Archives for posts with tag: inspiration

Straight up, this is probably going to the most private thing I have ever written here. But I think these words are far too important to keep solely in the private pages of my journal. I wouldn’t say I learnt this the easy way, but I think things up in my misty mind finally did click for me. So here goes:

You know I used to think that power was everything in any relationship. And this power rested solely in the hands of the person who loved less, who was consequently given more, pandered to, and could walk away with nary a scratch if the relationship did end.

I succeeded in holding this power, through all the relationships I was in, romantic or platonic. I almost always had to have the last word; I was always the one they fought over; I was the one ready with all the cynicism in the world for one more bastard in history (mine or the girls’); I was the one with the strength and the mojo, so to speak.

This is what I have come to learn. Power doesn’t bring you happiness. Holding the knowledge that you love someone less isn’t going to make you wake up with the knowledge that you don’t want anyone else in the world sleeping beside you, but him. Loving less isn’t going to make all the little things count; loving less isn’t going to take you all the way to 49 or 94 together; loving less isn’t going to build an us, and it most certainly isn’t going to build a you.

He made me realize this. For the first time I didn’t care if he liked me more or I him. For the first time it didn’t matter if I was going to have the last word in a bout of verbal sparring. For the first time I didn’t need to fight to put my defences up and ensure I had an exit route that would leave me unscathed. I didn’t need to; he was more than enough even if he didn’t mean to be.

But you should know upfront, this is not a love story.



[via fuckyeahliteraryquotes]





[via Daulism]

I can’t believe it’s been more than a year since Daul passed away. But her strange and uncanny way of relating to people still lives on, you know? You read some Daulism and then you think Fuckyeah, girl read my mind again.


[The Critic as Artist by Oscar Wilde, via paomycha and distantheartbeats]




I have been surreptitiously inspired. In a Harry’s-wand-goes-tap-tap-with-a-gaggle-of-magic-words way.

I think I’ve been waiting a long time for this to hit me again. The urgent, pleading need to write.

I haven’t been writing poetry for a long time; even worse are prose or the short stories which have not flowed on paper for the better part of three years. I suppose if you consider the fact that I only write poetry when I’m tragically down in the pits, this has been a good thing. But I’m ready to write again, ready to put ink on paper for purposes other than crafting dramatic and contrived press releases for good money.

I’ve added a tab at the top (Catastrofree Writes) to share some of the things I’ve written over the years and more importantly, to share some of the things I will write from hereon. Let’s hope this little collection keeps growing, shall we?

Thank you stranger. For reminding me that the gift of the pen does not have to be given only when life’s a bitch.




I love telling people about how we first met, in that Theories of Sociology class with Forrest Zhang; I will tell that story over and over, to anyone who would listen. It’s what I consider a milestone in this lifetime: the way I met my best friend, this tour de force who just changed my life completely from the moment she called me her “friend for life” (I quote that letter on the back of a used legal pad).

It’s a story about taking chances; it’s about thanking the unsung hero(in)es who have inspired from afar; it’s about reaching out and learning not to be afraid of hugs; it’s about hand-drawn cards with black Pilot V5 ink (the Oracle Hero only used Pilot V5 pens); it’s about hours and hours spent turning a virtual connection into a hand-to-heart one. The day I shyly sent my first email to her and the day she hesitantly passed a card to me in class – I will tell my children and their children about these days.

It’s been almost 6 years since. And I still ask myself every single day now; how in the world did I manage to survive 19 years without my Oracle Hero? Because I sure as hell cannot imagine a day without my best friend, taking on the world. Together.

A note that I found today on a little paper plane:

I used to feel so alone in the city.

All those gazillions of people and then me, on the outside. Because how do you meet a new person? I was very stumped by this for many years.

And then I realized, you just say “Hi.” They may ignore you. Or you may marry them.

And that possibility is worth that one word.

– Augusten Burroughs, Running With Scissors

And while we’re still looking at a Rational Society, a’la Rumi’s amazing dress, we shouldn’t forget the rest of the equally ogle-worthy goodies from the same mother.

The palette? Ooh. The slouch factor? Ooh. The endless possibilities? Ooh.

But most of all, the cunningly deceptive simplicity? Ooh and a big UH HUH.

[via Logan Neitzel]

If I do something I think is new, it will be misunderstood, but if people like it, I will be disappointed because I haven’t pushed them enough. The more people hate it, maybe the newer it is. Because the fundamental human problem is that people are afraid of change. The place I am always looking for—because in order to keep the business I need to make a little compromise between my values and customers’ values—is the place where I make something that could almost—but not quite—be understood by everyone.

When I grow up, I want to be like Rei Kawakubo.
Building an empire out of a vision, remaining true to that for forty years (and then some), and remaining as anonymous as it is humanly possible for a woman of her stature.

She covered her face with powder and paint because she didn’t need it, and she refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn’t boring. She was conscious that the things she did were the things she had always wanted to do.

(Zelda Fitzgerald, 1922)