I finally found the courage to quit my job. More like a quick decision taken between the tiny break when I wasn’t worried sick about money and saying good riddance to the ridiculous number of business ideas my boss keeps posturing on the team.

I’m really glad I left.

And now, I am at the verge of an entirely new life, or so my mom says. …

A bigger person is truly bigger, with lots of spaces for forgiveness logs and second chances.

Let me paint you brief picture of the bigger person-

“minty-goodness at 24/7 ATM disposal. Always available for BS. First to reach out and seek retribution. First to ask for forgiveness and bridge that widening gap. First to smile at you the next morning after a night brawl. First to…”

So not me, definitely not this house address.

I can’t be the bigger person. I do not come from that long line of people keeping peace afloat.

Peace-benders. tueh!

Not like I’m actively withholding…

Whenever I tell people I hate being old, they laugh. They assume it is me trying to sound funny or stupid. It’s not even time to get started on how I don't take kindly to being called the latter, unless…

But sincerely I still do. And without a drop of shame, I’d steal your youth if I can. Being old reminds me of sucked up things devoid of moisture just like the dates we eat, of stale time, of the dread of falling out of tune with the times and jumping straight into a hip injury, or worse, arthritis. …

Someone just died. Suicide.

Saying someone just killed himself sounds implicating. The first time I saw his picture with a “Missing" tag and last seen place as Third Mainland Bridge, I silently wished him peace wherever he was. I knew he deserved plenty of it.

Recent update shows that he is dead. As in gone to where the sun never sets. He finally did it, and he left a note.

I’m trying so hard not to tear up in this damn office bikonu!

Dude’s been battling with depression for seven years. …

Maintaining a consistency to the pattern of living is too much work that nobody talks about. The steady rhythm of updating a blog from time to time, caring for a plant out of the sincerest intentions (and not merely because you’re tired of your murderous streak you sick bastard!), and sustaining wholesome relationships.

More than my arrogance would allow me confess, I am eternally thankful for good friends. Emphasis on good and I do not hold a grudge for those who fall far from this very broad category managed and defined by my new found humility.

It’s easy for me…

The men finally did something else, something entirely different from using women as shields and blaming them for the stray bullets. Not only the men though, the women came too.

As if they’d ever let men save themselves without contributing even a thought of goodwill. Women are built that way, constantly making themselves look stupid with their random acts of sacrifice.

Maybe the bad day’s turned me into a dragon.

I like to believe there’s something wrong with me. A rottenness that is subject to time and change in the weather. …

I went home recently to see my mom, kinda. She had complained and complained about how my indifference translates as hate for her and her home, and what that could mean in a larger context, especially one that involves a round table and a couple of uncles I don’t talk to.

When people ask me about family, I never fail to remind them that i’m that middle-child constantly comfortable with running from what she’d never talk about, if ever the need arises.

Home for me is not even a place, it’s more of something felt. And my sweet and sour…


I hope both God and the person reading this do not for once think I’m out to defend God/him. Take the THE out of the ODICY.


There’s a tiny buka I go to eat lunch everyday with my colleagues. Cozy and clean place with tasty affordable dishes. I mean I can totally try out new dishes without thinking my brain cells to death over the scare of salmonella.

Last week, some guys were arguing the religion argument.

A little sidepiece, one thing I’ve learnt along with my increased hatred for humanity…

This is that one more flick of the coin, the dice, the part of your mind that reminds you that this could be it, the only message your mind remembers from the story of the patient dog.

The patient dog is not dead, yet.

I have kind of been consciously running away from writing, and the procrastination is not to be blamed this time. I need to fully remind all of me that I do not even have the time to do anything else, including brainstorming on what to write.

I mean I love to write, when you take out…

a random picture stolen off the internet

This is not a rant, has no plan ever to be. As I write this and think at the same time, my mind is calm and bears no trace of even the slightest inhibited aggression, happy news that I wouldn’t snap in the middle of this and clubber someone to death.

Cheers to my newly gotten peace of mind.

So I love to listen to music as I work. Unlike my picky and bourgeois AF taste in books and social gatherings, my music soul jams to everything and anything depending on how blue the blue is.

Music soul, don’t fvcking…

One-Eyed Sunday

Queer. Angry feminist. Sports enthusiast. Fatherfucker.

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