First things first, reviving this blog to serve as a little space for my attempts to write again. Wish me luck? 🙂

Anyway, attempt number 1 after the cut

June 7, 2013


It was like being in the dark, in a room with no windows, with no way for light to seep in. And you are huddled in the corner, arms around your knees, gripping each other as if any slight touch will leave you shattered into pieces.

The walls of the room are thin enough for you to hear them outside, hear their footsteps in sync with each other, to hear their laughter, their happiness echoing even inside the room. You don’t see them, but you feel the affection, you feel the attraction growing by the second.

You were outside before. You were once in that same place.

You look at yourself now, and even in the dark you see that you are not enough – your limbs too short, your body lacking, your heart and what it can offer inadequate for one.

You then start to blame yourself. You should’ve done this, you should’ve said that. You should be less of this, and more of that. Every flaw is pointed out and scrutinized, the littlest mistake is recalled and criticized.

You stay in that room for what seems to be a while, constantly throwing sticks and stones that somehow end up on your already bruised skin. You know it hurts, but you don’t budge. You stay still, head down, hands gripping your body, trying to protect yourself, the mess of a person you have become.


You hear different voices now, replacing the ones ringing in your ears the whole time you were in. They talk about how perfect the weather is outside, how the sun is warm and the breeze is cool, how the smell of freshly-cut grass is intoxicating. You hear more footsteps, though not in sync, moving in a playful manner, like little children running.

They say it’s wonderful to be outside and how they wish you were there with them, an invitation from the outside that reached your dark room.

You listen and try to look for the familiar voices. You hear them, but they are faint. That’s strange, you say to yourself.  The warm sounds are overpowering now, getting louder and louder as the ones before fade away and then, disappear completely.

You release your grip, one finger at a time and shake off the numbness. You stretch your legs, with your feet pointed like that of a ballerina’s. You hoist yourself up slowly, wobbling a bit as you stand on your own feet.

Has it been that long, you think to yourself, and agree that yes, maybe it’s been a while.

One foot in front of the other, you tell yourself, as you reach for the door. Each step made is small and careful, traces of that fear of breaking still present, still there. You see a door, was it even there before?


The sun is warm and the breeze is cool. The grass feels good under your feet, not too prickly, and it is indeed freshly cut. The weather is as perfect as how you imagined it to be from the inside, how they described it to be.

Different arms reach out and take turns to envelop you. Each grip is firm yet gentle, and with very embrace comes words that touch far beyond the skin.

I am glad you’re back here. Don’t leave again. It’s not your fault. You deserve more. You are enough. You are more than enough.

And every time you hear these, you take another good look at yourself.

Your limbs are just the right length. Your body, while not perfect, is more than okay. And your heart, the heart that you think is not capable of giving enough, can actually give so much more.

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