50 Weeks.


I’ve realised that this blog has somewhat been left unattended for quite a while. This year, I plan on completely starting over, and post something once every week.

Which brings me to the point of interest! Starting today, I will be updating my new blog, 50  Weeks every week. I’ll be posting stories, art, photos, and music compositions there. Hopefully, I’ll be able to keep it up for the year.

I won’t be posting here anymore, but I’ll leave it open for whoever stumbles across my old work.

Happy 2017, everybody!


Spring (Seasons #1)


The landscapes awake in a colorful burst as the cold drifts away and releases the earth.

One by one, the first flowers bloom, drenching the fields with an ocean of hues; green, yellow, red, violet and blue.

Joining the chorus are butterflies and bees, in a frenzy of flutters and hums through the trees.

The silken white fur of a hare morphs to brown; while the traveller’s coat follows too with the ground.

The atmosphere fills with the tales of far places, signalling the return of familiar faces.

We feel life as the drops of light that it births; from the ground to the skies through the trees on the Earth.


Dear Love,

I’ve always wanted to tell you this, but I never have been able to find the right words to say so.

Everyday I’d wait for you to wake up at dawn, and watch in awe as the first rays of sunlight illuminate your beautiful face. On some mornings, I’d sing along with the songbirds, hoping desperately that one day, you’d hear my voice. Even though you never spoke a word to me, I’d listen intently as you whisper silent hymns across the valleys, and I’d smile every second I hear your voice.

On some tired evenings, when you feel dark and gloomy, I’d always hold you close to my heart, hoping that perhaps soon the clouds would part and you’d show that beautiful glow once again. I’d let myself drown in your tears, just to let you know: I’ll always be here. All I’d need to brighten up my day is the thought of you smiling, and from the rustle of leaves and gentle yet steady breath of the ocean, I’d know you are contented.

Whenever I dig myself into despair, I know you’d always be there to pull me back up, no matter the weather. You’d keep me warm when I am shivering, yet still let the gentle breeze waft across my aging skin. I remember every single second I’d spend with you, from our darkest days to the brightest, all whispers from years long past.

Every night I’d watch our star dip below the horizon, and leaving you in the dark. Even then, you’d still be beautiful, as a million galaxies illuminate your eyes. I’d lean my body on yours as you drift off into the blanket of the night, hoping to be engulfed by nothing but sweet dreams. Not even the chilliest of frigid winds could keep us apart, because I know in the end, you’d keep me warm.

You are part of me, as much as I am a part of you. I’d never be able to know if you’ve ever heard my voice or requite my love, but all that you have is enough.

I love you, my home, my world.


I’m Not Dead

Hello. I’ve finally got my lazy arse to write something after a long (and unforeseen) hiatus.

A lot of things have happened since I last typed these keys. I’ve fallen in love with photography and music (see: http://www.instagram.com/quillstation ), and am currently dabbling in said hobbies. Long nights of experimenting with GarageBand have become a regular part of my life, as well as carrying a Nikon D3100 slung around my shoulder, ready for photographs at any moment.

Of course, writing is still a part of me, it’s just that it has to share space in my mind with other forms of art.

Now, the catch. I’m not sure how frequently I’ll be updating this blog, since school’s practically swallowed up most of the free time I have left. I’m thinking of perhaps considering Tumblr as an alternate platform for photography, music and of course writing, though I’ve no experience whatsoever on it.

For now I’ll try to post something at least once per two weeks, or whenever I have a burst of inspiration. In the meantime, check out my instagram accounts to keep yourself company.




A tsunami of questions flooded your head,

As you lay tossing and turning in your bed,

“What have I done?” You asked yourself,

“It’s not like another pill would affect my health.”

So here we are now on the building tops,

Drenched in icy grey raindrops,

Staring at all the city lights ’till we are going blind.

You say you wish you had a rope,

Or telescope to give you some sort of hope,

Or helmet to hold the shattered remains of what used to be your mind.

