I might be short with the headcount but I understand the concept completely. Friends don’t leave you for dead. No matter the entanglement, if you’re close friends, casual friends or soulmates, the response should be the same. That you’ll always be there for them through thick and thin, even when they don’t ask for it. ESPECIALLY, when they ask for it. You should be there in the way you understand how they need you to be. Right beside this person with no blood-relation but is just as important as family.


What do you know of the word itself?

Who are we to decide what we deserve in this world? When all we’ll ever do will never be enough to satisfy the essence of the word. Deserve. What does it mean?  It’s such a delicate word where you roll your tongue towards the end. Like the taking of what it is due where you coil your arm outward and sweep it back to your base; like a kiss for a heroic: a type of currency where you exchange things of varying values and try to cheat the other that your item deserves to be traded for his item, as if they are of the same forge and temper and copper.

There it is again.
That word.

So easily drawn from your vocabulary, without a second thought, the word feels like the only one you could use in that sentence, like it should be lightly used without it’s many consequences or your many pretexts that indeed, it can be the appropriation of your fleeting feelings that you claim I deserve so much.

What do you know of what I deserve?
What do you know of the word itself?


We live on the same planet, the same soil, the same goddamn city, and yet we are far away like the north and the south. We are the ends of two poles constantly tugging at the same rope, expectantly at when it will end and the other would turn up – breathless as the day of flushed confessions and the sweeping of feet from under our unguarded of moments – yet coming up with nothing, just the unruly confusion of the disentangled stub because the hour that you started to pull was the hour I stopped, as our body clocks succumbed to different whenevers. And each time this cycle rotates back to the beginning, each time the other throws the line back the other end, there is another grain of unintended hurt tucked away in the chambers of our hearts which cannot be helped. We are two people enamored by the closeness we share, the love we profess, the time we implore – the laws of man and the universe could never part us. It’s just that the injustice here does not come from the situation itself or any external force in any form but from our unwillingness to compromise our separate lives to make room for our love to evolve.


Shitty Sparks

​You’re looking for the sparks?

Oh, they disappeared long ago…right when both of you were busy with your individual worlds. She, with her late night shifts at the office. He, with his out-of-town business meetings that never seem to miss a weekend.

They tried to bring you together, you know.

You know. During the cloudy days when the rain would burst like a million water-balloons. They were lightning whizzing the streets, in search for the cab that got you stuck in bad traffic – always bad traffic – trying to pry your folded hands to pick up your phones and call the other.
To tell them…

To tell them what?

That I’m not in love with you anymore?

Attempting to get in touch with my long lost “artistry”

I have been in a creative bust since the start of my teaching career. I haven’t been able to write or draw (let alone read a book). Although, to be honest, I haven’t quite been in the “feeling” mode as well. I often “feel” like I’m on neutral rather than the overwhelming catastrophe of emotions I used to be.

Sooo, I decided to try to get in touch with my evidently missing artistic soul. And this is the result.

I’m not completely disappointed but also not completely elated. I got tired while doing the hair, hence, the angry unblended lines. I’ve recently been binge-watching Pretty Little Liars and I really love Troian Bellisario’s character, Spencer Hastings…

Well, this attempt has certainly sparked an interest to re-pursue my old hobbies. So, there’s that.



I didn’t realize it then…
or entertained the thought long,
and I don’t know if you remember a phone call,
years before this blew up in our faces,
when I said “I love you,” for the first time (the actual first time)
Because I had misheard you – the slight gurgle of those uncertain, almost unintelligible
three words- and thought you had said the same.
I had daydreams about this, a little secret I played with
myself – one of the pastimes in my head