I write & shoot (photographs) occasionally

Month: August, 2013

Fragmented Memories

Flying through the air, beautifully foreign city lights twinkle up at me. They seem to form a trellis of warm orange glows, specks and pinpoints that make up an uncanny radiance. A European country? I don’t know.

Falling, falling through the air, screaming for fear of losing my life. Somehow I have lost my ability to fly. The wind rushes past me so quickly as I accelerate towards the ground. I don’t know if I am the one falling, or the one saving the one falling. Either way, there is someone with me. The one saving me catches me, and a parachute opens safely before we hit the ground. 

Somehow we land in my home again, and all is good and well.

Honestly, I don’t understand myself. How do I come up with such dreams? No, I did not watch Aladdin before I went to bed, but this is the coolest dream I’ve ever had.

My Aladdin-worthy magical dream that my weird brain decided to come up with to make me happy before I take my exams. One of the things I am really intrigued about is how we dream. Are these scenes adapted from past memories? Our desires? Our fears? I really don’t know but it is ever so interesting. And how is it that in the dream, the fear felt so real? Even though once I woke up my reality in the dream faded away to the reality that is real.(If you get what I mean)

What I am angry about is that I can never remember my dreams. I wish I could! I remember only random fragments of it (like almost dying). I can’t even remember whether my dream was in the perspective of the victim or the hero, which is really sad. And I can’t remember who saved me/I saved, though it seems like a super significant detail. Sigh, I don’t get this dreammaking stuff.

Guess what I remember? That somehow when I reached home again in the dream, there was some magical shipment or I brought back branded bags and shoes for my mum from somewhere like Europe. She even said the shoes were too small.

My brain is such a sucker for trivial matters. 



100 marks is the maximum in most exams I know. 100 degrees celsius. 100 ripe old years of age.

And now, 100 followers here on Rambles.

I know 100 followers might not seem like a lot, but it is to me. I like to imagine standing in front of 100 of you, and 100 of you would fill a whole room. One whole room of people is a lot of people to me.

And most importantly, I am so grateful for all the support I’ve gotten here. It’s amazing, doing what I love- writing, and finding so many people who share the same interests, making so many new friends.

I would shout and sing a great big THANK YOU to every single one of you who has supported me, whether you have followed this blog or left some lovely and helpful comments on any of my posts.

I will definitely continue to write poems, random anecdotes, and all my weird thoughts about life. I never really thought anyone would enjoy my eccentric thought processes, but BAM- all of you guys are here.:)

A thousand thank yous to every single one of you, and my virtual words are now flying across oceans and continents to lodge themselves in all of your computers.:)

The Girl in the Clock

There once lived a girl who resented time. She loved night and darkness, yet time had to evolve it into light and day. Everything she had, she could never hold on to because eventually, time would take it away. Time was a complicated entity she never understood. For its ways she could not understand, she hated time.

What she didn’t know though, was that time would make her understand.

She awoke to a different world, one of wood and glass. A repeated ticking sound unnerved her greatly, as numbers surrounded her in a dizzying confusion. No one heard her; no one saw her. A clock stood in her place.

She had never been so afraid, enclosed within her greatest foe. Her hand rested on the cool glass face as she peered out into the unchanging world, each rigid movement of hands ever so slow. It was ironical that within a clock, she had lost her own sense of time. She had never realised that time had a life of its own.

With each tick of the clock; each view out of the glass face, she saw a different scene. An old lady breathing her last breath as a long beeping sound ensued. A man driven to insanity by his failing career and broken family. She was enraged as her eyes pooled with angry tears. These things would not have happened if time had stopped at the happiest moments in everybody’s lives, granting us joy forever. Time was cruel, to make us suffer pain and loss; dejection and devastation.

This sinking sadness should have been enough to make her look away, and yet she couldn’t, because the scene outside had changed again. She saw a man and his wife, the image of unparalleled joy as they cradled a newborn infant in their loving embrace. She saw an old man celebrating his ninetieth birthday with filial children and young grandchildren over a simple homemade dinner, and she heard him think to himself that this was all he ever wanted his children to be in life. As she watched, her heart swelled with warmth and happiness.

For the first time, she began to doubt her beliefs. Was this joy a product of time? Did time make all these happenings possible? She glanced up at the looming numbers above her, as the ticking sound reverberated in her ears. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

Twelve numbers. She saw twelve numbers. Clearly, she had always known that a clock showed twelve numbers on its face, but it was her own blindness that startled her. It was as if all along, she had only chosen to see six numbers. She had only chosen to see what she liked, what she wanted, what she believed. She had convinced herself that time was a villain, even though it was not.

In awe, she stood up and swept her hand over the shadow of dust that had clouded half of the clock’s face. The picture came to her in full focus, and she understood.

She understood time.


Ripples pulse gently forward

Fragmenting the blue sky and clouds

Forming wobbly images of a nonexistent universe

Brown leaves bob up and down on the water surface

And tiny insects dart around like laser points


Beneath unbroken canopies

Air is cool and refreshing

An unlikely escape from this world

Rays of sunlight filter through gaps in the umbrella above

Painting leaves a glowing yellow and green


Animals disguise themselves as one with nature

But their acts are exposed

By the watchful eyes of people around

Who watch them intently without a sound