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