a daylight dream

Silence is a beautiful weapon that shields me from all that is out there in the world in terms of irrational wars and fights being continued and pronounced in loops, which only devastate the initiators. Silence to me is a detachment from my mind and its stride to be right, always, to defeat the other, to bring down and humiliate. Silence is a beautiful ending to a frustration that has no beginning nor ending, inflicting harsh words and criticisms. Silence ends it where it started from the very beginning. Silence might seem like a sign of weakness, of not being able to fight back. But personally, it’s only a language that speaks one mindful choice: I refuse to surrender my humanity in circumstances that are deemed useless and harming. I refuse to listen to my ego, or the constant rush of reactions. Silence requires endurance and calmness, but it brings back things to where they should be. It tames the wildfires. It shines a light through the stormy clouds— it was nothing aft...

Sometimes in life, you are alone. Both physically and emotionally. There are times when you suddenly find yourself detached in all dimensions, and all of the people and thoughts you used to cling to somehow move further away, until you’re left with this vast emptiness— an expansive, dark and frightful emptiness, encrypted with mysteries you cannot yet decipher, and all you are left with is this space, and you don’t know what to do with it. It’s a long night for I spend it analysing this space. I see my dearest memories so far away and no longer real, their impact pulsating in my veins in shocking frustrations. Maintaining this beautiful impact is arduous, it requires a stream of forgiveness and peace, one that cannot always be attained midst the overwhelm and confusion. I spend some time feeling my eyes tear slowly, experiencing the fires in my chest. The fires that desire so much, that long for a past projected irrationally into a future one cannot control nor paint. With...

Home : The outside is a picture of rooms and walls. Chambers and boundaries. Space and its complementary limits. The outside shows humans, like a reflection in a mirror, their movements monotonous and stale, their flaws recognisable and painted with all the divergent colours of imperfections that could ever exist. The outside shows chips of paint and wearing building blocks, garments misplaced and chaos in infinitesimal terms. It shows a material molecule in the midst of many others, and that is all that there is. Yet, when you’re home, you are not outside. Home welcomes you in, it soaks you like a tidal wave with a picture in motion, its spiralling waves the emotions that reign the journey, that make it possibly worthy. The inside is laughter and pillows cuddled to the chest. It is stories being told with eyes avid with pretence. It is light flooding on the floor, through waltzing curtains, beating with breezes speeding with the seasons. It caresses the sleeping faces and w...