For the night is dark and full of dreamers ♥

At World’s End

Sometimes her excuses catch up to her. Sometimes they swallow and blind her wholly. So sometimes, she just lets them. And then she wanders there in her own pointless world like Captain Jack Sparrow in Davy Jones’ locker— hopelessly lost but with all the company she needed at that particular moment. Her and herself.

But as often as those episodes of aimlessness drown her, she had always found herself beckoned by reality, by the people around her. And it’s like being doused in ice in the middle of blazing summer— she always had to wake up slapped with the things she needed to do, things she was told she must do for herself and things everyone else wants her to do.

And now that she had returned, once again bearing the ocean’s weight on her shoulders, she looked around and suddenly felt a pang a sadness. She remembered something — a question asked by Captain Jack Sparrow. It had been funny at that time, listening to him ask them. Now, she just understood how sad it is to ask for that slice of truth even if the one asking is known to have a hard shell for a heart.

“Did no one rescue me just because they missed me?”

She is not ready for whatever their answer might be. She’ll never be. No matter how cold-hearted others might think she might be.


All day she had waited. All day she had hoped. But when they came, they came first for what they needed before who they wanted.

A Choice

“Can a man still be brave even if he’s afraid?”

 “That is the only time a man can be brave.”

I’ve always loved this answer of Ned Stark. It just shows that the point in which we become certain of abstract ideas such as bravery is also the moment when we doubt if it does exist. And its existence is not something that can be bought, or taught or given by another. It is a choice which you make for yourself, by yourself. Fear is a matter of choice. Bravery at the face of fear’s blade is a matter of choice.

Everyday we make choices. Everyday we are given the only time we could truly define who we are and what we wanted to be.


There is an overwhelming grief which consumes me in the dead silence of the night. For what reason? I don’t know. It just comes like a beggar waiting to be fed, to be seen, to be recognized. I often wonder if I am alone in this experience. Does someone else cry for something entirely unknown to himself? Was someone in this world overcome with an assault of sorrow in a perfectly normal day? Is someone else crying because they want to and not because they need to at that moment?

It was like I made a home from the loneliness, the anger and fear which plagues my heart all these years. It was like I built a refuge from the excruciating horrors inside my mind. It was being homesick for it despite the happiness I had received— always longing and reaching unknowingly to that place.


I am now haunted by this idea. That maybe, just maybe, I am more alone and lonely than I already am. And the worst thing is, I don’t know why. 

The 2nd Second

Two seconds was all it took for me to turn back around and walk away instead.

The first second was the burst of relief in realizing that home is just a few meters away welcoming my tired bones and worn body like stars falling to their place in a constellation. It was once again comfort without the questions, warmth without Time’s limitations and acceptance without conditions.

The second one was the pause and the onslaught of utter confusion— for home had been painted in bright colors I was not accustomed to, adorned with windows that greet the sun instead of shying away from it and a door which opens for everyone else to enter rather than just the single lost soul like it always had.

“ I am your home.” You had said once. But when once your eyes speak of both the delight and sorrows of the pitch-black night, they now are the color of the darkness hoping for that new dawn. When once the sound of our hearts mourning create greater echoes of loss and pain, like crests of two waves meeting, they now remain silent as the proximity between us becomes smaller. If you are my home then you would know that I will never bring that dawn to you or for you nor will I choose to change the beating of my heart just to match yours.


“I am still the same.” You insisted to me…But I know you are not. For I will always know you, my love, because I loved you. I love you. Not even the 2nd second changed that.




There is nothing like the inevitability of us ending which haunts me at night when I am once again alone. In every pause, in daily goodbye and in every breath apart, I have feared the end before the end. I saw it on the day of your confession, on every rose and every kiss. I felt it like the incoming waves of the ocean  taunting to soak me, drag me, into the bottomless despair that I shall endure once I lose you. It is tempting to lie there, with just the sun’s pitiless gaze above and the ocean’s light touch  waiting, and just waiting, for the tempest’s rage to come and sweep me towards that inevitability I have feared of…

It comforts me that way   to know that it will end before it did. To know I will break before I did.

Sweetest Word

“What’s the sweetest word for you?”

“ Hmmm. Thank you.”

“Not ‘I love you’?”

“No, not ‘I love you’.” I paused. “You see, the concept of love is like Schrodinger’s cat. By now, almost everyone can tell you in mundane words what’s the deal with the cat in the box. No one really does care enough for the dizzying quantum mechanics behind it. Well, not unless your area of interest lies in there. Anyway, love is ironically like that — simply defined for those who merely skims the surface, a constant challenge to those who pursue it and a sudden headache for those who have encountered and dare ask what really is it.”

“So? Why can’t it be the sweetest word even with those things?”

“ Because one loves unconditionally, as they say so, until they reach the limit of their conditions. Those three words could mean a goodbye or a hello or in fact, just a good night kiss. But what’s sweet could not be bitter nor should it leave that impression.”

“And ‘Thank you’ doesn’t?”

“ Thank you is thank you. For the act. For the time. For being the person one needs at that moment. In this society where anyone can breed from your insecurity over your body or your social status or just whatever it is that makes you seemingly inadequate, that phrase is the sweetest thing you could say. Thank you – for this person in front of me, for choosing to do what you did and for the person that you are. No more, no less. A stranger could say that to you or a family member but it’s the same. Because they feel gratitude towards this human being having existed at that split second of eternity and not because she represents something that could either be shallow or deep like the idea of a soulmate or a lover. “


“I think that’s what everyone needs to hear occassionally – someone thanking them. You know, the appreciation that you existed on this world.”

