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Angelina Nguyen

Australia

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing."
-Benjamin Franklin

Message from Writer

Hello, everyone! I hope you enjoy my pieces published on this page! Most of what I write is inspired by real life events, along with people I have the pleasure of meeting. Please favourite, review, leave a comment or share any of my works if you like them because it may not seem like it but it means a great deal to me and will make my day tremendously.

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Angelina Nguyen (Australia) reviewed:

Old Books

FREE WRITING

The quatrains could be identified easily from your rhyme scheme which keeps the reader engaged in your poem. Its simplicity made it a nice, quick read and your ideas were communicated effectively and in a concise manner. I would love...

about 1 month ago

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1

Angelina Nguyen (Australia) published:

The Socratic Method and the Fourth Dimension

PROMPT: Interview Competition

Teaching my younger sister about The Fourth Dimensional Theory using a traditional method of only asking questions;

-          Is everything made up of something? (…Yes.)
-          Okay, focusing specifically in the area of mathematics and science, would you say that everything has dimensions? (I think so.) Could you give me an example? (I mean, everything must have dimensions. This pencil has dimensions.)
-          What does not have any dimensions? (Nothing? A dot.)
-          If we connect multiple, as you say...

Seeking Peer Reviews

about 1 month ago

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Angelina Nguyen (Australia) reviewed:

Cold

FREE WRITING

The poem has a friendly simplicity to it that makes it easy to read and understand. It engages the reader with its imagery and condensed stanzas which are inviting. My suggestion would be to further expand on this to create...

about 1 month ago

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Angelina Nguyen (Australia) reviewed:

Blue Room

FREE WRITING

This story has an overarching aura of nostalgia as the character looks at the room with longing and an urge to understand it. I found that the story was well paced and its simplicity made it easy to read and...

about 2 months ago

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Angelina Nguyen (Australia) reviewed:

Butterfly Migration

FREE WRITING

I love the couplets and the rhyming structure because it helped me pace myself and maintains a poetic nature to it. The way you wrote the song in italics helped me distinguish it from the rest of the poem and...

about 2 months ago

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Angelina Nguyen (Australia) reviewed:

Lonely Flower

FREE WRITING

The poem is a unique take upon the acrostic poem structure and condenses a great amount of meaning in only three stanzas. Your enjambment was calculated and, therefore, effective to emphasise the important parts of your poem. This kept me...

about 2 months ago

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Angelina Nguyen (Australia) reviewed:

Wish I'd Done More

FREE WRITING

This short story provides a nice insight into a character of whom I have developed an intimate understanding of through your pacing, actions and plot development. Its simplicity is what sustains it and keeps the reader engaged throughout it. I...

about 2 months ago

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Angelina Nguyen (Australia) published:

Five Minutes Away

PROMPT: Dialogue Dexterity

Love in the fast lane. 

"You were featured in the paper?" I say to his grandma. Alexander signals a I'll-leave-you-to-it and heads into the kitchen. I turn back to her, who my partner insists I call Ita because he considers us "married already."

"She's my Ita. You're mine. Therefore, she is your Ita." 


"Of course! We marry for fifty years in this article!" Ita responds. This was the most she had ever said to me up until this point. 
...
Seeking Peer Reviews

about 2 months ago

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Angelina Nguyen (Australia) reviewed:

The Downfall of the Millennials

PROMPT: Op-Ed Competition

Some general remarks I have will be in terms of the following; The second paragraph is significantly longer than the rest which indicates that you could work on balancing your structure better. Divide that paragraph into two, more concise ones...

