Plot Twist

The thing about depression is,

I always expect the worst


When the worst got real

I even get half satisfied that I’m right

That my depression is right


And to make depression right,

Sometimes I unconsciously elaborate things to meet those worst expectations


For those moments of unconsciousness, I am sorry….

At plan station, sept 6th 2017


Just a thought

Why people die?

“Today or tomorrow sickness and death will come (they had come already) to those I love or to me; nothing will remain but stench and worms. Sooner or later my affairs, whatever they may be, will be forgotten, and I shall not exist. Then why go on making any effort? . . . How can man fail to see this? And how go on living? That is what is surprising! One can only live while one is intoxicated with life; as soon as one is sober it is impossible not to see that it is all a mere fraud and a stupid fraud! That is precisely what it is: there is nothing either amusing or witty about it, it is simply cruel and stupid.” – Leo Tolstoy

No. That is not the correct question. The right one is; why people live?

Why bother to live to struggle every day and every time?

I’ve read a few articles on the reasons, most of them says to find the meaning of live, to fulfill ones destiny.

But what if I don’t even know my destiny and I’m exhausted searching for it and the meaning of my life.

What if -no offence to universe and God- I’m just a drop in the ocean?

“You are not a drop in the ocean.

You are the ocean in a drop”. – Rumi

Well, maybe that’s right if you see it in the perspective of human complexities. But what I mean here is, human’s life not the human itself. The act not the actor.

If like Tolstoy said everything finalise in death, would an act of taking a shortcut is a kind and smart one?

My therapist said I should stay away from that thought. In my defence, I’m not thinking of doing it to myself, I am just thinking it as an educational subject. So it’s fine, I think. It’s ok it’s ok

Still, the question stand.

It’s a matter of efficiency, why bother if everything will eventually disappear. But by thinking that I can actually go higher to a question why create the universe, why create everything in the first place if in the end everything have an expiration date, it will vanish without trace.

Is the effort of creation worth the journey to the end?

You can laugh at that question, optimist

But dear, you can’t deny that you too have an expiration date

Stop snickering, start thinking


Triggered st., aug 30th 2017

Inside dispute with The Beast

I can’t live without you

I can’t live with you

In this dying of the light, dear

Let me bleed

Let me breath

Pour some guilt and we’ll be perfection

Round and round we dance

Till our sight hazy, till our soul heavy

Dear, come and I’ll be your protection

Mister, please leave me alone


Oh he did it all to spare me from the awful things in life that come

And he cries and cries




In his bitter embrace, May 5th, 2017

Priorities, mother

“Do you want to live, honey?”, the old lady ask, a glint of hope shine in her wrinkled eyes.

In the square white room with a window looking to the park, the young lady in questioned, Eirene lay on a white bed, closes her eyes, her tears rolled out, she slowly shakes her head.

“Eirene, sweetheart”, the old lady hold Eirene’s bony hand, “ we have a donor, we finally have it, you just need to sign this, and your heart will be as good as new, and you will be happy”. She tried her hardest to smile and pass her optimism even just a bit to her daughter.

Eirene open her eyes, she look sideway to the window, there’s no sun ray only grey cloud and bristle of wind. “Do you really believe that, mom?” She said softly. “I’m 25, not 12 I know there is no connection between heart transplant and depression”.

The old lady sigh softly, she gaze around the room, making sure there are no sharp things, she lower her gaze and goes “But do you know that physical illness could have an effect on mental illness?” her grip goes tighter on her hand’s daughter.

“There is no guarantee” Eirene reply after a solid minute passed.

“But we can try, one illness at a time”, she now place both her hands on her daughter’s. But Eirene keep her empty gaze out in the sky above and her mouth shut

“I’ll be with you, always, love” the old lady fix her gaze on her daughter’s skinny face.

Eirene keeps her silence.

The old lady continued, “what if it is my heart? Will you still refuse it?”.

In a heartbeat, in whisper, eirene replies, “I’ll kill myself before you had the chance to operate”.

