Life, Prose, Shorts, Thoughts, Time, Uncategorized


The world is currently amassing into groups and crowds as the global clock ticks towards the end of the day. The end of the month. The end of the year.

As expected, numerous blog post will post up new things to look forward to in the new year, or new outlooks to embrace, or games to expect or movies to anticipate, so on and so forth.

Some will congregate inside churches, dancing, praising and worshipping their way into the new year, while the others will congregate in clubs and bars and all, dancing and welcoming in the new year with unbound reverie.

The darkness outside forces me to cast my mind back through the year, to inspect on how the year has gone and all I have is a sober gratitude to my Maker that I’m at the door to the next one.

If I localise the feeling, it’s been a wonderful year. I’ve got a girlfriend. I’ve got a new job. I feel different and happier. There’s a new respect between my dad and I. While admittedly, I have a few gripes with certain plans, it’s been a good year.

If I expand the circle past the boundaries of home, the world has become increasingly dangerous. Radicalism is back on the rise as people take advantage of deep seated frustrations and transform them to hate. So we’re back to hating each other as the ones that rule us intentionally cause discord and divide between us.

I don’t know what next year holds.

But my hands on the door, and I guess I can only hope and pray that next year goes as God wills it to.

Happy New Year in 3… 2…


Out The Window

​The sun shone through the slightly tinted windows, painting the polished table with a slightly red glow. Against the rose flower vases that garnished the table, it looked royal. Esteemed. It was 5:45pm on a Friday. The work week had ended and all that was left was for an enjoyable weekend. Or so would be the thoughts of the people walking outside the window.

Annemarie glanced at her phone temporarily as she wiggled slightly on the stool she was seated on. The restaurant had been billed as being ‘earthy’ by the numerous reviews online, which had translated to wooden stools, low tables, flower vases and pots as well as the soft smell of lavender.

Her phone remained on standby, devoid of the blinking light she was already hoping to expect. After all, she had told everyone the time for the meet. As well as the place.

It had been months since she saw them all last and in the interest of keeping in touch, she had made a messaging group with everyone for the sole purpose of being able to do this. To go out for dinners occasionally.

Her university friends had been a strong and positive part of her life and Annemarie couldn’t bear the thought and effort of making new ones.

They weren’t perfect, however. They had all missed the last two meetings she had set previously. But she couldn’t blame them. Urgency is something life is known for. It’s not every day you can control who gets hit by a car speeding down a residential street. Though, they hadn’t told her till she called them, hours after waiting at the club located in a different city.

She had found it suspicious when they told her she didn’t need to visit. Even though she insisted and they countered that it wasn’t that big a deal. It had almost turned to an argument so she had dropped it.

The sun began to set, the previously bright skies turning light purple. The red glow on the tables and vases had transformed to a light purple. To her surprise, the flowers seemed to almost light up. Annemarie couldn’t help but smile. It really was a beautiful restaurant.

She glanced at her watch. 6:39pm.

She stood to stretch, getting the attention of one of the attendants. She ordered some red wine and returned back to looking out the window.

She wondered what new developments had occurred in her friends lives. She couldn’t even wait to relate the tale of how she had been promoted in her place of work. After slaving for months, she had finally achieved managerial status.

She smiled wider, turning only to accept the wine glass the waiter had returned with. She took a sip, relishing the taste of grapefruit that blessed her taste glands.

She couldn’t wait to celebrate her success with her friends and toast to new ones together.

It was one of the few things she had dreamed and hoped for. To be able to celebrate successes with them. Or failures. Anything really. As far as she was concerned, they were family, tied together by the hours spent in the library and in their residential houses, with all the shared secrets and boy troubles.

All those days of study and stress were finally beginning to pay off. And she couldn’t contain her excitement.


Annemarie took the receipt from the waiter and exited the restaurant, pulling her jacket tighter as the outside chill washed over her.

The moon’s gaze hung in the sky, it’s pale bluish light illuminating the night. She walked briskly to her car, sticking to public spaces as much as she could, to avoid being caught unawares by any creep.

As soon as she was in her car, she took a deep breath and deposited her belongings in the seat next to her. Annemarie dabbed at the corners of her eyes and sighed.

It was now 11:48pm.

Checking her phone, she confirmed she hadn’t gotten any reply from any of them. She nodded and let out a shaky breath, ignoring the tears rolling down her face. Navigating to the group’s setting, she opted to leave the group. After which she deleted the app from her phone.

