the reader what exactly you envisioned while writing this.

The most fun thing about poetry is letting someone else perceive it their own way. Watching them understanding it in whatever way they desire, seeing them feel each word and creating a painting with the lines and colors you have handed them. 

As a story teller, in whichever genre, you give your reader a white canvas and it is their job to paint this, cover it up in whichever shades of colors they wish. It’s a thrill to see them brush the surface with absolute gentleness or intense handwork. 

I do regret telling my sisters what I thought because what I thought does not matter. I stole from myself the joy of seeing them decipher each word and line, and I lost the chance of witnessing them create that painting. But no matter, I have more poems to hand out, and I’ll learn from this mistake.


I’ll share my poem with you, because…well, why not? 

Maybe you’ll do me the honour of painting my white canvas.



You are not a broken rose

Cut at the stem

Without a soul

You are not the bloody shards

On the bathroom floor

You are a soldier

With scars on your chest

Circling your pumping heart

And dragging across your skin

You are stronger than the tides

Crashing hard in the strongest of waves

You are beauty

Designed by God himself

Your love is delicate

And your pain is great

But you are not a broken rose

You are a soldier in the darkest days

And you keep your head raised

And show no fear to the mortals

Your strength is your beauty

And your beauty is your strength

I hope one day

I’ll be your equal

And proudly stand by your side

But I am a broken rose

Cut at the stem

And my gaze is directed on the field

Admiring the fiercest thorns

And the brightest flames

Of crimson red




Hey Now – London Grammer ♪


It is my first day of Ramadan, and I am telling you that I might be slowly dying.

I had to go to work today, and it’s summer and really warm so I was just extremely dehydrated. 

But now I’m back home and I’ve only got a couple of hours before I can eat food.

Honestly, it’s not much about the food. All I want is to drink a cold glass of water and just devour it. I am so thirsty and dried up, I really do need water like right now.

I won’t be working tomorrow and friday so thankfully I don’t have to worry about starving in public, but the weekend is back in check so yay to that.


It’s not as hard as I thought it would be.

I’m not too hungry. 

Of course I’ve had my moments of aching hunger, but it’s passed off soon.

I’m a lot slower and my body is lacking the energy to function as normal. I wasn’t as quick as usual at work today, nor was I as smiley as I usually may be. I hope I’ll get back on track in the week-end cus I don’t want to look like a sour grape in front of the elders. They don’t need that shit.

Also my lips are cracked, so that’s pretty annoying too. 

But my first day is almost finishing up. 

I think I’ll do better later, but today is not too good.

Chandler | via Tumblr


So I just sent in my application to repeat the second year.

I am completely nervous.

What if it doesn’t happen? What if I’m not able to repeat the second year? 

It’s going to be horrible.

Also, I just saw my name on that e-mail (I’d like to mention I made that e-mail when I was like 10 or something), and I haven’t done anything with that e-mail except for school stuff.

It stood “*insert my name* TheAwesomeLoser”. I am not joking.

I just sent in a super important application with that name. 

God, this is embarrassing. I didn’t even know I had written that as my last name in the hopes of beeing “cool” AKA lame. 

Anyway, that was embarrassing, I changed the name however, they will still see my other stupid one. Kill me now.


Also, I need to tell mom about the receipt I received for the school books that I didn’t turn in because of the things that were happening (AKA my mental breakdown). It’s like way over 300 dollars. I’m so nervous. 

I keep messing shit up, and now they have to deal with it in payment.

Honestly, why am I such a burden?

I hope at the very least that the money can be from my own paycheck. I’ll feel horrible if they pay for it through their own hard earned money.

No, there will be too much guilt residing in me for that.


Oh well, that was that.

I’m a mixture of excitement, shattered hope and guilt.

Wow, what a great combination.

And add that that the fact that I am constantly checking if I’ve gotten a response, oh and I have work today.


Who thinks that I’m going to faint due to a nervous breakdown?

Let’s hope just me.

I’ve concluded a rough chapter of my life, and now I want to start a new one.

Scratch that, I have already started a new one, and it is much better.

I feel free.

I feel like all of the weight I have been carrying on my shoulders has faded away, and it is exhilarating.

Genuine truth.

But if you are an old reader of mine, one who observed me through that hopeless time of mine, well…You will know that I am not gone, but improved.

I am not lost anymore, but better yet,

I have found myself.

So this is how it begins now.

This is how I’ll live to be better, and be better so that I can live.