Category Archives: personal

I Want To Be Happy

​I want to be happy….

Sounds simple. Pretty basic. I mean, we all want to be happy. It is a universal thing. We all agree on it.  So was is it so hard? Why aren’t I? 

I have asked myself that question so many times and I am still nowhere close to a possible answer. My life isn’t bad. I am grateful for what I have. I am thankful for every person in my family even when they at their worst. I have no real struggle or issue. My parents don’t leave in distress and they never abandon me. I have friends that were pretty much made for me. I have a job that while it doesn’t pay well, it leaves me with a lot of free time and flexibility.

So what is it? 

Why aren’t I happy?

I decided to stop asking myself that question and try to find out what would make me happy.

Maybe I am shooting down people’s suggestion and ideas too early!  Maybe they have the answer!

Will being in a relationship being me happiness or will it just bring hassle and drama?

Will having more money make me relaxed or will my expenses increase as well, leaving me in this endless cycle of having barley enough?

Will developing my hobbies and talents give me a purpose or will it become a task that I have to do?

Will anything I do ever make me happy or will my mind and life find a way to sabotage any chances I get?

The Struggle Within

The pain that followed the punch was unbelievable, it coursed through the child’s body as every part of him screamed for attention. The boy was hunched over gasping for breath. He shook but not in fear nor in anger but in misery. The being that hovered above him was just a shadow, a huge dark unclear silhouette, which just ignored the boy’s existence.

Determination set in the boy’s shoulders as he straightened and looked into the shadow’s unclear face, managing to fuel its anger again. It jerked and took a step back in confusion before it attacked again with a forceful slap across the boy’s face. Stoic, the boy said nothing as he fell to the ground. Silence descended within the abyss they are in, only the heavy angry breaths of the silhouette was audible.

It didn’t take long before the child became determined again, refusing to be ignored. The child stood but instead of a boy, it was a girl. She sniffled and wiped her tears off her black and blue face, her eyes filled with willpower as she stared into the silhouette’s face. It didn’t take long before it kicked the girl, and her body flew far away before it hit the ground. Her body fell lifeless and the shadow grew restless. It walked around mumbling, unable to fathom what was going on as she began to move and gain her strength again. As she stood her body changed and grew into that of a man.

The man stood and limped his way towards the shadow. When he was close enough he lifted his eyes and stared at its face. The silhouette was already prepared, and the moment the man looked at him, it punched him. The sound of a breaking rib echoed through the abyss, and so did the sound of a screaming man. Groaning, the man’s body began shifting into a more slender form.

A woman instead was holding her side, groaning in pain as she began to roll over to get on her feet. Barely able to stand up straight, the woman looked straight ahead at the shadow. She was prepared for what was to come. It didn’t take long before the silhouette slapped her and punched her till she fell to the ground. Motionless, the woman’s body curled and shifted into a shadow.

The silhouette in anger and confusion screamed, as it slowly dropped to its knees on the ground next to the unmoving shadow. It didn’t want to see them nor acknowledge them. It didn’t want to do this over and over again. They wouldn’t leave it alone in ignorance, because they wanted to be seen and accepted and that is the constant inner struggle that we have within our own abyss.

Week 22 – Yearning

There are things I know I’m missing, which can haunt me to no end. I don’t always know what they are nor can I see them clearly at times. I’m thirsty for something, yearning for it – but what? No clue.

What can desire bring me? Will satisfying that itch, that yearning, will it make it all better? Would I be happy then? Will happiness cling to my chest and will peace take board?

I often doubt it. Sometimes when I know what it is I yearn, I know the harm and consequences that may occur. Many have tried to convince me to silence the voices that tell me not to give in to temptation. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I pride myself on saying “no”, but it’s frustrating and can be insulting when someone belittles my intelligence or beliefs. “Sure, I’ve been waiting for you to give me permission all me life.” When will it be okay to say yes?

There are times I yearn for something not so harmful (you know unless some freak accident kills me, or I contract some unknown disease that will later be named after me). Live by the ocean or the sea, camp out under the stars in the middle of nowhere. Trust a stranger and sleep on their couch. Open my heart, even if for a short while and let myself feel… try things that scare me. I yearn to live. I guess that’s the clearest image most times.

However, it’s the smaller things that can get to me at times. The day to days. The things I miss or wish for; the company, the care, the peace, the noise…the love. I find myself thinking about my mother often lately. I would think of those moments I disappointed her, or the moments I did something that hurt her in some way and I would beat myself up for not being a better a daughter. I wasn’t bad, but I still have those bad memories I thought I had forgotten or let go. It’s the love that I miss the most. I guess I beat myself up because I never showed her how much I loved her – that I appreciated her more than I’d showed.

There are moments I feel I’ve lived too long and times when I feel I haven’t lived at all; that the end will find me all too soon. I hope the end doesn’t find me too soon.

Week 19 – When I Wake

Groggy and sluggish I wake daily
Unable to move my head.
My brain recounts the odd and hyperactive dreams,
That keep me unrested.

