I heard from a movie I watched a long time ago that people die twice—one, when the breath leaves our body; and two, when the last person we know says our name. But when it came to him, I died more than twice. I died every time he crossed my mind. I died every time he spoke of my name. I died every time he was with someone else. And there was a lot more. I died because these things were so much for me to handle; they weakened my knees and crushed my heart until I could hardly ever breathe.

choked up

Remember the times when you could write so freely? When the words just came to your mind and they stitched together so perfectly and they flowed out of your fingertips with such ease? When you could just vomit out all your thoughts and emotions on the paper without feeling so trapped and so restrained?

Yeah, I miss those times, too.


There are times when I want to soak in my sadness. Just lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling while surrounded by darkness… and the only thoughts I have are the things I could have done and things I should not have done.

I have a knack for saying the wrong words before the right ones, and that’s what I hate about myself. So I would create arguments in my head, screaming the words I should have said.

Sometimes I think about the vastness of the universe and the beauty of the world, and I think about how painful it is if one would close their eyes on them and take their last breath.

Sometimes I think about all the little things, insignificant things, even painful things. And even if they trigger the tears, I still keep thinking about them because they make me realize what I used to be and what I am now. I cannot and can never talk about all these feelings and thoughts with somebody. They won’t care anyway. They will listen, maybe, but they will not understand. After all, everyone is busy minding their own triumphs and downfalls and their existence.

So there are times when I want to soak in my sadness. Just lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling while surrounded by darkness… and the only person that understands my pain is myself.


It’s hard to be silent. When your heart and mind are filled with purely good intentions. When you want to help. When you want to give hope. When you want to make someone feel less lonely than you. And you do these things in silence and reverence because that is who you are. Unfortunately, people don’t see your kindness and good efforts. Sometimes they would even consider it as an “alien attitude” of yours—but maybe because kindness is rarely seen nowadays. And sometimes you just want to scream this is who you are, this is what you want, this is what your heart desires to do. But the words can’t escape your lips because there are too many of them for you to string them well together, and you’re out of time.

And it’s one of the things that make me sad at night.


Everyone has that moment in their life when they just stop once in a while and ask themselvesWhy am I here? What am I doing in this world?” As one of the people who struggle with overthinking, I realized something today. That maybe I’m not meant to live a lavish life. Maybe I’m not meant to do anything remarkable, anything world-changing. Maybe I’m just meant to be here—to fill in the gaps, to listen to people’s stories, to sit next to someone to make him or her feel less alone, to make someone feel welcome, to make my friends happy, to be a bridge between people with conflicting souls, to witness how this beautiful world unfolds. Maybe I’m just meant to live, to be human.

And that makes me quite happy.