The Versatile Blogger Award!


Lel, moving on.

Thank you, for the nomination! Pls to check her blog out, she’s amazing. ❤

*Thank the person who nominated you and include a link to their blog.
*Nominate at least 15 blogs of your choice

*Link your nominees and let them know about the nomination.
*Share 7 facts about yourself :

  1. I learn Japanese. I’ve picked up the language from when I was a kid, all thanks to the anime I was/still am watching. But, I attend classes to understand the language, culture and the people better. 🙂
  2. I’m learning Korean on my own. I recently developed a strong *ahem* infatuation  obsession with Kpop, hence, the inclination.
  3. I read. A lot. It’s crazy. I cannot keep my hands away from a book. *Averts gaze to my Eleanor and Park book lying next to me.*
  4. I draw just as much as I read. I want to illustrate my own book, when I write one.
  5. I’m ridiculously silent, but I’m also the most talkative person you’ll ever meet in your whole life??
  6. I love One Direction. My whole life revolves around them. MY BABIES. When will they return from war!!!! Also, Taylor Swift. And a lot of others. BUT YOU GET MY POINT.
  7. Most of what I write revolves around a song. And, it’s a thing I’ve noticed I’ve been doing. I listen to a lot of artists, and try out different genres. By far, it’s been helpful, because I get a different take on the same feeling I feel, and it’s sort of calming?? Idk if I’m making sense at this point, but yes. I like to know what it’s like to listen to people and their take on it.

Bonus, additional fact because why not!!

7.5. (?) I love pasta. *stomach rumbles ‘feed me hooman’.*

PHEW. This was a lot harder than I expected, but yes. These are 7 facts about me! I don’t know who else to nominate, but here is my list of people:

I could only think of 8, I’m so sorry!

Anywho, thank you for the nomination,! ❤


New Year.





I woke up hopeful today.



I was scared this was going to be short-lived, but it didn’t feel like it.



I didn’t feel like I was punched in the heart, like every year. Because, for two years, every 1st of January, I’m never looking forward to the change, and I don’t wish for anything at all. And, that hurt.



I wished on the first firework of the morning, and it felt incredible.



I took a big leap in 2016, beginning the end of my school life. In 2017, I take a bigger one –

college. I’m terrified, but I’m hopeful.



Change is a part of us – the only thing constant, my textbook says. I know it’s true.



I kissed 2016 goodbye. I’m not mad for how terrible it was. I’m grateful I’ve learnt lessons and made new scars. “Every lesson forms a new scar..”, Taylor Swift sang, once.



I looked out at the city, content.



I think back to the people who’ve been there, I feel grateful. I think back to people who left – I don’t feel sad anymore, I feel even more grateful.



I don’t know where I’m going, but I’ll find my way.


(Happy New Year, guys! May your life be filled with happiness, more happiness, lots of smiles and cookies, from here onward!)

Why You Should Really Stop Asking Us To Make You A Sandwich.

There was a post I saw, on Facebook, that went:

“Why do girls get all bent out of shape when a man asks for a sandwich. When my girlfriend says, “Fix my car” or “Fix my computer”, I don’t claim it’s sexist. I fix her shit cuz I’m good at it. You’re good at making sandwiches. Next time a girl asks me to fix her shit, I’m just going to get offended and go, “Fix your own shit”. Let’s see who gets hurt more, me without a sandwich or you without a car.”

Tbh, I SNORTED OUT LAUGHING after I read…whatever this is.

Let me put some things into perspective for you:

  • If I, a woman, am a mechanic myself, I could “fix my own shit”. Maybe most of us do. But for some of us who can’t, when we ask you, it’s obviously because we cannot fix it and YOU, a man, happen to be a mechanic, thereby asking you to help us out.
  • The reason we claim, “Shut up and make me a sandwich” as sexist is obvious. As women, we ARE NOT ENTITLED TO MAKE YOU A FUCKING SANDWICH when you say stuff like, “You’re a woman. You can’t be doing this. Go make a sandwich.” like you’re telling me my place is in the kitchen.

It’s so funny, how you can blow this out of proportion without any sort of context, like. Wow. Your fragile egos baffle me.

The most profound lines of that mess of a post:

“You’re good at making sandwiches.”

Listen, dude. EVERYONE knows how to make themselves a sandwich. It’s literally just bread with cheese and veggies. HOW HARD IS IT FOR YOU TO DO THAT.

“Let’s see who gets hurt more, me without a sandwich or you without a car.”

