With Words, I Dance.

26; and it is with words that I dance.

[with-words-i-dance]

REIMAGINING FEAR

Imagine this:

A world where women have dicks.

She would carry flowers in her pocket

Instead of a pepper spray in her tight clutch

She would wear her skin on her body

and march with it like a flag.

Her lips weaved with bolded words saying

“I don’t owe you a goddamn thing”.

She would walk down the gloomy alley that says slut

at a time when the sun would kiss the red rooftop right beneath the lanterns

and into the street that smells of not-her-homecooked sambal and laksa

Not anxiously whispering to herself out loud

over and over again

Not cross-examining herself about her illogical belief

that she is not in imminent danger

— Because a sense of safety has always been one step in front of the lurking shadow

— of someone who seeks women as their trophies.

And she would crave, yes

she would have the audacity to crave

Not half-quietly suggesting but charismatically asserting

that she

she could possibly be

the country’s Prime Minister.

But really, a woman does not need an extra patch of skin or bone

to reclaim her power: She just needs to allow herself

to believe out of the shackles that say she can’t.

Now, picture this: A sleeping volcano.

Picture

lullabies, the subtle perfume of baby wipes.

Picture

a resurrection.

Picture

an awakening roar.

Picture

maroon almost like the devil

erupting

like liquid mercury pouring onto the pavement

emerging from the deepest of hell.

Picture

bubbling, crackling,

hazard and choking

soot and dense air ascending

unhurriedly.

And now you are inhaling the ungracious emergence of: An unapologetic woman.

[with-words-i-dance]

Your writing is amazing ❤

Aww thanks <3 I hope that this is something that I could tell myself one day. I truly do.

[with-words-i-dance]

Things Straight People Will Never Ever Understand

They will not understand how it feels like to have those words "I'm bi" or "I like girls too" choked up in your throat and lungs till you can't breathe.

They will not understand how it feels like to wake up in the middle of the night, telling yourself that "you are the most disgusting thing on earth, how could you" just because you had a vivid dream of yourself falling deeply in love with another girl.

They will not understand how it feels like to have to carry this secret around you, knowing that you will never ever be able to share with anyone else.

They will not understand how it feels like to have people around you talk about your sexuality, your relationship, your love, as if they have personally experienced it.

And They will not understand how it feels like to not be able to say anything about it when that happens.

They will not understand the shame, the guilt, the pain and the loneliness, of just being who you are, of just feeling feelings that you have absolutely no control over.

They will not understand how it feels like to have ppl tell you that you choose to be gay, because no one chooses to love someone of the opposite sex, but somehow I choose to feel butterflies when I meet a girl with whom i feel a connection.

They will not understand how it feels like to have your close friend tell you that "I hate the sin, not the sinner", as if there is any difference in that.

And They will not understand how saying those words are not any less homophobic than it is.

They will not understand how it feels like to have scenarios played in your head, over and over again, of yourself telling ppl close to you, who you really are, hoping you would have the courage to actually do so.

They will not understand how it feels like to believe that your closest friends will find you disgusting after you tell them, even though you know for a fact that they are 100% supportive of the LGBT community.

They will not understand how it feels like to have a crush, but not being able to tell anyone about it.

And they will not understand how it feels like to tell yourself that you should not feel those feelings, and that you should never allow yourself to do anything about those feelings.

They will not understand how it feels like to have to tell yourself that you will just have to accept the fact that you'll never be able to be truly happy, that you should just be with people whom society says you should be with.

They will not understand how it feels like to hate yourself for not being able to come out.

They will not understand how it feels like having to sit yourself down and write this down.

And lastly, they will not understand how nervous and terrifying it is, to have to read this out loud.

[championsaremade]

Listen to me. This is your life– no one else’s. At the end of the day, it is you who has to be happy with the choices you are making, food you are eating, things you are doing, goals you are pursuing. Do not let the opinions and judgments of others stop you from doing what you feel and know in your heart is right for you. Eat the food that makes you feel best. Do what makes you feel at peace. Surround yourself with people who make you feel good, who make you laugh, who sincerely make you smile. Go after what you want– not because someone else is telling you to, but because you want to. Listen to that inner voice, trust your gut, and trust yourself.

[with-words-i-dance]

Sometimes, I'd ask myself if I really love you, or I just want to love you. Because tricking myself into believing that I feel something, is better than knowing that there is nothing but an empty tray in the chambers of my heart. It carries nothing and has no one; not even my own self.