They had made her set the date and the reservation and all. But that’s always when they forget to show up. They’d be really sorry, and apologize and cite reasons to why they forgot. It would be genuine but she knew she was done. She couldn’t handle the embarrassment anymore.

She didn’t need them to have fun by herself. However, it’s hard to save face sitting on a reserved table for hours on end. She was done.

But it was alright. Life would go on.

Annemarie put the car into ignition and exited the car park, heading home.

It was alright. Life will go on.

Life, Prose, Shorts, Thoughts

Cold Cases

I can taste the blood in my mouth, strong, iron. My tongue flicks in disgust, curiosity and conceded to the truth of the matter. My gum is bleeding somewhere. My finger goes in to inspect, i feel the teeth, following the tongue as it led me to the culprit. I touch it, I check.

My chest rises and falls as my mind contemplates the occurrence of the bleeding gum. It is fleeting however, as my mind returns back to the conundrum at hand. The box of cold cases opened at the feet of my mental detectives.

It remains in the middle, as they all stare at it frightfully. Certain boxes, after all, really shouldn’t be opened, especially after much hassle and heart pain had been felt over the cases themselves.

Imagery aside, I find myself jousting with the same foes that I have battled for a long time. The same set of enemies, the same set of moves… just this time, we fight on a new battleground.

The darkness outside reminds me I’m alone out here. Minimal social contact, except for housemates but not enough to fill the void within. I feel lonely. A feeling I fought repeatedly when I sought work in a time when I had none. The feeling of being stuck in the cubicle of a room, staring at the walls and the phone hoping someone could draw you out of the house even if it was brief. But no… not over here. It’s cold out. And the absence of a four-wheeled beauty meant my legs stayed stuck to the floor of my room, as I found solace in what used to be my coping system. Gaming.

I power the system and wait for it to come on.

“En garde”, my mind shouts as I battle Frustration with frustration. Frustration at the fact the my future is still a mathematical puzzle with no imaginary number to solve it. I’m not even trying to take control of God’s plans for my life, but I’m quite literally staring at a blank screen hoping that it would eventually show static.

Frustration at the fact that I’ve spent so much but gained so little from all the driving lessons I’ve done. Oh, I can drive, but when your job requires you to move about just before your driving test, then you get into a bind of sorts. Multiply that with the multitude of new lessons in a new area, plus the postponement upon postponement of test date, then you have to question why your bank account has a picture of you doing a back flip into the red zone.

“10/10 would Olympics again”

Frustration at the realization that I am prone to forgetting stuff which in turn makes me make blunders that I spend time apologizing for. I stress that audible articulation is not my best form of communication. Yet people expect just that. Heck, as it stands, written is not even as efficient but it tends to be more precise than the things I say because my mind is quite humorously inept in stringing sentences together well enough for me to say them.

Cue the ho-hum.

My mind flips through the other cases… Hope, Life, Career, Love, Motivation and a couple more obscure names flash across. It chickens out and closes the boxes with an exasperated sigh.

The cold cases get dropped as usual, as the mental detectives find comfort in the mental donuts of memes. Why worry about that which supersedes your mental strength?, I feel my mind whisper to itself as it wiped the sugary white dust off its mouth. I grimace and tighten my hold on the gaming controller.

The screen comes to life in a colorful glee that I gladly lose myself within the folds of that which remains unreal.

Why worry?

Life, Prose, Random, Thoughts

Picture Perfect?

The sun hangs low above in the skies across England, even though the warmth it dishes out is minimal. Minimal, in regards to the North as the cold air of the yester-nights rain hangs overhead.

It’s chilly.

Coats and Jackets brush by each other as employees bustle about, lost in their own respective worlds. Everyone gets to Work to work, but really, hoping for something else. Something different.

By the time the warmth descends, it is lunch time. The working force pushing themselves away from their desks and out back in the open, enroute the canteen and the bars selling more warmth in the form of food. The mind is joyous even as the tummy rejoices.

Its brief, moments like this. When the sun hangs at the right angle to filter it’s light through the trees branches and shower the Earth with more warmth, the wind blowing the fallen leaves into the air.

Picture perfect.

For a while.

Then the moment lasts forever. The warmth turns to heat, as the jackets and coats come off. The body pores pour out sweat in record quantities as the body laments the heat. The trees wither and die, the leaves dry up. The wind remains, stuck in the air causing the atmosphere to get stuffy. Humid.

There’s a word that comes to mind here.


Like the 9-5 madness of the robotic world. Waking up, getting to work, leaving work, eating, minimal free time, sleeping. Weird order. Necessary and yet, done in the most involuntarily subconcious way possible as the mind has rationalised it into simplicity.

