Category Archives: Writing

Voice Of The Forest


Once more I find myself too surrounded and overwhelmed by assignments to write anything new. Luckily, I was digging through old files again and found this essay I wrote in high school for Green Week. Enjoy!

It is such a beautiful day. The bright crimson sun is shining its light down on the cascading forest below, glazing hills and valley with tinges of white and basking the population of lush greenery with a comforting, warm glow. Today is one of those better days; it is not often that such beauty is preserved for my being to witness. Beneath the shade I cast on the ground, flowers are beginning to open, as excited as I am to start the day. I have a lot to do today; I must absorb as much sunlight as I can before the clouds begin to circle, and I must work on bearing fruit.

Oh, how silly of me! I have forgotten to introduce myself to you. I am a tree. Yes, that’s right, a tree! I have leaves and shoots and a rough bark and tough roots, and I’m brightly coloured with scarlet fruit. As you can tell, I am quite proud of my appearance. My friends always chide and reprimand me for being so vain, but I am a creation of God. How can I not find myself wonderful?

I am not all just looks, you know. I am useful, too, and I have brains to go with my brawn. I am home to a family of little sparrows, and my trunk houses a pair of squirrels. The birds and squirrels always argue, but I think they secretly enjoy being neighbours. I must not forget to tell you that Mr and Mrs Sparrow’s eggs hatched yesterday. I am so excited to house them on my branches.

Hang on a moment. I can hear someone coming, a human. It is not unusual for people to take relaxing walked in the forest, and I am always especially ecstatic when they stop to rest beneath me, using my trunk as a backrest. There is a group of children that comes here on the weekends and they always play hide-and-seek, often scurrying to find sanctuary behind me or clambering up my branches to hide. I hope it’s them, as they are always so fun to watch.

However, I soon find that this is not the case. It is, in fact, around ten adult males. They are dressed oddly in faded blue jeans, long-sleeved shirts, strange orange vests and bright yellow hats that look hard and sturdy, and each one is carrying a can of some sort. I have never had problems with humans before, but for some reason, I feel a little wary, as if I sense something bad is going to happen.

The men shake the cans in their grips then begin to spray symbols onto my brothers and sisters. It takes me a moment to see what they are writing, but when I do, I notice that my siblings all have bright red “X”s plastered onto their barks. I am afraid that they will spray me, too, but they do not. Instead, after half an hour, they walk away and disappear through the pathway. Neither my family nor my friends know what the “X” means, but we can only hope it is not anything bad.

The morning slowly fades away, passing into noon. I am about to doze off when I hear a loud rumbling emitting from the pathway. The ground shakes beneath me as I turn my attention towards it. Before long, I see an entire row of trucks moving up the driveway, followed by a few vehicles that I think are called bulldozers. They have huge wheels and a big shovel-like mechanisms attached to their front. I wonder what they are doing here, and then I recognise the men driving them as the same ones from this morning. The trucks are noisy, and I sense the sparrows and squirrels become frightened. I wish the humans would turn their machines off.

Suddenly, the bulldozer moves forward speedily, and its shovel slams into the lower trunk of one of my brothers. I watch in horror as my brother attempts to remain rooted, but the automation is too strong and he falls over, crashing thunderously to the ground. Meanwhile, some more people have arrived, carrying long, sharp weapons with rotating blades. My sister tells me that it is a chainsaw, but I barely hear her as a man strikes his weapon into my best friend’s bark, breaking him open, and he falls to the forest floor in a crumpled heap, his leaves tangling together messily, branches splintering and falling apart dramatically.

I feel myself tremble in fear. I want to scream, but how can I? I have no voice, and the humans regard me lowly. I can do nothing but look on and grieve as all my relatives are cut cleanly across their centre, each one tumbling in slow motion to the forest floor, and are carried to rest in the trucks. Animals scurry across the floor in frantic panic, but few manage to escape as they are crushed beneath fallen trunks and perish. Even if they escape, where are they to go? This forest had been their home for years.

