On My Own

You close the door, sit in a chair and open your laptop.

There is silence in the room, or maybe there is background music – a tune that you routinely listen to.

You procrastinate. Scrolling through Facebook, reading the news, watching YouTube videos.

Then you get to work. Your document page comes up and the cursor begins to blink. You stare at the screen. You blink once for every three times the cursor does. Silence fills the room, or background music does.

You look around your room. At the mess your bed is in from the moment you woke up… seven hours ago. At the pile of books you should probably either return or start reading. At the papers that clutter the rest of your table. The post-its with illegible notes.

You are alone.

Even your muse is not in today.

If your background music is on, it has probably ended so you change the soundtrack.

Then you go back to staring at the cursor.

There’s dirt between the keys on your laptop, so you clean it out. You probably should use a cloth. And there are chores to do as well. You need to sleep soon. There is school or work tomorrow. Homework maybe. But you want to write this story.

You lean on one elbow.

You go lie down on the bed.

You fold your blanket.

You take a teddy bear and prop it up next to your laptop. You tell it to speak. It stares black plastic eyes back at you, almost taunting. It says, “You can’t do this.”

You sigh.

Then you close your eyes and place your hands on the keyboard.

You get a notification on Whatsapp. It’s from your friend. You lean back in your chair and start typing a message to him or her. He or she replies. So you have a conversation with them for a while.

Maybe you’ll get inspiration.

You don’t. The two of you have a good talk. Then he or she has to go and do their business. You tell them you are writing your story so they leave you alone. You close Whatsapp and tell yourself to get to work.

The silence becomes too loud. If you had music on, it probably stopped.

You’re on your own.

With a sigh, you type the first word that comes to your mind.

Then the words flow. Sometimes, they stop. You repeat the process. Standing up, walking around the room. Flipping open a book. Read a piece of paper that has been on your desk for five years. You look out the window at the dark sky.

You get back to writing.

Until you start yawning.

Your character starts looking fuzzy in your head. You cannot imagine him anymore. So you save the document. Then you watch another random YouTube video. Reply a few more Whatsapp messages.

Total writing time: 30 minutes.

You decide to watch a movie.

You close the document. And decide that you have done enough writing for one day. Or maybe the whole week.

It’s okay, you say, since it is just a story you are writing for yourself.

 

 

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The Reading Challenge

20e491b890bb19b9_PS15_Love_2016ReadingChallenge_Pin_List.jpg

Self-explanatory?

Maybe I was a liiiittle inspired by Read or Die to read more books but I had already decided when school holidays loomed that I needed to read more books.

Books are a crucial part of escapism and also a crucial part of gaining experience in the world. It has always been a little dreary to just live my own life and the lives of the people around me. But with books, I can live in places that don’t exist and talk to people who will tell me their heart’s desires and deepest fears without my having to prod and infer.

I am excited about this challenge.

I am also banishing the thoughts of numerous essays and looming project deadlines…

Read or Die Review

R.O.D. the TV is an anime series based off the series of light novels titled Read or Die by Hideyuki Kurata about Paper Masters, characters with the ability to control paper, and who absolutely love books.

The anime follows three Paper Masters and a writer facing writer’s block after the disappearance of her best friend four years prior.

This anime gave off a slightly melancholic vibe despite having a light-hearted art style and bright colours. And I liked that. I thought it was a creative use of paper, of books and of stories. I loved how the characters, most of whom were acute bibliomaniacs, lived half in their world of books, absent-mindedly engaging in real life activities.

And okay, I could relate to their excitement at seeing bookshops.

These characters lived in a book nest, sleeping in beds buried under mountains of books, the writer working under an avalanche of books and papers. As an avid reader myself, I loved the setting of the story.

As for the story, personally, that mattered less because of how engaged I was in the characters. But the story revolved in a fairly logical manner, with the paper masters having to use their abilities on secret missions to earn money to fuel their book buying sprees.

And eventually, these secret missions reveal the underlying plot in the story – a diabolical plan to reform the world through writing.

Finding this anime was like a dream come true, a series revolving around books, about stories and how they have the power to change the world. I am not a fan of the art style but I am drawn to books and this anime had plenty of that.

“Please give me back my book!”

~by Yomiko Readman

 

When One Draft Ends…

 

Today is the last day of NaNoWriMo and the last day of November. It is over. At last. And I don’t miss my story. Her story.

November ended on a good note. Nothing feels better than having finished telling a difficult story.

I have other projects piling up on my desk, demanding my immediate attention but I sit back and tell myself that there’s nothing more to do.

Nothing feels worse than not knowing what to do with yourself now.

Previously, I have the habit of not finishing one story before I move on to the next one and it never bothered me to stop and appreciate my work because there was nothing substantial to appreciate.

Do I have the right now, to stop and congratulate myself?

But I’m running on instead.

When one draft ends, you start another. You can’t stop. Because that draft that you finished was horrible, wasn’t it?

Good job to everyone who finished NaNoWriMo.

 

Encyclopedia of Emotions

The Feeling of Nothing

By: Coralyhr

When Papa woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was to put his ear against the door of the room he had locked Rane in. He had never meant to hurt her all her life. It was just a part of his journey through life, trying to come to terms with his work-obsessed self and his commitments to people.

He knew he did a bad job.

But he had no idea how to change.

And secretly, a part of him was reluctant to change now.

He did his research on adaptation and thought that Rane would adapt. For a while, she appeared to. She loved drawing and he had done nothing to object to her new hobby. He thought it would improve her. HE thought she was independent.

He thought.

It wasn’t until she came and snapped at him for leaving her alone that he realised that he did not know.

After that, he wondered why she wasn’t there to help Rane. Why had she gone her own way and left him to his devices?

There was no sound on the other side of the door. Maybe she had fallen asleep.

 

The sky was still brightening, so he left her alone and went to make breakfast for the both of them. Fried eggs and cereal.

He remembered that breakfast had always been a quiet meal. He tried to remember if he ever heard her talk during the meal. If she had shared any part of her life with him. No. There was nothing.

What should he do?

What did she want?

Why didn’t he know?

He put extra soy sauce into Rane’s egg. He made her a cup of milo. He gave her a bigger portion of cereal than usual.

Then he went back to the door and unlocked it.

She laid on her side beside the wall, eyes closed, a pencil not far from her half-open hand. All four walls of the room which were white before, after they painted it when Rayden died, were filled with pencil drawings. He stared around him, not sure whether to be horrified or amazed.

