My Side of England


I can see gray clouds on top of me, moving swiftly, clouding over abruptly. Creating an illusion that only I can spy, like things that match saplings and lively conifers nearby. 

I can see the hands of the trees that happily wave at me, with varying shades of brown, juniper and hunter green. The birds on top fly in a chaotic jumble, and at times slapped by the wild winds and dusts right before my very eyes.

I can see scenic rooftops and chimney stacks that look familiar, and walls made up of cold bricks and old, styling moss. The windows are layered with white plain curtains and wooden blinds, which cast only moving shadows every night.

I can see the faraway horizon from my dusty glass window, but not the very object that’s suppose to rise and set on it. And every shrubbery and landscaped vistas seem to conceal, the existing life and beauty that await, and that are hidden from me.

I can see the danger and beauty of emptiness wherever I go. From the noiseless streets that slowly and silently kill my mind and soul; and to the complex roads and lonely distant paths I take, which somehow tell me to get lost and stay.

I wonder how this desolation can become so pleasant to bear, in a matter of three hundred and something olding days. Where stillness brings vibrance to my dull and hectic hours, this, probably is the kind of England that I truly love.

Insideamoronsbrain, 21 Feb 17


The Other Side of Self

It happens every now and then.

It was heavy. It was there.



I opened my eyes, and it was there.


Between 11:50 pm 12/12/12 to 12:04 am 12/13/12.


Missing Confidence


Don’t even know if I have one. I’m just too shy to stay in the middle of the crowd. Or at least, I don’t want to be standing in between people. In front. And at the back. Uncomfortable. At the back of the crowd is the safest place where I can feel at ease. Being at the last row, with only the walls behind me, I experience the most comfortable feeling of all, the only spot where I can put myself in, a place where I can be myself, corners wherein I’m comfortable with myself. No worries of people looking at you. No paranoia. The more I’m forced to be in the middle of the crowd, the more disturbed I am. If we’d be talking about confidence here, mine is below sea level. I hold back what must be pushed through. I am always this afraid. I am always this small.