Story words of the week: analysis | diamond | sky | pig | grocery | chair | holograph | armpit | watermelon | slippers | wheels | hay

Ever had one of those days where you’ve been submerged in a swamp of work, on repeat, till you’ve forgotten what to do with the day off that followed the emergency button your subconscious mind slam dunked.

My mind is rusty from the excessive autopilot mode. The fight or flight way of living grounded so deep into pits of my my canal I froze in the headlights of conscious self.

What was the point of food idolization? A pastel coloured instagram theme? A 70hr/week work schedule to escape to? A hot link to a movie site when you are just reluctant to start straight into the showers after work? A pathetic excuse of a non-attendance email to your daily duties? A sunday off to the mountains when you can’t even enjoy the scenery without understanding you have 2 hours to go till you need to drive back to the city?


“Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Toto shifted her ankles to the right side of her heavy oak chair and grunted halfheartedly. Pumped full with nicotine dreams, it did not mean much to her anymore whether or not the view from the back of her neck is a green screen of the local picturesque pond from or fuzzed out sheets on a broken mattress.

“Get the munchies before the munchies get to you.” she said, lost in the hologram pieced together by society and insecurities.

Only two nights ago did she experienced a nauseating episode from up the water tower after making the mistake of peering down into the dark petrol green sea of leather wrapped trees. She imagined being swallowed by the branches and yet at the same time, unwilling to walk out, in fear of the prosecution that awaits at the end of the lane. Like witnessing unrelenting snowflakes accumulating on a frozen lake, perhaps it was better to just stay submerged in the water on the other side of the glazed crystal.


Why, I wish that strife would vanish away from among gods and mortals,
and gall, which makes a man grow angry for all his great mind,
that gall of anger that swarms like smoke inside of a man’s heart
and becomes a thing sweeter to him by far than the dripping of honey.’

– Homer, The Illiad (18. 107-110)

In the depths of Achilleus’s dream space, it was known his hatred was too well hatred for himself. And the indifferent view I have of my window was nothing but grey and white noise of a path that inversed its existence after spring has left. I was told to surface at my own pace, but the abyss stared into my back and I’ve broke the water surface with my left ventricle plague by embolism. When will kindred spirits decode the cityscape through my window? When will one particular amalgam of universe dust decode the cityscape through my window?

What is glory if she chose to be happy, like diamonds in the sky?

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

– Mad Girl’s Love Song, Sylvia Path

I think it all seeps through, like coming into the room soaked in summer thunder. I step through the wood boards as plant oils and the chemical compound geosmin vaporizes with my footsteps.

Mental Note

Two key notes to myself:

Don’t be afraid.
Learn to love and maintain love.

Other half – the calmer steady river kind of other half – is on a train headed towards Berlin, while I snuggle amongst a fort of blankets, pillows and his jumpers. Christmas has officially crept up on me, it began with David Jones’s crazy opening hours (till 12am) and today I’ve received a delightful item in my mailbox.

Screen Shot 2015-01-09 at 12.05.59 am

The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer

Interestingly enough, in the spirit of asking I took courage and joined the spontaneous and warm interweb of people crowdfunding books. Well, books in the place of money. It came in the mail today and I’m astonished by how infectious this generosity is and can’t wait to pass on this kindness in some form or the other off to someone who needs it.

Today documents the day I take one step into the unknown and ctrl+t google “food industry”, few minutes before the arrival of sleep bugs.

One task a day you raging, anxious and euphotic zone of ocean.

Keep calm, read, breathe, cook, look at the small beautiful side of melbourne, loop Pride and Prejudice soundtrack, rest well, love ppl along with their flaws, forgive, learn, put down your pride, pick up courage, read some more and drink more water.

pour moi-même

An year and some more since the first post, it’s always motivating and warming to see a gradual understanding of one-self.

Elon Musk, Andrew Solomon, Sheyl Sandberg, Arianna Huffington, Mree, Childish Gambino, Jhené Aiko, Marrisa Mayers and Maya Angelou.

Hopefully much more, much much more.