There were pictures of humanoid lizards, little dwarf creatures holding a wii controller. There were fields of flowers he had never seen before and a forest of mushroom spitting out acid. He touched the wall. A bit of the graphite came off in his hand.

He turned to Rane. He had forgotten to give her a blanket. He shook her awake. She was so cold. “Rane,” he called.

There was no reply. Maybe he should take her to her bed.

He picked her up and brought her back to the room. Then he pulled the blanket up over her and locked himself in his study.

It was only that evening when she still did not wake up did he think to check her breathing. By then, he didn’t have to, because he could smell the rotting smell of a corpse.

And the breakfast he had meticulously prepared remained on the table, one half eaten, the other completely untouched.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 23

Those In Charge

By: Coralyhr

When the light turned red and the vehicles began to cross the road, I stepped onto the gravel pavement.

“RANE!” a voice roared from behind. Without meaning to hesitate, I turned and found myself looking into the cold eyes of my father. He stopped a distance away as if afraid that if he came closer, I would step out onto the road.

I wanted to. I wanted to break away from his strict, cold eyes and cross the road. But I could not. I stared until he walked right up and slapped me across the face.

At that moment, I saw white stars in the sky. One of them streaked across the sky. So I made a wish.

‘I wish I was not here.’

He grabbed my hand and I wondered if this was the first time he touched me in ten years. He never cared before, why did he come chasing after me?

I struggled from his grasp and took a step back. A car honked. Papa jumped, grabbed my hand back and yanked me away. “Rane,” he hissed, and his voice cracked with anger.

“What?” I demanded. “I am old enough to live my own life.”

He dragged me down the dark path. I wondered what he thought of this whole thing. A man in a business suit dragging a girl in her pyjamas who looked like she was mentally unstable. He should just put me into a girl’s home and go on with his life.

He had parked his car nearby and shoved me into it.

Maybe the bystander who saw would think he was a kidnapper. Would anyone call the police for me?

No. I thought so.

We got home before I realised what was going on.

He opened Rayden’s room. It was empty now. He had thrown out everything or given it to Mummy. There wasn’t even a bed inside. I was thrown inside and then the key turned.

“Think about it,” he said, “and tell me tomorrow: What do you want?”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 22

The Wanderer’s Road

By: Coralyhr

So she said instead, “Help me.”

The unicorn looked at her without expression, staring like it had been staring the whole time.

Rane felt like an idiot for saying that.

“I want to get out of here.”

“You do not want that,” said the unicorn matter-of-factly. It swished its pink tail leisurely and snorted elegantly.

Rane asked, “What do I want then?” Since everyone else seemed to know better than I do about what I want.

“You want peace. You want rest. You don’t want conflict. You don’t want to DO anything.”

Rane thought about it. She seriously considered the words said to her and nodded. “Yes.”

Then she waited for an answer. The unicorn knew she was waiting for an answer and it waited before giving it to her. “You will not find it.”

Rane opened her mouth to retort.

“Do you understand,” interrupted the unicorn, “what Elusive is?”

Encyclopedia of Emotions

The Fog of Discernment

By: Coralyhr

Rane squinted at his flickering form in the blue fog that thickened the further they went down the slope. “I don’t know if there is a definite way out.”

“You’ve lost hope.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“You’re just drifting around trying to find meaning in your life.”

“So? Isn’t everyone trying to do that?”

“But the problem with that is that often than not, you will conclude that there is no meaning and then the meaning of your life will be for your personal gratification.”

“Is that wrong? Why can’t I, who exists, and suffers for existing, have my own happiness?” Rane looked down while she spoke, watching where she put her foot because the slope began steeper than it should be. “If someone will tell me definitely…”

“If someone tells you definitely,” said Bai’s voice, “you will not believe them because you don’t think they know it definitely.”

“If they have proof, I will believe them,” Rane said.

Bai laughed. “Evidence is subjective.”

“Find evidence for ME to believe then.”

She looked up to inquire his answer. But he was gone. The only shoes that made squishing noises in the tall grasses that brushed the knees of her pants, were her own.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 20

The Valley of No Answers

By: Coralyhr

Bai was silent, as if contemplating whether to tell her or not. He grinned. “I don’t know. You know it though. Or at least,” he took a puffball off the same tree and bounced it, but unlike with Rane, the green acid did not burn him, “you will know when you find out.”

She took out her wooden stick and pointed it at him. “Why won’t you telll me?” she demanded.

He shrugged, unperturbed by the stick which caused a dark purple trickle to leak from a sharp cut above his collarbone. “You can kill me if you want, I don’t die. And, I also don’t know the answer.”

“Whatever you know,” snarled Rane, she picked another puffball and made to throw it in his face, “tell me now.”

He sighed and sat on a short toadstool, folding his legs beneath him and settling his tail on his lap. “Alright,” he said, “listen carefully and do not fall asleep, for it is a long story.”

Rane sat on a nearby toadstool, keeping the stick on his shoulder. “Go on,” she said.

He cleared his throat and gave his most serious face. “Once you find out how you got here, you will know how to leave.”

There was a long silence.

“Go on,” said Rane.

Bai laughed. “That’s it.”

She lifted her stick and swung it at him. He blocked the blow with his tail, rubbing the blue appendage along the length of the stick.

“Ah ah ah,” he taunted, “be careful with your actions. Pay heed that you do not become rash.”

Rane did not know why she felt so jumpy. During her journey, she had not felt much of anything, but now, she was tired. Very tired. “I want to know how to get out of here.”

“You don’t want to get out of here?”

she stared at him. He smirked.

“There’s a difference between wanting to know and wanting to do. If you just want to know, I assure you that it is better not to. If you want to do, go and look for the answer. Asking me who has no idea will not help you.”

Rane swung her stick again.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 19

The Password-locked Cabinet

By: Coralyhr

All the teachers offered to meet up with us if we had any questions about the subject we wanted to ask. The Chemistry teacher who thought Oxygen was in Group II. The Math teacher who forgot that 10 was not a one digit number and who mixed up x with the multiplication symbol. The English teacher with terrible grammar. The principal who was frequently late for assembly.

I did not believe any of them.

O Levels was in one month. We did not have to come to school anymore. I didn’t. I stayed at home. Since none of them could answer my questions anyway. And even if they did, I don’t believe them. “Did you ask?” Papa said.

It was a strange day. He came home from work early, claiming that it was a public holiday the next day. I had lost track of the days that passed. He frowned and asked if I had stepped out of my room for the past 24 hours.

He picked up my food trash and carried it to the kitchen.

I didn’t want to study. It was meaningless. Math that I would never use. Chemistry that I never understood. English that never communicated anything for me. But I did because I couldn’t ask anyone the questions. And no one could answer me.

“Yes,” I told him. Then I stopped writing with my pen and glanced at the window. “No. I didn’t.”

“Ask,” he said. He had picked up an assessment book that I finished. I did not do any of the questions. I had drawn eyes on one page. Bouncing balls on another. A dolphin out of some figure that was supposed to be deciphered. I finished drawing on all the pages.

Now, I had started on my Chemistry ten-year-series, colouring in the enclosed spaces of the letters in question forty two.

“Study hard,” he said.

He left the room.

I thought that maybe the person who needed to ask the question was not me. It was him. It was the teachers. I had nothing to ask. I had an answer. But no one wanted to know it. So it was stuck in my throat and over time, a question marked formed on top of the fullstop.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 18

The Fragile Heart

By: Coralyhr

Rane stared at the still water. It was not rising. ‘No. I can’t do anything about it.’

‘You didn’t do anything about it.’

‘I can’t. The world is that way,’ explained Rane, ‘You can’t stop the arrows from coming. I’ve tried to tread carefully so I don’t get hurt, but there’s only so far that I can go.’

‘So the world is at fault?’

‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘No. You are at fault too.’

‘Me?’

‘For being so fragile. For failing me.’

Bai smiled. Rane wondered if he heard the conversation. She felt awkward standing in the middle of a lake, talking to the ground.

‘Fragile…’

‘You broke so easily. Just a little bit. You didn’t survive very long did you.’

‘No. I didn’t. I always thought it was your fault.’

Rane was silent.

‘And apparently, you think it is my fault. Where do you think we are right now?’

‘Elusive.’

‘No. We are gone. You want to know what you’re not feeling anything. You don’t really want to know.’

‘I do want to know.’

‘Then why don’t you accept the answer?’

‘I’m not happy with it.’

‘You can’t be happy if the question is why are you not happy.’

‘I’m not satisfied.’

‘You can’t be satisfied-‘

‘Okay. I get it. What do you want me to do?’

‘Fix it.’

Rane sighed. ‘I’m not humpty dumpty. There are no king’s men to try and put you together. And they ultimately failed.’

‘All the king’s horses, and all the king’s men, could not put humpty dumpty together again. I know that nursery rhyme. It was your favourite one.’

‘I liked the colours of the pictures,’ said Rane. ‘And how they assumed that Humpty Dumpty was an egg. But maybe, maybe, Humpty Dumpty was a heart.’

‘Maybe. Yes. Maybe indeed.’

‘I can’t fix you. I don’t know anyone who can. But you have to live with it and stop coming up with a solution.’

Encyclopedia of Emotions 17

The Field of Flowers

By: Coralyhr

Again, Rane interrupted them. “So why do you need to be friends?”

The two of them paused. The green one spoke, “You see, human, it is quite boring to live on your own with only yourself to talk to. There are the flowers of course, but sometimes they are poisonous and we die and have to wait for them to process paperwork to get us back here which is tedious. With the two of us, we can help each other.”

“Do you?” asked Rane, “Do you help each other? What if one person is poisonous?”

“It’s your opinion is it not? On whether the other person is poisonous. A friend isn’t there to protect you. They are there to help you. There’s a difference. That’s why you need to have the same ideas to be friends.”

The red-eyed rabbit-human glared at the green one. “I think there must be something wrong with your eyes. The flowers are pretty.”

“They are not. Look there, that flower with the bl-”

“What’s the difference?” asked Rane.

The red-eyed rabbit-human looked exasperated. “Protecting someone means you put your life on the line for them. Why would you do that for anyone? Helping is much easier. A bit of time (we don’t have it but you know what I mean) and a bit of space, some talking, some gifts, ideas. That sort of thing you know. No risk.”

“What about storybooks?”

Bai laughed. “Rane, storybooks are fiction. They don’t actually happen. Have you seen with your own two eyes people who die for each other?”

“No.”

“So stop asking.”

“But I wouldn’t know because I don’t pay attention. Maybe there are people like that.”

“Would you? Give up your life for someone?”

Rane thought about it. “No.”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 16

The Glass Reminiscene

By: Coralyhr

“So all those things that I saw are gone?” she asked.

Bai nodded.

“Then why have you returned?”

He sighed. “I am different.”

“It would be better,” she whispered, “if you did not return.”

“Why?” he asked.

Without looking at him, she kept a few steps ahead of him. “Because even though I know I’m alone, I’m starting… to think of you as a friend.”

He was quiet for a while. “Then stop thinking.”

Rane felt the tips of her ears turn red.

But Bai said, “What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re not a friend. You can’t be a friend. You’re not going to help me when I need help, you’re not going to encourage me when I need encouragement, you’re not going to be there at the most important moment. And the worst,” she looked up at the white blue sky with streams of clouds that are frozen in the air, illuminated by a nonexistent sun, “is the fact that you are not real.”

Bai laughed, the mocking, irritating laughter. Rane felt anger boiling inside her. She tried to keep a straight face and marched along the path. He spoke, his voice nonchalent, almost as if he was oblivious to the raw emotions that Rane had voiced, “You don’t really know what a friend is.”

“Well,” Rane almost yelled, “maybe that’s because I never had one.”

“You’re too scared.”

A strange sound filled the air. The sound of a whisper but it echoed everywhere.

“You’re too scared that it’s not real. Even if I was real, you would not believe I was real because you’re afraid that I will not be real. Fear, even though you’ve killed her, she still lives inside you.”

The whisper became a grumbling noise.

The ground began to vibrate gently.

“I have never found anyone who would be a friend,” retorted Rane, spinning around to face Bai. “You think you can be one?”

“No. I don’t think I can. But you have the idea wrong. A friend is not there to help you. A friend is not there to encourage you. A friend is not going to be there at the most important point of your life. That is God’s role. Your friend, whoever it may be, will also need help, need encouragement and want someone to be there at the most important point of their life.”

“Then what is the point of a friend?” Rane asked.

At that moment, something jerked from under them, and they fell over. The dirt ground cracked beneath them and disintegrated into a smooth glass surface. The light shimmered around them and a layer of glass materialised. Water condensed along the smooth surface.

“What’s happening?” Rane banged her hands on the walls of glass and peered through at the trees beyond. But the trees were misted into a faint shade of green and blue and then she could not see beyond the glass. She turned to look at Bai.

He was leaning against one of the walls of the glass box, twirling his tail with one hand, watching her out of his electric blue eyes. “The point of a friend, is to be stuck in the same place as you.”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 15

The Way Out

By: Coralyhr

Drawing on paper stopped making me feel better. Better felt just like nothing. I could not make myself feel anything. I began to draw on my hand. With a sharp pen. There was black ink at first, then red mixed with the chemical pigments.

Poisonous, I thought. Maybe I could feel something. There was a searing pain. But when it faded and the picture washed off over the days, there was nothing again.

There was only so much I could draw on myself before someone noticed. When it was noticed, there was nothing to feel. I was not allowed to feel that anymore. Because it was killing me. I wanted to know how they knew I was still alive.

The counsellor was not interested in telling me. She wanted me to talk, but I had nothing to say. I would say something, but it was too late. The words were gone. The feelings were gone. I was gone.

And I only realised that I was gone because she asked me to say something. Here was a voice who wanted to hear mine. Someone whose eyes were not looking at the clock. She had a pass that allowed me to skip class. The room had air-con. There were toys on the table. A pretty doll too, but not the plastic kinds. It was porcelain and fragile. But it had kind eyes.

Say something, I told myself.

I told her I would not draw on my arm again.

She smiled. I wanted to see the smile again. But that was the last time I received that pass.

No, I did keep my promise. I did not draw on my arm.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 14

The Island of Fear

By: Coralyhr

YueLi handed her a dog bowl. The swirling liquid in it had the smell of bitter almonds. Rane knew what it was. “I’m not going to drink this,” she said.

“You will,” said the mouthless YueLi, her eyes flicking over Rane. “You always do what I say. I have all your secrets. I will tell people.”

“No,” said Rane. “You’re not like that.”

“You don’t know me at all,” YueLi said, tilting her head to one side. She began to fill another dog bowl with a dark red liquid from a glass bottle. The smell of iron filled the air. “You were never really thinking about me. It’s always been yourself.”

“No. I… I cared about you too.”

YueLi put the second bowl in her other hand. “If you really did, you’ll drink it.”

“It’s poison,” Rane said.

YueLi stared at her. “It’s not.”

“I can smell it.”

She took out a knife and held it out. “Come on, be a good friend. You can do it, Rane. You just need to try a lot harder.” She tapped Rane’s cheek with the flat of the blade, “One day you’ll be good at it. Maybe.”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 13

The Nameless Station

By: Coralyhr

“In an ideal world like Elusive, that’s what we do. We can’t agree, so we don’t and we don’t decide on any one opinion. But in reality, the most powerful group of people will decide for you and call it whatever they want. The rest follow,” Brown explained, sharpening his knife again even though he was already happy with how sharp it was. “Understanding, you understand, is all about compromise. Not here. We don’t compromise here.”

“But calling a knife a snake doesn’t make it a snake.”

“That is the easy way to think about it,” said Brown, holding up the knife, “if you meet a person for the first time who calls a knife a snake and he refers to it as such, you would not know what he is talking about. But if you know a snake means a knife and he knows a knife means a snake, then you have a disagreement. But the object in question does not change.”

“So?” asked Rane.

“Everyone has different ideas of what is what.” He smiled. “It’s a confusing world.”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 12

The Shattered Moon

By: Coralyhr

Rane stepped carefully on the platform to look around. The air was freezing, her breath misted in front of her eyes. The train’s front lights illuminated what was in front of it and that was a giant ball of grey rock like the pictures she had seen of the moon.

Yet unlike those satellite images which showed craters and little lumps along the surface of it, this moon was a smooth round rock and it reminded her of a pebble, only perfectly spherical.

There were the cracks on the surface of the moon. Thin, fine lines that snaked like an ugly black mesh had been thrown over the rock. Bits of the moon made a deafening creeeeaakkk sound and came away from the moon, dropping down into the darkness.

“A cracked perfection,” mumbled Rane.

“Perfection does not exist here,” said the train, “even the thing you are trying so hard to reach is not perfect.”

“What is it then?” she asked, stepping back on the train.

“It is the moon.”

“Maybe this is perfection,” said Rane as the train began to move backwards and she felt as if she was falling in the opposite direction. “Maybe this is where I should get off.”

“Will you accept that this is perfection?” The train was ruminative now.

“Yes. If that’s what it is.”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 11

The Footstep I Can’t Follow

By: Coralyhr

“It’s worse when it hurts you,” I said. “When the robot is not hitting the wall. It’s hitting you.”

The three of them were quiet.

Then Lily got up, almost as if someone told her to. She came right up to Rane and slapped her across the face. “Like that?” she asked.

Rane, stunned speechless for a moment, just nodded.

Sunflower frowned. “Then what? You see, it’s all good for you to notice that you’re banging the wall pointlessly. But don’t you realise that if the computer is programmed to end there, than the only other choice you have is to give up.” He gestured at the controls on the table. “Like that.”

Rose bounced to the edge of his seat. “If you don’t want to give up, then you have to take the path that is given to you. And endure the pain.”

“What for?” she asked. “Why would I want to endure instead of giving up?”

Lily shrugged. Then she smiled. It reminded her of Bai. “The person who endures holds on to hope that there is a chink in the armour, that the ‘programme’ will weaken and let them through. The person who gives up throws away hope and dies. You are not a robot, so you will not make a rational decision.”

“Humans can be rational.”

“What then,” asked Rose, “is rational?”

“Dying. Saving energy.”

“If you live, encounter difficulties and then die,” said Sunflower, “you have not achieved anything.”

“I wouldn’t know that.”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 10

The Paradox

By: Coralyhr

Rane interrupted before they could sing the next verse, “how can someone be alive if they are dying?”

“Well,” began Sunflower, “to die, you have to be alive right?”

“Yes,” Rane said after some hesitation.

“So if you’re dying, it means you are kind of alive,” said Rose.

“It’s not a paradox,” said Lily. “Everything in the world makes perfect sense.”

“No,” said Rane firmly, “No it doesn’t.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sunflower.

“If the world made sense, there would be no need to live. Because than there would be sense in suffering.”

“There is sense in suffering,” said Rose.

Sunflower nodded. “That’s right. Suffering makes you stronger.”

“What for?” demanded Rane. “Stronger for what? More suffering?”

Lily nodded. “That’s right. See. It makes sense.”

“So what are we suffering for?”

Lily glanced at Rose. “How would we know? You are the only one who can answer that question.”

“If I can answer it, I wouldn’t be asking.”

Sunflower laughed. “You have to ask to answer in the first place,” he pointed out.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 9

The Page of Doubt

By: Coralyhr

The pinkish fur-ball yelled at them to stop, plunging his own claw into a comrade on the left. There was a shrill cry now and a bloodbath ensued. Rane could not stand it anymore. She began to close the door.

“Wait!” called the pinkish fur-ball. “Trust me, it’s not what you think it is.”

Rane stared at it. “Yes. I think that’s just what it is.”

The pinkish fur-ball kicked PinPin and climbed up his companions to stand so that he was level with Rane’ s head. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t trust anyone here. The only thing I can trust is that I can’t trust anyone. You are all lying to me. Bai is lying to me. The old woman is lying to me.”

“Bai never lied to you. He can’t.”

Rane let go of the door knob. “What do you mean he can’t?”

“That’s who he is. He can’t lie to you.”

“You can lie to me. Maybe you’re lying by saying that he can’t lie to you.”

“Fine. But he’s your guardian. He can’t lie to you.”

Then the pinkish fur-ball was kicked off the pile of the little creatures and disappeared into the foray.

Rane had other things to ask, but he was gone.

PinPin (who Rane could spot easily simply because he was matted in the most blood) pressed himself against the mesh. “Rane. Rane. You didn’t go into the other room did you?”

She shook her head. “No. There’s nothing inside.”

PinPin hooked his claws on the mesh. “There is. Touch the walls. You’ll see.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

He looked hurt. “You’re really suspicious aren’t you?”

She pushed blonde hair behind her ear. “You would be too, if every time you try to figure something out, it kills you.”

PinPin kicked one of his friends away so Rane could see him clearly. “I would, I think. If I had anything to figure out. But if you never know, it will still kill you.”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 8

Tick Tock

By: Coralyhr

Her name was YueLi. She loved to draw the same way I did.

It was only the first day of lessons. I was thirteen. She sat behind me but since she was tall, she caught a glimpse of the creature I was drawing on the borders of my textbook. She drew a copy of what she saw and passed it to me in a note.

We sat together during recess. Her parents were also divorced but she lived with her mother. She was happy. Drawing was not a solace. It was her talent.

I liked talking to her. I was happy.

When we spoke, time seemed not to exist. I was not waiting for something o’ clock when lesson to end. I was not waiting to fall asleep. I was not waiting to wake up. I was never waiting. Time just flew.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 7

The Faces of Something

By: Coralyhr

The wolf turned back into the little girl with the pink tutu. She reached out for a book on the shelf. “Sit,” she said to Rane. Rane sat down.

Without looking at the book, the little girl asked, “Who am I?”

“You’re a shapeshifter.”

The girl giggled. “Nope!”

“You’re a little girl.”

The girl turned into a boy with rumpled hair wearing cargo pants.

Rane stared.

The boy turned into a potted plant.

The potted plant turned into a grown soldier with a rifle strapped to his back.

The soldier turned into a businesswoman.

The businesswoman turned into a cow.

The cow turned into the little girl with a pink tutu. She asked again. “Who am I?”

“Someone,” she replied.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 6

The Meaning of Home

By: Coralyhr

She stepped towards one of the walls with the photographs. They depicted stick figures with faces were all coloured in with a dark pencil. Rane idly guessed a 6B pencil. The glass from some of the framing was cracked. There were knife marks in the walls and marks of furniture having crashed into the wall.

Rane noticed the windows had a curtain bar above them but there were only tatters of the cloth once used as a curtain.

She turned to look at the four doors. The knobs of the door were grey but there were red handprints smudged all over. The carpet at the edge had uneven dark red patches. Her stomach churned uncomfortably.

The old woman still had pale white skin and pure white hair and black eyes with no irises. But now, her frown was a smile. She was still holding the glass. It was empty since Rane had drank the liquid inside but now it was half full again with a swirling red liquid the same colour as the stains below the doors to the rooms.

The old woman held up the cup and swirled the liquid. The smell of blood filled the air. “It would have been better,” she said, her smile un-twitching, “if you hadn’t struggled.”

“I…” Rane said, swallowing the bile rising in her throat, “would have wanted to know anyway.”

“Now you do. What difference does it make?”

Enlightenment?

Sippy Cup Review

~

Sippy Cup is a song from Melanie’s debut album Cry Baby released 14 August 2015. She was a contestant in The Voice (USA) in 2012 and made it to the Top 6 before she was eliminated. After that, she signed on with Atlantic Records and released this concept album. All thirteen songs in the album are somehow tied to each other by theme or by character and they focus on heavy themes like drugs, identity and family (or the lack of).

This song in particular is flooded with meaning and emotion. She sings about skeletons in the closet, vulnerability and the desperation to appear normal. Being a concept album, most of the songs surround the life of Cry Baby and her twisted family. A father who’s working in a drug company and sleeping with another woman. A mother who’s dieting, drinking and desperate to forget reality. Cry Baby who’s caught in this mess and dressed up to make the family appear normal. (There is also a brother who’s not present in Sippy Cup but he’s doing drugs too.)

But behind all the backstory, with just the lyrics, Melanie paints an abstract picture loaded with references both to drugs and childhood memories. A sippy cup. A cradle. Harmless happy things.

But are they really?

What if the things placed inside can hurt you? What if the cradle is a prison? What if the sippy cup is a drug? What’s inside?

You can put trash inside a gilded gold box and call it treasure. Colour tissue paper red and call it roses. Paste smiles on skeletons and call them humans. It’s not wrong is it though? We make treasure out of trash and roses out of tissue. But that doesn’t mean we should forget that the treasure is still trash and the roses are tissue paper.

Blood still stains when the sheets are washed

Sex don’t sleep when the lights are off
Kids are still depressed when you dress them up
And syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup
He’s still dead when you’re done with the bottle
Of course it’s a corpse that you keep in the cradle
Kids are still depressed when you dress them up
Syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup

I think that we do that all the time. Pretend that nothing is wrong. “Going on with life,” we call it. “I’ll get over it.” We don’t. We just lock up the skeleton and place it in the back of the storeroom with the rest of them. Hiding doesn’t solve problems. Oh, but we do it anyway.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 5

Treading on Eggshells

By: Coralyhr

Rane took a step sideways. Bai pulled on the chain with all his strength. She cried out, the knives and swords scratching her on either side like oversized sharp fingers.

She tripped over the last knife and tumbled to the ground, all her wounds crying out. Her palms hit the ground with a thump and she crouched there, trembling. Blood dripped from a wound on her cheek and stained the stark white floor.

Her vision blurred because of the pain. She was gasping, but she barely heard herself. Rane squinted at the droplets of blood that were forming patterns on the floor.

“Stand up,” Bai said, smirking.

Rane wiped blood that dripped into her eye. “Shut up,” she hissed. “It’s painful.”

He shrugged and tugged at the chain, jerking her upright. All her wounds screamed. “If you stay here until the wounds heal, you’ll be here forever.”

“Why,” she coughed out the word. Her neck began to hurt again.

“Time heals wounds but there’s no time in Elusive.”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 4

The Illusion of Security

By: Coralyhr

The doorknob squeaked and turned slowly. The voices became louder. A head peeked in. “Rane?” he said. The little boy came in.

“Yo,” I said back. He came and sat at the corner of my bed. He held out a worksheet at me.

“I don’t know question four.”

I looked at the paper. He forgot to close the door, so the screaming was drowning him out too. I gave him the paper back. “Your denominator should be five. Close the door when you leave.”

He took the paper but kept sitting there, kicking his heels against the leg of the bed. I glared at him even though I was not angry. “Do you think they’ll stop?” he said.

Mummy was shouting and crying at the same time. Papa was quiet now. His voice low and dangerous. “I think there won’t be a family picnic tomorrow.”

“Can’t we go without them?” he asked, staring up at the whitewashed ceiling with its glow-in-the-dark star stickers.

“Yeah,” I replied, “We can.”

“Can we ride the bicycles?” he kicked against the bed harder.

“Yeah. We can.”

Encyclopedia of Emotions 3

The Mirror of You

By: Coralyhr

The humanoid creature saluted at them, spraying water as it did so. “Hello there, my name is Rane.”

Rane took one step back and reached for the wooden stick.

“No. I am Rane,” she said.

Bai laughed, a mocking sound that echoed at the foot of the Great Wall.

Water Rane shrugged. “You are Rane. But my name is Rane.”

Rane frowned at it. “I am Rane and my name is Rane.”

Water Rane found a rock and perched itself on it, folding its legs under itself and stared at her. “Listen to yourself.”

“What?”

Bai laughed again. Rane wanted to find a way to shut him up. Water Rane beat her to it. With a wave of its hand, a stream of water rose from the lake and drenched him. “I am you. Get it?”

Rane stared at the water version of herself. The facial features were unnerving to look at, even though the creature was made of water. It was a resemblence that she was not sure she liked.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 2

The Ruins of Reason

By: Coralyhr

I was four years old when I asked my father the reason the sky was blue. I was full of questions. Why was the water colourless but we colour it blue in school? Why did Mummy wear a dress but Papa wears pants? Why did the sun only rise in the day?

Why?

Why?

Why?

He answered my questions patiently at first. But then… “It only looks blue,” he said, eyes clamped onto the screen in front of him, the fingers of one hand typing across the board of buttons, the other jammed on the notepad scribbling notes as fast as he could type.

I watched him do three things at once.

“The sky is made of many colours. Blue is just one of them.”

“But the sky here is blue,” I had said. “Why is it blue here?”

The phone rang. He stopped typing. He stopped writing. He turned and picked it up. He muttered into it. Then he stood up, scraping the chair back, pushing me to one side with his free hand. I sat on my bottom. “Yes. Yes. That’s right. I will be prospecting the offer…”

I squatted where I was, picking at the wooden grain of the chair. I traced the shapes. I drew a cloud. A sun. Why was the sun a ball? When I looked at it, it was just light. There was no ball, and light was not a sharp point coming out of it.

My father did not return. He strode towards the door, shifting his handphone from the right hand to the left. He reached for his starched white shirt and wore it with his right hand. He opened the front door and closed it behind him.

I stared after him. Why was he leaving?

The door opened again. He held the phone away from his ear and said to me, “Tell Mummy I won’t be home for dinner.”

The door clicked shut now. The lock turned, a metallic sound, like the ticking of the clock. Only there was a tick, no resounding tock.

I climbed into my father’s chair and sat there in the silence. I had grown used to the sound of silence. I heard it more than any other sound. Even after YouTube was invented. It was the sound that told me to stop asking questions.

Encyclopedia of Emotions 1

The Feeling of Nothing

By: Coralyhr

‘I don’t mind staying here.’ Rane looked out into the nothingness. She tried to remember what colours looked like. Maybe nothingness was a greenish-red. But what did green look like? She had forgotten.

‘Oh, you want to stay here?’ His voice was low now. He bent down so that he could stare into her face. He was not smiling. Rane found that this expression was more unsettling. ‘You like this nothingness?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Everything is equal here. I don’t have to exist here. I can exist here. I can do whatever I want.’

Suddenly, he grinned. ‘I have nothing to say.’ And he straightened up. ‘You can do whatever you want. But you can’t want anything here. Because there is nothing.’

Nothingness had no colour, no sound, no sensation. It was like a blank piece of paper that would never hold a pencil mark no matter how hard you colour it in. No matter how much she looked, there was nothing in nothingness.

The Madness

In a world that disappears under your feet, an unpredictable world, a world where you can never find peace, that is the world which will prove whether or not you have what it takes to live.

‘Encyclopedia of Emotions’

~

I have one more day before it begins. This formidable undertaking. As if in preparation for the amount of writing I have to do, my mind is dry now, the tide has receded and I do not know how to put into words this numbing apprehension that I have tried to pretend doesn’t exist.

It does.

And it is creeping through my mind.

There is also the worry that I cannot keep up. School projects. WWBI. Bible studies. Church. Friends. Devotions. Homework. Karate. And now, this.

But I can’t give up before I start. Now that my character is a real person, now that she is pressuring me to tell her story, she is emerging from the folds of my imagination into reality, I cannot suppress her. Every writer knows this feeling. The urge to tell a story. Even when life is passing by like a non-stop train.

Twenty-Three Review

~

“Try to guess.”

Sung by South-Korean singer-songwriter IU (Lee Ji Eun), Twenty-Three is the first single in her latest mini-album ‘Chat-shire’. And by far counted as her most personal piece of art.

In this song, IU sings about her life which people try to unravel for her, deciding that they know her intentions just by looking at her face, deciding that they understand what she wants based on something she says or does. It is a smart way of doing it, telling it through an Alice In Wonderland concept using abstract lyrics. With this kind of video and lyrics, one would be inclined to either hate or admire it. But just as the song says, which one?

Do you really know?

What is the meaning behind someone’s smile? What is the meaning behind a hint? What is the purpose of that action? Is it so simple to think that I am doing that just because I want to? I have motivations even I don’t know, how can you know what I want?

I think that IU is mature for her age and this honesty that she has, coupled with her ability to abstractly paint her thoughts out loud will allow her to separate the sheep from the wolves pretending to be sheep. But then again, I don’t know, do I? No-one will really know.

Which one?
You cannot tell with my face
Making an opposite facial expression
to the heart is really simple
Which one?
Actually I don’t know either
At first, I never wrote
even a single line of lies

Pretend to be a fox that pretends to be a bear
that pretends to be a fox
Or completely different one

It is true that you cannot judge someone at face-value because you never know their intentions. What they say about themselves, what they say about the world, what they say is the truth… do they mean what they say or are they saying something else?

All these puppet strings that people haphazardly string around themselves by judging before they know, by knowing before they judge, they tangle you up one day. The way to cut them all is to not care. If you want to care, you’ll be hurt, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong does it?

“Try to guess.”

The Little Paris Bookshop Review

the-little-paris-bookshop

Title: The Little Paris Bookshop

Author: Nina George

Summary: The Little Paris Bookshop is a delightful, bittersweet tale about the distance one man will travel for love and friendship – On a beautifully restored barge on the Seine, Jean Perdu runs a bookshop, or rather a literacy apothecary, for this bookseller possesses a rare gift for sensing which books will soothe the troubled souls of his customers…

I have not touched a storybook in so long or found solace in one for over a month. Life happened. And the words just seemed to slide off the page when I read the books.

But I was intrigued by the idea of books being used as emotional medicine. As a creative writing student, I have been caught up in the whirlwind of ‘write to engage your reader’ and ‘not interesting enough – boring’. I forgot that I was writing to capture specific details for specific people even if there is only one other person out there who needs it.

The Little Paris Bookshop pulled this off cleverly with a main character who knows how to help others although he himself is being consumed by his own sorrow. The story charts his own emotional voyage with his barge of books and his battle with love, friendship and pain.

My favourite passage of the book is this:

Pain, for example, he said: it reserves the polarity of cells. It starts after only three days: arousal cells become pain cells, sensory cells become fear cells, coordination cells become pin-cushions. Eventually tenderness only causes hurt; every breeze, every musical vibration, every approaching shadow triggers fear. And pain feeds hungrily on every movement and every muscle, breeding millions of new pain receptors. Your insides are completely transformed and replaced, but it is invisible from the outside.

By the end you want no one ever to touch you again, Vijaya says. You grow lonely.

Pain is a cancer of the soul, says your oldest friend. He says it like a scientist; he doesn’t consider hte nausea such words will trigger in non-scientists. He is foretelling everything that will happen to me.

Pain makes the body dull and your mind with it, as your Vijaya knows. You forget; you can no longer think logically, only in panic. And all your healthy thoughts fall into the furrows the pain gouges into your brain. All your hopes. Eventually you too fall in and are gone, your entire self swallowed up by pain and panic.

The way Nina George describes these little details, emotions, the breeze, the atmosphere – it settles over you like a comforting blanket. I have forgotten that I need books to survive. I forgot because I hated the way I read in order to feel better. In order to come to terms with this very subject in the passage I quoted. Pain.

Yes, books do soothe the troubled soul. I am addicted to this medicine. It’s good to be back, it’s good to inhale words so that I can breathe them out again.

The NaNoWriMo Game

To clarify, NaNoWriMo is a month whereby writers across the world agree to stop procrastinating on that one story they wish with all their soul to write. Writers pledge to overcome themselves, their fears, their worries, their perfectionist tendencies and defeat the empty page. For thirty days, they will sit down and write.

They will produce 50,000 words.

I have arrogantly called it a game because that is the only way I can challenge my own fear of being inadequate. After all, playing a game does not require you to be outstanding in ability the same way work does. Playing this game, my goal is to win. To produce those 50,000 words.

To finally overcome writer’s block.

This is where I have to apologise to my followers for so haphazardly abandoning my blog until now. I’m sorry for writing one post that in retrospect appears to be hypocritical because I then vanished from my blog.

It was a hiatus of sorts – in which I spent figuring out things which were important to me.

I’m still not sure.

Writing used to be a portal into another world and I could cross over easily. Now, it’s like I lost the key to enter this portal. Or as if the portal ceased to exist.

And I am trapped here in reality, utterly exhausted from trying to open a door that is, in fact, a wall.

But I do not want to give up. Not on writing, which is my entire world. Without writing, I will go mad – I think I have started to go mad since last year when I fell into the pit of writer’s block. Writing is the door to my soul. The only way I can figure out who I am and accept that truth.

That is why I will play this game.

And maybe through it, I will figure out the definition of the emptiness inside me.

I have never done NaNoWriMo before – I always had an excuse to avoid it – so it is a little nerve-wrecking to be writing 50k words consecutively for thirty days. But I found a very interesting book that I am using to help me through my story’s preparation.

Write Your Novel In A Month – how to complete a first draft in 30 days and what to do next

~Jeff Gerke

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He writes with a warm voice and a semi-formal tone that engages me from the beginning of the introduction. So if you are at a loss as to how you should start preparing for NaNoWriMo (or even any other book project), I recommend this book. With simple explanations, he pokes your brains to do the thinking and encourage you to DO rather than simply reading.

I want to say as well that it is true. Write. Smash the wall. Then after that, you can create your own door. I’ve got my battering ram ready, do you have yours?

All the best to those participating in NaNoWriMo.

Being A Writer

I am a writer. I tell everyone that. As a reader of my blog, it is also important for you to know. I am a writer. The kind of writer who watches music videos, broods about life and procrastinates on actual writing.

But lately, I have been seeing a quote everywhere and it provoked my thoughts.

“If you wish to be a writer, write.” By Epictetus.