[with-words-i-dance]

You ripped me piece by piece 

like how a love-struck middle school boy did with that one stalk of wild rose he found

And I went home and tried to devour your words that were ringing in my head

like the other words i used to serenade myself to sleep

and I told myself that I needed to prove to you that you were wrong

That I am not the B or C that you hold me up to be, based on what adults who should have known better tagged the complexity of my uncoventional and scattered thoughts

And after all of the battle between demons who long lived within

who have been chopping and cooking me up like dinner on every night's table

I went to bed, with no more words, because I told myself that I should stop

But I should have known that I will not be able to escape those voices dancing around my ears

Swirling the air, wrapped around me like the lullabies my mom used to sing to me

Whispering the "no you are not good enough, just like how he saw you to be"s

 Whispers that I have never been able to drown out, only occasionally

Guess what, those same words were the morning songs of birds speaking gracefully right outside of my window

they were the ethereal sunlight that was suppose to shine and fall beautifully onto the side of my bed

telling me that it is going to be a good day, another day, a new day 

they were the pancakes and butter and breakfast tea that were served on the table with my parents sitting by it, laughing and showing me how happy they are

they were the mornings that I have always had

except I never

teachers and school tests claim to know who I am the moment I circled a C instead of the B like everyone else is suppose to

And I took out that box with an A written on it

Tried to fit myself in that 6x6x6 like how cats always do

I was in there and I felt suffocated

I felt the burden of the air weighing on my chest

Because what I was given inside of the box are the usual O2s that everyone else is forced to live with

And I am a stranded being from another planet who relies on so much more than an alphabet to live

You, were that box

You were the O2s that choked my lungs like how the smog clogged it up with black soot

You, were me

And I am no different from you

Because the box that I so willingly trapped myself in

Were built with the help of the very pair of hands that wiped the lone angry night tears that I shed

And after all of these realizations

I am sitting in an empty room wondering how can I learn to not hate the person who I force myself to be when I am in the box

Because I still want you to stamp an A on my forehead proving that I am more than what a 4.0 can determine

Just like the products in this factory where barcodes represent our market value and identity

And I do this over and over again, with every sunrise and every sunset

Just like what you did to me, I rip myself petal by petal, flesh by flesh, layer of skin by layer of skin

wishful thinking, that I will one day fit in that box

I am now left laying on the ground with nothing but my coloured bones

Red liquid dripping away the life that was never alive in me

And now, morning arrives

This time I can hear chirping coming from outside the window

with sunlight pouring into my room like paints splattering all over on a white canvas

I get up from the floor admiring the flawed skin on my chest like I have never before

I decide to make myself some pancakes

And as I flood the two pancakes with maple syrup

I said "I need not be,

What I need is to unlearn how not to be

And allow the becoming of myself

I need not prove to you my worth

For that is something that I only need to show that one person who has been wrong this entire time

That one person whose judgment of my worth that truly matters 

-- Me"

[heartofmuse]

Sometimes its not necessary to know all the right answers as long as you know how to ask all the right questions.

e.v.e. (via sleevesofgrass)

[with-words-i-dance]

How I wish the one ghosting me and treating me like I'm not important is a lover. Because at least then, though it will hurt, I can try to get over that person, and believe that there will be someone out there who will treat me right. But how do I try to get over the very man whose DNA I carry in my very own flesh and bone? How do I tell myself: "It's ok, there will be a better dad out there for you"?

withwordsIdance

[with-words-i-dance]

The place: I dream for the day when you would have the courage to dream.

I hope that, one day, you could reach a point in your life where you’ll be excited to wake up in the morning, brush your teeth, choose an outfit that describes you for the day, brew that usual aromatic but bittersweet Americano, grab your car keys, and drive to work. I wish that your life is filled with excitement to immerse yourself in your job, eager to learn, explore and contribute. I sincerely pray for you to get to that place where even the air smells fresher and the greens greener. I want you to have nothing but the zest for the life you’re living and are about to live.  I am begging to God that the next time we bump into each other, whether it be on the streets, at your favorite coffee shop, or a concert, you would spill out like how a writer would with his ink on a blank paper, the minor details about what you do at work. And you would not have to tell me how much you love your job or the work that you do, because you would have that passionate glow in your eyes, like how a mom would when she takes her first glance at her new-born -- and that is when I will know, that you are at that place. It is a place where only a handful could reach. It is a place of legend, sort of. People would say that you are not being practical, that such a place does not exist. In the end, whether it does or does not,I dream that you would have the courage to find out for yourself.  Do you?

~withwordsIdance

[with-words-i-dance]

A woman's place is not where anyone else says she ought to be. Whether it is in the kitchen, office or Parliament/Congress, there is only one place where she truly belongs: where she wants to be.

withwordsIdance

[with-words-i-dance]

You know when you know it's time?

