Impromptu writing

Impromptu writing: I fear for her.

I fear for her.

I dread the day that golden eyes shine no more.

I dread the day that face would scrunch no more.

I fear for her.

What if she no longer comes when I called for her?

What if she no longer there when I need to hug her?

I fear for her.

I do not wish her to be alone.

I do not wish her to groan.

I fear for her.

She deserves more.

She deserves to soar.

I fear for her,

for I will be gone

and it would feel like eon.

I fear for her,

but I fear for myself more.

If the end should come,

I see myself turning numb.


Jakarta, 15 June 2017

Impromptu writing

Temp.

Everything is temporary. My health, my joy, my sorrow, my money, and my life. Nothing ever lasts forever. But it doesn’t make it any easier, does it?

If anything, it makes it harder to go by.

Knowing that my sorrow is temporary, I focus too much on when it will all blow over, forgetting the important lessons offered by my sorrow.

Knowing that my health is temporary, I worry too much on every step I take that I forgot to enjoy what I have. Then I chastise myself, only to take my health for granted, for what good is a good health if you can’t make the best of it.

Knowing my joy is temporary, I am much too preoccupied at being angry at why I can’t always be happy.

Knowing that the money I owned is temporary, I scrutinized all my spending only to be tired of it all and just spend it so long as I have the means to do so.

Knowing my life is temporary, I pretend like I don’t care but the thought plague my mind ever since.

So, nothing is really forever?

Fear not, for the cycle of stupidity is forever. One man down, another is ready to continue the cycle of stupidity until the world comes to its end.

Maybe.

Who knows?

I sure don’t.


A/N. Impromptu writing is written without a plan at hand by continuously typing the things that crosses one’s mind. It was not meant to be understood, it is a practice for the mind when everything seems so clustered that one cannot control one’s own train of thoughts.

This one is written with Basic Tape’s No Matter playing in the background.

Impromptu writing

Selfish through and through.

He said I’m selfish,

and I would smirk.

She said I’m selfish,

and that’s because I was never her priority to begin with.

She said I’m selfish,

and I really don’t care.

He said they are all selfish,

and that’s because he’s just always angry.

I think I am selfish,

but not because he said I was selfish.

I believe I am selfish,

but not because she told me so.

I am sure I am selfish,

but not because she said I hurt her.

I am selfish,

because he was right.

We are all selfish.

You do what makes you feel good,

because you think you’re so powerful.

You do what makes you feel happy,

because you think you always know what’s right.

You do what makes your free,

because you think you deserve freedom after years of oppression.

You do what makes you feel independent,

because you think that cutting ties with them was the way to go.

I did selfish acts,

because I am selfish through and through.

And, see, who is the last man standing,

if it is not the one who is selfish through and through.

Jakarta, 9 May 2017


A/N. Impromptu writing is written without a plan at hand by continuously typing the things that crosses one’s mind. It was not meant to be understood, it is a practice for the mind when everything seems so clustered that one cannot control one’s own train of thoughts.

This one is written with Dan Owen’s Fall Like a Feather playing in the background.

Impromptu writing

I bid you farewell.

It felt extremely unceremonious to just hug, held hands for mere seconds and waved at each other,

as if you’re going out for a loaf of bread or a carton of milk.

Had we been someone else,

had we been somewhere else,

I would have poured all the raging storms inside me,

for you to know how none of those cordial and polite gestures were enough.

But,

we are who we are,

we are where we are,

and so only a wave was exchanged,

fingers were intertwined,

serene smile plastered on the face,

with years of longing in our eyes.

Abuja, 3 March 2017


A/N. Impromptu writing is sentences tied together, sometime resulting in the most incomprehensible things. It is written without a plan at hand by continuously typing the things that crosses one’s mind. It was not meant to be understood, it is a practice for the mind when everything seems so clustered that one cannot control one’s own train of thoughts.

Impromptu writing

To err is human.

impromptu-writing

To err is human,

for what can a human do?

A mere mortal,

devoid of divinity.

The future bleak,

the past long gone,

and the present is ever so ominous.

Humans are prideful,

ever so sure of the destiny

written by their small hands.

But, destiny was never them

for the making nor the taking.

When the tide is too high,

when the doors are slamming too hard,

when the reality seeps in,

that is when a mere human

quits.


A/N. Impromptu writing is sentences tied together, sometime resulting in the most incomprehensible things. It is written without a plan at hand by continuously typing the things that crosses one’s mind. It was not meant to be understood, it is a practice for the mind when everything seems so clustered that one cannot control one’s own train of thoughts.

Impromptu writing

Because I am one.

impromptu-writing

Tomorrow will be better because today I learned that

whenever someone is concerned at you, it was never for your benefit.

They tell you this is better, because it benefitted them.

They tell you to move on, because they feel good to see you suffer.

They tell you that it is for your own good, because they know it is good for them.

How do I know it?

Because I am them, as they are me.

I told you this is better, because it benefits me.

I told you to move on, because I feel good that I am not the one suffering.

I told you that it is for your own good, because I know that it is actually good for me.

I am them, as they are me.

Much to their chagrin, I am better than them at deciphering their lies.

At the end of the day, life is a battle of mind-boggling wits.