Tag Archives: prompt


In college we did a quick-write in class today, writing for several minutes based on a word prompt i.e the word blink.

So here’s the unpolished quick-write:

Blink. It takes a second to be elsewhere, anywhere and everywhere, all at once, yet nowhere soon enough. The mind works in ways we cannot fathom, though we certainly try to understand. I close my eyes and see galaxies I’ll never know, speckled with stars like a semi-chaotic  splatter of an almighty paintbrush. Then I blink and see another scene before my eyes, that of a living room in disarray beyond the island that is my couch with socks scattered on the floor and pencils skittered between them, perhaps my unconscious homage to those galaxies represented on my floor. Indeed, there lie connections between reality and imagination. Just blink and you shall see them.


The Brutal Honesty Checklist

  1. Ensure you are prepared for this supposed ‘brutal honesty’ you seek because most people say they’d rather someone told them something to their face instead of behind their back but when it actually happens they have no idea what to do. Remember, sticks and stones may break your bones but names will certainly hurt you if you let them.
  2. Make sure the person from whom you expect honesty from is someone whose judgement is sound as opposed to askew. You wouldn’t demand a doctor to critique your essay on communism. At the end of the day, not everyone knows enough to be honest with you and it’s just absurd how we take the wrong people’s critique.
  3. It’s either brutal or honest never both. As Richard J. Needham said, “People who are brutally honest get more satisfaction out of the brutality  than out of the honesty.” People are just waiting to tear you apart. Does that qualify as brutal honesty? No, it does not. Don’t listen to it.

So after you’ve thought about it all, makes more sense to seek constructive criticism instead, doesn’t it?


A Modest Celebrity

If I were to be a celebrity for a day, I would like to be a modest one.

I want to…

Use my money to support my mom, buy her a car, pay off her mortgage because it’s the least I could do.

Play football with some friends (I’m hoping this celebrity is slightly better at the game than I am, though I am pretty good defense).

Always be happy and appreciative, making life look simple even though it’s not.

Play guitar in my spare time.

Do my part for charity and make a difference whether it’s meeting sick children or organising a massive event to raise money for a cause I believe in, maybe autism.

Know what it feels like to give people hope.

Smile so much my face hurts and laugh so much I can’t breathe.

In short, I would like to be Niall Horan.

But only for a day.

happy niall


Little Things

“Beauty lies in the bond that is shared by two people whose differences are so vast yet have the little things in common; choosing to become fond over the minute details rather than segregate based on the bigger picture.”

I still remember the day he tugged me aside on the night of my birthday, midst the happy people wishing me well and joking at my expense with ridiculous stories from high school and kindergarten.

He said “Come with me for a second.” and I did. Not to a breezy balcony or starlit street, nothing overly dramatic but a back stairwell instead.

Having been friends for a long time, I thought nothing all too much of the ambiguous peremptory gesture of asking for a few minutes with me. I just didn’t know.

“So, the girls were going shopping for your presents and asked if I wanted them to pick up something on my behalf and I said yes.” He explained. “That’s why I supposedly gave you one of those wallets for girls things…whatever.”

I smiled, knowing full well he was talking about clutches. He never did remember these sorts of things.

He continued, “So, I actually wanted to give you this for your birthday.” He extended a rectangular shaped package, gift wrapped in purple with a bow. It was a tad bit clumsy, indicating he’d wrapped it himself which was nice of him, really. I didn’t expect it.

He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to pry the gift wrap off. So I did and when I saw what was inside, I was touched.

“You bought me a book?” I asked, surprised. He smiled to the side and before he could answer I just hugged him. One of those tight hugs that are supposed to say what you can’t out loud. The one where the huggee understands what the hugger means and hugs you back just as tight. One of those.

It’s true, I knew a lot of people who’d have scoffed or asked what the value of the book was but truthfully it wasn’t a first edition or a fancy copy or anything at all. It was just a book you could pick up at a local bookstore. But that’s not even close to the point.