2 months ago

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Angelina Nguyen (Australia) liked A Gender Spectrum: Questioning the Dichotomy by Emily Rice (United States)

2 months ago

Published Work

Interview Competition

The Socratic Method and the Fourth Dimension

Teaching my younger sister about The Fourth Dimensional Theory using a traditional method of only asking questions;

-          Is everything made up of something? (…Yes.)
-          Okay, focusing specifically in the area of mathematics and science, would you say that everything has dimensions? (I think so.) Could you give me an example? (I mean, everything must have dimensions. This pencil has dimensions.)
-          What does not have any dimensions? (Nothing? A dot.)
-          If we connect multiple, as you say dots together, what do we form? (A line?) How many dimensions does a line have? (None? Because it has many dots and dots are nothing.) Can we measure nothing? (Um…no?) But can we measure this line here? (…We can.) Can you see that this has length? (Yes.) Would you say that it has one dimension? (…Yes.)
-          Now if we connect a bunch of lines together what can form? (Longer lines? Wait. OH 2 DIMENSIONAL SHAPES.)Using a square as...

Dialogue Dexterity

Five Minutes Away

Love in the fast lane. 

"You were featured in the paper?" I say to his grandma. Alexander signals a I'll-leave-you-to-it and heads into the kitchen. I turn back to her, who my partner insists I call Ita because he considers us "married already."

"She's my Ita. You're mine. Therefore, she is your Ita." 


"Of course! We marry for fifty years in this article!" Ita responds. This was the most she had ever said to me up until this point. 

"Oh wow, that's amazing. May I ask how you two met?" I ask. 

"Well, my husband met me and proposed to me."

"Oh, but how?" I figure she does not understand what I am trying to ask; either her hearing aid is failing her or she just simply can not process what I say with the minimal English she does know.  

"He met me and proposed. After," she pauses to recall herself, knocking on the right side of her...

Third Person Limited

Cross-Rhythms

Ladders were suspended mid-air, hidden behind Soda shop noticeboards. The awnings of the accompanying stores were splattered with cups, filled to the brim with steaming long blacks. Flashes of signs walked through her, as did the trench coats with pork pies, derbies and asymmetrical flat caps atop bald men. A light pole flickered a smile and she imagined arms sprouting out of its post to tip the canopy like a fedora as she curtsied. Its dust floated as vectors, drawing her to a freshly-painted bench in front of the laundromat. She took arpeggio strides around the block and was greeted by a line of uniform apartments. Each had arched windows aligned like desks in a classroom, carved with silhouettes of cabaret amateurs, philosophical cats and pastel frocks concealed with aprons. The rows and columns moved as if they were frames of film in procession, capturing rolling experiences. She crossed towards the corner of Lenox Avenue and arrived at the district,...

Year by Year

Seventeen Moments

Year 1- I became the eldest daughter of two Vietnamese foodies. My father is still a baker and my mother was studying food technology at the local TAFE.
Year 2- I learnt to sing before I could even talk. Catchy music does that to me.
Year 3- My grandma read me my favourite book, The Little Prince, every evening since then until she passed away a few years later. 
Year 4- I spoke my first English word- soap. 
Year 5- I told a boy at my pre school that he looked like a broccoli. 
Year 6- My buddy in year 6 was the school captain. I told her that I wanted to someday be a captain too and her words were;

"Leadership is not something you wait for. It's something you build. Why put off doing good until then, when you can start today?"

Year 7- I discovered that I had nearsightedness. My mother chose thin, purple frames with...

Vignette

"Father, how did you meet Mother?"

I never met her. I have always known her, or what I had expected of her to be, inherently. I knew when I had found her, for meetings are fleeting and it is the marvellous findings that are worth pursuing. It is these findings that compel us to pursue, as she pursued me.
-
I must have known her in another time. She entered the bar and in that one second, sixty seconds of fantasies flashed past. In the first, she was the most requested courtesan at a Japanese pleasure quarter in erotic Edo. Her portraits were pressed against woodblocks, her shoulders reflecting candlelight and elongated fingers trained in all aspects of entertainment. Men paid so much for her, whilst I could only watch her body weaving through a translucent curtain. All that was between us was a modest robe. It was barely anything, and yet everything.

She was then the daughter of a...

