30 Minutes of Traveling: Lines

These lines make me nervous. I love lines otherwise, lines that run through pages, lines that unmask people, lines that make up stories, lines that can be spoken, lines with words on them. But this is a queue. And I’m not fond of lines that are made up of people. It makes me anxious, like I’m doing something wrong. 

What is worse is perhaps not the number of people in front, but rather the ones after me. They are not many, I’m almost at the end. It would be over, only when its over. We’re moving at the exact opposite of what might be the speed of light. Why are there so many people here? Why am I here in particular? I don’t seem to find the answers. My only source of entertainment here is to imagine, turn these people into characters. Turn myself into one. Nobody seems to know where this is heading. 

There’s a couple in front of me, one offering the other to stand in their place. Rather sweet. But I wonder do they know I’m here right at their back writing about them in words they would probably never recognize or come across. 

The sun is generous today, warm and stark. But the wind blows. Faces of confusion everywhere. Why is it that they do not know. What is it that I do not as well. People have stories of letters everywhere. I’ve been standing here for hours now. I’m small and petite so I can slip in between without getting my hands or legs stuck. 

After a few hours, the chaos becomes a part of me. I begin to enjoy it in a very odd way. The people become a little familiar. Maybe they are not strangers anymore. After all even families are strangers that decided to stick together for a long period of time. Lovers. Friends. The universe. All of them strangers who decided to stay a little longer. 

Perhaps this line too, a preplanned, preconceived act of destiny or of choice. Let’s find out, shall we?

On Happy Endings

Oh I love happy endings. Who doesn’t? They are nice and sweet, leave you with the fuzzy warm feeling inside. They make you oh-so-hopeful. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it. But its representation as the final and fatal is likely to be less than sweet at times.

The one thing straight forwardly wrong with the happy ending representation is how it overshadows the entire process, the journey. In an on going universe nothing truly is final. It’s a journey.

Happy ending is an outcome, of actions we take. But how often do actions know where they are headed to?

This representation of happy endings as the all-end-goals have us seeking for resolutions in the most desperate of situation, and we’d get sad when the ending isn’t pretty neat before the credits roll. Of course we’d be sad, we have projected a piece of ourselves into the character on screen, or on the page. Loose ends pinch us, because we have a lot of loose ends all over ourselves.

Over focused happy endings take the charm away from the entire process, tying our actions to an ultimate outcome which is supposed to be ‘happy’ and an ‘end’. But think of a time when you couldn’t take the next step itself. How would you imagine the end, no matter how happy? You’re in between moments, soaking in time. Maybe there’s no need to tie the ends sometimes, maybe they cannot be tied at times.

We’re here in between, in the middle of a nasty process of trying, failing, learning, leaving, moving, grieving, overcoming; in between transitions waiting to take the next step. Maybe we already have, maybe we haven’t. It isn’t in the end.

Begin Again

A beautiful day
is ending,
let the night rise.
Look at the moon
and the starlight.
How would you know
its beauty
if you didn’t let go
of the day.

A beautiful day
is ending,
for another shall begin.
Maybe we shall
see all of the lights
again, far away
from here.

When you see them,
your eyes will burn bright.
And I hope you will
think of me, again,
even if
for a fraction of time.
I shall for sure,
because you’ve
always been here,
in my sweet memory.

I will think of you
as a star in my sky,
and as we move
in directions
that are different,
I will pray for the best.

If stars stayed together,
we wouldn’t have
constellations
to look up to.
We shall make a good one.

We are all star dust,
after all.

It will begin again.


Some things can’t be said, I’ve realized. My throat runs dry, I forget. But they can be written. They can always be written. I will try to write them.

Journey of Seasons | Summer | A Poem

If you must bring upon
your rays of heat,
shine on,
beautiful they are.
I shall not ask for the clouds
to cover themselves over you,
or for the rain to drown
you in its waters.

I shall only ask
for the gentle wind to blow,
to become my companion
in this journey of seasons.

When snow comes
I shall look upon your heat
longingly and so I shall
not ask you to leave.
I shall only ask for little
drops of kindness
everywhere you go. 

Without your rays,
what would I see?
A dark abysmal pit
devoid of hope.
Without your rays,
what would I see?
No colors to embrace. 

And so, I shall only ask
for the gentle wind to blow,
to become my companion
in this journey of seasons. 


It’s summer and the heat gets a little unbearable at times, especially when I’m on the road, with a heavy backpack, lunch on one hand and the umbrella on the other. But it’s divine when the wind blows, gentle enough to sooth the blazing heat across the sky. It’s like my heart becomes a little lighter and nature reminds me of balance, of the beauty of the little moments, of the escaping moments of satisfaction.