I’d walk or take the public transport services available, thank you very much, and you can be hurt and starve, because you clearly don’t know how to make yourself a sandwich.

This feeling feels like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff – but I’m going home, now.

I am tired. So damn tired. Of everything. Of everyone. I’ve been dealing with this bad habit of not crying when things get to me, because I feel like if I do, I’m giving the other person the signal that, ‘yes. what you said/did just hurt me’. I know, it’s okay to cry sometimes, to feel awful, to feel terrible, because that helps us know and understand that we are human beings, and not robots, after all.

But, sometimes? Yeah, I don’t feel like crying. I don’t feel like curling up with my back against the wall, and letting it out. Not just for the reason mentioned above. But also because I AM tired. Tired of feeling this way. Tired of imagining scenarios that won’t happen — now, or in a million years. I’m so tired to actually let my tears out. I am so tired to be sad.

Instead, I feel like the weight of the whole world is on my chest. My heart feels very, very heavy and it’s also getting incredibly hard to breathe. It’s probably just that feeling people have when you’re over someone — the post episodes of ‘wow why did I actually’ and ‘wow we could’ve been amazing!’

It’s like, I feel like I am past all of this — like none of those feelings matter to me anymore, because good gods, that emotional baggage was too much for me to handle.

But, sometimes, when I sit alone, it really does get to me. Like, I start questioning my whole decision of letting go — which in turn, leads me to feel even more like crap, because hey, hey, hey! Guess what! He doesn’t like you anymore! He probably never did, and he definitely never will.

And that hurts. Like, genuinely, sometimes just thinking about it hurts you so much. Because in your head it’s all, “Was moving on the right option? Are you sure you let go? Was letting go the correct thing to do?”

But, hey, here’s the probable bright-side to this: I could meet someone better.

But here’s also the better outcome of this whole thing: I know letting go was the correct thing to do, I know moving on was the right option, and I know that I have let go.

And here’s the thing:

I am not the reflection of those who cannot love me.

This feeling will pass. I will be happy again, and I will smile when someone takes his name — not so that I can fake being happy all this doesn’t matter anymore, but genuinely knowing anything he does will have no effect on me, and I will literally not care. I will give that smile, and that day isn’t too far. 🙂

Untitled poem #1.

“We keep this love in a photograph. We made these memories for ourselves..” – Photograph, Ed Sheeran.

And it’s funny, how one photograph opens the gates to

a million memories, that I kept so deep within me.

I remember, when the days used to spin slow, we would sit

for hours, talk endlessly, like lovers.

 I can’t seem to picture now, what we’d be like,

because a part of me still holds on to what we were, maybe two years ago.

All that I have left of us are just bits and pieces of the happy we created, a run-down home,

songs that remind me of the days we danced in the rain.

And I’m trying so hard not to break down, in front of everybody

because the odds of things going back to the way were is so unfathomable.

I’m okay, but sometimes it gets a little too much to know we could’ve been

what we always thought we’d be.

So, if this is the last time I’m seeing you,

can you hold me in your arms, so I can have something to use?

(so I can remember what it’s like to feel at home?)

Something to create the something so profound, and beautiful

that I once lost, because, what if I never love another the same


“But if by chance you’re here alone, can I have a moment before I go? ‘Cause I’ve been by myself all night long, hoping you’re someone I used to know.” – When We Were Young, Adele.

Of fresh air and clean lungs.

I am more than what you think of me-

i may lose my balance once in a while, i

may lose the interest to fall in love all over

again, because i will admit, i am afraid,

afraid of being hurt, afraid of being walked

over, afraid of being left in the shadows, in the cold.

but, i will learn to light a fire and keep myself warm,

i will learn to fall in love again, maybe not with someone,

but with myself first, because i’ve learnt that you cannot love someone if you don’t love

yourself first.

i will not subject

myself to your unwarranted comments about me, i will not

pressurise myself into forced closure of the worst kind of

existential crises, that make me wonder why i even thought

you were, in any way, better than I am,

because i am the million

stars that guide me home to my heart,

i am the moon that still shines bright,

i am the sun that burns ferociously with a grace only few will


because i refuse to breathe in the pungent air

that reeks of things you and everybody else think of me,

and i refuse to let that corrode

my lungs, and taint the laughter that it

squeezes out with your ever-present negativity;

because I am more than what you think of me.

Time flies when you’re dealing with existential crises, eh?

So, uh. Heheh, the school is deciding on our last official day, and from Friday onwards it’s going to be back-to-back exams till like, the end of January.