Returning

Ointments and Phan Rang

Legs crossed while luggage lay,
Replacing the comfort of my feet,
On a carpet ground.
All sensation was lost,
From the knee below.

By the fourth hour,
Halfway I was to the villages.
The destination was far from worth noting,
Yet the clustered speed bumps,
Aloof pebbles scattered across the ground
I certainly recalled.

Humming hauntingly,
A sickly scent from the air conditioner,
Forces me to resort to
Winding the window down.
Dust infesting my nostrils,
And a mosquito enters,
Through a crevice;

“Kill it. It lives for nothing,
But to feed off us.”

-

Mountains overlooked,
Intimidated peasants.
Structures of wood and interwoven grass,
Families as many as ten residing,
In a single, dimly-lit room.
A few hours cramped in a car,
Would have been a luxury to them.
 
Being in a car at all,
Would have been a luxury to them.
-
 
She speaks with begging eyes,
Only holding out a basket,
Insisting that she is...

Flash Fiction Competition

Debutante

Gently, I caressed the seams. It made me stunned to think that an hour ago, I had been struggling to even get myself into the dress. The long sleeves were transparent, floral lacing wrapped gracefully around my arms. Helga placed my tiara on, tapping it to let it slightly angle to the left. Wearing it with pride was what I avoided- I wanted to show that even royalty can be clumsy. That day, I was no longer a child staring up at the marble ceiling, realising how small I was.

I was making my debut on the ballroom floor.

Flash Fiction Competition

Debutante

Gently, I caressed the seams. It made me stunned to think that an hour ago, I had been struggling to even get myself into it. The long sleeves were transparent, floral lacing wrapped gracefully around my arms. Helga placed my tiara on, lightly tapping it as it slightly tipped to the left. Wearing it with pride was what I avoided- I wanted to show that even royalty can be clumsy. Today, I was no longer a child staring up at the marble ceiling, realising how small I was. I was a star on the ballroom floor, waiting to shine. 

Writing Small

Mini Oeuvre

"I found these adorable matchbox artworks on Pinterest yesterday."
"I've seen those! Are you thinking of making some for your next BOW?"
"Absolutely, but what am I going to do with ninety matchsticks that come with each of the boxes I buy?"
"Donate them to the science faculty at school?"  
(50 words)

Living in Music

In "Winter"

The Four Seasons.

Astor Piazzolla's 20th century opus is one that many seem to overlook when The Four Seasons is mentioned. We often think instantly of the iconic violin concerti but I, as a classical musician, have nevertheless been compelled to Piazzolla's Four Seasons ​of Buenos Aires that indirectly pays tribute to Antonio Vivaldi. I have recognised that there is this hyper romanticism in South American music; the composers seem to have this divine ability in extracting music from their environment and bringing both lyrical qualities and cultural authenticity to their pieces. The tango major work is one of my favourite examples of how a world can be captured in an almost-half-an-hour composition and the changing nature of the seasons that somehow comes back full circle. Of the four oeuvres in this suite, the one has never failed to transport me to Buenos Aires itself is Invierno Porteño, Piazzolla's final tango that is evoked from an Argentine Winter. 

"Winter is...

Truths and Untruths

Ten Wishes From A Bookworm

  1. I wish that I could read every book in this world.
  2. I wish that there was a bookstore in proximity to every cafe. The passionate mocha and the good-nature pages that allure the reader in is a combination that is beyond words.
  3. I REALLY wish that hardcovers should not cost significantly more than paperbacks.
  4. I wish that authors could approve for fan fiction writers to continue their series if they are worthy enough.
  5. Laminating. Is there an easier way to do it?
  6. I wish I could borrow more books than what is allowed at the library simply because I can handle six in a fortnight. Four books can be finished within two days.
  7. I wish that I could meet my favourite authors, even the deceased ones, and tell them how much of an influence they have had on me.
  8. I wish that books could teleport me to the worlds temporarily, just to see what it really looks like from the eyes of the author.
  9. ...

