I See the Milky Way

Looking into a mirror, she peels off her skin and puts it on inside out. The air assaults her exposed flesh, stinging the parts of her she’s stared at for too long. Her eyes draw constellations across her skin, connecting one flaw to another as if she’s a galaxy with a black hole at its center. It swallows stars and spews out asteroids, choking her with darkness. Being blind makes it nearly impossible for her to see what makes her beautiful.

When she sees nothing but black, I see the milky way.


What is Your Story?

We live in novels that have been created just for us. Worlds woven by words that we circle as though we are the Earth and they, the sun. Stories we tell ourselves become who we are, and suddenly, we’re orbiting time and space like we’re following a script. I see it happening to everyone around me. Manifested by our own perceptions, and fueled by our experiences and the opinions of others, an idea is nurtured until it demands to be fed. All thoughts have the potential to grow toxic, but insecurities are born hungry. When I was fourteen, my mother told me that my face was looking fuller, that I had put on some weight and was at last, ‘filling out’. To some, this would’ve been welcomed news – the thought of finally morphing into a soft, curvy woman like the ones we looked up to – but to me, this was the worst thing I could’ve heard at the time. Cue frantic googling of face exercises and hours of analysing the roundness of my cheeks, trying to determine if my fish lips and eyebrow lifts were doing anything to shed the barely-there puppy fat I had become hellbent on destroying. This was the first physical insecurity of many, and the beginning of my understanding that something small and seemingly insignificant can grow to become the whole world. It’s easy to get stuck in a loop; to feel and breathe and live the the repetitive motion simply because it’s familiar. It becomes your story. One you can read backwards or with your eyes closed. It’s the story you tell others, but more importantly, it’s the one you tell yourself. It shapes, motivates and guides you, but does not define you. Living within the novel that has been written for you doesn’t mean that you become someone else when you turn the page. You are more than the the words you tell yourself. If you’re unhappy about something that is within your control, don’t let past experiences be the reason why you cannot change. Don’t let people’s expectations of you hold you back from becoming the person you want to be. Stop living life according to a script that, when you’re taking your final breaths, means nothing. Write the story that you want to read because that would be one hell of a book.


Grandfather Clock

I’m waiting, watching a beautiful grandfather clock that is my life, each second representing a moment, an experience. I’m wondering which second is the moment I’ll find him, and I’m hoping I don’t run out of minutes.

For anyone who feels like they’ll never find ‘the one’, I assure you they’re out there, waiting for you too. So many people worry about the possibility of ending up alone that they often jeopordise what would have otherwise been a fulfilling, healthy relationship. Finding ‘the one’ isn’t about ticking things off idealistic checklists, but rather embracing a connection with someone who is as flawed and imperfect as you are. But before you can love someone else entirely, you must learn to love yourself first. Anyone who is unhappy within themselves will never find what they’re looking for by continuously checking the time. You will find them. It may not be when the clock strikes midnight, but one day your worlds will collide and then suddenly time won’t seem quite so important.


An Open Book

I’m inside out,
You’ve scrubbed me clean
There’s nothing left for you to see
I wore my heart where it got broken,
I wish I hadn’t been so open.

I’m an open book. Whether this is a good or a bad thing, I’m still yet to decide. There is a lot of talk aimed at people who struggle to open up and reveal their innermost thoughts and feelings, but not as much surrounding those of us who are perhaps too open. In the past there have been times when I’ve tried to close myself off from the world and live a mysterious and solitary existence, but it’s literally impossible. I have too many thoughts that push against the confines of my mind until I set them free. My head may as well be a beehive, because it sure does feel like I have a swarm of busy, buzzing little bees up there. Being the person I am, I have no qualms with being open and honest when someone asks me a question. Sometimes my answer surprises them, and their impression of me alters. I see it in their eyes; the judgement when they realise that I too am a human being and won’t always fit into the little box they’ve created for me. So, if people don’t want to know my answer or hear my opinion, they shouldn’t poke the beehive.




Anxiety & Turtle Potties

Imagine this. You’re about to go for a shower. The water is running; you’re eager to feel its warmth cascade from the shower head and caress your bare skin. When you step inside, your breath lodges in your throat. The water is freezing cold, liquid icicles trickling down your body and holding you in place. Each breath becomes more frantic than the last as you struggle to maintain control. You’re frozen, helpless to the icy droplets piercing your skin, like daggers. All it takes is one simple motion, one step. Amidst your panic, you somehow manage to grip the tap and turn it off, leaving you gasping for air. You stand there, naked and vulnerable, tears mixing with droplets as they fall down the drain. Every thought you had before you stepped foot into the shower is gone. All you can think about is the lingering feeling of fear and the suffocating layer of water clinging to your skin.

I’m an anxious person, and have been since birth. My parents like to remind me of the crippling fear I once had as a toddler, when I was deathly afraid of my green turtle potty. Apparently, I’d look down in horror at what I had produced and would run away in hysterics. My anxiety lessened when I progressed to the ‘big toilet’, which had been fitted with a toilet training seat just for me. One afternoon, my mother asked my father if he could watch me for ten minutes whilst she showered; a task that he’d been given multiple times before. On this particular occasion however, something went awry and my parents were alerted to my blood curdling screams coming from our second bathroom. To their dismay, they found me red-faced and hysterical with a toilet seat stuck firmly around my neck. No amount of pulling, lifting or greasing would remove it, which left them wondering how on earth I’d gotten it over my head to begin with. With only one thing left that they could think to do, I was buckled into my car seat as we drove down the road where a bewildered family friend promptly removed the plastic seat with a tool resembling garden shears. My memory of this is vague, although I’m pleased to report that I have not been permanently scarred by this incident. Apart from some minor anxiety surrounding public bathrooms and people hearing me pee, I’m handling things pretty well these days. :3

I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that anxiety ebbs and flows. The things that make us anxious today are unlikely to make us feel the same way a year from now. Anxiety isn’t something that will ever disappear completely. We learn to manage it and push through the irrational thoughts and negative voices in our heads, because that is the only thing we can do. We will not be ruled by anxiety, and although there will be bad days, we won’t let them stop us from achieving greatness… even if that means peeing loudly for the world to hear!