It started with me wanting to write an encouraging letter to myself, but it quickly became another journal entry of me lamenting about my life. When is this going to end – this cyclical bullshit of me settling, realising that I am unhappy, seeking a way out, feeling defeated, and settling again. I had read books. Music. Travel. Opened up, shut down. Gone away, escaped, fucked around, let people in, drove people out. How and where do people find peace, grace, faith, strength? I feel so broken and incompetent. Where do I go to learn how to untangle the knots? It is so noble to call these scars my badges of honour, but the truth is I am changed, I don’t feel like the same person I was, I am still getting used to this new person. I wonder everyday if I would be okay. And it feels almost like a sin to put these thoughts online. I don’t want to burden people who care for me with my never-ending moping. My indecisiveness tires me …

The floor glistened. It is quiet and there is no one around. It started to drizzle shortly after I left home. I flustered for a while, worried that the rain might get heavier on me. Then I realised that I didn’t mind getting drenched afterall, it’s almost like some kind of baptism. Can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to embrace the rain. There is always that point of time when one is worried about getting caught in a downpour before deciding “fuck it”. I am not that alone. There are people who are still up not because they’re feeling a little off tonight – the people still at work at the sleepy gas station, the underpaid and overworked foreign workers filling cartons at the fruits and vegetables store, young men zipping around on their bikes delivering food to other hungry people (who are still awake) amongst other lone people walking/jogging at 2:30am. Every huge tree I stroll by offered some kind of solace, similar to what those occasional nice thoughts I had about …