Your World in Three Senses

The Blinded and a Rehearsal Room

TOUCH- Snapped, metal guitar strings are tossed within a punctured hole in the membrane of a snare drum past its time. I retrace the fingerprints stained on the not-so-white keys and curse the ignorance of the musician whom they originated from. 

SMELL- Wax smeared over the joints of a recorder infuses itself with a fresh coat of cream over walls once vandalised with graffiti. A banana peel sits in the bin adjacent the grand piano. 


SOUND- Crashing discords, unsure harmonies floating aimlessly and tingling auditory whispers emerge out of silence. 

Songwriting Competition

After All Of This

This is my first theatre number written for a musical I intend to write some time in the future. It reflects my personal journey studying musical theatre and classical singing. 

https://vimeo.com/225788072 

Microphones and soundchecks, all lovely and fun,
From "Hamilton" to "Les Mis" and "Annie, Get Your Gun".
From a stage show to another
For another show run,
But what happens when 
It's all done?

Rehearsals and stretches, flexing toes,
Slipping on satin pantyhose.
Lace dresses, tiaras and
Red ribbon bows,
But what happens when the
Curtains close?

It's the life of an artist,
It is fine but not the finest.
But what's next is so difficult to see,
So what happens to me?
What happens to me?

And where is my home, if the stage is my home?
How can I find a place I can call my own?
And if I can't find another one for me,
In this world, 
What happens then,
To this theatre girl?

I...

Songwriting Competition

After All Of This

This is my first theatre number written for a musical I intend to write some time in the future. It reflects my personal journey studying musical theatre and classical singing. 

Microphones and soundchecks, all lovely and fun,
"Oliver", "Les Mis" and "Annie, Get Your Gun".
From this theatre to another
For another show run,
But what happens when 
It's all done?

Rehearsals and stretches, flexing toes,
Slipping on satin pantyhose.
Lace dresses, tiaras and
Red ribbon bows,
But what happens when the
Curtains close?

It's the life of an artist,
It is fine but not the finest.
What's next is too difficult to see,
So what happens to me?
What happens to me?

Where is my home, if the stage is my home?
How can I find a place I can call my own?
And if I can't find another one for me,
In this world, 
What will happen to me,
This theatre girl?

I know I won't earn much...

Living Locales

Art Imitates Life

A hall that dances itself with soldier bars, training ballerinas to be disciplined, and wooden floors, supporting them wherever their dainty pointes take them. 

Lights in concentric circles levitate across the ceiling and wavers when a restless child flicks the switch rapidly.

Above unplugged large boomboxes and speakers, an anachronism of a clock loiters against the wall; its hands far too fragile and accumulated rust buries the bronze lustre once exuberant. 

There are curtains held back with ebony sashes, exposing the glass body and its ability to show the entire world in a single frame.

In the midst of it all, a metronome's ticking is continuous, sustaining a heartbeat of anticipation.
It quickens when life is just that bit more thrilling and the music begins. 

Lyrics Unsung

Counter Melody

Using the lyrics to We the King's "Runaway", I have composed a counter melody as if the two lovers we conversing with each other. When I first heard this song, I placed myself on the receiving end of the song because I can relate to being reluctant of pursuing a new love. This inspired me to write a counter melody but I never ended up doing it until today. I have the lyrics here in this prompt and my counter melody in italics. Enjoy!

Why don't you talk to me
Talk, talk, talking's much too hard
Something's wrong I can see
No, nothing's wrong, it's only me 
Save the lies I won't believe
Believing is fine, but not too far
You can be honest,
How can I be honest
you can be honest with me
when I'm not even honest with me?

So come on and run away with me
Do I dare reach out my hand?
You are the...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#26 Free Verse)- Dandelions

They once played a game;
A dandelion we would pluck from the ground,
And cup in their hands
And watch its seeds crumble
Before they would blow them away-
In a single puff, they were gyrated 
In the air.
 
