Friday, 6 February 2015


I am broken.

I have been broken one too many times, each one of these events seem to merge together to form one long winded tunnel of memory of broken-ness. I have been broken one too many times to even mind being broken, I got used to this feeling, to this state of being broken. I suspect one too many people know, or at least recognise this when they look into my eyes, and they spot something that sparks a cause for concern. They sit through my fake smile telling them that everything was all right, that I don’t sleep well these days because it is too hot, and I am not referring to the weather.

It is never easy to lie like this, but at times, they are convenient. I choose easy over and over and over again.

She is broken.

She has been broken one too many times, and these are the ones that she shared with me, not because she wanted me to help her pick up the pieces, but more like she knew I could relate to her state of broken-ness. And in turn, she knows that I am broken. Two broken people in the world, albeit for different reasons, some of which overlap.

Sometimes, words are just not enough. Because sometimes, it is words that break us, especially when they come out of the mouths of the people who supposedly love us. While the people that truly love us sit there in silence, listening to every word that we say, because the real message often lies in the things left unsaid. The things we do to the people who love us.

We are broken

We have been broken one too many times for all the wrong reasons, and each and every time, we manage to sticky-tape everything back together into something better. It can almost be forgiven that we think we are untouchable, except that we often forget that we are subjected to the usual human fallacies. We are ill-equipped to deal with what is regarded as one of the most common issues in a relationship. We laugh at them because we think, hey, we are better than that, right. Right? We are obliviously blind to the very same issues that creep up until they eventually cause a crack; a crack that break us.

We are broken and we are in pain. And the more we are in pain, the more we cause each other pain; the lame excuse we use to justify our shortcomings. We refuse to take responsibility for our actions and prefer to instead place blame on the person we said is the love of our lives. I guess it is true that we only hurt the ones we love.

We are all broken. But we are still here.


Lately, I have been thinking quite a lot about 'stories of struggle' - the stories that we often share to those nearest and dearest to us. When I first started this blog, I made a point to stick to the happy stories, because, well, those are easier to write. 

This year, I am going to write both happy and less happy stories. Stories that make us... human. Stories that would hopefully strengthen our bonds. Stories along similar veins to the ones that I wrote about in the past and promptly got me into trouble. I would strip all names and everything else that may potentially identify the people in these stories, strip all the details and stick to the themes. 

And if, by chance, you happen to figure out who these people are, please be kind and offer an ear. Don't talk about them behind their backs, don't say terrible things about them, don't break their hearts. They are just like us, struggling to find meaning. And to live.  

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