The misadventures of the heart and sometimes, the stomach.


I wonder if fear can be learned. I used to love flying. That feeling when the plane takes off into the unknown of the sky; marvelled at the fact that I am in a highly pressurised tin can be powered by nothing more than two flimsy wings and a prayer. But these days, the slightest

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Some people you save once twice thrice.   You see them hands flailing, screaming for help, legs kicking, desperately trying to keep their head above water. So you throw them a lifebuoy, shout from the water’s edge to encourage them to not give up, you might even jump in to pull them to shore  

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Something’s wrong. My keys don’t work anymore.    The four walls of my heart is not a cheap motel, a budget hourly affair. You cannot stay the night and leave behind a messed up bed and me There’s no housekeeping to clean up the messed up sheets and me There’s no wake-up call to snap me

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