Poetry

Achromatic

I rode a motorcycle this morning,
something I usually do.
When the sun hits my face
I closed my eyes,
something I barely do.

Opening them would be a surprise,
one thing I rarely get.
Everything was colorless
but I was sparkling,
something I never get.

It was all an illusion though,
and you were there.
Achromatic like everyone else
but I was sparkling,
and I’m always by myself.

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Photography

What keeps me alive

When I’m not traveling to a new place, I’m probably attending an arts event. Now that’s something I would like to happen everyday, but life only allowed for it out of my usual work-home routine. Watching local independent films and gazing at beautiful artworks give me the same feeling as when I’m traveling. They excite me in ways I couldn’t explain and they leave me speechless for a moment. Sometimes I just stand there taking everything in. And it’s in those instances can I hear my heart beating so loud, so loud I am very grateful I’m alive.

This post is part of #thestrangehertravels photo essay project. 

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Poetry

fate is the enemy

The boy who cried move
was the one who can’t let go.
The girl who cried please
was the one who walked alone.

The stance that they took
was the fate they received.
But the fate is the enemy
becoming distant is the creed.

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Poetry

a feeling of uncertainty

Oh how I want your hands
on my face, tracing the scars
delicately. I feel your heart
trembling against my skin
full of secrets. The whispers
to my mouth are wildflowers
from my lips. And your eyes
into my soul make me weak.

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Poetry

detachment

But in time
you’d understand
what kept me
from falling.

The wind
stopped blowing
for some time.

I walked away
tired and hopeless
from the edge
of the precipice.

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Photography

Lion City & wild friends

The Lion City welcomed us in its perfectly ordered jungle beaming with joy. It was our first time traveling abroad with no one to really guide us so it felt like we just got out of our own cage in the form of our country. Everything was new and exciting and wonderful. Everyone are different and unique and beautiful. Singapore is a fast-paced place best shared with friends and I’m very lucky to have traveled with mine disguising as wild creatures but with really kind hearts inside.

This post is part of #thestrangehertravels photo essay project. 

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Poetry

not welcome

It’s in that moment
when our eyes locked
and your gaze
doesn’t feel the same
anymore
that I felt shame
for entering
a maze
with no end.
But then again,
I wasn’t welcomed
in the first place.

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