Control Me Freely.

There’s space now. To breathe, to feel. But the more room I have, the more lost I get. It’s help—I know that—but why do I keep pushing it away? Why do I choose the harder path when there’s an easier one right in front of me? It’s not about ease, really. It’s this structure I’ve built around myself. If I step outside of it, I feel like I’ll fall apart.

I think I’ve grown used to the weight, to the constant pressure that keeps me grounded. Without it, I’m scared I won’t know how to stand. The pain, the tension, the worry—it’s all I’ve known. And the thought of letting it go? It feels dangerous, like I’d lose control completely.

Is it possible to be afraid of freedom? To be scared of what happens if I let go and trust someone or something else to keep me steady? I want that freedom, I really do, but it feels risky, like it’ll leave me too open. There’s a strange kind of safety in the struggle, in the chaos I know how to handle. If I stray too far from that, if I let myself breathe too easily, I think I’d lose my grip, like everything would slip away.

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The Chase to Curfew.

My heart is out of my chest. It's in my throat, beating like it's struggling to stay alive. But it's more alive than ever. The curfew is at 7 PM. You know it, I know it. Everyone knows it. Especially the duos that linger at Martin Junction. Yet we all love to tease the limits of how far a body can run and make it in time. The urgency, the need, the frustration, the fulfillment. There’s something exhilarating about skirting the edge of danger. About feeling the adrenaline course through your veins as the clock ticks down. I reach out for it during exams, actively working towards it—to be sleep-deprived and see how far I can push myself and still dish out something legible. I always take that one fake quote in stride, "Edison built the electric bulb in a night," or something of that sort. It's fake for multiple reasons, the stealing allegations aside. But it brings me hope. And this hope is quite delusional when it’s not accompanied by action. You can call it pr...

Ominous Positivity: Reflecting on Korea Day

It's inevitable. The poetry and prose can only shield me from vulnerability for so long. Someone is bound to read through the poorly written literary devices and figure out the true meaning of all my works that I run away from by writing it (How presumptuous). Or no one cares. The latter is the greater possibility. I find comfort in it, no one cares. And on some days, it's despair in how no one cares. True to my character, I am going to switch the topic to another one. For today, I wish to reminisce on Korea Day and as much as I would love to say it started with me speaking Korean and having a wonderful day. It didn't. I sat on my glasses. Having a power of -6 and allegedly even more, I can't move around without my glasses as there is a possibility I will fall into a ditch, the depth perception does lessen when you can't perceive objects, it turns out. It was frustrating, the whole sitting on glasses debacle. I had never done it before. Out of character as I wou...

Rainy Reflections.

What do I write today? I pondered for hours while doing mundane tasks. The sunlight stayed with me for a while, then it left, all alone, before the tube of electricity joined my thoughts. "Aren't you eating dinner?" asked my roommate. That's when I finally broke the silence I had condemned myself to until I wrote. I ate dinner and drank tea instead of coffee because I wanted to sleep earlier. I came back to my room, determined to write the third blog post. I couldn't give up so soon, could I? The sounds of doors and windows slamming against the walls, screeching laughter, and people running around seeped into my room. "It's cool outside, the rain, it's raining," said my roommate. I am not a huge fan of the rain. It always made me moody. I wasn't a hater either. Something in me whispered back to my roommate, "It's raining? It's raining!" I jumped up barefoot and ran out to feel the cool breeze against my face. My feet felt th...

bone crush

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