Is it enough to love?

Placing the last hanger in the wooden contraption in front of her , she took a step back to take in her masterpiece, and boy was she pleased. Each and every article of her clothing were now coordinated according to the shades and hues that they belong to. Just as a grin broke out on her face, a sound beeped out of nowhere and interrupted her reverie.

Stomping her feet to where the sound came from, she saw it was his phone that had light up with a notification for a text. Seeing that it was an unknown number, she was emboldened to swipe her finger to the right and only to be greeted with an incriminating message that sent ire down her spine:

Miss you darling, xox.

Like a matador bull, all she saw was red and not a second of hesitation later, his phone was thrown across the room, collided with the wall, and a deafening sound was heard before that small piece of electronical device broke into smithereens.

On cue, he hurried into the room with his brow furrowed together.

 "What happened?" he asked with concern laced in his words.

Without missing a beat, she threw objects within her reach at him; the more he tried to fend for himself, the faster and more vicious the objects came at him. Clothes. Vases. Books. Hangers. They all came flying at him until finally running out of things to throw, she slid down exhaustedly on to the floor.

Looking at her dejected form, he knew that her raging fit has ended. However, it was not a time to proclaim victory nor was it a time to huff a breath of relief because knowing her as well as he did, he knew that the battle might have subsided but the war was far from being over. Isn't there a proverb along the line of, it was always the calmest before the storm?

Thus, he knew that he needed to tread cautiously. Traipsing carefully through the strewn clothes, shards of glasses, torn books, stray papers and overturned table, he was halted in his steps when he heard her.

"Let's end this," she whispered so meekly that her words came out bereft. It was as if all the fight had seeped out of her with every object that now lain perilously around the battle ground that she has just so recently waged.

"What?" he croaked.

She did not raised her head from her vantage point of the floor, but she knew that if she would just lift her chin up infinitesimally, she would be able to see confusion and disbelief plastered on his face. It would be hard for him to accept her decision, she conceded internally, but she's done trying to salvage this wreckage of a relationship.

" I don't want to do this anymore. You. Us. I'm tired of living in this web of doubts all of the time."

" Baby," he pleaded, "don't do this. I promised you that I'll ch—"

" Stop! Just stop...please...let me go."

A heavy silence descended and cocooned them in a blanket of insurmountable tension.

"Are you sure?" he implored, after much hesitation, in a last attempt to convince her otherwise.

"I don't believe I have ever been surer of anything else," she stated without a hint of emotion.

Standing at the threshold of the walk-in closet, he took one last inventory at her. She could sense the intensity of his gaze on her but she stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. With an audible, almost strangled, sigh he acquiesced with her wish for freedom and left.

It was only after his footsteps were no longer heard that she gave free reigns to her tears to cascade freely down her cheeks.She has finally gotten the license to do as she wants.

But was she really happy about her new-found independence?

Happiness is indeed a choice

; Has it ever occurred to you that our wounds are what drive us to create? After all, loss in one arena compels us to compensate in others. Think about the senses. The way loss of sight leads to heightened senses of smell, touch and hearing for the blind. What if the same is true of the creative process? What if those who’ve lost something compensate for it in their works? In that case their damage helps them. It’s what compels them to create. — Jennifer Cody Epstein (The Painter of Shanghai)

In the space between yes and no

maybe it'll only be a tiny step at a time, however, a tiny step forward is much more desired than staying rooted on the place pondering of the past and eventually and inevitably taking huge leap after leap backwards. maybe i'm not good and i'll never be anything other than an amateur and cliche writer but i know that despite my melancholic nature i'll regret it if i don't even attempt to try so i will; i will write even if it's nothing but rubbish. i will write even if it's hugely criticized and i will write because thats just who i am and who i want to be.

When everything's made to be broken

It is during moments like this when I realize how inept I am in my writing. Moments when my breath is caught at how beautiful some words are crafted by one. Moments when I pondered how can one express their thoughts so exquisitely? Moments when I just loathe myself for my inability to write like them.

When everything else fails

1. Shanghai Girls by Lisa See
2. The Calligrapher's Daughter by Eugenia Kim
3. The Other Queen by Phillipa Gregory
4. Evening is the whole day by Preeta Samarasan
5. The Concubine's Daughter by Pai Kit Fai
6. The translation of beauty by Mia Yun
7. The Queen's Fool/ The Virgin Lover by Phillipa Gregory
8. The Chocolate Run/ The Cupid Effect by Dorothy Koomson
9. My Best Friend's Girl by Dorothy Koomson

till then I shall stay away from the alluring trap of a bookstore.

Two weeks of paradise

Here's what I'm going to do for the rest of my holidays:

• Write.
• Start working out again. I miss how I used to work out everyday back when I was still working at Celebrity Fitness; the adrenaline rush during the vigorous workout, the sweating and how I feel much much better after each workout.
• Revamp my wardrobe. I'm going to start clearing out all the clothes that I haven't been wearing and wouldn't be wearing, then I'm going to go on a shopping spree to update my wardrobe. tumblr influence#
• Get a writing job. I still berate myself for losing all four of my writing jobs because of sheer procrastination.
• Finish up Waters for Elephant, Evening is the whole day & Shanghai Girls. It's amazing how much I want to read these books during exam and when I'm free to do so I loose my interest.
• Watch all the Korean drama series and the English movies in my lappy.
• Clean my horribly messy room. Despite the fact that I stayed at hostel for 5 days in a week for the past four months my room at home still get horribly messy. le sigh#
• Try out the recipes that I found in magazine. I like cooking albeit not being very good at it, however, I hate the cleaning up afterwards.

Passion is what matters the most

Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don’t lose faith. I’m convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You’ve got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.”

— Text of Steve Jobs’ commencement address, Stanford University, 2005