The destruction rages on until the sun begins to set, and dark, ominous clouds begin to gather in the sky. I hear one of the men shout something, but I am too numbed by pain and sadness to pay attention. Then one of the men starts to spray red paint onto the remaining trees. This time, he does not leave me out. The paint feels cold on my trunk, alien and unwelcome. The men gather their belongings and leave, just as the first splashes of rain begin to drizzle onto me. The paint does not wash off, even as the thunder cracks across the sky and droplets hit the ground at increasing speed.

I guess this is my fate, then. I have often heard stories of killed trees and what becomes of them. I am told that they are made into paper and furniture, which are both useful objects for humans. I suppose that would be alright, as long as I am still useful, but I would really rather not work for heartless, cruel humans who can murder and kill, taking away lives without a single thought, leaving destruction in their wake.

I hope one day, I get made into paper; for a school magazine, perhaps. Then maybe, just maybe, I will be able to tell someone my story, and that someone will care about it, but I doubt it. I have seen many humans today, but I have seen no humanity. Hopefully, there is still some love left in the world, but I cannot know for sure. I guess I will just have to wait and see.




Once again, I found myself digging through old files in search of an important document. In the process, I found this short little thing I came up with in high school. Thought I might as well share it.

I coax you in, deeper and deeper into an endless slumber, and slowly you emerge, out of thin air, into the space in front of me. I tense in anticipation at the confused and slightly frightened look in your eyes. I watch the bewilderment in your gaze freeze with horror at the sight of me.

You are terrified. You begin to run away, in a flurry of panic. But this is my territory, and this is my land. I can shift the ground beneath your feet, make you stumble, make you fall. This is my world, and you play by my rules.

I hear you screaming. I hear you crying. You are afraid, and that is understandable, but I could not care less. I do not need to chase after you, but if you dash, I will. Just the sight of me makes you faint, and that is good enough for me.

So you decide to run. A noble choice, but you simply cannot outsmart me. I can match your pace with one stride. You have a head start, and you run ahead, but I will catch up.

I am gaining on you. I am catching up to you. I play one last trick – I make something sprout from the ground. You trip. You come crashing to the ground. Luckily you cannot feel pain in my world.

I advance on you, and I see my reflection in your wide eyes – it is different now, than it was with the last person. Perhaps I was once a banshee, and before that I was a murderer, and the first time I was a ghost. But now I watch my reflection with fascination – it is something new and different each time.

I decide to quit wasting my time, and I pounce.

I land on the ground, crunching sickeningly against the world I created. You have slipped through my fingers again. You have escaped my grasp, you have escaped sleep. One day I really must learn what I am doing wrong, why I never catch you.

I am a figment of your imagination. I am not real. I am the most horrifying thing your brain could conceive.

I am your worst nightmare.



I was digging through some old files in search of a document and I discovered this poem I wrote back in high school as an entry in the school magazine. I thought I’d share it because I probably won’t have time to write anything decent this week, and also because…well, why not?


I have the strength

to move mountains

to climb hills

and to cross rivers.


I have the strength

to stand up on my own

to get up after a fall

and to escape the deepest of trenches.


I have the strength

to claw to the surface

to find the light at the end of the tunnel

and to make it out of the dark.


I have the strength

to do whatever I set my mind to.


I have the strength.

It just took some time for me

to find it.

And don’t forget, you have that strength, too. 



I am a wanderer by nature. My feet tend to unconsciously take my body places I did not originally intend to go, my heart aches for distant lands, my brain yearns for new sights to process and experiences to learn from. Anymore than my body and restless soul cannot be kept in one place, my mind and being cannot be kept grounded.

…which is why things like this tend to happen during a particularly uninteresting class.