Dear Anxious Self

Hey, look at me and read me. Pause for a while. Pause. Now read and when it tells you to breathe, breathe as much as you can.

Inhale. Exhale.

 It’s okay. I know what you are feeling right now. There must be hell in your head with all those worries and fears running around non-stop. You twist your body to the right then to the left but no, sleep seems to elude you. Then there’s this knot in your stomach and suddenly you find yourself having short breaths with sweat on your forehead. You feel like puking but on the other hand, you want to do something useful instead but your body seems to be petrified with keeping all those worries bottled inside. And then you twist again from one side to another but all it does is to put the existing scenario in your brain into haywire.

Hey, it’s okay. Okay? It will be. Breathe. Expel all those demons haunting you, those what ifs, those fears of disappointment into that one lungful of air and then get it out of your system. Feel the pulse on your wrist and feel that life inside you. Close your eyes for a moment and let the absence of light leave you with yourself. Leave the trivial things in life — those standards and responsibilities you seem to take all on your own. Trivial, yes, for before your happiness, they are merely what this world needs and wants from you.

Now open them, think and picture the faces of the people which will always embrace you no matter what happens. Because they are home. They’ll always be. When you become afraid of whatever it is that the future brings, cast your own Patronus charm. Yes, because I know that your single happy memory will never fail to remind you that in this fight that you have, you were and never will be alone. So don’t stress about it so much. Remember what Hagrid had said to Harry when he asked if he was worried of Voldemort coming back? Now, say those exact words to yourself.

“What’s coming will come. And we’ll meet it when it does.”

 You will. You should. Because time will continue even when you won’t. Remember, and always do, that you have wings. The left wing to carry all the burden of your mind and the demons which keep you awake till now. And the right wing to carry the hopes and dreams of your heart. Two opposite sides stretching onto two opposite directions. But in doing so, they make you fly. They make you, you

So laugh. Because you could so with a few laughs as the Marauders and the Weasley twins showed you.

So study and prepare well. Because if the answer is not in your heart nor in your mind, then it’s probably in the library. Ask Hermione.

But never forget to believe in your friends and support them too as Ron had. They’re probably as anxious and troubled as you are. Our boggarts take different forms and the things we see in the Mirror of Erised are as different from one another too. But all the same, the visions reflect what resides in the deepest corners of one’s heart. There is no point in envy just because the other seems to be better. It does not hurt to ask if someone is still okay.

So breathe, darling. Tomorrow will become today and before you know it, you’d be standing there against your biggest fear like all of the characters of the books that you’ve read… And you will face it. Because more than the ability to defeat it, it was the choice to do so which made you who you are. This beautiful and brave mess that you are.

Kiss the nightmares away and smile. You are loveliest when you do so.



To Be Loved


Valentine Morgenstern once said that to love is to destroy and to be the one loved is to be the one destroyed. It is easy to give one’s heart if one really does want to give it. There are holes, yes, and cliffs where one may fall instead on the road towards showing the depths of your being but if one is true about love, then there is no really such thing as not giving it. For there is a certain authorization to break or heal which someone bestows another when she/he starts loving them. But people don’t realize how it is to receive such unconditional love, to fit them into your once small world and hold it there.

I wish not to be destroyed.

I am someone with a soul of cracks to which I hide my lies and my secrets. If I continue to be as I am, the love everyone gives would just leak out of my soul, wasted, like a dam failing to contain the immense force of which water strikes it. It was not the fault of the water that it gives and gives. And hence, I have burdened myself with the duty of the one loved — by my family, by you, by everyone who still believes in whatever good remains in me. Burden, unapologetically so, because there is a weight I have to carry, a weight I decided to hold and there is no telling when it may finally rupture me. One day, I might be thankful of this which I call as my burden but not now. Sadly, still, not now.

People will tell of loving and being loved as if there is only an absolute in this reciprocation. People always talk about loving —  the act of loving still or loving at first sight or loving till death. Every kinds of love but always on the perspective of the person loving— a heart breaking, a soul lost or when lucky, a forever defined. People will say that there is courage in loving and privilege in being loved. That to love is the epitome of being selfless. It is true that there is courage in standing before the one you love, stripped of nothing but just you, and offering just that. But I believe we also need to appreciate the courage of those who see that kind of surrender before them — because it may hurt to break your soul but it also hurts to embrace them in order not to break one.


There are words I do not want to say
But I said them anyway

There are things I am afraid to do
But I did them just fine

I have cursed many souls and cursed mine in return
But I ended up just fine

I take one step
Two steps
A thousand
And I walk this lonely journey to hell just fine

I have seen the blood in my veins trickle
On my hands
On the floor
Till my tears were their color too

I have heard the steady rhythm of my pulse fade
Like the sound of dying water from a faucet
But I had opened my eyes and here I am just fine

Then I met you and I thought my whole universe has crumbled into dust when you left
But still, I am breathing just fine

I am tired
For I have knelt and asked the One above
Then I lay at night and asked myself
But then I woke up and forgot about it
because still I was fine

So now that I am merely a vessel of a girl who is dying inside
I ask you
Just how many times do I have to kill myself to be not just fine

Here I am, a stranger. But your friend nonetheless.

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