Thank God for Potato and Farhan.

Everything stirs me deep within and freezes the swords in me, but I'm still cubed in this huge abyss of ice.

This was not my choice. I'm trying not to think about you, why can't you just let me be?

I'm suppressed by a condition, and it's one of letting go.

Cheer up, Potato. I'll keep you in my prayers tonight, along with every other night. No matter what, know that I'm here for you (you know I am). Come tomorrow, smile like this!




Cheer up, Sixties. Thank you for the muffins (and for fattening me up the past weeks). I'm sorry I landed you into hot soup with supper and late nights. Hope this cheers you up a little, at least.

WIth the company of an acoustical playlist, leftover nicotine rations from yesterday, a good read awaiting its opening and mummy dearest humming to the tracks spinning on my most wonderful desktop computer, life paints a breathing irony.

These days, I fall flat on my face just to await godsents adjourning me up back into place. Idle moments like this are passed taking strolls down memory lane. Nostalgia is such beautiful melancholy. It grows and ticks in me with blooming life. I know I tend to get too pensive and wordy about memories, but with every song, movie, picture, scene, person, instills an engraved footprint somewhere along my past 21 years. Sometimes, I wish I could be more elaborate with indites pertaining to memories in this written playground of mine. I wish I wouldn't be so hard on myself for being literal. Each time a phrase of literal rambles is being typed, it'd be backspaced just as soon. It's a hurdle I could never take a hop over and this is how my muse is signatured mine. I used to composite pretty and metaphoric prose and poems but reality has fatigued my words into an endless plain of complaints and rants. The skies of blue and clouds of white, bright blessed days and dark sacred nights indeed make this a wonderful world. Yet, at joy, a rush of sorrow always surges through the apple jammed at my throat and time after time, as boxed up my emotions may be, I relent to them. Like any other, like all others, I am fragile, vulnerable, weak and I am capable of crumbling. It's a condition of a type of handicap. It's a loss of control and ability to retrieve inner stability. It has to start from myself, isn't it?

Marion, if only words would suffice, if only words could reach the heavens, if only the Lord could use me and my meticulous carve of words to bring you back, if only you were here to help me through this tide of confusion. If only there were more photographs of you to be placed on my walls, if only you were here to take more with me. Everything stops at fifteen, everything stopped at fifteen. If only I could fear less so I could love more freely. It's not a prayer I send up to you, it's conversations I hold with you and God at the simultaneously, it's prayers I send up to the Big Man for you. And it's little moments such as this I spend wishing I was fifteen. This is the shape of my heart for you. I miss you.

Am I mad? Have we all lost our minds? I think there's more to this than what I'm saying but I can't seem to find the best words to summarise this.

This is the reason why I should never have time to myself to dwell. Dwelling gets evil when I'm at it.

I didn't check my punctuation, grammar, spelling and what not, so don't get there.

Happy Easter to one and all, Christians and the non.

As a Catholic stepping foot into a Christian service, I must say, everything feels exactly the same, apart from the portion where services do not feel formal and as reverend as Catholic masses. Actually, we're all the same. We pray to the same Father, the same God, the same Christ, the same Jesus.

Today, a day beyond the vague horizons of many chocolate eggs, bunnies and tokens of commemoration. Today, a day to forever keep in remembrance, the biggest sacrifice Christ made, in messages and actions with flesh and blood. Today, a day to celebrate love, a love most unconditional. Today, a day we begin loving one another as He loves us. Today, a day to dispose of grudge and hatred and in perpetuum never let them return like a knife to a throat. Above all and most importantly, today, a day we learn forgiveness, from the greatest example of our Father, to forgive all those who have sinned against us. Religion doesn't separate mankind. We're all one.

I'll tell you more about my Jesus when you're here to let me. Then maybe someday you'd have the chance to sing "I remember the times you sat down and told me about your Jesus". It's our Jesus we daily pray to and seek help from. We're not that different afterall. So this day, I pray for those whom I love, those who love me, those I've despised, those whom I've trespassed against, those who scorn me, and all the less fortunate people of His world. I wish them love, happiness and all the faith in this life.





So have yourselves a blessed and joyous Easter Day.

Reality has made me a closet monster of my own emotions.

These trials are tearing me down like a broken wall and all I want to do now is to scream and watch myself crumble like shattered debris that's been plastered up. Alas, I feel as torn as I really am.

There is a better way of going about dealing with this instead of crying.

Just stop crying Cheryl.

Thoughts. There are always thoughts lurking somewhere, or else everywhere. Thoughts, these wandering invisibles, are forces that empower the streaks of humanity in us, in someone as iced up inside as me. Everyone is born humane, it's the cultivation of humanity that carves people into a better race, as individuals and as one. Thoughts, they stir constant emotions and possible dramatic encounters in our everyday hustle and bustle, it's only control that gravitates us down when reality intercepts with ambitions and dreams. Thoughts, more than often, under the crush of human nature, lead us to dark and neverending impossibilities. These impossibilities are designed only because we ourselves choose to path it. Thoughts, are the power we are priveleged to and thoughts, teach us painful lessons.

We ought to learn. I'm trying. God knows I am.

People, ambitions, incidents, occurences, coincidences, accidents, failures, success, whichever they may come and be, they're God's form of hope to those who deem life hopeless. My life is hope itself, so is yours. So may you, readers, overcome bricked rocks of obstacles and hardships, the hopeful way I'm embracing mine, with the grace of loved ones and the Lord.

Love. Ah, love. Many speak of it, few have been gracious enough to experience it. Love is gifted in many forms and this much I know, that I have much to be grateful for. A what you would label broken family, now gradually reconciling (sure there are hiccups but we're all working towards a same goal), new found job with loving companions, a passion for communicating and educating the youth of our times, a failed relationship that endured a good four years and romantic opportunities awaiting my call. The opposite of love isn't hate, but indifference. Hatred is childish animosity stacked up on the lack of communication and understanding. Cliche, but love the person you hate, you will realise that there isn't much to hate. Life's too short to be wasted on hating. Spend it welcoming love, maybe you wouldn't be too blinded to know that you've actually found it.

Tonight, I'm all about thoughts and the wonders of them.

And now, I'm thinking of the good times Hougean's Huntanks have blessed me with the past week. These blissful thoughts and images will tide me through bad phases at camps. The Lord has blessed me, and I know He has.






Thank you, HunTanks, for making the Hougeans camp a marvellous week to experience and remember.

If He gets you to it, He will get you to it. All it takes, is a morsel of faith; and faith, my dear friends, is what I have entrusted in you. Impossibility is impossible.

And to Shuqun secondary 3B, if you ever get to chance upon this, know and remember always that my heart is brimmed with pride for you. I hope you read my words in impactful belief, that 3B will never be forgotten. Starting out with a mind clogged by arresting skeptisism, forty fifteen year olds unknowingly bore my burden and shouldered the overcast off my mind. These fragment of thoughts can never verbalise the sentimental inclinations I'm experiencing, browsing through the notes and souvenirs left by 3B and not leaving out, Shuqun secondary. I'm surging sky high in excellence, because of one journey with you. This is where passion coincides with motivation, to travel me to being the best I'll ever be. Thank you.















My nocturnal instincts are wearing out and now, sleep calls.