Invisible ink 

Nobody can see them, or know about them, but it is these invisible scars that actually take the longest to fade.

They are repercussions of the greatest hurts, caused always only by the people who have a hold on you; the people who matter. 

And being the sentimental sort who feels even before realising exactly why, something always reminds me of one or another – by way of a moment shared, a special differentiation, an inspiration, an unexpected identification… Before the pangs.

Tonight it was the moon, on the cusp of fullness, that got me.

It is the memories that allow you to keep the stories, but also shape the untold ones. 

Is to be sentimental and emotional to be weak? Being more aware, sensing and feeling is a double-edged sword – a blessing or a curse?



In a crowded carriage on my daily commute, I’m surrounded by people, but feel so alone. Unified by the inertia of the moving train, and the occasional surges, we all have our place in close proximity, but yet are isolated in digital worlds of our own.

Sharing a moment in time, swaying in unison, without even realising it – what do we miss out on, in the crossing of all these paths? 

Like me, do you ever feel that you are drowning in a sea of unfamiliar faces, lost in your own thoughts and so alone?

Nature versus concrete

I took a few pictures during my walk to church earlier today. It was a damp evening; a refreshing change from the usual tropical heat and humidity. While having time to think, I was reminded of series of photographs I’ve seen about “nature winning the battle against civilisation” and “abandoned buildings being reclaimed by nature”. We often forget how fragile and small we are in so many ways, especially compared to resilient mother nature. 

Imagine what our concrete jungle will look like if we just let nature fully take its course…

Life as we know it

London City walkway people feet

Tonight, on my way home at the back of a taxi, I thought about what it might be like not being me.

Instead, perhaps one of the trainload of passengers I squeeze alongside, the barista that hands me my coffee, one of the office workers that I ride the elevator with in silence who get off at different floors, the person just ahead of me in a queue, someone who almost bumps into me during the rush hour commute, or the driver whose taxi I get into.

The countless people that go by in a blur, with faces unregistered in my mind, form part of the fleeting moments in my world. Seen through my eyes, they are random beings that make up the background noise in my story. I in turn become an insignificant detail in a moment of a stranger’s mini-universe. Just another nameless face as they lead the life that never existed to me. But at that particular instance, our lives converge as we share the same – and yet different – encounter, only to resume and become separate again.

In a way, it’s like a parallel life – one led by someone else. How did they get here? What happened in the lead up to the moment in time that we share? What stories of a stranger’s life do we become a part of without even knowing?

That would be awesome

I’ve always wished I had the ability, or power, of teleportation.

No more wasting time commuting means more time and energy for more important things, daily.

I’d be able to go anywhere, anytime, as many times as I wanted to. I’d never have to take a flight again, or pay for one.

Distance will never be an issue, ever again.

I’d choose teleportation over invisibility, telepathy, telekinesis, time manipulation, any day.