In a monochrome, grey, air-conditioned room, my eyes may appear to rest upon the screen before me, indicating that I am attentive and present, but as a monotonous voice drones on, my gaze minutely averts, flicking around the whitewashed walls and noting the exact shade of the floor while my imagination, inevitably, begins to wander. I watch as swirls of yellow reminiscent of jasmines begin to creep upwards from the corners of the not-quite-white walls, filling the blankness with vibrant hues. The floor appears to begin to fissure, cracks surfacing against the papered cream floors, a violent orange threatening to burst from beneath the cement like molten lava. Images of starry skies filled with falling comets crashing down towards me start to form on the ceiling. As much as I try, I cannot control the directions my brain chooses to shoot off towards when held inactive for too long.

Longingly, I glance briefly out the window. My vision becomes enraptured by trees swaying gently in the breeze, an azure blue sky with just enough fluffy white cloud cover to promise a pleasantly warm (not sweltering hot) day outside. What I wouldn’t give to be basking in the golden glow of the sun instead of the glare of electronic white light! It would certainly be far more rewarding than wasting away seated in a cold, understated room where the musty scent of unwashed carpet, underused air-conditioning and damp walls mixes in with the lingering smell of metallic steel that is often associated with computers. Outside, just within my line of vision, someone saws down a tree growing right next to the windows of the library. It tumbles over, toppling far too fast, and crashes directly into the green-tinted glass panes beside it. There’s the too-loud tinkering of shattering glass, the screech of tables and chairs possibly being thrown askew, then silence.

I blink, and the destruction is gone – the tree is upright and sturdy as ever in its place, windows of the library untouched apart from the occasional gentle scrape of the tree’s branches against it. The person with the saw is nowhere in sight. Realistically speaking, I suppose it would be pretty difficult to cut down a tree with a manual saw. I shake my head and turn my attention back to the lesson at hand.

The clock on the wall ticks with a slow, determined rhythm, as if taunting me and reminding me that every moment I spend cooped up in this building is another moment that I’m away from the somewhat fresh air (“fresh” being the relative term here) I look forward to taking in almost every second of the day. As I stare at the second hand moving at its uniform, agonizingly slow pace, the hour hand begins to swivel in the opposite direction. My eyes widen minutely before I force them shut, knowing it’s just another illusion – my restless mind playing tricks on me. But this time, merely blinking does not chase away the relentless imagined vision playing before me like a strip of film that doesn’t fit with a movie reel. The hour hand swings dangerously fast, picking up speed and spiraling around the clock face until it is nothing but a bullet-like blur, racing past the other two hands and setting the clock’s face slowly ablaze until the plastic covering it shatters, sending all three hands shooting out of it with alarming accuracy right towards me –

I snap out of it as the teacher calls my name. Yes, what was it? What’s the answer to that question? Umm, it’s A, ma’am. Yes, I’m sure. Thank you, ma’am.

The crisis averted, I stare up at the ceiling once more, and this time, I do not even have to wait before dark, ominous thunderclouds appear high above me in place of the plaster and electronic lighting. Fiery hail is swiftly approaching from above, falling rapidly but with the same slow-motion melodrama one is always subjected to watching in B-grade disaster movies. A hailstone crashes through the already scarlet sky, slamming down with incredible force onto the wooden table before me. The stench of melting plastic and rusting metal hits my senses as ember begins to catch on the notebook that I’m messily taking notes with. I feel the heat rising around me, fumes assaulting my nostrils and flames beginning to engulf my body, prickling on my skin painfully, and –

Just like that, as suddenly as it arrived, the visual vanishes. It is just me, staring at a brightly-coloured Powerpoint presentation, desk and computer fully intact, bitingly cold air raising goosebumps on my flesh instead of fire. Class is over. Wordlessly, I pack my bag, sling it over my shoulder nonchalantly, stand up and start to walk away. As I leave, I cast a final glance sweepingly back over the room.

“What you looking at?” one of my friends asks me, only half-curious to know.

I shake my head to indicate that it’s nothing.

