I miss writing just for the sake of writing. Without wondering if there is a flow in what I am putting down, whether it is coherent or not, or fretting over whether it is worth writing or not. Whatever comes below might not totally make sense.

I believe in me. I’ve been taught to and I have learnt how to. And no one should be made to feel ashamed of that. Self-confidence should not be confused with arrogance. Hell no. But then how can I expect everyone be able to understand that? hah…see what I did there?

It is such a priceless feeling to see one of your loved ones holding her newborn in her arms. And an equally crushing feeling to realise that you are not by her side to give her a comforting hug, one to take away all the tiredness that she must be feeling.

He was right all along. There came a time when moving my fingers across the frets became kind of second nature, where the notes just felt right, when a feeling of peace and enjoyment came over me when playing, and an accompanying feeling of happiness and anticipation, knowing that there is still so much more I have not yet figured out.

Did I make the right choice? But then, in what way does the answer matter?

Listening to songs makes me relive so many memories with a heavy heart.

Why should some kids go through so many life experiences which harm their good hearts? Compassion is so not enough most of the time.

it is sad when you realise that sarcasm became part of your everyday conversation, however much you try to guard against it.

Sunsets still make my heart tingle and I cherish my Wednesday trips back home.


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