from everything to summer

it was cold last month: 
feathery rain light as snow, 
brown-edged petals littered on the ground and 
falling leaves fluttering in the dusk. 
snippets of seasonal weather 
delicately handpicked, ripe and teasingly sweet yet 
bitter with the taste of homesickness 

fast forward and 
all at once, it’s summer again 
glaring sunlight fades to a golden glow, 
sunshine slowly seeps through
broken cracks and 
turns perfume sweet to berry sweet. 
acrid longing becomes a fond nostalgia for home instead.


17, now. – here’s to my best summer

the waves lull  
and we sway blissfully 
free, floating and drifting 
through the quickly passing days. 
I wish we could stay 
here, together 

My summer is ending soon and in many ways it already has, so before I move on to a new part of my life, make new friends and have new jokes, here’s to 14 years of unbreakable friendship. Class of 2017, thank you for the best summer of a rotation of different hangouts almost daily. I’ll miss us so much, and I think I already do. All the best in the next chapter – if we survived IB, BS biases, and everything that was thrown in our way the last few years, we can do anything. Keep in touch, and we’ll meet again soon. :)


i’m in love (with) today

there’s the strong smell of coffee and 
faint traces of you mingling 
in every breath i take – 
all-too-familiar and so sweetly homey – 
i’m missing you but 
i’m feeling whole and not holes  
in my heart 
everything is the right colour and 
with a rosy glow and one deep breath out later 
life is fine again. 

i am not a writer

it’s been nine years since I started writing-writing, creativity spilling onto blank pages, lines and rows and sheets of blue ink the proudest achievement of my life. the joys of holding well-worn, crumpled papers were but a childhood novelty, and faded along with the rest of my childhood. i didn’t write afterwards. it’s been four years since i rediscovered writing; this time, i started typing-writing, my feelings spilling into pixels on a screen. jagged lines of black text became my new aesthetic. i fell in love with how i could make something out of nothing. how broken sentences could read so beautifully fluid. how my broken heart mended with the more sentences i broke. i naively thought, i can write. it’s been six months since i realised i can’t write anymore. words were the stars in the sky when my world was dark and when i fell in love again the streaming sunshine broke both the night and my writing. and so my broken heart healed and as i said goodbye to the hurt and longing i also waved my words away. i now think in feelings and colours and the symbol-numbers of science but not in words. i can’t speak coherently and i bite back all the different forms of words i want to use to express the same idea and i struggle to form a simple sentence. i can’t write anymore, but i’m sure i will find the words again, the precious gems tucked away in the dark corners of this new sunlit world.


don’t paint me with a single stroke of a brush –
i may be insignificant in the divine plan of the universe,
but just one dot in a drawing?
i am more than that.

and don’t reduce me to the few
recycled adjectives that work in shifts, printed
neatly on my report cards,
because i am more than that;
more than the words i write and
my hobbies and
all the weird hand gestures i make.

i am the feeling you get when you’re around me and
the memories you make when you’re with me and
the thinkings and habits you’ve picked up from me.
i am an individual,
distinctly different from you and you and you and
unique and ordinary all at the same time.

so don’t just put me down in your mind as ‘that _____ girl’,
and don’t diminish me to a one-dimensional description,
because i am so much more than that.

we’re just hurtling through space; who knows what’s out there?

brisk wind blows and
settles on my cheek,
it’s oddly dark around
and there’s time to kill
so tipsy
I tilt my head back
and stare at the sky.

a steamy breath of warm air
I start to count the stars:
one here, over there, three
in a row

and I don’t feel so alone


in the prickling pain peppered across your body
the tiny aches nagging the back of your mind
the utter exhaustion tugging the corners of your consciousness

you find:
a reminder; you’re still alive
a confirmation; you’re still fighting

above all, you find a reason: