Lines

Though words have their own limitations, it is nevertheless a powerful tool, used to either destruct or heal. It is healing to me and hence why I am writing this entry. I hope it can heal you too, or that you are kind enough to offer me a few words in return, for strength to heal.

I watched the movie ‘Me Before You’ within the first week of its release. And I hated it. With my whole heart. I felt cheated because the movie was described as romantic and moving, but in my opinion it showed nothing but selfishness. Not only had he led her on, knowing fully how she had felt towards him, he continued on to choose to end his life after confessing to her how much he ‘loved’ her. It was not love to me. Love is selfless. It is constructive. But most of all, I believe love is honest. And he was dishonest to her about his intentions. For all of the reasons above, he did not love her.

But she had loved him. I had a long debate with myself on whether I would have done the exact same thing as Jo, if I was in her position. Only recently did I manage to come to terms with her act. The answer is, I would. “The gifts that God has given you on Earth are yours to cherish, not yours to possess”. That was exactly what she did. She cherished him with her whole heart for as long as she could but she did not demand he stayed. She would have loved him anyway. And I felt certainty in my heart that I would have done the same, and I would continue to do so in my life. To cherish, not to possess. To give without demanding. To just… love.

The problem with the above principle is that it is not universal or applicable all the time. You can’t be selfless and not demand in all situations. Ultimately, you have the responsibility to care for your heart too. And sometimes… Sometimes we just forget to draw that line. We give ourselves reasons (or pretty much just lame excuses) to hold on to a mirage that everything is within our control. We fear what we do not know and so we lie and cover up the truth and we buy into those lies. And for a moment, we are content. Who are we kidding though. We’re dying. And until we admit the problem, we can never truly find the cure.

I’ll tell you a secret. You think you’re not strong enough. But you are. You said you weren’t the last time someone hurt you. But you’re here now. You survived that mishap, and you’ll survive this one. Maybe you haven’t been treating yourself right. That happens all the time, to every individual big and small. You learn to get back up and you learn where to draw the line. You’ll learn that next time, you can’t pretend the line is not there.

Loving doesn’t get any easier. Relationships don’t get any simpler. A friend of mine came out from three failed marriages only to realise one crucial thing. He was the constant. You’re the constant of all the happenings in your life. Change that constant; respect yourself, be fair when punishing your faults, love everything that you are… Only then will you know how to respect, be fair and love others. And maybe… Just maybe.. If everyone were to do that, we’d all find ourselves someone we could finally be honest and still be happy with. Someone we could love constructively.

I don’t have the answers. Maybe I’m writing this because I too do not know where to draw the line. I too am scared of losing someone I love over a stupid line I’ve drawn. But if that is true, then I too am secretly strong enough to live through this. 

When I Have A Daughter

When I have a daughter
God how do I tell her
That the only man on Earth
That will truly ever love her
Might only be her father?

When I have a daughter
God how do I tell her
That despite what I tell her about beauty
The world will continue to judge her
By the size of her jeans and breasts?

When I have a daughter
God how do I tell her
That witches and evil
Can dwell in beautiful bodies
Like the people whom she call friends?

When I have a daughter
God how do I tell her
To be courageous and kind
When her naivete
Might be the cause to her destruction?

When I have a daughter
God how do I tell her
That first kisses are not magical
And the guy who's lucky enough to get it
Is not her knight in shining armour?

When I have a daughter
God how do I tell her
That dreams don't come true
That fairy tales don't exist
And that happy endings don't come
With bibbidy babbedy boo?

When I have a daughter
God how do I tell her
That she might be talented in so many ways
But her male counterparts will always win
Due to their domineering strength
Hanging balls in their pants
And the misogynistic nature of her government?

When I have a daughter
Oh God how do I tell her
That I knew the world wasn't good enough for her
But I had the heart to bring her here
And that I was too selfish
Because I loved her too dear.

Red Against Green

Red against green
You stood out right from the start
Bright in a place so dim

Red against green
I saw you first because of the fleeting bird
That sought life from your sweet nectar

Red against green
Blooming on an ordinary tree
Your mere presence and growth a decoration

Red against green
Swaying softly with the rhythm of the wind
Oh such a beauty

Red against green
For your beauty
You are in danger

Red against green
Plucked and taken away from home to your own demise
You become an attraction even for your own destruction

Red against green
Still you give
To the birds, to the open eyes and hearts

Red against green
Bringing joy to the world
Oh what a perfect creation

Short Story : Night Fury

“So much for trying to be a hero”.

 “This is what happens when teenagers do not grow up. Freak.”

 “What was the costume made of? Trash?”

“Did she really call herself Night Fury? LOL”

“Come on guys, we should be nice. After all she might be retarded.”

                I scrolled through the comments on the channel where a video of me was posted. Dad told me that going through the comments was an act of masochism and at some point I think so too. Reading all these comments hurt yet I could not take my eyes off of them. Let alone stop thinking about it. With shaking hands, I clicked on my mouse and watched open eyed on my computer screen. It was a video I filmed shortly after I finished my costume.

“Fear not citizens. Night Fury is on the way!” I could hear myself saying.

                Even though I knew what was about to come, I could not take my eyes of the screen as I watched myself enthusiastically preparing for a cartwheel that I had been practising for months. It had worked before but apparently not this time. I had miscalculated the space I needed and the direction I was going because I ended up crashing into a glass cupboard. It took me three months to recover. Three horrible months that I miraculously survived albeit permanent scars all over my body. Honestly, the humiliation that followed hurt more than those few months.

                 Falling to my knees, I reached for a box under my bed where I kept my costume. My hands quivered over it as my sobbing increased and my whole body shook mirroring the magnitude of emotions that was spilling out of me. Instinctively, I held my knees against my chest and rocked back and forth, only one word ringing in my head; “freak”.

                When I finally calmed down, my eyes were sore and the time was unknown to me. I reached out for the costume and buried my face in it. In the calmness that followed, my mind cleared and I had a sudden urge to put the costume on. I hesitated but pushed my doubts aside. Standing before the mirror in my blood stained purple costume, I started to remember.

                I started to remember why I did it. I remembered mother’s voice as she told me that I was adamant. I remembered the day she told me I was meant for great things. I remembered the surge of adrenaline, the fire that burned my skin, the slap of realisation, the clarity of thought and most importantly, the beautiful feeling of righteousness. Maybe they were right; I am probably hallucinating. But I believe that the courage to put back the costume when everything goes wrong is the most powerful thing a hero can possess and what I believe is much more important than what they say. I am Night Fury; and I am a hero.

Short Story : Candle In The Darkness

Ever since I was young, father would tell me to not be afraid. “Nothing can harm you whilst I am with you.” But then they took father away. Then mother said, “Sleep in my arms princess, I will keep you safe.” But then they cut her arms, sent her to a concentration camp and when her services were no longer needed, they disposed of her body with the others. My teacher once taught me that men in uniforms were heroes but my trust in them ceased when they used guns to instil fear and power rather than peace and with that power they trampled over us, used us and laughed at us. But my heart truly shattered when my government that swore to protect me, on television, stood by and did nothing as my brethren and I were sexually degraded, abused, killed, experimented on and stripped of all our rights as humans. It was then that I realised, my government was not fighting for me. I was being run by the government. It was then that I truly died.

                I remember such things like hope back when they first told me that help was on the way. Each day, I would await at my window, hope blossoming in my heart and waited for something, anything from the outside world. Surely they must know of our condition here. Surely the media is spreading our stories. Surely they will come and aid us. But the only aid we got was recognition on social media, likes and reposts and the only news we ever heard were “We are with you”.  Each time the sun sets, my heart shatters and anger, vengeance and hatred boils my blood so much that I thought it would poison me in my sleep. I wondered how they dared claim that they sympathise. How they dared claim they cared. When the truth was, everyone was just glad it was not them.

                Many attempted to escape the country. Many were caught and many more died at sea. Those who survived were either locked in cells, blocked entry, sent back or if they were lucky, given unhospitable slums where they soon died of hunger, lack of clean water or attacked by viruses.  I heard they were holding talks and conferences but whatever they were doing, it was not fast enough. It was never fast enough.

                I do not know how or when it happened but one day, I woke up and realised I was no longer human. No more will the chains of the masses trap me within this well. For I belong in the sky. I am an idea of freedom and hope. I am a candle in my country’s darkest hour. I might only be a flicker of sunshine in this era of deprivation. But, I believe one person is all that my country needs to ignite the flaming laser sword of newton and pave the way to hope and glory. For only hope is stronger than fear.

Short Story : The Scientist

15^th January 2610             

                I was glum and let out a heavy sigh as I flipped through the results and recordings of my past experiments that showed nothing but failure. Deep down I knew it would be hard and bound to fail. After all, nothing ever ends pretty when you try to play God and yet I went against all my ethos and rationality when I first indulged and committed myself to this cause. I have passed the point of no return.

                The road to success is never easy. After all, didn’t Thomas Edison fail one thousand times before creating the light bulb? Who am I to give up so easily especially for a cause so pure? Who am I to give up on humanity and deny my generation’s second chance at life when I know that it can be made possible? No, I cannot.

                The trick to bringing back the dead is to first understand how humans live and what motivates them to stay alive. For it’s not just the heart that needs to be coaxed back to life; it is also the brain. I did not want to create zombies. I wanted to create humans, with memories of their past as well emotions. To do that, I could not experiment on lab rats. I needed to experiment on humans. It was crucial to have some emotional attachment; to understand subjects physically and emotionally. Another trick is to cut them open while their brains and organs are still active and in good condition where I will then proceed to freeze them and attempt to revive it before the organs start to decay.

                I snapped out of my trance and walked purposefully to my lab. The temperature was set at below freezing point and the moment I stepped into it, my breath started fogging. The cold, pungent smell of medicine and blood was all too familiar to me. I took a deep breath before picking up the prepared syringe on the counter and walked over to a boy; tied up to the metal bed in the middle of the room. Billy was a subject I met at the playground.

                “How are you feeling Billy? Not too cold I hope?” I said, looking at his tears streaked face. He did not reply though for his mouth was gagged but his eyes responded to me and it followed the syringe I had in my hand. He began moaning. I ignored the stifling of my heart, injected him with lignocaine and waited for the drug to take effect.

                I do not think he will ever understand the fine line between heroism and evil. That, to be a hero, you have to be strong enough to do whatever it takes for the greater good. I slay to save. And even though he will never see me as a hero, I have no regrets. I took a deep breath and brought the scalpel to his skin.

                

Short Story : Subject 0031

                Memories; good or bad, define who you become. Survivors of near death experiences develop post traumatic behaviour,  everlasting opinions and impressions on a certain place or society. Individuals change gender preferences and keep small tokens like photos, movie tickets, seashells, anything to preserve the moment forever.  It reminds them that they had a past, it reminds them that they lived. Most importantly, this data defines their role in society.

All of these with which V had to live without.

            She named herself V because when she woke up on a cold metal platform in an abandoned building, there was no one to tell her why she was there or why she did not remember being alive in the first place. She named herself V because when she stood up for the first time and fell on her knobbly knees, forgetting how to walk, there was no one to catch her and teach her how to balance on two legs. She named herself V because as she was staggering to her feet, she caught movement at the edge of her eyes and quickly went after it, encouraged by the fact that it was running towards her, only to crash straight into a hard surface. Her head exploded with pain and she fell to the floor for the second time, breathless and confused. When she looked up, her eyes met with a face marred by lines of fear and distress. She saw dark crimson liquid flowing from the crown of its head and instinctively reached out in curiosity only to be met with the hard surface that she had collided with. She called herself V because when she looked at the pale and bony figure and saw waves of jet black hair flowing down her back, and piercing green eyes that were looking intensely back at her, she realised it was her reflection. She called herself V because as she slowly dragged herself along the dirty and empty corridors of the building all she found was dust, weird metal objects that cut her fingers when she touched the tip, and an empty glass bottle with a faded label around it that spelled out the word ‘Viagra’ with gold embossed V. She did not know what it meant but was surprised that she understood these random signs. Clenching it with her bloodied and dusty fingers, she curled up into a ball with renewed hopes. She did not know how or when but her view was spinning and suddenly she was hit with a sense of dreariness and slowly her eyes gave up to the strong desire to cut off the rest of the world and it became dark again.

            Time was not something that V cared or knew about. Hours had passed since V had awoken and walked down the empty hallways; now the only thing that was driving V forward was her fear of giving up to the cold and unknown surrounding. Saline pearls of tears rolled down her cheeks and blurred her vision but V was not paying attention to her sight anymore; she was using all her strength to continue walking until finally, she saw a different shade of light, different from the bulbs that lighted her way throughout the eerie building. There was something almost magical about it; the way she could almost smell the air outside and the way her skin tingled with warmth that increased as she got closer to the light. When she stepped out through the opening, she met with a psychedelic sky that she could stare at forever.

            Forever was not something that V was given. At that moment, as if it was all planned, a man walked towards her. She stood static, still undecided of what to do when finally they were so close, she was sure that he could hear her heart beat. He reached out to her and hesitantly she accepted it; not knowing how much her decision would change the course of her life.

​​            A van. That was what he called it. A transportation device that would take V to a place where she could live her new life. It amazed V that she could understand the noises coming out of Alex’s mouth and it shocked her even more when she effortlessly replied. It was as if her tongue remembered things her brains did not. Alex refused to answer her questions of why she had no memories of her past instead he kept persuading her that it was all going to be alright. Trust was not a word she could fully comprehend but when Alex asked her whether she trusted him, she nodded. That was when he told her about the experiment.

​​            Experiment X is a highly classified social economics experiment run by a group of economists and scientists to investigate humans’ reaction in extreme situations with a set of rules that they have to conform to. It tests humans’ capabilities and breaking points; discovering trends of large groups of people living together and how punishments and rewards can affect the way they make decisions. It hit close to home for she too had no idea about what she was capable of or where will she ever belong. She knew she had nothing to lose. With no doubt in mind, she signed the contract Alex held before her and just like that, she sealed her fate to a group of strangers she knew nothing about.

​​            They drove for hours across plains and surroundings that looked alien to her. V dozed off a couple of times and when she was awake, all she did was look out the window, never being able to take her eyes of the changing scenes before her. It wasn’t until they reached a gigantic wall that she remembered the contract. Before her loomed a metal wall that ran both to the east and west and stretched as far as the eyes could see. It was hundreds and thousands of feet tall that it hurt her neck trying to look at it.

            In order to enter, the van went through a total of 6 checkpoints and at each checkpoint, intimidating guards stood by with guns ever ready to shoot anything threatening. V wondered what was on the other side of the wall that needed so much security and care. She was not sure whether she was ready to find out or not.

            Marcus was a tall built, dark coloured man with arms as big as V's whole body. When they stood side by side, so stark was the contrast that she could not imagine living in the same house with this man. The organisers told her planned marriages were part of the programme and that most volunteers were required to have one for the duration of the experiment. She did not have to go through the actual procedures of marriage; it was more of a pretend game kids play when they were children; they coaxed her. But all of these meant nothing to V. She did not know what marriage was or what it meant. Her whole body was filled with fear after Alex left her at the mercy of other humans wearing long white materials that almost reached the floor. They did not smile the way Alex did. Instead they called her by numbers; Subject 0031, pushed her around, looked at her through microscopes and constantly took pictures of her. She understood nothing and again, fear and confusion became her companion. Until they took her to Marcus of course. He took one long look at her and huffed then turned on his heels. Dejectedly, she followed.

            At first, Marcus helped her by explaining how things worked. He took her home, showed her around her living quarters and listed out her chores. Although he was patient at first, accepting all the mistakes that she made; burning his toast, not preparing dinner in time, forgetting how to use the washing machine but his patience soon wore off and she had to learn quickly to adapt or risk being beaten by him. A wife, she learned, was a slave to her husband. It was her job to clean and look after him. She could not leave the house without him by her side. Earning money herself was out of question. Everything she needed was provided by Marcus and sometimes, he even got her presents but none of it could soothe her broken ego and heart. She could accept the fact that she had to work for him but she could not accept the way he would inject unknown substances into her body or the way he made her drink bitter drinks that would make her dizzy and unaware of her surroundings. All she knew was that her body was on fire and she would twitch until the world would become dark. She then would awake the next day with marks and bruises all over and her legs and lower body would ache all day. Privacy was not a concept that V ever knew or had and now, she has lost the one thing she ever had; bodily autonomy.

            Life in the house was dull. The first few days were filled with new discoveries about how things worked; the way the television could fit a human that seemed so much smaller than she was, the way hot air blasted from the heater, the way it was always so cold in the refrigerator, everything seemed to amaze her. But soon all of this amazement died off, leaving her with nothing else to do except her tedious chores. The wonder-house became her prison. There was only one thing she looked forward to every day and that would be meeting Linda. Linda was her neighbour and every day at 4 pm, Linda would pick up her dried laundry from the clothes line at the back of her house and if V was lucky, she would be able to steal an hour of Linda's time before Linda would rush off to prepare dinner for her husband. It was not Linda's physique that attracted her, neither was it the fact that their houses were the closest to each other. It was the way Linda would tilt her head when she laughs, the way her eyes would twinkle when she smiles, the way her cheeks turned red when V first kissed her and the way she talked that made the whole world stop to listen.

​            It was Linda who explained the grading system to her. The higher the collective points in a small community, the wealthier they became. Points were given to those who follow the rules set by the organisers including but not limited to total conformity of the wife to the husband, having sex, getting pregnant, and practising the prescribed religion. On the other hand, those who commit adultery, homosexuality, even breaking the dress code will be penalised. These rules confused V as she looked down at the plain brown dress she was wearing and wondered how any of these rules would help her discover who she was and how she would best fit in society. Her confusion and suspicions grew when Linda told her that she too had gone through a memory swipe and that most of the volunteers were either victims of memory loss or beggars by the street but they too had to filter their memories. None of them actually knew what life on the outside was like. Linda had been around for such a long time, she began to accept the cruel ways of life. And in that duration of time, not once had she been let out of the walls.

            The only thing that kept V sane was Linda's stories. Of beautiful princesses in faraway lands and deserts with dancing snakes as pets, of magical flowers that only bloom in full moon and are guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. Tales of sea serpents and mermaids, of rainbows in the sky and the pot of gold at the very end with a magical creature called the leprechaun that will grant your wishes. But V's favourite were stories of the sea. A region so vast that one could look at it and never see the end. A bubbly blue world filled with beautiful corals and life. These stories danced into V's dreams and kept her occupied in her own little world where she was the princess of Atlantis and Linda was her mate. But they took that away from her too.

​            It was during one of the worship sessions that everyone was told to attend on Monday evenings. Everyone would sit in circles, hold hands and mutter gibberish about some Man in the sky no one had ever met. A man wearing a sinister white mask would walk to the centre of the circle to read out the scores of the week. This week, it was different.

​            When the score reader walked to the middle, he was not alone. Four peacekeepers tailed behind. And instead of reading the scores, he cleared his throat and thundered,

"There are hypocrites among us. Hypocrites who pretend to be one of us, worship with us, but right under our noses, commit the acts of imbeciles that they truly are. Today, we are going to purify the society. Today, my friends, help me make peace with God by sacrificing these disgusting mortals that dare go against His laws!"

​            Her heart beat so fast, it felt like a bomb was about to detonate in her heart. Blood roared in her ears and her knees felt weak as the crowd roared in compliance. Two hands grabbed at her shoulders and pulled her up to her feet. She looked around at the hard lined faces of peacekeepers, their eyes red with disgust. Their hatred towards her, radiating, as they dragged her to a clearing nearby where two stakes stood west of a pile of stones. 

V's spirit wilted.

"Stop! She's pregnant!"

            V could hear Marcus's voice above all the others. So powerful was his command that the mob came to a halt and all eyes were turned to her and the man in the mask. They all knew how important reproduction was in the community. Communities with pregnant women will be rewarded with 100 points for every day that the baby is still in her womb and a 1000 more if the baby is safely born. It was against their laws to harm a pregnant woman. Hope flickered in V's heart. She might just be saved. But she should have known that there are certain things worse than dying.

Because unlike her, Linda was not pregnant.

            To make it worse, the man in the mask made sure that V had the best view which was at the very front of the mob. When Linda was pulled into the scene, V's heart dropped realising what she was about to witness. Linda did not kick or thrash around instead she held her head up high when they tied her up to the stake. Before the ceremony even began, the crowd had already gone crazy by spitting and shouting at her to go to hell but Linda did not even cringe. She kept her eyes on V for a few minutes; and instead of regret, fear and hatred that V had expected to see, she saw an ocean of love and acceptance, one with no sign of an end. Tears filled V's eyes, refusing to believe the scene unfolding before her. As the first stone hit Linda's temple and she started to bleed, V let out an inhuman scream that reverberated through the walls; a scream filled with anguish that drained her of any energy left and she fainted, mercifully missing the torturous ceremony.

            Being hated by society had a few advantages, one being that nobody wanted to be around her. Even Marcus. So V had all the time to herself which she spent looking out the window aimlessly and at 4 pm every day, she would drag her feet to the clothes line like some routine and talk to herself for hours. She did not sleep nor eat properly. Hygiene was something she did not bother with at all. V was trapped in her own world, continuously dreaming of a life where happiness still existed.

She would have died if it wasn't for the kick. Her baby's first kick reminded her that she had one last job to do.

            It was a hot Friday afternoon and her back was drenched in sweat but V did not mind. Her mind flew back to the argument she had with Marcus when they first found out she was pregnant. She had refused to carry the baby, haunted by the stories of mothers dying while giving birth. It was beyond her understanding why Marcus and the rest of society cared more for a life that had not started than the life they were about to end. Not only will this baby be a threat to her existence but her whole life would be tied to another being. She would be enslaved yet to another individual. But Marcus wanted to hear none of it and Marcus always had his way.

            If only she was not pregnant, she would be dead by now. She would be in heaven with Linda. Or wherever Linda is, she did not mind. She would have escaped this crazy and psychotic community. She would have been saved.

            V stopped digging and rubbed her stomach slowly, deep in thought. No way was she going to bear the blame of bringing this baby into this experiment. No one else is going to suffer the way she had, especially not someone of her kin. And if this was how humans are, she was glad she had forgotten about it. She continued to dig up the earth with her bare hands - the hole was nowhere big enough yet, but soon it would be.

Short Story : Selfie

Everyone has their own dark secret. Something that they would like to keep locked in a treasure chest and never open again. I looked at the picture in my hand and with trembling hands, put it away with all the other pictures. “No one must know”, I whispered. I could feel my heart beating wildly against my chest; I fear it might jump out through my mouth!

Every time I look at that picture, it brings back dream-like memories and triggers emotions that I cannot comprehend. “What have I done?” I thought while shaking my head from side to side feeling torn between awe and disbelief. I ran my fingers through my hair, my forehead creasing in frustration. Goosebumps began to form along my arms and the back of my neck tingled as I drew in a sharp breath. I remember that day as if it was just yesterday.

Questions ran through my fickle mind as I took another picture from the box, indecisive over my upcoming actions. My chest rose and fell as panic filled me, trying to comprehend how I had arrived in this position. I stared catatonically at the picture, as if something so menial could bring so much harm. My fingers tightened around the picture and my whole body hardened.

It only took me a year to realise what I had become. Corruption took over me. I hated it. I no longer want to become like everyone else; drowned in vanity and conceit. There’s more to this world than status and popularity and where I stand does not prove who I am and who I have become today.

That is why a few months ago, I have decided to change my style. No more following the trend. No more posing in front of my front camera for hours and crying afterwards when the girl next door gets more likes on Instagram. And the comments! Everyone commented on how white her teeth were. Not my fault if she spends thousands of dollars whitening and straightening them. Enough is enough. That was when I made up my mind, took a pair of pliers from the garage and knocked on her front door. I took a selfie of us afterwards and for the first time, I was prettier.

I remember feeling the blood between my fingers and licking them with a sinister smile. Satisfaction filled me. Finally it was my turn to shine after years of torture. Looking at her dead body lying lifelessly on the floor in her own pool of blood, no remorse passed through me. All too soon, I heard a car pull up the driveway. I got rid of all the evidence and went back home, planning for my next kill, Jordan Haimes; head cheerleader.

I stood up and entered my little dark room and allowed it to engulf me in the comfort of familiarity. I took down pictures of my recent kills, grinning to myself like a child who had just received a whole bar of candy. My eyes skimmed through the array of photos, suddenly greedy for more. Scarlet red joy hit me as I kept my tools back into its compartment and a wonderful idea filled my head. Pleasure, so intense as my head throws back in joy thinking about the girl next door; so aroused with the thought of her delicate hands on my skin.

I felt more relieved than ever. I loved myself for having the ability many girls lacked; to make herself happy. Nevertheless, my disgusting behaviour has got to end. People are getting suspicious.

I poured myself another glass of alcohol to provide me the courage for what I was about to do. Tugging my bathrobe closer to my body, I grabbed the bottle of alcohol, picked up all my selfies and walked purposefully to my backyard. Dumping all the selfies in a metal container, I poured the remaining alcohol and lit a matchstick; burning all the evidence. I stayed just a little longer, allowing myself to dance along with the flames.

The intensity of the sunlight brought me back to reality. As if waking from a trance, I set my glass down, walked to a patch of dirt and started digging until my fingers hit hard metal. I pulled the gun out.

I positioned myself facing the sunset and checked my image through my phone screen. A small gasp escaped my lips at the beautiful image before me. The angle, the lighting, the wind blowing my hair to one side showcasing my jaw lines, everything was perfect. I will be a sensation. I will take a selfie the world will remember. I pointed the gun to my temple, closed my eyes and snapped a picture. I was at peace and total bliss. I waited for the picture to load before pulling the trigger.  

Credits : Iman, Farhana, Zulaikha, Maisara Aisya, Amirah Sabrina 

Written for a class project

In Loving Others, Don't Forget

"In loving others, don't forget that you are worthy too". 

I read that quote quite some time ago. It gave me goosebumps. Through experience, I can finally appreciate the quote. Now, it doesn't give me goosebumps anymore. I read it with newfound respect because I finally understand how easily it is to lose yourself, and how hard it is to find your way back. 

"Me time", Some people have it too much. Some people have it too little. Some people, when in love, completely get it mixed up. I was one of those people. 

I thought loving someone meant spending all my free time with them. Even when I was not free, I made time for my loved ones. Whether its family members, friends, your partner or your job, I'm sure most of us can relate to that one person or thing that we commit everything to. We don't just give our 100%, we give 200%.. While that burning passion, that love, that commitment, or whatever it is you call that force; is good, it blinds you. It absorbs your whole being. And little by little, you lose sight of who you really are. 

At first it becomes just a tugging feeling. Then it grows to become emptiness. Emptiness that you falsely diagnose and began filling with fidgeting, constantly checking your phone, jumping at every buzz and ring, busying yourself more and more. Never pausing, never stopping to see the real cause. One day you're just going to look around and find there's nothing else left. So because you can't find anything left in your empty vessel, you look out. 

The thing is, probably other than God, no one is really going to love you more than you can love yourself. He won't give you all his attention. She won't always be there. There will be times when he loses his patience. There will be times when she slips her tongue. And there will always be times when you find yourself stranded, alone. And with no one, not even yourself to pick you up, you fall down. Too tired to look. Too tired to keep searching. And you start blaming. Blaming on everyone else, but yourself. He doesn't love me enough. She's prettier. Everyone doesn't do the job as well as I do. It's just not my luck. We were never meant to be. The first few cries might lead to people coming to help. But after some time, that stops too. After some time you realise blaming doesn't change anything. It will not heal the wounds. It will definitely not renew your dying spirit. Slowly but hopefully, you will look inwards. Caress your own wounds. Finally giving yourself the attention you deserve. 

So when was the last time you touched that novel? Ate ice cream alone? Watched a movie you wanted to and not something the crowd chose? When was the last time you woke up late? Danced to your favourite music in the rain? Devoured pizza in bed while watching porn and then licking your fingers afterwards? When was the last time you did something entirely for yourself, phone switched off? 

Based on Newton's third law of motion, there will be another opposite force acting on you. Another force that begs you to switch on your phone. That reasons with you about all the assignments waiting on your desk. Your heart will tell you that you miss him. That your body is burning for human touch and interaction. Tell those voices to hush. Now is your time. Not theirs. 

Remember. You are worthy of your love too. 

Signing off, 

Ikha

Dear No One

Hello guys!

This will be my first informal post after such a long time of not posting anything at all on my blog. I've never used this approach here because, let's face it, it feels super weird to write informally when you're not even sure who will be reading this, if any at all! Well, at least that was what I thought. Until one surprising afternoon that I found out about one of my readers. Honestly I was surprised I even had one. Girl, you must be super lifeless to read my blog! (No offence.) But what do I know about you? I've never met you, I don't even know your name. That being said, when I heard that you could relate to my previous posts, I knew I had to write this down anyway. 

So Dear No One, this is your love song. 

I spent the first 7 years of my life in a small village in Penang. My grandfather was not the head of the village or anything but he was one of the richest and most influenced. He was also the one giving free English lessons to the kids (he was previously a teacher) and I topped all of his classes. I think I topped my whole village during kindergarten (we all go to the same kindergarten because really,  the village was THAT small). Then at 7 years old, my grandfather sent me to an English speaking primary school which was quite far compared to another national primary school much closer to our village. I'm not mentioning all of this to elevate myself or to downgrade all my other village friends. Rather, I'd like to make a point of how privileged I was. Life was comparatively much easier. Arwah Tok Mama was a great cook, I had lots of dolls to play with and life was just real sweet. 

I moved to Perak at the age of 8. I was still rocking school. First place in batch almost every year up until Standard 6. My group of friends were all among the most popular kids in school (which ultimately made ME popular) and everyone wanted to hang out with me. I was a prefect and even got the coolest task which everyone was eyeing for; the gate keeper! It was the most popular task back then because it meant I get to skip assembly every day, enter class late, greet all the teachers and be the good cop who take the names of kids who come late to school. 

At the age of 12, after scoring straight A's in UPSR, I set my eyes on this particular private school. It had not one but TWO swimming pools, horse riding club, air conditioned classes... It was more than a village girl could dream of. I had refused to apply to any other boarding schools and I was hurt when my teacher told me "Don't fly so high. It'll be a long way down." Obviously in my head, I deserved that spot, more than anyone. I was smart enough, active enough and OVERLY qualified. Although grudgingly I did apply for other premier boarding schools in the country (I was forced by my mother to do so as a back up plan), I told myself I wouldn't need them. 

To cut the story short, I was a girl who thought the village was the world. I did not get it into the private school. Neither did I get a reply from any of the other boarding schools. It broke my heart. 

You see, this may be hard to believe but getting your heart broken is not such a big deal. Hearts get broken all the time. I'm not denying the hurt and pain that follows but I'm saying it heals. Contrarily, breaking your confidence is much more fatal. I broke my confidence that time. 

Good news, I did get into that private boarding school. Plus point, I was even awarded a scholarship so I spent 5 years of high school free of charge. The bad news, I never really recovered from that incident when my confidence was broken. As an effect, I was privileged in a lot of ways, but what I saw was all the things I was lacking instead! I didn't see the few friends that stood by me through ups and downs. I saw all the times I had to eat alone at the cafe or was not included in that group photo they took. I did not see the rows upon rows of trophies I got for winning quizzes and debates. Instead I saw all the times I came last for running or swimming. I saw the fat girl with no designer bags and a British boy friend. I get hungry for attention and compliments from other people. I took each and every rejection to heart. Ultimately, I hurt myself in every possible way and I didn't even notice it. I was crying and I couldn't stop it. I hated the world. But mostly I hated myself. And there I stayed, in this stupid vicious cycle for as long as I could remember. 

Throughout High School, I dated 20 boys. I wrote countless love letters and poems for other people, none of which was reciprocated. (Boys nowadays are sooo unromantic!) I didn't know what it was like to read a love letter written for me.

Then one day, through a therapy session, I wrote a love letter to myself. I wrote it on a small piece of yellow card. It became my very first love letter. And I felt.... like it was okay. Okay to not get any love letters before because even if all my exes wrote me love letters, the love letter I wrote for myself would be much much much more valuable. For the first time, I found out that I love myself. And I love myself intensely and indefinitely. And that awareness, that realisation, unlocked so many new possibilities for me. That moment when I first read my love letter out loud, I cried. That moment was priceless. 

Below was what I wrote :

My feelings about me are, I am fantastic! I am beautiful, elegant, smart, thoughtful, amazing, tech, obviously priceless, and I represent myself. I will boost myself when I am down, I will remind me that there's a peaceful place I can go to when the world gets too tiring or too adventurous. I am very windy and cold, but optimum temperature, so people don't have to wear sweater but there's no use for air conditioners as well. I am safe from harm's way. I will be my own saviour. I am my safety net but I am also a booster. I will be my own home. I am where I can belong, eat fat free ice cream and act silly and I'll be okay. 

It might not make sense. It didn't entirely make sense to me either. But that was okay because I wrote it with all my heart.

I know I got my confidence back the moment I took a picture with Kaka (a really pretty singer) and I posted the photo on Instagram not because Kaka was in it, but because I think I look really pretty in that photo! I didn't let Kaka be the main attention. My confidence radiated through the photo and I shone, as bright as she did. Maybe even brighter :)

I'm not sure what you will write in your letter. But I hope you find what you are looking for. 

Much love, 

Ikha

Grow Up

When I was a child, I couldn’t wait to grow up. Partly because grown-ups don’t have curfews, can stay up late at night and drive cars. But also because grown-ups have a lot more power. I remember seeing beggars come by our house and my grandfather would pass them some money. I remember watching the news and seeing wars, fights, and people crying. There were always people crying. And I remember telling myself, ‘When I’m bigger, I’ll make everything better’. That dream only solidified as I grew older.

When I was a child, people would tell me to dream big. People would tell me that being youthful is powerful. At school, teachers would tell us that we are the next generation that would rule the world. Every time I pretended to be Superman, people would call me cute. Being nice to others and helping the needy were actions that came naturally, without a second thought. ‘Destined for great things’, they would say.

Funny how all that changed.

As I grew older, I realise being a grown-up is not fun after all. For one, grown-ups complain about a lot of things but really, that’s all they do. They’re given power but they choose to throw it in the thrash. They’re given solutions and opportunities but they choose to be the problem.

‘Bribery is a way of life now. You want to survive, you adapt.’

‘Well, this is not Gandhi’s time anymore. If anyone starves to make a point nowadays, people wouldn’t even blink. Now it’s all about guns and blowing things up.’

‘Don’t be too naïve. Good people don’t exist anymore. You’re only going to get yourself hurt.’

‘Most friendships are fake. Be nice for the connections because in the end that’s what they want from you too.’

‘It’s not our responsibility. Leave the job for those with power.’

Any of the above sound familiar to you? I know it sounds familiar to me because these are the comments I get almost every other day from people around me. Ironically, these are the same people who always wish things would get better. They suffer, they complain and they wish. They wish for someone else to come up with the solution. If only I could tell them that by wishing hard enough, things will really get better. But I can’t. Because it’s not.

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing” – Edmund Burke

Things don’t have to be so complicated. You don’t need to be someone special. You don’t need to be rich, have extra-terrestrial powers or try to be anyone else for that matter. You just have to be willing enough to be the change instead of the problem. Until enough people realise that, things will not get better. 

If ‘changing the world mentality’ is a mentality only for the naïve, out-dated, immature and childish, then that's what I'd rather be. 

This article was featured in projectmonkeyx.weebly.com

Game Of Fate

Luck; a four letter word that has been popularly used and attributed to a big chunk of mankind’s achievement whilst it’s infamous brother, Unlucky, is attributed to most of mankind’s failure. To accept luck, one would have to also accept the idea that a random outside force is at work in blessing people randomly with achievements and cursing others with doom. Contradictory to the idea of absolute randomness, there are many beliefs that there are ways for one to appease this force of luck. A mere example would be to wear cheerful and striking colours over dark and gloomy ones, wear certain charms and to avoid places touched by death like the cemetery.

I used to believe in luck a lot. I would shrug off all my achievements by saying it was by luck and also blame luck on all the misfortunes that befell me. To one point, I blamed God for cursing me with unluckiness. Believing in luck also meant that while I was not snobbish, I undermined myself. I failed to see my strengths and instead saw them only as rare moments that I was blissed with luck. The thing with luck is; you are never certain of anything. You keep guessing without taking actions to be in control and that left me very uncertain and bitter most of the times. I was bitter because as I looked on to my ‘lucky’ friends, I wondered why I wasn’t more like them.

Then I started to adopt the belief in action. This is something more practical and provable. Action creates a reaction. The belief then is if I work hard enough, I am sure to achieve something. Whilst this makes sense and is also a common belief, it is also flawed. It is flawed because there is no limit or definition in the word ‘enough’. It is also flawed because the logic would then follow that we blame people on being poor and helpless. We blame people on deficiencies and death which some people do but I chose not to. I chose to disregard this belief because for one, it is very unfair (and inhumane) to fully blame the poor and the needy for their condition. Being born in a poor family is not a choice and once you are in the poverty cycle, it is quite impossible to climb back out without support from others. Second of all, in my belief of action is the solution to all problems, I lost sight of a lot of other things that mattered to me. There were always other people better than me with less effort which made me feel like I was never good enough. I began stressing out even more and pumping in more energy that I forgot what it meant to have fun and to truly live. Ties between friends and family were forgotten and ranked second to my pursuit of being ‘perfect’.