They would watch these ticklish snowflakes,
Delicately spin, all around them, 
And she would twirl,
And he would tell her how she was,
His dandelion.
 
When you are set in motion,
You are a whirlwind of wishes,
Of seeds and ideas,
And you can change the world,
As a flower that sprouts,
Even in animosity.
 
And she was this-
He held this dandelion in a clenched fist,
And she was his,
And she 
Protected him.
 
But she now asks,
Was I protecting you,
Or were you
Protecting me?
 
Did he keep this dandelion to himself;
Her revolutions that never were propelled,
Her dreams she never knew she dreamt,
To let this game last,
In inescapable spirals ...

All Talk

Expression over Impression

"I bloody hate Marcel Duchamp."
"You hate modern art as it is. What's the attack on this man for?" 
"He just annoys me to the core. He took a urinal out of a bathroom, chucked it in a museum and said it was his 'ready-made artwork.'"
"And? It was shocking and confronting. That was the point! He got a kick out of making people gawk."
"He was ashamed of it though, of what extent he had to go to get his "art" recognised by society. He literally signed it under a pseudonym because he was embarrassed about it."
"He was making a statement. He wasn't trying to get attention for it. Duchamp wanted to poke at art, not claim it as his own."
"Still think he's an idiot."
...
"Now Picabia. He's avant-garde at its best."
"What makes this guy any better than Duchamp?"
"He has amazing paintings. There are so many surrealist elements in them. I love how transparency...

Writing for Children Competition

The Box

Here is a box. 

It is not much of a box. 

Just a box.

There is little that you know of it but here it is.

Amongst another one hundred boxes. 

It was Selection Day, the final day of the competition. These boxes were soon to become finalised artworks. 

Many box makers had come and gone from the competition: painters, sculptors, drawers, and architects. 

On each square table, there was a box. Within each box, materials provided. 

The artists have had three days to turn their simple box into something wonderful.

And in the midst of all of them, a young artist, small and without experience, stood clueless of what to do. 

It was third day and he still had nothing. [1]

Over the last few years, he had watched many great boxes rejected simply because they did not look pretty enough. 

Others were criticised for being too abstract, lacking technique.

One of the boxes was even torn apart by...

Writing for Children Competition

The Box

Here is a box. 

It is not much of a box. 

Just a box.

There is little that you know of it but here it is.

Amongst another one hundred boxes. 

It was Selection Day, the final day of the competition. These boxes were soon to become finalised artworks. 

Many box makers had come and go from the competition: painters, sculptors, drawers, and architects. 

On each square table, there was a box. Within each box, materials provided. 

The artists have had three days to turn their simple box into something wonderful.

And in the midst of all of them, a young artist, small and without experience, stood clueless of what to do. 

It was third day and he still had nothing. [1]

Over the last few years, he had watched many great boxes rejected simply because they did not look pretty enough. 

Others were criticised for being too abstract, lacking technique.

One of the boxes was even torn apart by...

Writing for Children Competition

The Box


Here is a box. 

It is not much of a box. 

Just a box.

Little do you know of it but here it is.

Amongst another one hundred boxes. 

Today is Selection Day. These boxes are going to become artworks. 

Many box makers had come and go from the competition: painters, sculptors, drawers and architects. 

On each square table, there is a box. Within each box, materials are provided. 

The artists had three days to turn their box into something wonderful.

And in the midst of all of them, a young artist, only small and without experience, stood clueless of what to do. 

It is third day and he had nothing. [1]

Over the last few years, he had watched many great boxes rejected simply because they did not look pretty enough. 

Others were criticised for being too abstract, lacking technique.

One of the boxes was even torn apart by the Connoisseur. Nobody saw him, but he ordered artistic disgraces...

Writing for Children Competition

The Box

Here is a box. 

It is not much of a box. 

Just a box.

Little do you know of it but here it is.

