• Letters

    The Stench of Hypocrisy

    Dear Doe, I hate the smell. . . the side talks. . . the weird looks, the ambiguous comments, the silence, the eye service. . . I hate so many things. I hate the stares that makes one feel crappy. The silent whispers that makes you paranoid. The unfounded gossips that travels at the speed of light. I hate the guts of people who can’t keep it together but think they are better off because they love the comfort of the façade. Sometimes, it is not a façade. Sometimes, it’s art. Some people are so good at choking their emotions that it becomes a blessing to them. And some, they…

  • Letters

    Now

    Dear Doe, It’s been a while. . . a break in communication with you but not with life. . . Andrew Marvell was right in his poem to the ‘Coy Mistress’ about time’s winged chariot hurrying near’. . . the times have changed and the moments swirls in circles. . . the memories are fading and the feelings tasting sour like they weren’t once sweet! I looked at your notes, they hummed sadness, I couldn’t imagine myself playing keys to a sad song! One time, melancholies were my favourite; now I have lost taste for the ‘once‘ and found beauty and warmth in the hands of ‘now‘. . . Now,…

  • Letters,  motivation

    Human Wings

    Dear Doe, Remember when warmth and solace was in the hands of solitude, when tears became laughter ~ when it’s so spontaneous, flowing like a river that has mastered its course. . . Remember when I was so good at watching tears trickle, enjoying the salty taste of my own tears like some crunchy dessert of chocolate cake and flaxseed toppings. . . I got used to pain and I loved it. I got used to knowing I am like a seasoned actor who wields her weeping prowess better than the other. . . What’s the use of trying to remember a pain in memory so I could cry? What’s…