The old lady try to contain her tears but it’s stills welled up, she release her grip, close her mouth with her hand and clutch her heart, the UNICEF badge in her uniform wrinkled, she whisper between sob, “honey, you’re breaking my heart”.

Eirene close her eyes, “if you do it, you will break mine too”.

Can’t contain her cry, the old lady get out trying to calm herself, upon the door she said, “I’ll come back later”.

By a minute the door closed, Eirene open her eyes, walking barefoot, like ghost, hollow, she sneaks into the doctor’s room, she opens the file, it was confirmed, her mother’s name written as the organ donor, complete with a sign and date of operation. With no changing expression she closes it, grabs a cutter from the doctor’s desk and walking slowly, quietly, with an empty gaze, straight to her room.

Eirene writes on a paper, close her door, and slide the paper down the door, lie down, take some sleep pills, and slit both her hands.

An hour later after she calms herself, the old lady walk back, through the hallway of the echo from screaming, laughing, crying of other patients. At the end of the hallways, in front of the door she sees the paper, and read it:


To the mother of all children,

Your life is more meaningful than mine. In my whole life I love you, always. But I am sick. From the bottom of my heart, I am deeply sorry, mom. 





The old lady open the door, she drop on her knees crying her heart out until no sound coming from her grieve.

The doctors and nurses rush on her direction, a nurse lead her to sit on the sofa on Eirene’s room, “madam secretary, please sit here while we take care of miss Eirene” Said the nurse

The old lady mumble in her tremble like she said these words to herself, “I have saved hundreds of children, how can I couldn’t save my own, my only child?”.






Hospital bed, May 31st, 2017






Preference on Greek Goddess

Eirene – Goddess of peace and spring


To all creature whom and which I care and consider precious,


No i’m not blue, I don’t know what spectrum am I in honestly

But I have in my hand a bundle of joy, the gift shining merrily

My happy friends standing, waiting, smiling, expecting my reaction when I open this bundle

But what if, when I open the bundle, it’s the only happiness and colour in my life

What if, after I open the bundle, after the euphoria passed, my life goes back to dull and colourless

The little colour splatter of anticipation in which excite me, is enough to keep my vein flows

My cowardice have won,

I hug my bundle of joy tightly,

with a state of mind to open it indifinitely

hoping my happy friends willing to wait with me



On happy procrastination, May 23rd 2017

Can the dead love?

Can the dead love?

He loves you

He loves you the most

Love, love, love

They chant, they sing, they dance


Waving their scarred hand

Stomping their bleed feet

His courtesy


The dead’s love is alive

As long as the chant live

On and on in my vein


But how can I feel his love

If he sang it through teary eyes, chapped lips, and broken hearted mass

But darling, the dead do love

The song continue




Apr 16th, 2017

In between

Under the water I rest my heart

Up above the cloud my mind stood

I try to paint a picture

Yet word escape me


All the butterflies flap its wings!

. . .

All the fairy’s lights twinkling!

. . .

Oh, the rainbows they’re shining!

. . .

Darling, look!

. . .


I know

I want you to know too

I want my love ones to know too

How do I tell them with a blank canvas

How do I show them with words so dim


At harmony boulevard, depression st, Apr 22nd 2017

The Beast

When I lay with the beast sleep doesn’t come

When I lay with the beast my friends are distant

When I lay with the beast confidence turn to dust

When I lay with the beast the will to live get away and w ay and w a y and w   a  y

The worst part is when epiphany come knocking, saying,

All along I am the beast

(I am not the beast)


At beast’s side, Apr 12th 2017

A time like this

I love Sunday noon the most

The time where everything is at rest from busy days ago

The sun place itself in the fluff of cloud

A couple birds have a little talk in branches away

I lay my light body with closed eyes

The only noise in the room is my heartbeat

It’s like time moving slowly

Everything at place in harmony

For a moment,

A glimpse

The world –however small its range- feel well


Under the roof, apr 16th, 2017