Amongst another one hundred boxes. 

Today is Selection Day. These boxes were turned into artworks. 

Many box makers had come and go from the competition: painters, sculptors, drawers and architects. 

On each square table, there was a box. Within each box, materials were provided. 

The artists had three days to turn their box into something wonderful.

And in the midst of all of them, a young artist, only small and without experience, stood clueless of what to do. 

Over the last few years, he had watched many great boxes rejected because they did not look pretty enough. 

Others were criticised for being too abstract, lacking technique.

One of the boxes was even torn apart by the Connoisseur. Nobody saw him, for he only showed up when he was offended by a poor attempt of art. 

The...

Dynamics- A Selection of Musical Poems Evoked from the Night

#1 EXPRESSION
Night ponders,
In sta cca to Breaths And sighs!
A series of stutters,
Short, detached, mismatched,
Forever indecisive,
Of the best way to
Speak.

Freedom manifests
In acciaturra comets,
Polyrhythms of light,
That move,
Independently.

Eyes are muses,
Instruments themselves;
They are the narrative,
They conflagrate the fiery passions,
They harbour secrets,
They look beyond the sheets.

They let us see,
Until pitch turns to black,
They are mysteries,
Yet they solve themselves.

The darkness is music,
For we do not see it,
Feel it,
Taste it,
Smell it,
Hear it.
We live for it. 

#2 STYLE
 Majestic are the constellations!
How every star births,
Snowflakes, each their own.
They
Tumble
From
The
Skies.
 
Supernovas,
Start as stars,
But no star is the same-
So why must we be?
 
We do not believe,
In aligned stars.
We believe in spinning,
Spontaneous,
Inevitabilities.
 
Apotheosis from dominants,
Catharsis from perfect cadences,
But interrupt,
And the expected,
The boundaries, ...

Unattainable- Chapter 15

Constance looks up at Jacques, surprised that he had already glued his eyes right on her. When he was concentrating on something, his emerald irises expanded across his eyeballs. She could no longer see the hazel that once cupped itself around the pupils- only wondrous green. How marvellous, she thought, that she would someday be that something he was intrigued by.

"That one. That's my favourite," she remarked.

"Your favourite what?" Jacques was taken aback. He rubbed his fingers through his hair and twisted a strand as if to make sure it was just as curly, and perfect, as the rest. 

"Idiosyncrasy. The thing your eyes do."

Jacques' inferences were usually quite quick when she spilled out complex words but this one seemed to puzzle him. "What is an idiosyncrasy?"

"It's a unique trait but more importantly, something that distinguishes you from others. You know how I get annoyed when I look at bars on a score and the digit...

Anxiety #6- At The Speed Of Adrenaline

Am I going to make it by from this lesson alive?

Why is the hand brake more stubborn than a persistent pimple? It is literally taking all my bodily strength to push it down. Does my driving instructor think I am an incompetent Learner driver?

Why are there always a surplus of cars on the main roads? When the traffic is heavy, the cars just seemingly keep pursuing me close behind like coloured bingo balls. What if I am unlucky in this lottery on the road and get pulverised? 

Am I pressing too much on the accelerator? Hovering my foot over the brake only makes me tempted to slam it but I would become a road hazard if I did that in this 70km area. Would my legs start to rapidly shake like they normally do when I am sitting down if I situated it in the space between?

How can roundabouts manage to be one of the most stressful...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#23 Haiku)-Fingers

Elongated, five
circular tips, bitten nails,
Travels up my neck.  

Into the Woods

Branches of Us

And is the branch not the child himself;
How he sprouts from the womb of protection,
Of sturdiness that only family can offer,
Only then to grow bigger,
And further,
Away from its roots? 

Is the branch not the lover himself;
How he searches wayfaring for another sense,
Of home and of security,
Only then to love,
And lose,
For nothing will be the home that he once came from?

