The Dysfunctional Pilgrim

1. It is the ache in your spine 2. It is the hollow of your ribs, when your lungs have vanished 3. It is the swell in your eyes, but not from tears 4. It is the stickiness of tears, finally falling 5. It is the blank blue of the late night 6. It is the clear grey of the early morning 7. It is the soft pulsing in your skull, not hurting but ever present 8. It is 9. It is 10. It always is

I miss my old skin; my new one stretches too thin. It itches, tearing me     apart. It Hurts. Will I get used to It, or Will I grow a New one? New Haven, March 2018 (Hello! That's my first poem since my poetry course and I don't know if I like it or not. I guess I'm experimenting meaninglessly)

It seems like every fortnight there is a new trend sweeping the classroom. First it was the dab, then it was bottle-flipping - I'm someone who's sensitive to sound, and the consistent but sudden smack of plastic crunching the floor tiles nearly drove me insane. Then there was that "yee" video, I have yet to be enlightened on what the joke is. I do not wish to be enlightened. I would prefer styaing in the suffering of ignorance. Somehow it moved on to rubics cubes (we're still going through that phase), and fidget spinners, fidget cubes, and now, for some ungodly reason, the librarians thought it'd be educational to sell 'slime' to the students, which of course led to the class flipping their slime, mixing it with more water to make sickly wet slime, spinning, looping it around like professional Italian pasta makers, trying to make their own prata bread and other creative functions. The problem with all these new distractions and trends that student...

I still know the address by heart, where The days were long and nights longer No matter the rush, I always had time It was almost like I could create time Back then 2am was ‘oh, still early’ There was no sleep and little rest It was okay to starve and keep running The constant chaos made sense The stress that gnawed at me At the same time fulfilled me When I bled I knew I was alive The exhausted thrill fed my drive Now I live a half-life of half-places Half-done dreams, half-begun plans A Half-hearted life between adult and child But a rudder that chooses neither left nor right is a useless one Maybe it’s because kid-me Didn’t imagine a year beyond 24 I’ve lost my way Because I’d never thought I’ll get this far This uncharted terrain overwhelms me So much so I’d rather the ship sank And I go down with it. Motivation - please find me again. I say let's just move, one simple step at a time But my head and my heart and body are split into different idea...

There's something about magical about 3:00 a.m. For some reason or other, I get epiphanies for my work around this time. There's also a surge of motivation and I am suddenly productive.  It's an odd phenomenon that I've noticed during my uni days. It's a long story of how I got into the habit of staying up, but knowing that there was a "witching hour" was one of those reasons. Suffice it to say, it led to the me being known as someone who doesn't sleep.  Unfortunately, this witching hour doesn't quite work if I wake up exactly at 3:00 a.m. I've tried that - nothing. No, I have to actually STAY up the whole way until 3:00 a.m. It's not the most healthy of habits, and lately I've stopped doing it, because I don't have a chauffeur to work.  Also, this hour is incredibly inconvenient, because as soon as I have an epiphany, my body goes, "oh wow, look at the time. That was a good opinion, brain, but let's deal w...

there’s a page to be filled a blank canvas waiting for words, and ideas but i say tomorrow there’s a bed to be filled a tired body waiting for rest, and sleep but i say tomorrow there’s a life to be filled a big world waiting for deeds, and me but i say maybe never there’s a hole to be filled a darkness waiting for dust, and me, and  i say maybe - Note: this was written a long time ago. I just found it again while rummaging through my stuff. 

I'm not putting off blogging because I have nothing to write. If anything, it is because I have too much to write, and too little time or inspiration to edit.  My dilemma is that I constantly feel like I need to produce the best, most heartfelt post, every single time. For example, those three sentences I just wrote? I've edited it three times in less than five minutes. I may edit it more as I type along.  I have 6 posts stored away as drafts, unfinished, or finished, but not "perfect". It's making me rather pissed off at myself. I mean, if there is one place for me to produce crappy work, it should be in the toilet and here, you know? And yet my own inner critic is holding me back, afraid of making any mistakes.  I'm annoyed, because I shouldn't be afraid of making mistakes, as long as I learn from them. That's what I tell myself, my juniors, my students. And here I am, being a coward, not wanting to write, because I don't have the ri...

I'm back, peeps, if you're still following. These are a set of poems I sent in for a poetry competition this semester. It's a set of three, but the last one was "canyons grand", which I have already posted up here, so I won't waste your time on it.  Milk The spilt milk drips  like murky white blood drops staining the brown floor and collecting black dust.        The broken glass creates icicles shattered and silver dust scattered from fallen wishing stars. Who did this? Who did this? I did this, and so did you. The milk has spilt and stars have fallen - No reason to cry for the two. Tanjung Malim, April 2015 Commentary: I wasn't very creative for this competition, due to time constrains. I wrote a rough draft of this many, many years ago, and with a pressure of a deadline, I pulled it out again and edited it. Well, when I say "edit", I mean change everything except the first line, haha.  A Haiku f...

Hello. I'm more than a month late and I'm afraid this is all I have to offer.  No wait, that's not true, I am withholding some of the later parts but that's because I'm still writing (and rewriting) those. This part is more confirmed so I'm more confident about sharing this.  But of course I'm starting my story in the middle again! Sorry. Here's the breakdown: My friend Darren wrote a story called Fatal Imprudence some years back.  Here it is.  I did mention this in my last post but in case you didn't see it...well click the link. I wanted to continue the story for one particular character's sake, and that is Zhi Tian.  You really have to read Darren's story to figure out who and what he was. Please do, it's a good read.  I wanted more of him. And so I did...and didn't. Because my side of the story is incomplete. In fact...the part that I'm about to share with you is the one I did that one night 2 years ago when I dec...

Whoo hoo it's July. I am on holiday. so why haven't you written anything on your blog, you lazy chipmunk? Anyway, I am here to tell you that I'll be back on my "trying-to-write-something-good" boat. Or perhaps just trying-to-write-something. But if you have time, read  THIS . It's a good story by a good writer and better friend - Darren Yip! It'd also provide context for what I will (hopefully) post next. I might also return to fiddling around with Coney the Redominator. Do you remember him? No? Well part 1 is  here  and part 2 is  here . I know, it's been over a year since I've posted anything about Coney but I haven't forgotten him. He's my little random bit of nonsense. =] Unfortunately, I can't guarantee anything because I am terrible at updating. So this may just be a troll post and I don't post anything at all. =/ The thought counts, doesn't it? no it doesn't. I'll see what I can do then.

I was riffling through my old school essays for my writing assignment, and I found this little piece. This was written for a mid-term or finals in 2009, can't remember exactly. Maybe it was SPM trials. I always preferred writing fiction during exams  because it made it easier for what I call "under-pressure crapping", and I never edited it apart from the spelling and grammar errors.  Anyway, I've reread it, and surprisingly....I don't hate it. mmmmm.......I did deviate from the topic "Courage" by a LOT though.... I'm more of a narcissist than I thought. Ah well, decided to share it here.  This was 17-yr-old-sweating-in-exam-hall-me trying to create a bittersweet/horror/hanging ending....  xxxxxxxxxxxx I charged up the stairs of the tower, stumbling over dead bodies and debris. Sweat was pouring down my face as I gasped for air; the pain in my lungs was searing me. My heart pounded rapidly, as the fear in my soul attempted to drown out ...