“You must work. To eat. To live.”


As the dreams mixed and matched in kidulthood get shelved because the “big-boy” adult pants are now being worn and luxuries can’t be afforded anymore. Dreams, offset by worries. So we stay content in mediocrity. Lament at the fact that others have made it while we are stuck here being stagnant.



…wishing things could revert back to when they were picture perfect.

Retrospect, huh?

Prose, Thoughts

Warm. Dark. 

I was privileged enough to read a fictional book about sci-fi impossibilities, which was written in a way to suggest the possibilities of such occurrences. In the book, the premise was that humanity had advanced to the point where a company had engineered a tapeworm to house all the antibodies a human body will possibly ever need.

And with a single transplant, down the base of the spine of the human, they will be safe from every disease. Except, as per any horror / thriller / Science fiction, the tapeworms move from the spine to the brain, feasting it on until they take control of the body. Cue in science based zombies.

The main character of said book, “Sal”, who so happens to be a tapeworm has a coping mechanism called her “…warm, dark…”, symbolising her earliest memories of sliding up the spine of the comatose body she was placed it. The rhythmic beat of the heart, steadying her fears and alleviating her worries.

The ‘warm, dark’ serves as some sort of haven, shielding me from the worries of the world, as my eyes shut and my ears dim out the sound to only listen to my heartbeat.


Sheltered from the madness that infests the world, I cradle myself to normality as I try to re-adjust to the darkness that blankets the world. I failed once before, but maybe, just maybe this time round I can come out above the sin-infested sewer-hole I happen to live in.

It’s not here [gestures to environment] but here [points to mind] and here [points to heart]

The ‘warm, dark’ is solace. Solace is safe. Safe is dangerous…[Sometimes]

We are getting to the end of one thing and the beginning of something new.

Maybe Solace will represent a safe haven consistently this time…


Poem, Prose, Shorts

A Letter To You

I want to write you a letter.

At first the feeling dawned upon me like sweet morning dew gracing the beautiful green of trees and plants everywhere. The colours became clearer, the sounds became sharper, and deep within me, I knew I was dead certain that I want to write you a letter.

But I am stuck.

You see, I find myself dangling on the edge of possibilities of what the letter could entail just for you, but still left indecisive as to what would be best.

Do I write to lift your spirit up? To tell you how life, while complex in itself, is simple when left in the hands of your Creator? To motivate, teach, push and assist you through all that might hinder your progress? I recall the day we spoke last, about dreams and goals and I recall you being just as indecisive as I am right now. You remained unsure as to what path to take. Thinking back, maybe I should have nudged you down what I thought would have been better for you. Then again, I wonder… would you have been offended if I did that? I don’t know. Hindsight.

Do I write to describe and display my vulnerability to you? give you the potential to wound me deep with your pen and word? Do I tell you the things that make me weak? the things that make me afraid? Do you remember when we had the discussion we had about the mistake I made when I was relatively young and naive? I had gotten so relaxed in flesh that I didn’t see the pitfall in front of me. My goodness, did I fall.

It’s all hilarious now when I look back, but my goodness was I afraid. Of consequences, of future, of self. Hindsight.

Do I write to address the issues of the heart and how I feel about you? Will you accept it this second time round? Will you forgive me for writing it, as opposed to saying it? Because my oral articulation suffers when incoherence sets in from anxiety pressure. We did this dance once, back when we were younger. Maybe I shouldn’t write it, as that led to you raising me up from my metaphorical knee and softly rejecting my advances. Maybe I’m still naive. Maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe it was fleeting.

As more possibilities cloud my thought-space, I find myself still considering what would best be put in the letter that you’d read addressed from me.

I’m still unsure as I realise I can write about the dreams I dream about.

I can write about the fantasies I play out in my head, all colourful, diverse and ultimately expensive enough to demand a hollywood budget.

I can write about my memories and show you how much nostalgia I carry within this body of mine.

or maybe…

…maybe I should write to leave a piece of myself with you.

Can I…? Can I write a letter to you to remember me by? A letter to leave a piece of myself with you, should the day come when I am gone and ‘we’ are no more…

The future is always filled with uncertainty, so I can’t promise I’ll always be here, no matter how much I will love to be. Having lost a lot of friendships along the way, I can’t guarantee the same won’t happen to us.

It may even be out of my hands, as everything the Creator wills, happens for a reason.

I think I’m going to write a letter to you.

I just don’t think you will see it.