echo take a moment
dear reader,
today, i want you to do this stranger a favour.
a favour not just for me, but a favour for yourself too.
you can do this at any time.
you can do this whenever you’re ready.
today, i want you to take a moment.
a moment to forgive yourself.
maybe you hurt someone in the past, without realising it.
maybe it didn’t matter in the end because it was an old friend, and you don’t talk anymore.
but it still matters to you.
maybe you forgot something important that meant a lot to someone.
maybe it was a birthday.
maybe it was something a better person would have remembered.
it’s an embarrassing mistake and one they probably made you feel bad for, and even if they didn’t, you’d still feel bad.
maybe you ignored a call for help without actually meaning to.
maybe you didn’t extend your hand when it was needed, because you were too busy,
or because you didn’t listen carefully enough and take the time to understand.
a moment to forgive other people.
for the times they let you down, when you needed a shoulder to cry on or a space to share the weight of your thoughts because it was just too much for you to bear alone, but they didn’t even spare you a glance.
for the times they judged you unjustly, when their strings of unpleasant words and knives with serrated blades of assumptions pierced your heart, but they didn’t even stop for a second to think of how much you didn’t need that– what you needed was kindness.
for the times they underestimated you, told you that you weren’t enough and made you doubt yourself, instead of believing in you and the potential you could reach.
a moment to think of gratitude.
of the chirps of birds on early mornings,
of the rising sun that paints the heavens gold,
of sunlit pavements and breathing fresh air,
of clouds that form stories on their canvas the sky,
of stars that blink and show their light in the darkness,
of the moon that glows and has always been there since the beginning of time.
i want you to take a moment to feel blessed because you’re here.
i want you to know that you deserve to experience what this world has to offer.
all of this,
because i need you to understand that you’re worth it.
center of censure
and so, i sit here.
i sit here and listen to your piercing words,
meant to rip me to pieces,
meant to destroy my self-esteem.
i sit here and look at the hatred in your face,
meant to frighten me,
meant to destroy my self-worth.
i sit here and i taste the bitterness of your aura,
meant to throw me off course,
meant to make me believe that i am nothing in this vast world.
i sit here and i smell the vitriol that is foaming at your lips,
meant to be spat in my direction,
meant to corrode my skin like acid.
i sit here and feel the darkness in your heart,
in your mind,
in your soul,
meant to make me feel guilty,
for being the reason for this occurrence.
but as i sit here,
i cannot see you.
i cannot see you for who you are,
i cannot see you for who you once were,
and i cannot see you as the person who i once loved.
as i sit here,
i can only see an abyss.
and so, i sit here,
with the hopes that somehow, someday,
you will come to realise that
the person who is the center of your censure,
is the person in the mirror.
and so, i sit here,
with the hopes that somehow, someday,
you will gather the courage to face the shards
of yourself in the equally broken mirror,
and decide to do the next brave thing–
to admit and to nurture your mishaps the way you would nurture a friend’s,
to look inward and start to meet yourself with love,
only so that it can be reflected to whatever comes across the path of your gaze,
and instead of being a center of censure,
you would censure the notion
that such a thought had ever entered your head.
self-introduction
here is a self-introduction,
and maybe somewhere,
and i believe that it is more likely than unlikely,
you will find a piece of yourself too.
a girl finding her place in the world,
hope glistening in her eyes before it is extinguished by all of the hurt that is to come,
question after question ready to ask before she is shut down,
but she still won’t stop asking because she is too stubborn to stop,
too hungry for knowledge to stop.
a girl getting pelted with sharp words,
before she even learns how to defend herself,
and she still has the scars from the first few times she was attacked to prove it,
but now she is better at arguments, wielding her words like a master,
cutting through the air like no other blade could,
yet somehow she still manages to be soft at the right times,
kind to others in the ways others were never kind to her.
a girl with wet cheeks,
and a pillowcase stained with salt,
wishing that it was soaked with seawater instead of tears,
because she always loved the beach but hadn’t been there in a long time,
just like the way she felt like she hadn’t belonged anywhere in a long time,
the way she felt alone, the way she felt like no one could ever understand
because no one ever tried to.
a girl afraid to trust,
because she is too broken and the world has painted her skin with cracks
rather than the colours she had dreamed of when she was a child,
less naive that she once was at the price of wearing suffocating masks
so that she doesn’t reveal her tells too quickly, too recklessly,
giving others space to use her weaknesses,
to exploit her, to render her powerless,
and she now only reveals to people what she wishes them to see
and doesn’t open up easily.
a girl who believes she is too broken to be loved,
because each time she has opened up, someone has found a way to shut her down,
to make her fold in on herself even tighter, making the chances of her ever opening up again even lower,
and she wonders who would ever be able to love her
after looking at all the twisted, mangled pieces that make her herself.
a girl who, even with every reason to turn against the rest of the world,
with every reason to be unkind to those who have not shown kindness to her,
with every reason to give up and give in to falling down the blackhole,
with every reason to stop believing in good, with every reason to lose her light,
still doesn’t do so, because she knows that the world needs her love
and she wants to make it a better place for other people just like her,
for the children who are just like her,
for the children who grew up too fast to comprehend,
for the ones who still remain fearless even after all they have endured.