It’s that gut feeling that makes you so sick in the stomach that you can’t even force a sip of water down there. It feels as if the universe is sending you signals, that it is time to end it. You have been contemplating this for awhile. You see the happiness in others at the slightest touch of their partner’s hands, or that natural smile that only God could’ve given a human being, the smile that tells it all, when it comes out at the mere mention of their partner’s name. It is a joy that you recognized in a flash, because you used to be like that. But as time goes on, everything about him becomes a chore. Everyday is filled with questions you can’t answer – why are you not happy?

This goes on for months and months. For some, it might even be years.

Then that one fight happens. And you have an epiphany. A switch inside your heart is triggered. Your heart stops for a little while. For it is mourning the death of your relationship. Subconsciously, after a couple of minutes, your hand starts dialing his phone number.

“We need to talk.”

Ya that feeling. I feel it now.

[with-words-i-dance]

She is a fish amongst a tower of giraffes. They have nothing in common and she is out of water, too far away from any spaces where she could call home. But she has no choice, for she can't seem to find any other fishes that lives on land.

withwordsIdance

[with-words-i-dance]

Pedestrians In Her Life

She is sitting by the window, staring into the now-opaque window, its clarity blurred by thousands of tiny rain drops. The cashier at the counter thinks that she is merely observing the pedestrians, silently. Indeed, her mind is filled with thoughts surrounding pedestrians – but they are pedestrians of her life.

She thought those people were inside the cafe with her, sipping a cup of bitter strong but fragrant espresso, immersed with the chitter chatter, laughing at the mundane things in their lives. The cafe is her favourite, serving her to-go-to pancakes whenever she is feeling melancholic, draped with a coat of melting dark chocolate sauce. It is a place where you can quietly and comfortably rest for a whole day with just a good book or two. Beautifully soft music playing in the background decorating the wooden tables and sofa couches. The subtle fragrant emanating from assorted coffee beans in bags that makes it feel just like your home. And this place is where she thought they were there with her, and for her, just like how she was for them. But sometimes, she feels exactly like how she feels right now, with no familiar faces in the cafe, while everyone else is outside enjoying each other’s company under the rain.

She is trying to convince herself that it is her insecurity that makes her feel that way – not reality -- hoping that that one drop of rainwater will give her some clarity and regain some sense of trust in the people she trusted. But she has been sitting in the same position for almost an hour. Coffee’s cold. Rain has stopped.  The cafe stopped smelling like coffee. It started feeling like an empty space. Her feelings of being unwanted are consuming her, and this place. Will any of those pedestrians on the other side of the wall walk in through the wooden door, let the door bell ring and let her know that there is someone else there, with her, and for her?

~ withwordsIdance

[purplebuddhaproject]

[with-words-i-dance]

Will you?

[with-words-i-dance]

My Obsession With Perfection

I have an obsession with perfection. I need and want everything in my life to be perfect, with absolutely no regrets.

Maybe this is a way of God teaching me that imperfection is not that big of a deal sometimes? That imperfection does not ruin my life. That certain imperfections are like the invisible and unnoticeable dust particles in the air that we breathe. We don’t pay attention to them. And they do not harm us.

[with-words-i-dance]

Honesty hour strikes

[with-words-i-dance]

If I Were A Motivational Speaker

I'm a big fan of motivational aka inspiring speeches. I loved hearing about others pursuing their dreams and have hope and defeat their greatest fear. 5 minutes into the speech and I'd be filled with nothing but courage. But those were just a spur of the moment type of courage. Give it a couple hours and I'm back to the usual -- doubtful and immensely scared. Doubtful that I'd be good and scared that I'd make a fool out of myself. But the biggest hindrance was the fact that I was afraid of having to talk to new people, because I was and probably still is a little shy. I'm not sure if anyone else has the same experience where motivational speeches are just always a few more kicks away from me not being glued to my chair at home, in the comfort of my room. But if I were to be a motivational speaker, I'd say something like this: I can share with you, my experiences as to how I've learned to come out of my shell and had the balls to do something that my heart so desires. And I think it will help you, eventually, in a subtle way. But the ultimate kick does not come from my words or my life. You would not like what I'll tell you, but it is the inevitable truth. That kick, the ultimate one, would be: life. It will be something, an episode or two, or every little sticks and stones along the way, that would lead you to being the person who no longer cares about what other people might think, and has the words "fuck it" on your door. So what would my advice be? Just sit down and wait? Not really. But also kinda. I learned it the hard way that forcing yourself to do something when you're not ready "ready" is not a perpetual solution. So when are you really ready? That is a question that only you will find out when the time comes. In the meanwhile, just take small steps. Today it could be speaking in front of a class of 20. Next month or next year it could be a class of 40. Let time sprinkle its magical fairy dusts. But most importantly, learn to have fun, otherwise, nothing is ever worth it, trust me. ~withwordsIdance