It’s like music, looping and progressing… as I read, write, read, write… circling around the center with a developing sophistication.

Why writing? I often ask myself the question. I could do many other things… but why writing? Even not with my mother tongue… with the language that I make frequent mistakes in article, tense, preposition… I don’t have an answer, but only have an urge for the words, the lines, the expression, the fingers, the pens, the blank papers, the cursor blinking on the computer screen… seeking the lines that have to be shown, seen, heard, witnessed… whatever… I’m writing.

All the writers, all the books. Not read by the major public anymore. The only short impact sentences prevail in digital gadgets. We are drowning in these short-wavelength impressive meaningless words. People seem to need just one blow to be hit on their heads to forget all the others.

I want to surf again. The waves excite me, scare me, sever my soul in half. I want a flash of lightning. Now! The dark sky will be shuddered by its power. Ah… I’m thirsty, thirsty for something that has been charged for a long year to manifest. I’m waiting… I’m… waiting… for… the moment… the moments… the night, the electricity, the light, the current, the blow, the awe… I’m waiting for the highest tide… that hasn’t come yet. I have my board ready to ride… soon.


The concept of fragmentation and regrowth of each fragment to the size of the original or bigger scares and unsettles the mind… there is no way to win or get rid of… but it seems that this is possible only in the plant world. This is the first antagonist in my novel that I’ve been working on for several years.

Then, the secretion of this plant; its ability to trap… to prevent everything from moving and flowing. I tried to create fear as Jose Saramago did in “Blindness”. I set up the scientifically possible background of this fearful situation more successfully than Saramago did (because he didn’t provide any explanation in the happening of epidemic blindness), but I failed in capturing the essence of human behavior in this situation with a grand lens as he did (which I aimed at the beginning of my draft). After all, it ended up as Ashley’s story. A dull, not page-turning, no suspense story.

Maybe this is enough because Ashley died… so I can let her rest in peace to move on my life. Her story did her work… and her blood is still flowing at the bottom of the lake. That is enough for me. How many pages? It doesn’t matter. How many years? It doesn’t matter. I did write and she existed. I really loved her with the ache inside my chest whenever I think of her blood depleting pale face with her desperate devotion for something more than her. I loved her dearly for that… and now, I’m letting her go.

More Freedom More Energy

“I haven’t come this far to only come this far.”

If I wanted to have a companion to my hospital visits, I wouldn’t have left the conveniences of my previous world.

It must be nice to have a companion and friends who may care about me or provide actual physical care when I need it. But I made a choice and left those things behind because I value something different in my life; my freedom.

I knew that I had a rocky road in front of me, giving up the privileges that I used to have, to take uncertainty and insecurity into the path that I would walk. And I’m on that road now. A dusty, lonely, windy path… that I don’t know to where it leads.
I wouldn’t have been on this path if I had wanted the ordinary luxury of life. I desired something more, something more luxurious than jewels, cars, houses.
Choice; at any circumstance. My free will is my companion even when I feel shaky and want to cry with my knees on the ground… I’m free… that’s all that matters, all that I’ve ever wanted. I have my wings now.


Is there a life that can be said as a success? A complete victory. What should I do if life fails me? Is there something that can be accessed as a failed life? Maybe not…

Coffee… a large cup on my table at a local cafe.
I know I shouldn’t drink this… at this time of my life.

I still remember the operation table that day. As someone said, I should retrieve the steps in my head to let that experience go. Most of the time in my trials, my heart froze first before my brain finished the process. The coldness… was unbearable. When I woke up, he asked me why I was crying. My lips were silent… the streak of tears flowed down over my cheeks. That was all. A small plastic container connected to my neck collected the blood still flowing. The color of that blood… it didn’t look alive. The physical pain was all gone, but the emotional hurt didn’t give in to time.

Maybe this is a small step I’m taking to let that experience go, let that time of my life go, let the long drives back to work with the bruised neck go.

Still, they don’t understand me. I feel despaired. I don’t even want to be understood… just I want them to release their gripping expectations over me. That is all I want, but I know that it will never happen. Sometimes…. this makes me very sad. But I think this is okay… at least, I’m away now.

Kindness from random people.
I appreciate that. Still something missing in there, something that reaches deep into the soul. For now, this will be fine. I’ll just drink it willingly with gratitude. Thanks, Diana.

Pipeline, Oahu

It’s funny how the mind travels to the unintended designation. And some words stick in the head forever like the beautiful white corals on the beach of Waikiki that day.
My heart was bitter all that week, so I dipped myself in some sweetness that I probably shouldn’t have. The smell of the sea was swelling like the waves that surfers waited. The memory that day all jumbled up with the waves, the corals, the surfboards, and all the words including Pipeline makes a mixture of the sensations that hardly can be explained… but I taste it again in a bland day like this when my mind shoots back to the day when the wind was rising and the sea stopped for a moment.