not home yet.

5.30 a.m.

woken up

broken hearted

saw a flight of birds

on their way back home

they moved in a rhythm

a mellow pace

a melancholic song

it was my song

I longed for home

but I can't go home

I am not done with home

I have promises for home

I have dreams for home

impossible, impossible dreams

but where I stand now

what I have been through

says all of the opposite

three years there

one by one

I watched as my dreams

even the smallest of my dreams

were turned real before me

what I thought I couldn’t do

I did it

where my life had been risky

I had been saved

where I fell on my knees

I found grace

so this time round

why would I give in?

I have conquered weak before

all because of home

this too, is for home

yes I might be broken hearted now

but I am already comforted

by the thought that, one day

I'll be among the flight of birds

singing my own song

finally, finally home.

The short walk.

When life seems unsettled, there was this moment that I would like to remember. It was November 2009.  I had just arrived in England for barely two months. It was my first working day as an office cleaner. It was 10.30 p.m. on a cold winter night.I was left alone by my supervisor in a two storey's building. He even forgot to tell me where this place was. I finished my work and walked outside. Never in my life had I feel this afraid. The air outside was crisp. The sky was at its darkest hour. Where was I? I kept looking for road signs. Heavy rain then started pouring on me as I battled with my sight, still looking for signs.  Someone could have done something harmful to me and that would be the end of me. Wolves were howling. Every single sound scared me and no one at this hour, could save me. No, I had to be tough. Listening to all these sick fears would do me more harm.  I had to at least walk. Trees, trees everywhere. No people. No home. This was not a good sign. I walked again denying the patters of the rain. I walked denying my pitiful self, pitying me. I walked with thoughts of hope. Of why out of the many, it was written, that I was chosen to walk this path at the very first place. So to hope, I placed my entire self. I walked again with nothing but hope in my mind, in my heart, on my feet. Blindly, I followed the hope that was in me. Then, I saw in front of me a bus sign with the name of the road I was walking by. I smiled and I cried as I called the cab to picked me up. That walk sure lasted for a short time. But it was enough to teach me something about hope I would never ever forget. That in blindness, in tears, out of nowhere, Hope saves.

The snake.

But in my mind, I have killed you three times.

Those are the words I randomly saw that exactly depicts how I feel about you now. Your harsh words are unbearable. Your tongue is like a snake. Hissing and spitting out all of your hidden thoughts about us. How could you? After all we’ve done? How could you? A rush of thoughts fills me up. Bitter thoughts. Evil thoughts. Yes in my mind, I have killed you three times. What are you supposed to do when people wronged you? Defend yourself? Explain yourself? But what use is defending and explaining when in their eyes, you are the snake, hissing and spitting out? Then, someone must have got some facts wrong. Someone must have said something not nice. Someone must have been the snake. But what use is knowing who the snake is, have it punished, thrown into the fire and let it die? Because the snake deserves it? And so throwing it into the fire is valid and is the right thing to do? But how was I to know what is right? When I know, at some points in my life, I too made mistakes? I too made some wrong choices my right? Then maybe at this moment, the best thing to do is to let the snake be the snake. To let the curse be on us. To not fight back, although I know we could. To not punish, although I know we should. Maybe the best thing to do is to forgive. Because at some points in my life when the snake was me, all I would ask for my wrongdoings was never the punishment. But mere forgiveness and second chances. 

"Let any of you who is without sin,

be the first to throw a stone at her."

                                  

along the way

been trying really hard
this responsibility feels so heavy
that sometimes i feel like giving up
and stop trying
you know how frustrated it feels
to try to reach for something
but along the way
you trip
you get back up
only to be at the bottom again
but along the same way
your journey is altered
something new is added
a different perspective it is
a new story is told
to help you understand other things
that seem to be nonsense some time before
now you try to reach out again
with a newly found strength
again, you trip
get back up
trying hard to smile
an almost emptied bottle of patience
a restless heart that can only whisper
voices of hope
in between breaths of hopelessness
how many more times Lord?
nothing
nothing is left in me
i have fought the fight
i'm getting weary
i can only be still
and wait
but wait,
isn't that the lesson
that You are trying to teach me Lord?

the silent night

i have always been the owl. but one thing for sure, i do not like the silence of the night. it is when the room is really quiet and my thoughts are anything but. it is the time of the day when i am the most critical about myself. it is when my mind tells me to worry, to fear, to doubt, to judge and to hate. it is when sometimes i think i do not want to wake up because the world is a bad, bad place. but when i wake up, all the fear left me. the hate flees. and i realise, it is just my mind playing tricks on me. and then the night comes and the cycle begins.

blurry

life is blurry, my friend

even more, for you

whose hope seems not

to reach you

but fear not, my friend

remember 

the promise

the good news 

that the peace

at the end of the journey

will worth so much more

than the suffering 

that you have to endure

horrible

and the cat is unwell
and i am unhappy
and whatever curse i place upon them
who put the cat in such a horrible situation
the curse does nothing
changes nothing
and what do i do
i can't save everything i wanted
it's not how-things-work
but does how-things-work understand
the feeling of giving up on saving something
something so meaningful
so dear to the heart
or maybe that's the point
that the only means of saving
is in letting go

don't ever.

don't ever think that when people are happy, they are free from any pain. open your eyes. listen. really listen. real eyes will realise. real eyes will see. real eyes will understand. that one is happy because one is in the midst of fighting pain. so will the real eyes do a favor and help the fight, by being happy too?

one day i will walk the runway

today i have zero strength

but one day

i will walk the runway

today i am tested and poisoned

but one day 

the poison will be the reason

for my poised walk on the runway

today i have all the fear

but one day

i'll face the runway, strong and fierce

i'll be fearless

one day 

i will walk the runway

but you will not find me

 at the middle of the show

for i will be at the very end

because the very end

is my ultimate aim.

one day,

at the very end

of the runway

some time

 some day.

a boy thing.

when i was a teen, i had this obsessive desire to be a...boy. i think to be a boy, is cool. i still think so. boys always get what they want the way they want it, they can play football and get dirty with mud, they can eat real fast, boys with guitars and racing bikes are the kings of the coolest boys, boys are rough and i like that, boys are funny too - like really really funny and not like girls who always tell lame jokes, boys are tall, they are carefree and adventurous and they don't have to take care of themselves as much as girls do, boys don't have PMS. to describe my obsession -  i wore mostly black tees and cargo pants, painted my nails black and no other colour, had really short hair until i was out of high school, developed a massive hatred for the colour pink and girls who were extremely 'girlish', behaved and misbehaved like boys did, listened to all bands my brother was listening to, being called 'boy' once for really looking like a boy and you get the picture. and then time came and changed things. slowly, i realised that my wish to be a boy was too ambitious. and unreal. i think by that time, i had already given up wanting to be a boy, and just marry one instead. but up until now, i find at some points, i still have some 'boy thing' attached to me. i eat twice faster than Mark, i feel insecure with anything pink and i still want to have a racing bike on my own (although i know it's impossible due to my lack of height). i think i started to be thinking about this 'boy thing' after i chopped my hair off a few weeks ago. i just had to chop it off due to hair loss which was driving me nuts. but what amazed me was the feeling of having a short hair, again. it's like saying 'i'm back' to myself. it feels so free. it feels so... me. and i like that.