Don't look back in anger

and after all, it takes just oasis to bring me back here

a land of memories

of tears in smiles

of pain in the rain

of wrongness stupidity ignorance

but oh how i wish

its as easy to stay foolish

as steve said

last year today

i am perfectly happy typing away alone in this little corner of bliss

blissful because i felt the possibilities of youth

when love is still a luxury and not yet a necessity

at least thats how it felt

beatles are right when they say

yesterday

when he told me we've been there done that and its time to let go

I believed

that no matter how much love how much pain

tried to burn out the flick of youth

time will heal

memories will be replaced

we will eventually forget

the worst and remember the rest

for now

i'll try

to love those who loved me

to forsake those who abused my love

my love,

tell me

how to keep love strong when life gets crazy

but why, we are just human

today, i discovered something sad
the saddest part is, its always her smile that triggers my pain
its mad
i know
but i hate every single part of her
its as if our happiness is mutually exclusive
and never shared
stop it.
this is starting to sound evil.
I thought I am everything but, but no, I'm just human.


A little part of me knows I'm responsible for everything
for his mourning her naggings his silence her fury
I am dumb enough to believe he actually meant well
sometimes I wish I can continue to play dumb
so my fairy tale will not collapse on me and suffocate the stars
as if tearing alone is not painful enough
god invented something called truth.

truth is, we are still given the privilege to dream
dream big, live humble; act mature, think young
did they ever consider
the consequences of liberty
of democracy, of change
that its a finite piece of space

they mould our thoughts, so we become warriors of maybes
all armed up, crusades of ideals
until the world worn us out
stripped us down to our bare selves
and we stood there, naked, embarassed, ashamed
for who we are

because, in the end, we are all human.

101 on growing up

i used to not be afraid of anything
of trying of failing of feeling

now because some stupid self said she wants to know more to know it all
and now she've seen it she's scared
of becoming of choosing of learning of believing

all the elements needed to make her grow
she keeps on turning the pages
reminicisng the smiles wondering wuts the secret behind
she forgot time goes forward and no ones left behind

she was soaked in tears torn and pained
wants to know the way back again
and maybe this time
oh just this time
she can finally learn

its time to grow

its raining its pouring

my muse told me
dont be afraid,
of knowing
of trying
of making mistakes

i feel so sick of myself
of doing all the above
it makes me want to run and hide
in memories of yesterday

i tried doing the same things that used to leave me speechlessly enchanted
but the harder i rummage, the harder i fall
into icy cold relfections of reality
and shadows of missing smiles

if this place is perfect
why am i only smiling in my dreams

write on

the wind was blowing in our faces when we walked down memory lane, with our heads buried in the present and our mouths nibbling at the future

"when you have no idea, fall back into reality"

"i can't do something without a reason"

sometimes, i have to admit, reality is suffocating. everyday i wish to wake up to a new beginning, only to realise i've fallen deeper into vices. my new remedy to uncertainty is butter, my spring soundtrack the chirping of birds outside my window, blending in is my new superpower. i've learnt to end smalltalk with a worn out smile.

she said "even if you don't give a shit about the world, there must be one thing, the very one particular thing, you do care about"

it took me three drafts, a truck load of courage, some more to stop myself from backspacing everything and pretend i don't need this space, these words to save me.

but i do. and if there's one thing i do care about, its me and my words.

because unlike everything else thats happening, i do care about this huge white empty space, and the fact that something as simple as black letters can make sense out of nothingness.

because you cannot write about something if it doesn't feel right. if it doesn't touch your heart.

it's as simple as that.

so, sorry but i cannot let reality numb my heart. i have to write on.

lets imagine this is a story and we'll always be playing a part of it

the making of a dream

i was adding butter into some yellow sludge called banana cake when suddenly, out of the blue, i asked my sister "what does home feel to you"

she said "this is home"

I remember the thing closest to home, is the red roses i see in paris, the chill air I felt when i stepped out of claridges

i kept stirring the mixture, my mind as cloudy as the white foam

i felt so wrong when everything is so right

"maybe someday, I'll write."

"i'll open a bakery, one section labelled homemade, the other patisserie."

"you think its hard to make a movie? even one with a small budget?"

" i think its sad to stop dreaming"

and the kitchen was suddenly immersed in the smell of a sweet answer.

dream on girl

today, i decide, its not worth it

to make pretend that its time to give up your dreams when thats the only reason why you've been living

to hurt the ones you love

to lose your words your smile your time

this might be wrong

but if its all it takes to dream on

i'll take the plunge.