i said that it was likely you would find a piece of yourself here,
and maybe it wouldn’t show itself outwardly,
maybe it would be hidden under the overturned pieces of your heart that has been a little bit shattered (maybe more),
or maybe it would be hidden in a crevice of a part of yourself even the rest of the world hasn’t seen,
but if you resonate even with one part of this self-introduction,
i hope you find peace with the knowledge
that your beautiful soul is deserving of so much love.
for you
writer’s note: the following is a two-part poem where the bolded and unbolded parts can be read on their own, as well as together. read them in tandem for optimum effect!
it was never really about me.
it never did have to be about you.
because in my eyes, whoever you were,
you would still be special,
and you would still be you,
even if nothing was about you.
i didn’t live for myself, it was always for someone else.
you’re wrong, because you did live for yourself.
you are living for yourself.
i didn’t choose for myself, my choices were always made for me.
you made the choice to do what most people don’t.
you made the choice to keep going
no matter how much you didn’t want to.
i didn’t want to be who i am now,
my identity is a reflection of who they think i should be.
even then, you are still making an identity of your own.
on difficult days, you get up and try–
that in itself is resilience,
on easy ones, you dare not let your guard down–
that is care.
i’m not who i am or who i could have been,
i’m who i’m supposed to be, who they tell me i am.
and yet here you are, still effortlessly transforming
into who you are becoming.
just like the butterfly in its cocoon,
so oblivious to its beauty even when it emerges,
because it cannot see what another soul sees.
but if they let me be honest,
if only you let yourself.
if they let me say just one thing that i would truly mean,
without need to coat it with flattery or charm,
without need to conceal it with a watered down version of the heated words i wish to scream,
without need to hold back and worry about what they would think…
but it is admittedly unfortunate to note,
that the words we mean most we keep to our hearts,
and the words we don’t slip off our tongues.
i would tell them that true, maybe it was never really about me, and it never would be no matter how hard i hoped,
but it is admittedly unfortunate to note,
that hope itself can be a hopeless thing,
causing more disappointment than comfort.
but i would tell them that instead of me,
maybe it would be about the little kid from so many years ago
who only wished to be saved from their fate,
who wished for a place in the world that they were never given,
who wished for love,
and who had hoped to receive it…
but never had.
but it is equally as important to note,
that even if hope and love are scarce,
strength, in you, is not.
and you might find that behind it all,
it has always been you that has faced life
with both fragility and fortitude.
still, the world has more meaning with you in it,
and love is worth whatever you are going through,
even if you can’t seem to find it.
things i used to draw
i used to draw pictures on recycled paper
with trembling hands
with coloured markers
with a head full of ideas my drawings could never do justice.
i used to draw houses with slanted roofs
with happy faces
and so much room
with flower pots on the windowsills
and birds perched on the same tree i always drew.
i used to draw people i knew
we would stand together
and hold hands
with so much love only a child could portray
in an innocent drawing.
so when did we switch out
recycled paper for bank notes,
trembling hands for outstretched ones,
always asking for more and more and more,
coloured markers for nearly dried out pens,
and heads full of ideas for ones filled with dread?
and when did the slanted roofs start to shatter,
the happy faces turn sour,
so much space left wasted,
the flowers abandoned and not watered,
the birds no longer around,
and instead of a picture of peace came a picture of loneliness?
when did the people we know become people we’ve forgotten,
when did standing together become standing alone,
when did holding hands become letting go,
and when did so much love get lost?
toy frog
i saw a little boy kiss his toy frog on the nose today.
it reminded me of myself,
tea parties in the late afternoons with my toys,
asking them to introduce themselves to each other,
and making sure each one of them got a hug every night.
it made me think,
of how much a child could love,
and it made me think,
how each one of us has such a capacity to love.
it made me think about how,
along the way,
each of one us lost parts of ourselves
that had the capacity to love.
but then i think again,
and i think about how love is lost and found.
i think about how love is never completely lost,
it is only hidden.
i think about how maybe,
all it takes is a simple act–
one of affection,
one of truth,
one of love,
that can make even the most stubborn of us fold and come out of hiding.
counting blessings
i count my blessings like they are sparkling seashells on a beach,
hidden jewels beneath the surface,
jagged edges poking not my toes but my heart,
as a reminder that though they are hidden they are still there.
i count my blessings like they are droplets of rain,
falling too fast to comprehend,
forming transparent puddles on the floor,
so transparent i sometimes miss them,
so much i sometimes lose count.
i count my blessings like they are reflections of light on water,
rippling in the wind in their elusiveness,
sometimes sparkling bright,
or is it a trick of the light?
i count my blessings in the way only i can,
acknowledging some but ignoring most,
because life gets too chaotic for me to sit down
and count them one by one by one.
but i still count my blessings,
even if my counting is imperfect,
even if life is chaotic,
because a chaotic life is a happening one,
and an imperfect life is a beautiful one.
maybe
maybe it isn’t about you having to be strong enough.
maybe it’s about how much love you still have in your heart even after everything.
maybe it’s because your heart is still so pure for this world, that it continues fighting for you.
maybe it’s just because you’re you.
and maybe that’s enough.
maybe it isn’t about you building a perfect life.
maybe it’s about how you live through the imperfections and see the beauty in them.
maybe it’s the way you see things other people miss.
a friend that is not included in the conversation, a coin falling from someone’s wallet,
something someone forgot to take that belongs to them;
their peace of mind, their heart of gold.
maybe it’s not about a perfect life,
maybe it’s just about you.
Written By: Wen Wei
