diary entry / Dear Mom

Dear mother – I’ll be the first to admit it: when you gave birth to me 27 years ago, you didn’t quite receive a normal child. It snowed on that June day, and your eldest daughter turned out to be highly gifted. The years passed by, and your child had no interest in dating, or hanging with the cool kids, or homemaking, or whatnot – and the years passed by even further, and your child experienced something of a meltdown; being the caretaker of not only 3 other adults, but also herself, was starting to take its toll. It took oceans of tears, a broken heart and university admission to finally get your daughter back on track again. And even now, the detractors don’t just cease into nothingness. Mom, this is just who I am. My well-intentioned observations are misunderstood as sermons by the world, my absent-mindedness misunderstood as deficiency, my standards in men spat upon with a sardonic, “she has such a high opinion of herself”, my feminism derided as “childish”. Yes, mom, comparing myself to my acquaintances and my friends, I can safely say that I lack in worldly success, in accolades, in normalcy. But let me paraphrase Aristotle right here: only in death you will not be criticized. Let’s embrace my controversiality, then – what do you think? Instead of fearing what our family says of my “strange hobbies” and interest in anime, why not pride yourself in producing original offspring? Instead of being afraid for my professional future, why not let me shoulder that fear on my own? Instead of grieving over my singlehood, why not call me the New Jeanne d’Arc? As the doctor said 5 years back – “someone gave you a new chance to live” – after confirming the cancer hadn’t metastasized yet. Every single day I ask myself what that was for. A new chance? What for, when my destiny got lost in the mishmash of destinies at the beginning of all time? When even Heaven itself does not know what I was born for? I didn’t ask to come into the world, but I’m trying to make the best out of what I was given. Let’s make the best out of it together.

I often lie awake at night, trying to calm a terrified heart.

Mom, I promise I try hard. Every single day. But I lack direction. Everything gets taken away from me. Everything. I…

I don’t know.

But there is one thing worse than nightmares, and that is playing by rules other wrote for me. Mom, your daughter is like a butterfly. She jumps from cloud to cloud, philosophizes with the sun, chases after the stars. She makes herself comfortable on the surface of the moon.

Mom, I love you, and that’s all that I know to do.

Compass Leading Hopewards

“What was I born for?” –

these words feel like a déjà-vu.

It seems like I have travelled through a thousand stories

Collected a bright string of multichrome memories

Only to find myself in a place I have grown so used to reaching.


My inner child running towards the horizon, waving her paper kite against the storm

Shooting me an audacious smile –

Sometimes, I watch you with awe

Sometimes, with disquiet.


Even on my way home,

when the fine rain intermingles with the sounds of airplanes and tires

Foil against aleatorik, chirping resounds with unrivaled cheeriness;

I lift my gaze, and it almost seems as if

My feathery friend sets off into heights I am not to familiarize myself with…


I, too, lack courage at times

I, too, lack answers at times

If everyone else figures it out, then why not I?


And just like the chirps, the beams make their way with obstinacy,

reflecting lush on the leaves the wind blew against the paving

Are the chirps becoming clear? Or how are these the things I hear:

“direct your steps hopewards –

this is where the skilled travellers go.

The beginning of each new morning will bear confusion, but

each loss is succeeded by new gain.”


The cherry blossom islands I fancied as a child, floating high above the clouds

I need to grow more to touch them, if only with my fingertips




she is a possibility, and i call her “flame”

her myth precedes her, and presides

the whimsical outflows of the springs of time

she is a beauty, i hear, when beheld from afar

(from close up, what then titillated nearly repels:

as is oft the case with wishes upon a star)

she knows to be curse or blessing in disguise

she sings and hums in the wind’s respites

once i allude to my future, claim it does not exist

on my contradicting myself, she is first to insist:

“if you can think it, it is, as for how else

do i bubble up every morning inside your well?

why question my materiality

when it lives in the intersection of your limits and reality’s?”

she is here, but not here,

wails at my every adversity

yet when i ask in indignation for a helping hand, she

evaporates into thin air

as if never seen, never been

leaving me on the verge of lunacy;

and as if someone knew, they inaudibly speak:

“if you wish to find me again,

don’t look for things that others achieve

what they built with their very own hands

are not the words wherein i breathe”

but i don’t know where to go, i whisper

i don’t know where my steps lead

“smell the air and head for freshness

at the end of the road, i will accept your complaint.

if you learn to forgo, you learn to outgrow.

the flame is waiting at the end.”