“I wasn’t sure if I were going to get you this since I don’t read at all and you read a lot and I didn’t have any idea exactly what you’d like but…if I know you well enough, I think you’d like this.” He rambled as I stared at the paperback in my hands.

I waved away his doubt saying, “I love it.”

He nodded, thrusting his hands into his pockets like the way he always did.

“I’ll start reading it the minute I get home.” I promised genuinely.

He laughed in jest. “You have a sad social life.”

“Yes well that’s why I spend time with you, isn’t it?” I retorted, joining in on the joke.

He smiled and then suggested we head back to the table. I held the book as close to me as I could. My thumb graced the pages and the binding securely rested against my side as we walked back, the discarded wrapping paper in the other hand.

All the while I was thinking.

You see, the true point was that he’d gone into a bookstore and picked it up on his own. And this was the boy who never finished reading a book in his entire life apart from To Kill a Mockingbird and even that was for a school requirement.

Because he went into that bookstore without a clue of what to expect (just as I would in a store with sports merchandise) and picked up a book because either it reminded him of me or he thought hard enough about whether I’d like it enough to give it to me. It wasn’t even a book I’ve been caught staring at through the display window or whilst browsing the aisles, nor one I’d previously mentioned in wanton. It was a genuine gift rife with thought.

And sadly, that was something I hadn’t been given in a long time. So yes, I’ll admit I teared up a bit. Because he dusted away the glitz and glamour behind extravagant gifts and gave me something much more important. Gratitude, realisation, a new book.

And a new outlook.

For I knew him as the boy who strummed his guitar and sang in his spare time. The football enthusiast. The one who wants to drive to McDonalds late in the night, a few minutes before it closed and…my friend.

Now, every time I read that book, I remember this moment.

Because while the world is preoccupied with grand standing gestures and extraordinary miracles, I remember it’s the little things that matter.

And that is the key to my contentment.

That and the lad who gave me the book.


This is a piece of fiction but I suppose these types of moments make you love your significant more 🙂 Gotta love love




Binding Judgement- Of Books and covers

I’m not ashamed to say that I do judge books by their cover. Why? Because when book covers are designed, there is careful thought and artistic consideration that goes into it and quite honestly, saying that the cover is meaningless is insulting to those who spend time working on them. Covers act as a means of grabbing attention and conveying a certain impression on the soon-to-be-reader (or not) about the contents of the book. A book targeted for those interested in romance is obviously different than that of action and mystery lovers which you can see below:


Personally, I think the cover changes everything. The covers of books I read as a child have now changed and its hard to get used to them at first, but once you look at them in a linear perspective of time, you can see how we’ve changed over the years in terms of visuals and graphics.

Take the Harry Potter covers for example…

and the Series of Unfortunate Events.

I’d actually like to dedicate this post to covers, paying homage to them in fact. Most of the time, it is based on the cover that I can tell if I will enjoy a certain book and unlike what most people seem to think, it’s not a bad thing. It’s a judgmental aid, if you will.

It’s judging other people based on the cover of the book they’re reading that’s the terrible habit. To each his own and we have to respect that.


Unsafe Containers- Grief

“The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”

                                             – Thomas Gray

Sing them to Sleep

Sing them to sleep

the lost and the found, the survivors

who lie resting in the ground

triumphing from the  testing

of life, till death came to them

and stole their last breath

Sing them to sleep

the souls of the departed

find a melody so strong

that can fill cracks, crevices, holes

A lullaby carrying along

Sing them to sleep

Sing them to sleep

Sing them…

to sleep…

to slee…




A Dip into the Stream of Consciousness

Perhaps being a little too literal, this prompt makes me think of the stream of consciousness as a physical stream through which we all wade in as the years go by. So how do you approach the bipolar waves, going from calm to torrential? Do you dip your toes in to test the waters or will that be enough to sweep you away to a space unknown to the consciousness itself? Do you wear a life jacket for fear of drowning in it because the possibility of it happening is so vivid in my mind.