We’re all frauds deep down. It’s nothing negative, in fact it’s what makes you real and gives space to strive to close the gap towards perfection. Only, there is no perfection but in the act of closing the gap itself. People say that the destination don’t matter, you don’t climb the mountain to stick your flag, you climb it so you can see better. Imperfection is what makes a being perfect, the way they cope and work around it using their own strengths. 

And if you don’t know your own strengths yet, don’t fret, it will come when you allow time to explore it. 

It’s like brain vomiting into a bucket then coming back a week later to observe it with a fresh perspective. Someone told me it doesn’t matter if you don’t understand all the vocab in a book, if the word is important, it’ll appear quite frequently. So that bucket of of sunshine and thunderstorms you’ve coughed up, embrace it and don’t belittle it because no one else shares the same experiences and context as you. You know best, give yourself more credit. Your own definition to things in life will surface as hindsight connects them as you go, it will peak through more and more frequently. That’s when you know those words and phrases are important in your book of life. 

Don’t rush because everyone else is ticking off “to achieve before a certain age” list, ticking off is no achievement if you go into it without feeling it and making a part of your own. 




Cause I’ve been working hard and I know you be on the same shit
Every other day’s a different game that you just can’t win
I just wanna ease your mind and make you feel all right

What I am trying to say is
The love is ours to make so we should make it
Everything else can wait
The time is ours to take so we should take it

I wish people could just say how they feel like, “Hey I really don’t like when you do that to me” or “Hey I miss you it hurts” without making it sound like a desperate act. Why can’t everyone just be painfully honest and just save people the trouble.

What is love when it denies you self-love? 

Call it before I do.

Escarpment Messier 42

That moment I knew it was a dream my courage intensified.

The rooms were separated by great glass slabs. I knew the place, but I did not know the setting and did not particularly care.

Perhaps the ground was soft, full of warm and old dust. The end of the room was not just dark, but it had a dark watery reflection etched across its wooden walls. It was a quiet scary dark place.

It was a safe and quiet scary dark place.

I couldn’t seem to plant my feet firmly on the floor as I’ve reached the end corner of the room. There was a man standing near one of the glass panels. He was wearing a heavily padded suit with a space helmet, looking out to where I know would be the view from a 11 story-floor.

Instead it was the universe as we know it. Like looking out from a space shuttle window when drifting past a nebula, nursery of galaxies. The man and the surroundings were so surreal, still I took his hand as he showed me the view outside and beckoned me to peer down. I saw orange ladders and titanium tile fitted surface that prompted me to run my bare feet upon them, allowing the cold wind (that only existed in space dreams) filled with star dust to flow through my pores, my veins and hair. For some reason I led him away from the window glass, towards the dark corner of the room I had set out to reach and promised him rapture.

I seem to have disappointed him.

Behind him starlight glittered, the nebula shifted between shades of purple and pink. And behind me the diffuse reflection of dark matter glowed silently.

Orion Nebula

18 Life Lessons Learned From Travel The World

There’s no such thing as must-see.

Thought Catalog

I never thought I would still be nomadic. My original round-the-world trip was only supposed to last one year before I went back home, found a “real” job, settled down, and by now, be married, have a house, 2.5 children, and complain about my retirement fund to my friends.

Yet life took a decidedly different turn and here I am, seven years later, writing this from an overnight train to Copenhagen with the same desire to explore the world and no sign of stopping soon.

After so many years on the road, there are a few life lessons I’ve learned from travel that I never would have learned otherwise and I wanted to share with you today.

1. It’s not that hard.

Every day, people get up, go out the door to travel the world, and survive and thrive. Kids as young as 18 make their way around the world…

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Cloud Speed

I think she has been hiding something all these years.

She has a twin, hauntingly real. She is warm when she is defensive, soft when she swallowed pain, but she is not young. She hopes like silent sun rays.

The faceless features she clutched between her palms in the dark, he was bright like her too. It was only her who can see his light. Where is your face?

The rays were not blinding but she smells the dew spreading down her eyes in the dark. Heart on cloud speed and he shimmers like an unstable star, far but close enough for you to witness his existence.

It is a thin gold band, there will be white laces. There will be no one in the room but one shimmering star.

But where is your face?

Press down

on and across

the arch

with her thumb.

The angle traced into memory. They shared one same trance, anytime and everywhere.

So there will be windows, garden, kitchen, little hers and little hims.