“Dude, how were you not falling asleep just now? I was, like, dying already. That class is so boring.”

I shrug. “I dunno. Got a lot to occupy me with, I guess.”

My friends stare at me, dumbfounded.

I look over my shoulder one more time at the room, and am just able to make out the lava sprouting out of the floor, the bright-yellow swirls on the walls, my flaming desk, the shattered clock face, and the ruined library in the distance. I smile reassuringly to my friends and close the door behind me with a final click.

They need never know.

A Whole New World


I am more than aware that my last post was around two and a half years ago. I lost my muse right around that time and stopped being able to come up with new ideas every once in a while. My inspiration well sort of dried up. But beginning sometime in March, so many new ideas have been creeping up and pouncing on me that I just have to get them out and down somewhere.

But before I get into that, first thing’s first – where have I been?

Let’s begin with two words: existential crisis. If any of you guys watch danisnotonfire on YouTube, you’ll probably be able to understand instantly what I mean. I was forced into the Science Stream of my high school after achieving good results in a mid-high-school examination, and let it just be said that saying Science isn’t my thing is the understatement of the century. Don’t get me wrong, I love Maths (though that’s not really a Science subject though, is it?), and Biology was one of my favourite subjects (partially because I had a really good teacher), but I simply cannot picture myself doing anything related to the field for the rest of my life. I want to be a writer, and that’s all there is to it. At first I thought, hey, I’m interested in engineering, that’s as good a reason as any to enjoy being in the Science stream…well apparently not. I’m colour blind. Colour blind people really, really can’t do anything related to engineering, as I discovered.

And then I spiraled into a horrible cycle of questions such as what the hell am I doing with my life? and why am I even here? and other ridiculous things like that. So yes, I had no idea what I was doing and why I was doing it, and I just sort of found myself going through the motions and making the best of the situation. Looking back, it wasn’t really such a bad experience, but at the time it was pretty confusing. The only subject I enjoyed was the elective I took up, Literature in English, and that was what kept me sane till I finally graduated. 

A dream of mine came true when I was selected for National Service (a three month military type camp) and was stationed in Sabah from January to March of this year. For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, Sabah is in East Malaysia while I live in West Malaysia, which means I have to get on a plane to get there (not that I mind, because I love travelling and planes and other such things). I’m not going to go much into that, but suffice to say that it was probably the very best experience of my life. I got to meet incredible people and received the opportunity to do a lot of things I’d never done before, like shoot a gun (another thing to check off my bucket list, yay!) and learn traditional dance. I even got to choreograph a very short RnB dance, which was lots of fun. I came back home on March 18th with a handful of fantastic experiences, higher self-confidence, wonderful new friends and a very bad tan. It was awesome.

I have just only started going to university, where I’m taking up Foundation in Arts and Education in hopes of pursuing a degree in English with Creative Writing a year from now. After spending eleven years trapped in a government school system, having the freedom to spread my wings and take control of my own path feels a lot like bliss. I love the more interactive learning I get to do here, where I feel like I’m actually gaining knowledge and being educated instead of simply being schooled. It’s really amazing, plus all the lecturers are wonderful and the people I’ve met so far are nothing short of lovely.

That being said, the workload is going to pile up pretty soon so I’m going to have to focus right on the assignments and projects at hand, diving headfirst into them and immersing myself in new (and frankly, pretty awesome) experiences and a lot of stuff I don’t quite understand yet. It helps a lot that I’m finally able to take up what I’m truly interested in. I feel like I’m able to give my very best and participate fully in every single one of my classes. However, being in university also means I’m away from home and miss my family and friends every now and then, but I’m sure it’s all going to be very much worth it in the end. Besides, I’m enjoying myself so much now, and it’s only my third day!

