Escaping out the ‘Fire Exit’

[Trigger Warning: self-harm]

No Exit is the first existentialist work I’ve read by Jean-Paul Sartre. I had to read it for a philosophy class in my second year, and it acknowledged my idea of an afterlife that is pretty much in limbo. It’s about three damned souls in a hotel room, waiting for the punishment of the sins they’ve committed when they were alive. Only there was no fiery abyss, no torture chamber… so what was the punishment? I remember one line that read:

“Hell is other people”

And they’re meant to basically suffer in each other’s company for all eternity. They’re dead, so they cannot die again even if they stab themselves over and over. Shit like that can drive you mad. At least I believe so.

And as the title suggests, there’s no exit. No end to their suffering.

There are many moments I find myself searching for an escape.
Continue reading “Escaping out the ‘Fire Exit’”

Just (burning) desserts.

You know pain the same way you know falling in love. All too well. And it has left you bruised up and broken like a busted light bulb unable to radiate once again. You know you can’t because you tried. The last few times, you were able to flicker, but the brightness did not last long enough. It may have lasted years, but the light died down. It seems to always return to darkness in the end and you have to unplug.

You’ve had that image of that broken light in you all this time. You’ve been carrying it with you since you flew to this crazy, cold country. That’s why it didn’t scare you to try and shop around for new things. Something that might bring that spark back up? You’re just going to test things out. You weren’t scared because you knew there’s nothing in you left to break.

Your heart had been broken years ago and it has stayed that way since. You believe you’ve had the love of your life, and it went to shit. Everything and every one else after could not compare, even though they’ve tried. You’ve tried too.

He was like you’ve tasted the best cake you’ve ever had. Perfect flavour, ideal consistency. But you had to give it up because that cake was damaging you in ways you didn’t realize until it was too late. That cake is the reason you still struggle with your own self-esteem. He wasn’t as great as you thought because he made you feel like shit. So you moved on, knowing you would never have that cake again, and you could go for ice cream instead anyway.

The problem is: you tasted one delicious ice cream that puts others to shame. Or was it more of an ice cream cake? You felt like it was an upgrade to your favourite cake, and it was satisfying. You had to have more, so you did. You forgot about what worries you had, let your walls down, and went in one spoonful at a time.

But like the cake before it, it consumed you as you consumed it. You’ve never had a healthy relationship with dessert. But you cannot put the spoon down. You’re pissed. You swear off all desserts, but you know yourself… You may be able to give up cake or ice cream, but you will always look for something sweet eventually.

So right now, you are frustrated at the thought of more dessert. But look at it this way. This feeling, that anger. That is proof you’ve still got something left in you to feel. You’re not as empty as you thought you were. You’ve still got a heart. It’s not as perfect as before, and others may break it today or tomorrow… but there’s still a spark left in you, so you can’t just give up.

Darling, you cannot play with fire without eventually getting yourself burned. Scorched. Charred.


I gave up my resolution for Lent.

Remember when I declared finishing Tolstoy’s War & Peace (by reading one chapter a day) my one and only 2018 goal? Well…

I am about 350 pages behind on my reading.

Right now, I’m (jokingly) calling it as giving up my one and only resolution for Lent. I’m not even religious anymore, so it was a terrible joke to tell my traditional Asian parents to say the least. Sure, I pray from time to time because it’s therapeutic… but I haven’t gone to church in years. Not even for Christmas. Or New Year’s. So if that even counts as a thing to give up for Lent… no? I’m going to Hell? Yeah. I already know.

Anyway… Continue reading “I gave up my resolution for Lent.”

How I deal (spoiler alert: it is not good).

A few months back, my grandma stayed with us and I found her cooking dinner in the kitchen one afternoon. I had a terrible day at work, and my family isn’t the “let’s talk about it” type. I do not communicate my emotions well, or sometimes I find I just can’t do it well. So I grabbed a bottle and drank the problems away.

My grandmother saw me, her 20-something granddaughter, drinking a tall glass of beer alone at 5 in the afternoon. I saw her give my glass a look, that little, judgy, disapproving look that all grandmothers serve, then go back to her cooking. Part of me felt like I disappointed her a bit for following my grandfather’s footsteps (but he’s good now, he doesn’t have a drinking problem anymore).

In my head, I channelled my inner Brandi.


When I find myself having writer’s block, I reach for a glass. When I’m feeling shitty, I pop a cork open. When I get disappointed (yet again) by another person, I grab a cold one. When I want to celebrate not spitting on some entitled, rude douchebag’s food, I DRINK TO THAT. Continue reading “How I deal (spoiler alert: it is not good).”

Dating game.

A few weeks ago, I started this draft after talking to my cousin who is also a writer. It was a little rant-slash-conversation about dating and men after I had an all-out, unfiltered conversation with my best friend over the same topic.

Relationships are tough. Dating is difficult. I hate “going out there” and “making myself marketable” for the sake of “not living the rest of my life alone”. Pardon the overuse of the quotations, it’s just I don’t necessarily agree with those. To an extent.

Because I am “out there”or here, I guess, wherever the fuck here may be. I am not closing doors (except the ones I’ve closed behind me). And I don’t have to make myself marketable. I’m not changing who I am to fit someone’s idea of a partner but role playing is a thing I am open to, but there is a time and place for that. And I’m not going to smile more so that people find me more approachable—I know I have a resting bitch face, DEAL WITH IT. Finally, I do not mind being alone. I will have my (future) dogs. And modernity and technology have made it so I can have kids either though artificial insemination or through adoption, the latter of which I prefer better.

And like I said, dating is difficult.

Continue reading “Dating game.”

Count 1, 2, 3. Resuscitate.

I’m reviving this blog because, I want to. I didn’t really stop writing, I simply went back to writing more on my personal journal since I had to go through some things. Since I’ve gotten my life in order (sort of), I’m gonna try this blogging thing again.

So, what happened since my NYC trip eight months ago?

I started my fourth year of undergrad, and I’m currently on my final semester. Despite my age, I’m not really rushing into getting into “typical adulthood”. Fuck that. I’m going to live my life on a pace I am comfortable with. Kids? Marriage? No thank you, at least not now. If I hear any “biological clock ticking” from anyone, I will shove that clock–ok no, but I don’t care about no damn clock. There’s no race. I’ll get there when I get there.

For now, I am alive and that it all that matters.

“Love yourself. Love myself. Peace.” – Suga

I wrote something, and it’s online.

As part of an assignment for my Urban Literatures class, I had to make a short creative piece. I’m not one to finish a creative anything–not even a short poem. This assignment, I found, harder to brainstorm than the 1500-word essays I had to do on the regular.

The instructions were simple: find a location in the novel In the Skin of a Lion by Michael Ondaatje and integrate it in the piece. The novel is set in Toronto, and some landmarks like the Waterworks, the Bloor Viaduct, and Union Station are in it. I would have loved to see the Bloor Viaduct and read a passage from the novel inscripted (is that a word?) on a part of the bridge, but it’s winter and out of my way. I pass through Union during my daily commute, so obviously I choose the convenient location.

I assume half of my class would use Union, so I had to figure some way to be kind of different. At least try. Hell, I need that 10% to boost my mark. Continue reading “I wrote something, and it’s online.”