beautiful sorrow


I sometimes make the mistake of telling my parents about my problems, because they would either not say anything or dismiss them as if i’m just whiny. I┬áthink this is why I am not used to having anyone to solve my problems with because i grew up solving my problems on my own. I was often given a hard time when things don’t go as planned. Now, that I’m all grown up, I realized that not everything was my fault, and that I was just a kid, and did not know any better. My mother always made me feel like an oddball. Often tells me I’m weird. And I always felt like I should be better. Now, I know that there are people like me, and it’s ok to be me.


Fast Car

“You got a fast car

Is it fast enough so we could fly away

We gotta make a decision

Leave tonight or live and die this way”

-Tracy Chapman

A notebook, a pen, a tablet phone, a bottle of water. They’re all I’ve got for company in this lightless dining room, while trying to drive my own fast car to Dreamland. Trying not to be scared of the unknown, sharpening my weapons, hoping I could use them. Oh please, I beg to get to use them. This time, I’m prepared to be scratched and bruised and beaten, so that one day I could get back up.

My fast car will drive me to Dreamland, but I wish it could drive me back, when I was the one that made the scratching. But it wouldn’t. Never again. And now, all I wish is to drive fast enough so I could catch up on your own fast car.