I’m slightly out of practice as far as writing is concerned (as you can probably tell) because lately I’ve been focusing my efforts on poems and songs, leaving my incomplete novel-in-progress to gather dust in a corner and abandoning short story ideas by shoving them somewhere underneath other slightly less fun obligations in hopes that I’ll have time to dig them out and sort through them later. Hence, I’m making myself a little bit of a goal – to publish something on this blog at least once a fortnight (hopefully every weekend, if I can) that will get my creative juices flowing. I have a list of things I want to write, I just have to find the time to actually type them all out and post them here. It takes a little more effort for me to do that because I prefer the sensation of an inky blue pen scratching against notebook paper a lot more than I enjoy the clickity-clack of a keyboard, but I have to admit there’s something satisfying in watching letters appear across a previously blank, white computer screen. Hmm…that’s quite a good topic, actually. Maybe I’ll go into that a little more later on.

Anyway, that’s all I have to say for now. Life is good for me, and I hope it’s going well for you too. Till next time! 

The Confounded Writer’s Block


And… this has got to be a record. No new blog posts for nearly a month… Wow.

An old childhood favourite... Calvin and Hobbes

You see, I’d love to blog about something. Anything. Unfortunately my mind fails to allow me to think of an interesting topic that hasn’t been done before. It’s too busy focusing on my sinking History marks. And I haven’t written much in my book either. Gotta keep working on that one.

A sad scene that would likely take place at my desk.

I can’t stand writer’s block, honestly. But I honestly don’t consider it until I open my book to write in.

Oh dear me, I can’t seem to think of how this plot could go. Maybe if he kills the evil assistant… No, it’s too soon. Maybe he should make a new friend?

Then I realize that I have been having trouble with other things too, namely my blog.

Oh, it’s been a week since I’ve updated my blog! I must start a new post. Let’s see…

I then have to come to terms with the fact that I have no idea what to blog about, so I spend ages wracking my brain for a suitable topic.

Environmental issues? No, I’ve done that one before… Singing? Did that too. Oh what about this awesome book… Oh wait that’s been done on Freshly Pressed.

And in the end I’m just like:

A typical reaction of mine upon discovering that I have yet again been infected by writer's block.

Soon, a couple of hours pass and I have to get off the computer. I decide that if I stop thinking about it, I’ll come up with a good idea.

I’ll just take a break and see if something pops up. Sooner or later, it always does.

And before I know it, nearly an entire month has flown by and I’ve forgotten about the fact that I am suffering from the dreaded and highly fatal writer’s block. Until…

What’s *insert random name of friend here* doing over there on that computer? Oh, she’s blogging. Oh no I haven’t blogged in ages! How long has it been? AH!

So I go and check my blog for the first time in ages.

I’ve been subscribed to…! Oh. By someone who’s already deleted their account. Oh, look at all these comments. Well… 34 spam comments actually. I really must get a blog post going.

And that is how I came to be sitting here today, typing away.

It never fails, you know, no matter how often I follow online writer’s block solving tips. I got this list off the internet.

1. Implement a Writing Schedule.

Yes, I have gone back to the same place at the same time every day and still nothing springs to my head. Sometimes I just let my hand free-write on the paper and all that comes out is… garbage.

2. Don’t Be Too Hard on Yourself.

How can I not be? I’ve been trying for three weeks and still nothing comes out of my pen.

3. Think of Writing as a Regular Job, and Less as an Art.

4. Take Time Off If You’ve Just Finished a Project.

5. Set Deadlines and Keep Them.

(This is the only thing that really works for me… Except for the fact that the finished product is a little on the… well… awful side.)

6. Examine Deep-Seated Issues Behind Your Writer’s Block.

7. Work on More Than One Project at a Time.

(Three projects going on and I’m still getting nowhere…)

8. Try Writing Exercises.

(I do this in English class in school everyday.)

9. Re-Consider Your Writing Space.

(It’s actually a cosy little nook.)

10. Remember Why You Started to Write in the First Place.

(I need a LOT of help with this one.)

