I've always loved penning down my thoughts in the form of short poems/paragraphs. This is a series of mismatched thoughts written whilst taking public transport.
Short Writing
1; rush hour series
Personal Work, 2017
Rush Hour
​
rush hour, it's undeniable.
we're all at green light. tired, but still told to move quickly.
rush hour, it's mystifying.
it's like a bubble we're all entrapped in, by its beauty and infinite possibilities.
rush hour, it's unforgiving.
because when we stop, it doesn't wait.
and instead, it takes a part of you and creates this ginormous gap between you and everyone else.
Should have
​
packed train and dry throats.
i should've left the house with water.
i should've taken the other side.
unnerving silence and plastic rustling.
i should've slept the day away.
i should've never left this safe haven.
the train inches slowly towards the city.
it's all too vibrant, loud and different from the suburban parts i come from.
i should've stayed and listened.
i should've made peace with the pieces that make me.
new city, new people, new feelings but the same regretful should haves.
i should have been thankful.
i should've not let my shoulds overtake my mind.
Old aunties &
their plastic bags
​
be it groceries or buying 4d, it’s pretty much needed everywhere.
to store things
because it’s easier?
because they’re scared of losing,
forgetting it.
​
is that why many of them tend to collect stuff that are old?
because they are reminiscent collectibles?
like plastic bags, cardboard boxes
sounds pretty much like junk to us
but to them it’s something
they know they can hold on.
rely on.
​
might be a livelihood for some,
a hobby for others,
or simply,
a necessity.
Mismatched
​
it's fascinating how we make friends,
and how some of us become the best at doing so.
we're each like a piece of puzzle.
round edges and sharp edges, we have both.
sometimes other puzzles touch our edges and try to connect and more often than not,
t doesn't work out.
it's the puzzles that fit who we become best friends with in the end.
​
we might seem mismatched
and vastly different at times,
but what will never change is that we best fit each other like made-to-order gloves.
and somehow and some way amongst all that, our individual strengths make up for each other's weaknesses.
and that's the true beauty of a friendship.
Moments of Anger
​
baby bird,
you'll learn to fly by falling off the tree.
but don't hold grudges.
sometimes you feel this surge of anger,
the kind where you feel injustice and frustration.
​
perhaps it's the one you go:
why? i don't get it?
or maybe it's emotional blackmail.
funny how this anger works, isn't it?
​
my dear bluejay.
you hurt yourself,
exhaust all your energy and resources
just trying to find a way out.
when clearly the perpetrator doesn't feel
an inch of guilt nor regret.
​
in the end, it's the one with hands clasped so tight that can't let go.
it's you,
the bird whose wings has been clipped.
why?
because of that moment of anger that you sacrificed your wings and your nest for.
Cold Distance
​
it's kinda quiet. the kind of quiet that you'll find on plane or train rides. the kind where everyone looks at each other in silence as if they're waiting for one another to do something. some you could see having invisible formulas encircling around their valleyed eye bags, some you could see them reading off the MRT map in their uncommon accent and some you could see looking down at their tiny devices just like how i am right now. not a single word spoken, only the PA speaker reports about train faults and destinations. and in this silence, there's this cold distance between us all. as if we're just living for ourselves, without a single care about anyone else in the world.