Your Rainbow-colored Melody

To the one whose laugh echoes songfully

at the outset of a first brightening:

After a long, long journey

the last page of our prelude is written,

and the sun glitter stretching far to the horizon

greets this new morning sounding the bells of destiny.


We have always faced the world candidly, both you and I.

We have always put forward our best bravado

During tough times, we called out each other’s name, right?

It cried and smiled with us, this clear blue sky

Sending our sincerity across cliffs and tides


Whose heartbeat is it that resounds in my chest, and

Whose cool fingers touch my salt-rosy cheeks?

Does the foam gathered around my feet carry a message for me?

If so, then…


See you soon! I will meet you at the seaside

On this day with the warm wind blowing

Where we will walk along the azure infinity with interlocked fingers

And the cranes return from southern climes


We have always practiced abnegation, both you and I.

We have always striven for everyone’s happiness

But on this day, an old life ends and… a new one begins…


See you soon! I will meet you at the seaside

On this morning with the earth’s bliss shining

And if one were to seek us, our footprints would be a guide

The seaside of our hearts is awash with light


I have always run towards my goals with resolve and fervor

Defended my childish dreams, picked up fights in stride

So far, I do not know where our paths lead, but

I know of a place in the future that awaits our arrival in time


See you soon! – I say – I will meet you at the seaside

And your laugh echoes in the wind…

How to catch up

If you see me as inspiration, know that I’m not:
I am made of flesh and bones
A mind that is light-years ahead of yours
A heart that breathes love like unpolluted air
And a little sparkle, a neologism
that means gibberish and marks difference
I am not verdancy, not glasses, not messy hair
Best forget me if you have no millenary to spare
To write down the words, learn the notes of the scale
You claim to understand the conscious
You claim to know the structure of truth
Yet I remain opaque in my very opacity
As the laws of nature do not apply to me
If you see me as inspiration, limit me no longer
Liberate yourself of ideations of your fancy
This woman is beyond comprehension in her simplicity
My tongue speaks thunder
My hands work wonders
I seek and seek and arrive nowhere
Yes, in that respect, we do not differ
Yet hear a last tidbit of my tenacity:
I cannot give up searching
I cannot sit idle and play by rules others wrote for me
So if you see me as inspiration, know that I envy
how your journey granted you answers abundantly
Our paths crossed and they seperate:
Your answers are right to your feet
My feet have yet to carry me
to the land of milk and honey
To the sacred abode of my answers
and the conundra that must surely await me

Through The Looking Glass

Your thoughts wander.
You float in the sea, and bathe in the afterglow’s play.
Out of nowhere, a negative thought rises to surface –
You breathe in, and you close your eyes.
You sink –
You sink gleefully –
You surrender your sense of everything.
The photons coalesce,
your heartbeat melds with the sea’s,
and azure has lost all of its historicity –
So how do you still hear
your veins’ quiet whisperings?
How does your shell prepare for ascent
When your ghost still swims merrily?
And when you break through the mirror,
an unshrinking you grazes your face,
just merely,
just slightly –
In anything but, yet just five minutes…
You open your eyes.
You shake your head.
You sit up straight –
You resume your work.
There’s a lot to be done.
(Little is won by delving too long in my own universe.)

Inspiration came from a scene in an anime I watched yesterday as my bedtime story, which, in my opinion, illustrates this stream of consciousness quite well. 

renaissance (The Quest for the I)

My train to nowhere
where are you leading me?
The wagons are my sleeping place
but oftentimes, I
end up gazing at the stars instead
twinkling down from the velvet sky
Visions of the past flashing by
and I weep for chances bygone
prospects deceived
fates existent in their potentiality, and –
poof! –
like a soap bubble –
fates that were not meant for me
But once morning arrives
and the windows are surrounded anew
by the now-familiar greenery
the sun reflects in my mirror eyes
and I realize: no longer am I a moon –
Where is my train taking me?
Where have I set off to so late –
yet not too soon?