I imagine being a spectator of the stream, watch ideas and concepts merge and disseminate into one another, chaotically organised, connected by the simplest of threads. One minute I’m thinking of psychology and the fascination it holds, then I’m led to the world of Inception. Dreams are only a part of the human experience, while consciousness is everything. Or so we like to think?

While the stream of consciousness seems turbulent enough, it is that of the unconscious working of the mind that really is the scariest of rides. Do we dare take a seat?

Beware it is the darkest recesses of the mind, filled with horror stories from your life, locked away for the sake of sanity but should it be unlocked, would anyone in fact, ever be truly sane? Are we all just disturbed and insane underneath masquerading as functional societal beings because of a mental mechanism? Should we be less afraid to embrace our so called demons? Maybe it will make us all the better for it…because pretending to be pristine is a deception. Do we want to pretend with our own selves?

It certainly is something to think about.


Snapshot Stories- Heights



With ideas it is like with dizzy heights you climb: At first they cause you discomfort and you are anxious to get down, distrustful of your own powers; but soon the remoteness of the turmoil of life and the inspiring influence of the altitude calm your blood; your step gets firm and sure and you begin to look – for dizzier heights.

In my senior year of high school, just after my midterms, my two best friends and I had a lot of free time and nothing new to do. But, you see there was a park near my house and I had an idea, which some may call rather stupid but it didn’t matter to us then, or even now, for none of us would have done it any differently if given the chance to do the day over again. For in that park was a sky high water tank with a rickety ladder that wove its way up to a dizzying height, something that looked terrifying but to three bored girls, looked like a challenge. Boredom is a dangerous ignition to acts of thoughtlessness, after all so we climbed the tower. At the top was a tree harbouring a wasps nest and I prayed harder than I ever had that I wouldn’t be stung only to tumble to my very sure death. Thank goodness I didn’t otherwise I wouldn’t have been here today writing about it. So went on to sit up there on the precipice of the world, amidst the blue sky and screamed out like we were queens of the world, then hushed down to talk about anything and everything. It was great. No malls, no movies not shopping, just us and the open air, on top of the world.

At the end of it all, that climb, though not easy sparked in my mind an idea. That the world is vast, as it spread through my eyes and I could make it what I want it to be. I had to find my corner and defend it like a fortress under attack. And I needed my allies fighting by my side. So with conviction, I found my passion and have stuck to it, despite the difficulty. It was a lesson well learned.

Though that old water tanker is long gone now, it is a part of something forever. An idea. And that is a powerful weapon to wield. One I will not forget. Forever in my holster.


Trick Questions

I know reporters can seem pesky but they’re not all like that and it’d be an honour to be interviewed by a Pulitzer-winning journalist.

That being said my three I-never-want-to-be-asked questions are:

1. How religious are you?

Not only do I make it a point to never discuss religion and politics with others, I’m also religiously confused. I’ve alternated from the religion I was raised in to being an atheist to being an agnostic so while some may call me godless, all I can say is I don’t know. And that’s an answer many don’t seem to like.

2. Tell us about your latest relationship.

If I were in a relationship at the time, I would like to keep details about it to myself. I wonder how some celebrities deal with being hounded by this question as opposed to asking them questions about their careers.

3. What is your take on alcohol and drugs?

I’m a social drinker and I enjoy my drinks so that’s not a problem for me but I’ve smoked (cigarettes not marijuana) on occasions and found it isn’t for me. However, majority of the people I know have smoked pot and that shouldn’t be a reason to judge them and the decision is theirs at the end of the day. I’d have to say I’m a neutral pacifist between those who are anti-drugs and alcohol and those who abuse them.

I may have answered these questions now but I probably wouldn’t be as comfortable speaking about it than writing about it, especially directly to another person.