I think it was just as well that I finally learned my lesson. It was during my O Levels Examination. Economics was my strongest subject and it was also my favourite meaning that I spent a lot of time studying it compared to other subjects like Physics that I liked least. When the results came out, I got A’s for all my subjects including Physics (which I thought was hard) and Accounts (which I only finished the syllabus earlier that morning) except for Economics. I studied Economics for years and for years on end came up top in my class. During the real examination, I scored a C. It did not seem logical and it did not add up to my action = reaction equation. The tragedy broke my heart but it taught me a bigger lesson. It taught me another four letter word; Fate.

I am not referring to three old and blind witches wearing torn cloaks and bent over a ball of yarn that represents human lives. I am referring to yet another unseen force. Unlike luck, this force is not random; it is targeted and caters toward each individual. It took me awhile to truly understand how fate works and finally I came to a conclusion that fate is based on a few principles.

1. Fate is always directed towards giving you the best. The best differs from a person to another depending on what you need. The best also isn’t always what we have in mind. For fate stretches beyond the now, it takes into account the future. Trials and failures that you may be experiencing now are vital for you to get the best results in the future. It is vital to develop your strengths and stoicism. It builds your personality and prepares you for the future. Sometimes a failure is also a success in disguise. Each wrong turn you make, you make new discoveries, you meet new people and you learn new things. Fate gives you the nudges (sometimes a full blown hurricane) in life to ensure that you emerge as a better person.

2. Fate can only do so much, you do the rest. It’s like that cliché analogy; you can bring the horse to the riverbank, but you cannot force the horse to drink. It was by fate that I was offered a scholarship that I did not apply for to enrol in a private boarding high school. Most of my peers carried Chanel bags, iPhones and gadgets of the latest technology. Their parents drive Lamborghinis and Ferraris and would bring boxes of pizza for their friends to share during the weekends. On top of that, they were trained since young to swim, play various musical instruments and almost everyone had a plethora of talents to show off. At first, I buckled underneath the inferiority. I did not have my own hair stylist and I have never paid anyone to do my nails. I couldn’t swim, read musical notes and I did not have a personal tutor. I had all the excuses I need to back me up if I were to end up as a failure. Fate had presented me the opportunity. It was my choice to accept it. It took me some time but I finally saw that instead of lamenting, I had to use all the opportunities around me to grow. Someone I look up to once told me “a bird does not put its faith on the branch it clings to but the wings that help it soar”. Fate awarded me that scholarship, but it was I who grew my wings.

3. Fate is not magic. It is not a miracle that helps those in despair but is complacent. If you fail because you did not work hard for it, that is not fate. That really is just you. Fate only happens when you have tried your very best. Only then do you leave it all to fate and accept whatever that comes afterwards.

4. Fate demands faith. You need to believe with all your heart that the best will come. That if it’s not a happy ending, then it is not your ending yet for surely the ending IS happy. Fate needs you to understand that it is never false hope. It is never wrong to dream. It is never wrong to fly as high as you want to. Fate needs you to believe.

I am still learning what Fate really means and how it works. After all, I have not reached the end of my journey, there’s still so much to learn. At least now I am not worried. For whatever comes my way, I know that as long as I have tried my best, the best will come back to me. That was the promise that I made with Fate. A promise Fate made with everyone. A promise I am sure Fate will keep.   

Unconditional Love

In the end, we are all just humans. 

Broken on the idea that love, and only love can save us. 

I spent my entire life looking for unconditional love. In fact, I looked for it so hard, it broke me every time I thought I had found it but afterwards realised it came with a cost. Some told me I was being too naive, stuck in a world of fairies and happy endings, too far away from reality. Some said humans are incapable of unconditional love. Some looked at me with pity, and blamed it on my past and my broken family. In the end none of this was the cause. I realised that whilst I can see perfectly with my two eyes, my heart was blind.

Unconditional love is the perfect balance of pain and happiness. It is both love and hate. It is confusing and contradicting. It is bitter and sweet, strong yet volatile, as complex as the human beings themselves. It is flexible; stretching through time, space and matter. It is often mistaken, overlooked and taken for granted. But maybe it is so because unconditional love comes naturally; it is illogical neither is it by choice. 

Unconditional love is not a happy ending. It is a journey through hell. Yet it endures. It is almost masochistic! 

I found my unconditional love in my darkest hours. Ironically, I found love in anger. To be exact, I found it whilst listening to my unconditional love hurling curses at me. To be fair, I deserved it. Being a teenager is not something I am good at. I was crashing through life, like a full blown hurricane and I was leaving destruction in my wake. A lot of people were hurt and naturally, they were making sure I am well aware of their injuries. And naturally, I was hurt. It was bad enough that I was drowning in insecurities, guilt and self hate, now I was also burning in their flames of anger. 

While I was being burned though, they were caressing my wounds. They did not stop burning me, but they did not stop healing me either. 

To one point, I was so confused, I stopped to ask "Why not give up? Why do you still love me?". 

Unconditional love answered "I don't know. I just do" . 

It's not going to stop hurting. But neither does the love. 

Lucky are those who are able to see through the pain and see it for what it truly is.