What do I want to write? What is it that’s not abstract about me? How to explain what I want to explain, what I want to tell, without confusing whoever reads it? I want to keep it vague, I want to keep it unnoticed, I want to keep it just the way I want it written. You make the theme too heavy to read, they said, keep it simple.

But how do I do that? These are my words, these are the reflection of what I am, what I’ve been through, what I learnt, what makes me, me; and it’s never simple. It’s always the overlaps of pain and wounds I fail to heal, the glimpses of happiness I desperately trying to hold onto before it crashes to dust and I’m trying to defend what I’ve left. It’s always the grief to which I wake up every 3 a.m, always the same red spots I find plastering on the ceilings, it’s always the promises I or they broke, the dreams I never have the chance to weave, the will that never gleams, the hope I have forsaken.

It’s always confusing. It’s always spinning, unclear, abstract, and always I am there, in the middle, tumbling between everything that is unsure, unexplainable, and other ‘uns’ I can never list.