I do this... A lot.

Actually, I’ve discovered a really awesome way to beat writer’s block when it comes to blogging: If you can’t think about anything to blog about… Blog about the fact that you can’t think of anything to blog about.

Anyhow, I’ll just head off now… I just found a good plot for my book… I think.

Thoughts into Music, Lyric onto Paper – My Outlet


So, everyone needs an outlet, right? A way to express themselves. A way to tell someone or something what’s on their mind, or a way to calm down, or a way to be oneself, especially after a long day. How one can (corniness alert) express what’s on your mind in a way words can never explain. A magic remedy. I know people who draw, or play an instrument, or something like that, and that’s their magical potion.

And me?

I may dance when angry, write when flustered and sing when sad, but none of them beat this:

I love writing songs. I’ve been doing it since I was 2. At that point, of course, it was just a bunch of gibberish where the only audible words were “riding in a playground”, but hey. The tune was catchy… ish. Just enough to sound presentable to other gobbledygook-speaking babies.

The second song, with real words this time, was written when I was seven. Something about the Sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Despite being ridiculous, it did help me to better envision the rotation of the Sun when I had to. It saved my Science test once. So, even though it’s the worst song in the history of songs, it’s my favourite, not only because it rescued my marks, but also because it began the stream of self-written songs that were in tangible language.

Next came the song with a ridiculous line. I myself have no idea what on earth could have possessed me to write “And I’ve heard that home is where the heart is, but right now the only place my heart is in is in my chest”. I know. Epically awful.

Soon it was more songs with senseless words and repetitive tunes where the chorus only appeared once. After that it was crazy songs that went out of time and key in random places. The words were always fine, but the melody always sounded like every other song out there. Typical lame tunes.

Then I got a guitar, and finally my rhythm shaped up. All emo songs of course, full of funny emotions that seemed too old for me. What I began to notice was that all my songs were sad songs. The only happy song I had at the time was my first nice song, that ran along the lines of love.

This is paradise

I’m in paradise

Whenever I see you smile at me

It’s paradise

I tell you, I didn’t even understand what I was writing about!

A while after that, my songs took a turn for the more negative. I had the most depressing songs anyone could’ve imagined! And still no sign of a happy song anywhere, by the way. At least they made sense (to other strange people).

And finally, last year… Bingo! A happy song! Yipee!

Since last year, actually, my songs began to sound more original. They were more balanced; not too sad, not too sappy.

What do I use to write songs? In the beginning (not the heavens or the earth), it was just vocals and a good memory. When I learned the piano, I still couldn’t play a tune I liked on it. And then (choir of angels, please) I got a guitar! I could then play my own songs and compose them properly. And soon I began writing with the piano (cue round of applause) too. Unfortunately my memory got a tad bad and I started forgetting my tune. My phone didn’t (and still doesn’t) have a recorder, so I use my mom’s phone to record whatever awesome tune I come up with.

I write songs because I love to. It’s my favourite way to express myself. When I’m too frustrated to write in my diary, I take it all out on a music score. I pour my heart out onto paper (it’s more patient than people). Every time something bad happens, I close my eyes and whisper to myself, “I’ll write a song about this later”. After a rough and long day, you can see me scribbling away at a piece of paper. Writing songs helps me to sort through my emotions and discover what I’m really feeling when I’m confused. It releases my stress and makes me feel a whole lot better in the end.

So what about you? What’s your outlet?



I view my life in chapters.

When I was 11, I wrote a song called “The New Chapter”, signifying a time for me when I had to start anew. Last year, I wrote “The New Chapter 2”, also representing a time when I started again.

Each time something big happens – starting school, discovering a talent, starting a new activity, solving problems, facing new, more challenging trials – I start a new chapter. Like all writers, I try to start a new chapter only when everything’s perfect in the previous one, or when I’m ready to go on. I’ve got my storyline planned out most of the time… I want it to be perfect. For example, starting high school at 13 years old and staying in the school till I’m 17.