I can no longer muster the energy to be spry.
I sit on my bed’s edge like I did back when I was a teen,
Staring at the random grains on the varnished floor
Waiting for my brain to begin ticking.

Cogs are rusty and squeak.
My cognitive faculties deteriorating day by day,
The internal departments unable to communicate as they did,
Once upon a time.

I’ve been avoiding that addictive elixir I call coffee, for many years now
Trying desperately not to rely on its magical properties.
I yearn for the boost and clarity it provides me,
But do not miss the occasional gastric wrenching.
Oh, that Aroma.

Sleep seems to be one of my constant desires,
Yet I fight it for I have so much I wish to do.
‘Wasted Time’ I often think, though I know better.
The ‘wasted time’ still wasted on my lack of energy to do what I wish.

I find myself disconnecting during the day
Just staring off into space.
I may be mid conversation and lose my train of thought,
Sometimes losing it completely.

The whirlpool is strong,
Drowning my mind.
Do I keep swimming against the current and hope for the best?
Or should I just let myself get swept away?

Fatigue… is my shadow companion
Depression is his brother.
Darkness follows their trail,
For a mother cannot leave her children alone for too long.

Fight it all I tell myself,
But sometimes one is too empty
Too empty to wake
To think
To care
And too empty to even drink that aromatic roasted elixir.

If I knew

If I knew where I’m going, I would take what I need and what I’ve always wanted but never had the courage to claim.

If I knew where I’m going, I would spit all those comebacks and justifications that I chose then never to reveal for the sake of propriety or what I thought  was right.

If I knew where I’m going, I would pack lightly, practically, and forsake what was once dragging me behind.

If I knew where I’m going, I would slip out quietly, for once giving up the desire for attention that I desperately sought before.

If I knew where I’m going, I would only look back once tribute for a life once lived.

If I knew where I’m going, I would bottle their laughter, puns and silly jokes

I would box all their unexpected hugs, their knowing nudges, and comfort touches.

If I knew where I’m going I would leave at once, and Leave the mess to be dealt with by someone else.

If I knew where I’m going, I would walk surely, steadily and calmly knowing I no longer, need my thoughts filtered, my expression hidden nor do I need to change the subject anymore,

I would finally stop deflecting.

If I was just sure of where I’m going I would finally be OK

If only I knew where I’m going.

Week 18 – Becoming Self-Aware

I know who I am -kinda, and I know what made me this way, or so I thought.
But now, I am becoming self aware; breaking my very own 4th wall.
I always thought that yes, I am a product of my environment,  but in a different way. I thought that I saw what society was telling people who to be, and I reacted differently,  acted out I guess. I thought I was right, strong, fought and triumphed. 
But now, I have my doubts!
Society has told women that their beauty is what makes them strong,  desirable, and unique. I see girls and women taking complete care of themselves;  hair , makeup and style done to perfection. But on the other hand, I own a total of 3 makeup thingies that my friend made me buy and that I use twice a year when I am forced to. As for my clothes am completely fine with wearing the same outfit for a week, buying the same colors and style. I just don’t care.
I don’t care how awesome I look. I don’t dress to impress.  As long as I am presentable and don’t look like a hobo, I am good to go.
I don’t know why I am like that… I just am.
But who is right?

I see people taking countless selfies of themselves, no one else in the picture. But I find it impossible to do the same. I could be on the top of the highest mountain with a spectacular view, open the front camera, but be unable to take the picture. It just feels like I am doing something wrong, shameful.
While people love having their picture taken, I have always prefer to be out of the frame.
Are they conceited or am I insecure?!

Most people cannot wait to fall in love.  They keep getting involved and having relationships. But for me, it is something that I am dreading. So now I wonder if it is a self esteem thing; I was never loved so I don’t feel lovable.  So as a self protection mechanism,  did I condemn love? But no! I am sure it is a result of my observations! People lie, deceive, live in illusions, break hearts, then move on to the next one. I have long had my doubts about it! I don’t think I have conditioned myself!

But what if all that I thought I was; my strong personality, resilience, quirkiness,  are all not who I really am? What if I have been brainwashed and conditioned? It was just done stealthy by my subconscious!
I have always thought I had fought the current, gone my own way, shaped my own personality. But could it be that at the end, I did go with the flow, it was just a different river?!

Have you?

Have you lived?

Did you cherish?

Have you hugged until your body bent and molded into your lover?

Have you relaxed into an embrace, thinking this was the safest place since your mothers womb?

Have you defused a fight with humor even though what you felt was fear?

Have you laughed when it wasn’t funny?

Have you cried in a crowd under your sunglasses?

Have you poped, hopped, and locked to your favorite tune?

Were you selfless?

Have you acted silly to cheer someone up?

Did you finally get that one day you wanted?

Have you finally put on that sexy red lipstick at the bottom of your drawer?

Have you allowed yourself to be pretty?

Did you finally get to strut?

Have you finally dropped the strong act?

Has anyone notice your despair?

Was someone finally in?

Was there anything left to salvage?

Did you help them?

Were you saved?

Did you let them?