And then the bitter realization sinks in,

“Of all the people I could’ve been, why have I become someone who carves myself and cries?”

Soon all the helmets will detach,

As they see your spinal chord collapse,

The tsunami breaks out of your eyes,

Forever staring and wondering,




We stare at the starways as they flicker out,
When our hope succumbs to life’s bitter fist,
We pray for bluer skies and whiter clouds,
And take a leap of faith across the abyss.

The predators and scavengers may call us cowards,
They’d laugh and leer at our fear of the unknown,
Because though we dream of lands of distant shores,
We’ve never strayed too far from our home.

So you gaze at the peaks that lie ahead,
And hills blanketed with fields of grass and rye,
As you watch a spark of hope take flight,
Painting colours across a sullen sky.

When our searching ends and we drop anchor,
You’d look back at the foreign lands we’d been,
Before eyeing over the azure horizon,
To those brighter worlds we’ve never seen.

And so our stories lived on through a thousand lives,
Be it by quill and ink or yarn and tale,
The future awaits in those new atmospheres,
Of journeys that time will one day avail.




The blast of sound jolted me from my slumber. I groaned as I covered my face with a pillow; arm outstretched and searching for the switch. Failing to do so, I grabbed the alarm and proceeded to throw it out of the room. With a smash it bleeped its last bleep, before I heard the others storming downstairs calling out my name. This is why I hate Mondays.

It was dawn. Our Sun rose up lazily from beyond the hills, painting the sky a familiar pale blue. I longed to see a sunrise ever since I left. The place was cold due to the morning atmosphere, and I shivered as I got dressed for work.

We set off early that morning, to the south this time. The wheels rumbled down the rocky roads and muddy paths leading toward the beach. A pang of nostalgia hit me the moment I saw the clouds above the sea. I thought I could hear the squawk of seagulls, but I dismissed that thought; we had to get to work.

The day went by as usual, in a blur of sameness. Our Sun made its way across the sky, eventually reaching the Eastern horizon. As night drew closer and civil twilight delved into nautical twilight, I returned home. My family greeted me with smiles and hugs, and the kids clambered upon me, asking me about my day. We chattered about and ate dinner for the next few hours.

Rachel asked me to bring her outside tonight. I initially told her I was busy (this was half true, I indeed had a lot of things to do, though none were really urgent.), but after she pleaded for the next 10 minutes, I heavily obliged. Maybe I could use a break tonight, I thought. Just as Rachel packed up her colouring book and camera, her siblings crashed down the stairs, asking to follow. I sighed.

We headed towards the beach. Rachel kept staring out the window, snapping pictures with her camera. Leo and Adam kept quarrelling in the back, and Lyra was fast asleep. Soon enough, they were all quietly dozing off. When we reached the pier, I woke them up and brought them to the little boat tied to the docks.

We sailed out to sea, though never straying too far from the bay. Rachel was enthralled by the stars, and Lyra too had a big smile on her face, though as usual she never said anything. Oh, when that little girl grows up, she’ll have a lot of things to say. I was stunned to see that Leo and Adam were observing the sky intently, instead of finding ways to push each other off the boat. We sailed towards the little island, affectionately named after Lyra. She always loved going there, we could tell by her warm smile and giggles every time we went there.

We trudged silently up the rocks towards the observatory. One by one, I led them up the ladder to the telescope. They all ran towards the telescope, each wanting to be the first to see the stars. After loads of pushing and squabbling, I decided to let Rachel go first. While observing the stars, she smiled sweetly and asked me a question.

“Dad, which one’s Earth?”

Once again, that pang of  homesickness hit me. “There, see the third brightest star? Out in the edge of the Milky Way, yep, there. That’s what I used to call home.”

Home. How I longed to be there again, though I knew I could never return. I knew that it’s been thousands of years since we left, and it would take thousands to go back.

For now, home would always be here.