But sometimes it can’t be helped – for example, if there is a flaw in the storyline, and all writers hate that, but it happens, and one must give up plans and begin a new phase. You could have planned your character to fall for this person in the end, but you have chapters and chapters more to go. Maybe by then your story would have plunged off its line and into some river somewhere and those two characters don’t work anymore. Maybe you wanted to end this chapter after the guy gets shot but you find it sounds better if you end it here rather than there. And so you finalize your chapter.

When I’m not ready to do something (in other words, to end a chapter), I feel as though I have paragraphs and paragraphs to finish before the chapter ends. I would think to myself, “There’s so much more I want to do before beginning this!” And when one feels that way, it isn’t time yet.

But you don’t always have a choice in where your chapters end, and in that way, life is unlike writing a book. Sometimes something happens – the death of a loved one, a natural disaster. Something that us mortal beings have no control over. And when that happens, there is nothing one can do about it. One has to take it as a tiny little flaw in the tale and decide to drop plans of pages, to start over anew.

New chapters don’t always start easily. They don’t always begin because it’s expected (like starting school). Most of the time, they don’t happen because we want them to. There will be those dramatic chapters, the ones where the main character is in a dark place and can’t get out. But that chapter will end when the character has healed. And a character doesn’t just heal. They have to decide to heal. They have to want to heal. Sometimes, it isn’t about healing, it’s about believing and trying something new and frightening. Something they’ve never done before.

And that’s the beauty of it all.

Time to start a new chapter.



In my previous entry, I mentioned the book I’m writing… I’ve actually been working on it since I was 11, then I gave it up because I lacked inspiration. The next year, I found it again, covered in dust, and worked hard on it. It was inspired by real life, by things happening to me and other people. The main character was inspired by me (of course) and the second main character (going by the nickname of Dom) was more of a figment of my imagination.

However, the next year (last year) an incident happened, causing me to lose my focus and abandon the book once more. When I did return to it during the year-end school holidays, I realized that my writing style had changed so much, my experience level had altered, causing the chapters of my story to ring untrue. Once more I was stuck, writing a story I could no longer believe in. So I re-read every chapter, changed info here and there, and when I finally had that settled, the next year had loomed in.

The book went well for the first half of the year, then my character Dom lost his direction in June. And I was stuck…  Again! Have you any idea how frustrating this whole thing was? I knew it the entire time, to write a character based on no one, uninspired and just simply made up out of thin air wasn’t going to get anywhere. I didn’t want to give up, but every day I stared blankly at the computer screen, my feeble attempts turned to dust with every word I forced myself to type.

I met a few people since then, tried desperately to find my inspiration. In vain. I decided to leave it be and let the inspiration come to me. So I did.

And this month, as I hung with my best friend, and a couple of guys, it hit me. Suddenly. As soon as I reached home I ran to my computer, and the entire chapter came tumbling out of me. Finally. Inspired. Dom wasn’t an empty character anymore. No, Dom’s not based entirely on anybody, nor is he an imprint of anybody I know. But at least now, I have an idea of Dom – he has a more fixed character now.

I don’t think I’m gonna get stuck again, not anytime soon. Thanks, guys, for being my inspiration. =D

Why I Decided to Start a Blog


Hi all! This is my first blog post, so go easy on me, k?

I guess all of us need a channel through which they express themselves. The same goes for me. At the same time, a lot of us like to be heard by others, to have someone to talk to.

I’m a writer, and I find that I can express what I’m thinking better through a pen dancing across the paper on would-be straight lines than from behind a computer, through a paintbrush or by using my own tongue. I admit, I find it somewhat difficult to express myself verbally (and often resort to my diary or to writing a song). But I felt like I still wanted some people to hear my thoughts. I have some sort of dire need to be heard and I like others to know my views.

That’s when it hit me… Why not start a blog?

So there you have it.