It forced me to reflect on my status as a writer. On whether I want to be one. On what I should do to be one. On what kind of writer I want to be.

In school, a teacher asked if we had something we were all extremely good at or know a lot about. It was in that moment of silence that I realised I did not have something like that. I was not passionate about anything in particular except maybe the Bible. I was not curious enough to research on topics that interested me. I just took in facts like one looks at scenery from a train. Fleeting. Just enough to know, not enough to understand.

It was a pity.

Just the other day, I was sharing my plans to write a detective short story as a school assignment and suddenly everyone had high expectations of my writing. But a cold fear gripped me. I could not write that well, because I had not been writing consistently. I told myself I would get around to writing the story and it would be alright.

With my laptop on to Microsoft Word, I placed my hands on the keyboard and realised I forgot my voice. How should I write this story? I could not remember, because I have not been writing. Not enough practice.

So now I need to catch up with the hours of writing I should have done in the past but never did. I do want to meet the expectations of my friends and deliver a spectacular detective story. I do not want to do a bad job and write a better story ‘next time’. I will regret it. I know I will. So I am going to write for hours now like I should have done before.

A writer writes. There is a reason why. Never tell a slipshod story, even if you have been procrastinating for days. Even if you have writer’s block. Excuses are for excusers. Writers, let’s stick to writing. Write through everything so that you can tell a good story. Don’t shortchange your readers because of a mistake you made. It is not their fault for expecting a good story. It is my fault for not being serious about it.

So this blog is going to be about my journey through this business of writing. The appeal of procrastination, the blood, sweat and tears of writing and the different worlds that come out because of it. A writer writes. This is what my blog is all about.

Home

~

This song has been sung every year on our our national day since my birth. Every Singaporean knows it. It permeates our identity. It permeates the many languages spoken on this island.

Music is our universal language. English is just for commercial use.

I am not particularly patriotic and sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own country.

But home is not a feeling. It is an identity. You may dislike the ants that form an army camp through the corners of your house. You may disdain the cracks in your ceiling and the way the water drips imperceptibly from the water pipes at 11:59pm. You may want to tear your hair out when someone decides to hold a party below your apartment block the night before a major exam.

All those quirks make up your home. Home is not really a decision for you to make. It is something part of you that you slowly learn to accept. It is a place, a location where you can navigate with your eyes closed. It is somewhere you unconsciously return to someday because you want to meet your family or your friends.

It is somewhere you can move the furniture about as you wish.

It does not matter if you dislike where you live or if you don’t know anybody there. So long as at the end of the day, you are saying, “Oh, I’m going home after this,” it is home.

The reason I decided to write this post all of a sudden is because my country is celebrating its 50th birthday on 9 August 2015 and the whole country is preparing for this event.

People whom I pass on the street turn their heads at the sound of the national day songs playing on the MRT (our subway system) .

People with vacant eyes smile when the airplanes practicing their skyward spiral roar across the expanse between the high-rise buildings.

People I always thought were cold and cynical queuing up for three hours to get a ticket for a local film production while talking to each other like old friends.

These are my countrymen I lived with for seventeen years now. I guess I don’t know my home very well.

But this process of figuring out is like exploring corners of your house you were never interested in before. Sweeping aside cobwebs to reveal something precious or something to be discarded.

What part of your home do you want to explore? What part of it do you dislike? What part of it can you change?

Dance of the Living

To be perfectly honest, I never thought that anyone would live in Quixotic except its creator – me. I simply wanted a space to write and share my unusual thoughts on life that one cannot say out loud. So I suppose I am talking to you: the one reading this, the quirky, strange you, the creative, unique you, the one in love with stories.

Poverty has been a theme I heard and discussed many times in my life because my parents used to be poor, grew up poor and knew what it felt like. What I learnt, however, was not the terrible conditions they lived in or the threat of death hanging over their heads everyday. Instead, I learnt that poverty was a teacher.

Over the years, I’ve explored the many aspects of the lives of those without enough and have written literacy works based on the theme of poverty. Living in poverty is a fight for life. They live for the purpose of living. What do we do? We live, hoping for the day we will die. For the suffering to end, for the world is cease, for utopia to be achieved. The ‘better life’ we are aiming for… what exactly is it?

01. Picture

PEACE ON EARTH is a video I wrote about discrimination against the poor within our society. (Click on the title to view the video.) You don’t need to travel to Smokey Mountain to see poverty. Poverty could be living in your neighbour’s apartment. What you see in poverty that you see less in affluence is hope.

Right now, I’m working on a story of the affluent finding hope in a poverty-stricken society. The world likes to find happiness in oneself.

Do something you love.

Buy something you like,

Spend time with people who make you smile.

But these methods are not working. We face increasing rates of suicide, depression and eating disorders. Why? Because I think that we should be making other people happy in order to be happy. The society that focuses on self will always spiral downwards because you are never good enough for yourself.

So look forward to that story ^.^

Thank you for reading!

What Do You Gain?

A poetry piece that was not meant to be.

You can read it here: WHAT DO YOU GAIN?

Being stabbed by someone with words or actions is unfortunately common in this world of expressing yourself. If you are angry, say so. But what does the other person feel? What do you gain? Do you feel better about it afterwards? Does it make you a better person? Why are you so afraid of the recoil?

Something will be irreplaceably damaged by that knife. That wound will bleed and drip. It will not close up, ever, until the person is dead. If by some miracle it does, the scar remains, the fear remains.

What do you gain?

Everyone gets hurt in their lifetime. These wounds either serve to help one grow into a better person or into a bitter person. A giver or a misery. Do you gain experience or fears? Do I gain satisfaction or morbid fascination?

From the Creator of Quixotic

The Realm of the Quixotic is a space where stories come to life. It might be better if Quixotic existed only within my diary pages where I can be absolutely honest with myself but some emotions are so artistic it would be a pity not to share them, albeit fiction-ised.

Stories, I believe, are meant to be shared in order for other people to connect and feel that they have a companion. Quixotic is that platform I want to use to connect with people from everywhere. People who are so different they are the same. People who have never known me but who do anyway because we are all humans going through the same feelings.

If Quixotic makes it past a year (which it has not), I hope there would be people who can relate and who feel the same things I do.

I am just another human being in this world, but so is everyone else. Being just one person allows you to understand what every other person may feel once upon a time. Being just one person keeps you from being conceited and believing you are better. Being just one person means you can connect deeply and personally with another.

And I want to do that through stories.