Deadline to succeed

Deadline to get there

Deadline to make it

Deadline to break down

Deadline to love

Deadline to live

Deadline to breath

Deadline to let go

Deadline to laugh

Deadline to cry

Deadline to try in order to be let down

Deadline to wake up

Deadline to rest

Make up your mind

Quickly now there’s not time

We have to meet the deadline

Briskly walk ,talk, hug and kiss

Deadline to think

Could I be saved

Untamed, let loose

Chase and fumble

Carefree with no deadlins to chain me

As I write, I note

There goes another deadline I meet

Week 9 – Nostalgia

Sitting in front of the TV I came across a movie I hadn’t seen since I watched it years ago in the cinema. I went to see Eight Legged Freaks way back when it came out in the UK. Spiders freak me out and I remember the film Arachnophobia used to freak me the hell out (although I’ve watched it several times). However, I remember watching it with my mother in the cinema and laughing throughout the film. I mostly remembered the last bit of the film, but as it played before me today, I began getting little flashbacks. I saw actors in the movie, who were kids back then but are now stars, whether it be TV or film. “Oh My God! Scarlett Johansson was so young!”

I began to feel nostalgic for the days I went to the cinema with my mother. We saw a multitude of movies back then, including Austin Powers and 8 Miles. It was something we enjoyed doing (when we could afford it). ‘Cause my mother was there, she would often convince the ticket sellers that I was much older than my actual age – I miss those days. One of the most exhilarating things in the world; trying to convince the cinema we’re older than we really are.

My mother was probably the most influential person in my life. Which for some, I know is normal, while for others it may be a little weird. Often my mother wasn’t just the woman who brought me to this world – the person who raised, provided for and taught me; but she was also my friend and more often than one would believe, my daughter. My mother practised a manner of upbringing I like to call “You can try what you like, but with me”.

Don’t worry, she disciplined me plenty, I’d never forget those moments when I saw red in her eyes; but she also respected my intelligence and treated me with respect and a manner much older than my age. I learned the price of responsibility, freedom and independence. She would allow me to try things bit by bit, until I proved to her I can handle the weight of the freedom she gave me.

Although we had our differences, and like every mother and daughter we had our fair share of conflict, my mother tried as best she could to be the best parent possible on her own. I never truly felt I needed my father, especially as I learned the reality of who my father was and the hostility she had to endure. There really is a fine line between love and hate.

I had many firsts in my life thanks to my mother. Things that allowed me to transition into the mysterious world of adults. Thanks to her, thanks to the things she showed me, stories she told me and the experiences she allowed me to have, I was able to handle her loss with greater ease than many others my age or older. I have to admit I have not mourned nor felt pain like I did the day and years after I lost her. Even after death, I’m still learning more and more, thanks to her moments of wisdom and tales that now make more sense than ever before… Thank you Mama, for the bad and the good. Thank you.

Week 8 – Stunted but Trying

Love is a fearful word. It carries far more weight than many others. Why have we come to fear such a word? Such an emotion?

The modern world is far more concerned with the touchable, the perceivable, the ownable. Emotions don’t often fit well within the confines of these possessive categories. They are things that are felt, maybe seen but mostly felt. The cold and calm are considered evolved and are respected. They represent the modern ideal – the person who can compartmentalise and desensitise.

The emotional or the sensitive are considered to be weak, unevolved or simple; merely because they can be okay with showing or accepting that part of them. They fear but they feel.

As a product of the modern society – a being who decided to disconnect my emotions than to show them, I can tell you they’re there… They hide buried deep, almost unrecognisable, just waiting for that moment to explode from under the flesh and blood – waiting to break through my ribcage and splatter all who stand before me.

Due to the immense pain I’d experienced throughout my life and especially my childhood, I strengthened my heart further and further. However, I didn’t toughen it with fiber, muscles and love, I strengthened it with titanium and ice. With every attack my defences grew stronger – almost impenetrable.

I respect those who do not build my kind of walls.Those who are brave and accept the vulnerability with open arms. Of course there is a difference between allowing yourself to be consumed and live in turmoil, and being open to love in a healthy way.

Why the fear? Some may ask. Because although we were taught what to buy, where to live and who we should be, we were never really taught how to accept how we feel – if it doesn’t fit in with the “ïdeal.” We were taught to remain calm, maintain a poker face. We were taught that no one cared how we felt, but we should care about how others might feel. We were taught that expressing emotions was a weakness and that we must always be tough.

“Don’t cry!”
“Don’t complain!”
“Don’t confront!”
“Don’t be yourself, people won’t accept it”
“Don’t give up your heart…”

How does it feel I wonder? How does it feel to allow love in full heartedly? To just take the plunge and strip down the walls? Let yourself be seen for who you really are. Allow all that comes in, bad and good. How does that feel? I’ve long forgotten. Last I allowed such a thing, it was what seems to be a lifetime ago.

All of you out there who take risks, who don’t let their past and fears hold them back – all you “the brave”, I wish to be like you. I wish to embrace love, to embrace the pain that may come. I wish to throw caution to the wind and experience that which I have long missed. I want to be brave like you… while still holding on to my senses. Is that possible?