They say the first step towards recovery is admittance.


“He: What’s the matter with you?

Me: Nothing.

Nothing was slowly clotting my arteries. Nothing slowly numbing my soul. Caught by nothing, saying nothing, nothingness becomes me. When I am nothing they will say surprised in the way that they are forever surprised, “but there was nothing the matter with her.”

–Jeanette Winterson


Maybe. Do you like the word maybe? I don’t. I don’t like it. I don’t like the uncertainty in maybe.

People generally don’t like uncertainties. And maybe is a deep dark scary hole filled with uncertainties.

Maybe tomorrow will be a good day. Maybe tomorrow will be a bad day. Maybe tomorrow will be both.

No one is certain about the future. Everything is a big fat maybe. And that’s what I dislike about maybes.

If only I knew for sure. If it’s good, it’s great. If it’s bad, I’d like to prepare for it, thank you very much. But maybe doesn’t let me do so. Maybe will come out of nowhere and smack me in the face.

So yes, I don’t like maybe very much.

Mayday Mayday Mayday

It’s been awhile. I’ve not had any inspiration to write, though I do find myself talking to myself a lot more. Especially since my insomnia has seemingly returned over the past couple of days.

Talking to myself has been… therapeutic I guess. When I find the voices in my head getting too loud to bear and I can’t find anyone who can understand the avalanche of thoughts inside my head, I can always find a willing listener in myself. If nothing else, at least it helps distract me from my insomnia.

Writing them down would be practically impossible, seeing it’s mostly just verbal diarrhoea. So the monologue with myself works to get rid of some of the noise inside. Hopefully it will also slow the whirring down long enough so I can fall asleep.


Oh, and my daddy turns 50 today. The big five O! Can you believe it? I need to spend more time with the people I love. Starting with dad.

Little Happy Moments

I don’t blog enough happy things. I mean, happy things happen to me, I just somehow don’t blog as much about them as compared to say, sad or angry things. I guess it’s part and parcel of being a pessimist by nature. But that also means I miss out on documenting so many little happy moments that matter.

My happy moment today was when he came to pick me up to work this morning.

A lingering hug after two weeks of separation coupled with genuine, giddy smiles on our faces, that was a happy moment that warmed my heart. Two weeks isn’t a long time, but for a couple as sticky as us (trust me, it’s borderline disgusting how much time we spend with each other), it sure seemed like a mighty looooong period.

Seems crazy how normal everything is, when 12 hours ago I was an eight-hour flight away. Seems crazy how normal it felt to hold his hands as he drove down the familiar road to work, to rest my head on his shoulders, to hear his voice not through the phone, to see his face not through a screen, to have him make me a sandwich for breakfast, and for us to just, be us.

Oh, how I’ve missed us.

Until we fall into each other’s arms again

As I prepare to take off on a trip that has been on my bucket list since forever, I am hit by an influx of emotions.

Excitement, worry, nervousness, and more than just a tinge of longing. Apart from my family, he is the one I’d miss most.

The silly conversations, late night cuddles, early morning coffee runs, movie dates, sinful suppers, or even just enjoying each other’s company without doing a single thing; I’ve gotten so used to them in such a short span of time. I’ve gotten so used to him in such a short span of time.

I’m not good at being lovey dovey, that’s more of his forte. But I do hope he knows how very much I’ll miss him while I’m away.

Until we see each other again, my dearest sloth.


She’s got the D

D for dengue, that is.

After more than a week of cough, cold, fever, diarrhoea, and ingesting more medicine than what people usually ingest in a year, I finally went in for an IV drip and blood test today.

Well, you know what they say about first timer’s luck? Yeah, I’ve certainly struck the jackpot this time.

A healthy platelet count is around 150. Mine is less than half, at 72.

Blood pressure, 100/60, an improvement from the 90/60 I got two days ago. Normal blood pressure is around 120/80.

And how could I not document my inaugural IV drip with photographic evidence?

I had to be pricked twice (in two different spots! 😷) because the needle the first time around couldn’t fit, so they had to switch to a smaller needle, one usually used on children. 😑

February is the shortest month in the year, and I’ve managed to chalk up a total of 5 doctor’s visits to date already. 😵 Health is wealth, people. Literally, because I’m going broke from all these clinic bills even though I have the nicest doctor in the world who waives fees and gives discounts.

Sigh. It’s times like this you realise how important your health is. The next time I forget this, may the torment of having diarrhoea 18 times in one day be a grim reminder.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go chug some more water so I don’t end up in the hospital.

11 Years

2016 marks the 11th year of me blogging! From Friendster, to Blogspot, and finally to WordPress where I’ve stayed for a good 10 years. See, I can be persistent in certain things!

It’s been a hell of a journey. And it makes for a cringe-worthy trip down memory lane whenever I look back upon my old posts (10 years worth of posts, guys!). While so many of my friends and acquaintances have hopped on the blogging bandwagon (remember when blogs were the shiz and everyone and their cats had a blog?) and hopped off throughout the years, I’m pretty amazed at myself for having stuck to this for so long.

I guess I really, really do like writing. Sure, some of them are pure shit, some of them are barely coherent, and some are plain embarrassing. But one thing they all shared was that they made me continue writing. Who cares if I sometimes write crap? Who cares if I sometimes write a dozen shitty drafts before I come up with something halfway decent? At least I wrote. At least I didn’t give up.


I’ve always loved reading. And writing, to me, came naturally along with the love of reading. After all, reading about others’ fantastic works does inspire one to aspire to be fantastic too, no? Boy, that sentence sure is hard to read. I think I’ll leave it there to remind myself that I still haven’t lost the ability to write awfully. Ha ha.

Everyone can write. But not everyone can be a writer. Sometimes, I find myself wondering if I’m actually good enough to make it as a writer, especially now that I literally am working full-time as a writer whose job is to write shit (well, not exactly shit, but you get my drift). And sometimes, I worry about doing what I love for a living for fear of ruining writing for myself if I had to associate it with something as mundane and “adulty” as work. But then again, how many people are lucky enough to do what they enjoy for a living? Instead of joining yet another dreary corporate rat race, I get to write! That’s half the battle won, you guys! While it may not be all sunshine and rainbows, at least I’m not stuck behind a desk doing mind-numbing telemarketing or some shit, right?

What’s next? Well, who knows? I guess I’ll keep writing and let the story unfold by itself.

Bar None

The thing about setting a bar is that from then on, there’s always that God damn bar to meet no matter what damn thing you do.

Set it way too high right from the start and you’ll kill yourself trying to meet it every time.

And it doesn’t help that it’s human nature to get complacent and also to compare.

It’s a lose-lose situation, really.