It’s been pretty mixed emotions for me, these last few weeks, because I was sure that this final week of school or whatever was going to be a lot farther than I expected. Turns out, in the blink of an eye, we’re here, and now I don’t know what to do.

I’m happy, yes, that I’m out of this hellhole, and maybe college will just be less shittier. But, it’s hard having to stand in front of something so intimidating and overwhelming like college, with open arms. For so many years, I have thrown myself into the glorious void of doom a.k.a what is simply, just a lot of existential crises put together, where I have made myself comfortable and probably home. There is always that strong sense of inefficacious purpose of putting on that blasted, ugly, jailhouse uniform and wake up at 5:40 in the morning. In their own rights, they’re quite comforting, to the least.

Having conclusively resigning myself into whatever these last few months were going to be, I’ve landed myself in some pretty dark places, that involved bucket-loads of self-deprecation. (Prior and post-exams.) I’m not really sentimental, or the kind that romanticises my last day of school so much it becomes such a sob story, even an emotional person couldn’t bear. I have no qualms when it comes to declaring my lack of affection for my class, for my school in general and maybe, Accounts.

I get that everyone’s just on about missing their friends, teachers and other stuff like that. But the problem is, the people I actually will miss have either left the school, or are not graduating with me because they’re juniors, or are in different sections of the same grade, it’s hard to keep contact, or the handful of classmates who take their time out to be nice to me, and we don’t use the restroom that says, “Be gone or be dead” or something like that, anymore in white or red paint, so I think I’m allowed to be intentionally rude to anyone romanticising their last day of school.

Sadly, the amount of happy experiences I have gathered these last two years is just a handful compared to the ultra-mega-shitty experiences I have gathered. It’s quite annoying how the awful memories outnumber the happy ones. But in a way, they’ve been fun lessons to learn and a good way of reminding me to seriously just shut up about what he said or she said. Frankly, I couldn’t care less. You may now proceed to suck a bag of dicks, peasants, imbeciles, classmates or can also be tagged as the “Bane of my existence”.

I don’t know how things will pan out in the future. I don’t know where I’ll be. But I hope that, whatever I’m doing, wherever I am, I’m happy. Because I’ve made shitty choices in the past, and there are many more to make, but I just want to be happy doing what I’m doing.



Instructions of putting up a safety pin. 

With the cloth in front me,

My shaky hands reach forward

To hold that precious cloth

Before I put it together with a few

More pieces of the same kind

With only one pin I had.

And every bit of this reminded

Me of my heart, how I took

Bits and pieces of my hope,

Of my last shreds of dignity

And brought out of the pulpy

Mess, a heart so brand new.

So, when you’re putting the pieces

Together, when all you have is one

Pin, remember to slowly prick it

Through; not too hard and not

Too lightly, for it is fragile, because

Of the wear and tear, because of

Being worn out from all that

Loving, all that giving, and it’s

Exhausted because people are

Never gentle; and you only wished

They were.

So, take that pin and put together

Something beautiful and

Something so profound that will

Make you love harder,  make you

give more and make you

Believe that;

You can be put together, no matter

How many times someone pulls

You apart. 

A home for myself. 

I don’t feel like making myself home

Within people, 

I want to make myself home, in me

Where I can walk in and walk out 

Anytime I like, where I can find my 

Solace without having to worry about 

Isolating the other, where I can heal 

Myself without being asked why, 

Where I can fix my broken heart, 

And teach it how to love again. 

I want to be a home for myself.  

Letters to you #5

14 November 2016

Dear ______,

I’m so sorry that I haven’t written to you in so long. For a moment, I thought you didn’t want me to.

Hi. I miss you. Missing you has felt like placing the weight of the world on my chest. It’s been mad without you, and I only seem to take warmth in our memories when things get hard. Nostalgia hits me from nowhere sometimes, and I lose my balance temporarily. I miss talking to you on some days. On the other days, I just don’t seem to care. The usual consequence of your absence is just blankly staring at the walls, and losing the ability to breathe properly. But, it’s okay. People tell me it’s okay to miss you, that it’s okay to feel this way, because I’m human at the end of the day. But it gets hard sometimes, you know? knowing I can’t fully see you or properly talk to you or knowing you’re not around.

If I land up anywhere you are, in the coming months, I don’t know why, I think I’d walk the other way.

I’ve been torn apart by the mixed signals for far too long. I think it’s time you finally see she’s there, and I’m only in your hindsight. 

See you there, I guess?

Sincerely not yours anymore,