I'm not someone hard to read. Essentially, if I was a book, you can read me entirely in half an hour.

I take pleasure in simplicity. I like to keep arguments and confrontations at bay. I despise hatred and humiliation. I advocate for respect and sincerity. More often than not, I only tend to see the good in people. And often...much too often, I view those I'm close to in an idealised.....even perfect state.

I believed that there were genuinely good people in the world. Genuinely good.

Only a few months ago, this unrealistic notion began to unravel itself. The horror of the world slowly seeped in. I've been too protected, too niave, too innocent to realise the multidimensional layers of the human condition. Still, I felt like I have been acquainted with this reality, sometime long ago. The thought that humans tend to wearing different personas in certain circumstances, in ways that only benefited themselves, was definitely not a new notion.

My family members tried to send fire drills long ago. Sounding the alarm sporadically so I could design my own evacuation route, so I could familiarise myself with working the fire extinguisher. Their voices overlapp each other like a continous chant in my head. Nevertheless, I managed to push it all somewhere to the back of my mind, inbetween the nightmares and the secrets.

I did not want to believe it. This could not be right. It could not be possible that everyone had a second motive to the way they do things, until a close friend woke me up.

"It's part of being human".

This revelation hit me harder than anything before.

I became overwhemlingly nervous and buried myself in long periods of doubt and mistrust of those around me. I only saw negativity, the cruelness of the world, the anger and frustration that life bought on people and the injustice that descended upon humanity like a plague.

Most days, I was paralysed with fear. Fear of the future and uncertainty about people in general. I doubted if loving someone for a lifetime was possible, if all the novels and movies were all lies, carefully disguised with elaborate romantic thematics to lure the ignorant.

All these things were uncharacteristic of me.

I tried to go about life as I always did. The usual routine of university, dance classes, lunches and dinners with family, music.

And then, I snapped.

The break off was slow at first but it was a clean cut, crisp, like separating a square piece of chocolate from the block.

The aftermath was messy, it involved numerous sessions of quiet reflection and free falling tears. Often, I found myself sketching by the water near Darling Harbour and paying weekly visits to the Chinese Gardens.

I felt that time would finally lay my insecurities to rest.

Now I feel an odd notion of worn-out peace, like a old man with both frown and laugh lines around his wrinkled face.

But my spirit has been internally dampened. Marked by the rainstorm that had passed. I'm determined to revive it though. Somehow.

I don't know whether to be glad or sombre.

I guess the process of being human is quite fair in a way. The salt in tears will always be balanced by the sweetness you drink in from laughter.

Why is it that in a crowd of people, I still feel terribly alone.

My mind has a paper aeroplane in on a string, it circles the skies outside while I'm inside.

And the faces around me become blurred so all I can feel is the wind and the marshmellow clouds.

"The stars are blazing like rebel diamonds, cut out of the sun"

I start each morning with a daily self-inspection. After brushing away wipsy stray hairs from my face, I stare at myself long and hard in the bathroom mirror, tracing the contours of my face with searching eyes.

"Why haven't I found it yet?"

Night bus rides become long journeys of soul searching, of thoughts and unsaid words scribbled roughly in a bag-worn notebook.

Do you know even the birds fly in some formation? I used to watch them every morning from my balcony while consuming my usual bowl of cereal. A secret dance of life that only they know.

I want in on the secret.

The fly overhead with a series of chirps that spell out "live with your heart".

If only it was that easy.

Day, Night and Shooting stars

The story started like this...

There was once a girl who liked the clouds, paper aeroplanes and cut out flowers. However she could not see the stars because she had no heart. Every night she would cry in her little hut until she fell asleep. Tear stains wore themselves onto her pillowcase and no matter how hard she tried to wash them away, they stubbornly stayed, melancholy scars that reminded her daily of her sorrow and pain.

It wasn't easy to sleep, knowing that every day forward and all other tommorrows, you would be alone, because you had no heart to love and no one to love you in return.

The sun took pity on the girl and offered to be her heart during the night. And so every night, the sun will disappear and be taken into the girl's breast.

The girl was finally content. She could see the stars every night. She fell in love with their sparkingly innocence and the stars fell in love with the warmth she created with her burning heart.

They loved her so much that sometimes they shoot themsleves down to the Earth.

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This was how I explained natural phenomena at age 11.

I'm getting more and more disappointed in people.

I can't put my finger on why. I don't think I expect too much. I expect as much as a normal individual would from anyone. Respect, loyalty, honesty and sincerity. These things can age with time. They might disappear. They might falter. But for the people I've stayed close to, they've remained intact, pure and clear, to the innermost part of their soul.

It's an awful affair when you discover a person that seemed to carry these qualities, age and fall. Her smile becomes cold, her eyes don't show any sign of care, her attire is distasteful but most importantly, she becomes internally ugly. Then you begin to wonder "was she always like this?".

You little fool, of course she was.

(I can't believe I gave you 2 years of my life. It wasn't worth it, not one bit.)

Feel closed tightly in a bud
Hard to crawl out, taste the sunshine
On my wings, worn and rusted
Feel the tears, frozen and encrusted
With time
They dolt me frequently
“you’ll grow to see the world, shut your soul now and behold”
But still, I don’t want to take mistakes
String them in a necklace
Wear them proudly
As an accessory......
A tattoo to branded on my sleeve.

Hold my head to the stars
I’d drink their light until, I feel warm, until I feel warm.
I can’t weave this fabric of society into my skin.
I’ll hold on to these dreams until I, until I win.

Wrote these when I should've been studying, things come to me at the most inopportune of times. I've love to write a melody to this.

Stop, hold, don't let it go
Overload, with lies unseen
You're stretching it mighty fine

When you, say, you love her
Don't hesistate, when you never had her heart
So why did you even start?

Your soul so cold
It can melt a sunny saturday afternoon
To pry her from your fingertips
Is what I hope will happen soon

Staring from the sidelines
Mouthing endlessly, the same line
Ohhh, "Don't waste her time"
(Don't waste her time)

Currently working on this song. It has a catchy beginning but nothing extravagant for the chorus line at the moment. Lyrics pretty much speak for itself. Bout a friend, can't say anymore.

Fee