It's a mistake to think that it is not possible for them to touch another the way they touch you. The curves and crevices of your body might be yours and yours alone but sometimes they only need close their eyes to feel another the same way they felt you. 

But take heart, for there are those who, even knowing this, choose not to.

Somewhere, caught between
Changing trains
And pressed between
Sweaty, eager men
And watching the woman in front of me
Buffing her nails
In great meditation,
I close my eyes
And think of penning a poem
That would free me of you

I was a mooh fatt (loudmouth) when I was young. I would tell everyone everything. When long trains of perplexing words rumbled their way into my ears and screeched to a halt in my mouth, I gargled and spat them out quickly, clearing both my throat and my conscience. This, of course, infuriated my parents and I would often be punished for taking off mine and a few others' figurative underwear each time I became with someone. In my defense, I was only speaking the truth, albeit with some embellishments. But no one seemed to want it and I was often made to shut up.

Growing up, I have realised the little or no good it has done for me. Being apologetic about my sense of self-righteousness, giving another person the benefit of doubt and hoping this disguised goodness would pay me back in the future has been a thorough misjudgment on my part.

So I'd like to back to being a mooh fatt, thanksverymuch!

Finding Words

Jaan envies her daughter because she runs with her tiny feet towards the things she loves without inhibition. She screams at the top of her lungs if she wants something (and mostly gets it). And she’s also not afraid to call out on mean aunts.


Jaan wishes to be as brave as her daughter. At least on paper. But she is often crippled by the fear of being misinterpreted, for most adults misinterpret. She has been told she has a tendency to stray far from the point and manages to take no one with her. Often thrown in the deep end of her own jumbled words, she comes up for big gulps of air, flustered and tearful.

But for now, her daughter, curled in her lap, is sucking and biting on Jaan’s arm, jolting her into the present. So she can seek repose in the fact that at least love doesn’t necessarily need words

When I was a kid, I wanted to own a pet no one thought was cute. Ugly even. Or maybe one with three legs. I wanted to bring it home and love it, more so because I was sure no one else would.

It's a vile thought now. To think that I was doing it only to stroke my ego. So pathetic.

I think that sometimes it translates into my choice of men.

Mumbling #24

I think of the number of hours I pick to spend doing something and the same hours someone else takes to do the things they love and how they are different from each other but then not so much. Although the two of us are choosing to understand life in our own ways, our compelling purpose is the same.  We want to achieve what we think is the best way to live life. We're all learning so many different things but then we're also learning the same thing. And now and then when we're putting a finger on that same thing while swirling drinks in our glasses during conversations or when we're just sitting together, around a bonfire on a star-studded night, we're coming closer to understanding life. 

Jaan has been trying to cross the road for some time now. The other side looks like roses and beckons her with promises of a happy life that she will get to share with more people like herself.