Is the branch not the worker himself;
How he provides strength for those,
Of trust in him, of reliance in his labours,
Only then to struggle,
And to suffer,
Because the worker is exhausted, though he pretends to be not?

And is the branch not the elder himself;
How he is forever attached to those he holds dear,
Of significance to his life span,
Only then to give way,
And break off,
And fall to the ground. 

Anxiety #5- Public Transport

I tap on. 

Thank goodness I still had some cash left. I took the biggest gamble not topping up my Opal card before I went through the gate. Is the pocket money I have going to be enough to pay for the trip back home or will I have to sacrifice my routinely gelato after lunch? 

I think I chose a bad spot to sit. There are probably more seats available in the next carriage. What if a disturbing man decides to cush his tush next to me and then kidnaps me?

I will set the alarm for 7:30am now to make sure I wake up two stops before I have to get up. That way, I can rest but still have time to recover, rub the dust out of my eyes and be ready for the half an hour walk to arrive at Novotel. How do I know that nobody will snap some embarrassing photos of me drooling?

The...

Other Worlds

Flying Across the Pages

I love "The Little Prince."

Yes. There is no eye-capturing, witty introductory sentence or ambiguous opening with this reflection I wrote today. I do not wish to waste your time and take you down a memory lane that only I have travelled on, and will ever truly be able to appreciate the journey of. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to share my appreciation for this childhood memento without taking its essence and amplifying it into something it is not. 

I have said it as it is.

I love, I absolutely adore, I live for "The Little Prince." 

Antoine De Saint-Exupery's "The Little Prince" has, by far, been my favourite childhood novella from the moment I first was read to. It is the fondest memory I have of my grandma who, despite being Vietnamese, could spent fluent French. There is this romanticism in the language, as if it transported me to an entirely different land and purged all the sensations of it...

My Hyacinth

My darling, I finally did it. 

"They are nearly half as beautiful as the real thing," he said.  It is such a lovely photo. I asked for James to take it and he smiled as the film was developing. You can see the oak that you had nurtured from the first day we settled in the house and the circle of roses, fancy fuchsia and ghostly ivory with hide-and-seeking, passionate red hues. This is my favourite part, the clearing that grew from tiny seeds and I remember how we once laughed at the idea of any of them blossoming at all. Teary I am now, as I bask in the years of watching them dancing in the wind before the music stopped and they bent over, wilting away. 

There are many more mementos that I unfortunately could capture in these mundane photographs, my love. There are sprouting daffodils as you always liked, the brightness of them and how they golden the...

All Made Up

Shutting the door, Audrey sat on her stool and studied her dressing table. The cosmetics she laid on the desk were stacked in a pyramid from her contour palette all the way to the tip where a thin eyeliner stick stood upright. Beside was a rack with brushes arranged from smallest to largest and a spectrum of red lip tints. She used to dislike it but wearing red somehow showed the world how she was bold and unafraid. It was exposure, but it was one with confidence and she liked to believe that she had that charisma. The two upper drawers were filled with mascaras from the same company as the other products as well as lotions she transferred into petite flasks, distinguished by the thick marker writing splashed across the labels. Audrey had always liked this about herself; she smiled at how neat, how organised she managed to keep most of it. She looked up and sighed. The mirror...

Timeless Counsel

Words That Stuck With Me

Wisdom can come from anywhere and everywhere. An inspiration for self-improvement, a drive to pursue or a new motivation to live may manifest from those we know in our micro world of friends and family, or our larger society from the media and the world. If there is something I am certain of, the best advice can emerge out of nowhere, but most strangely, from an unlikely source.

Of all the advice I have received, the last thing I expected was to be counselled by my deceased grandma in a dream. Perhaps the landscapes of a Vietnam during war, the stolen bikes and broken carts, and a five storey building providing shelter for a mother and her ten children somehow managed to store themselves in the hidden realms of mind. I dreamt one evening of this home that my grandma spoke fondly of, tending to all my uncles and aunties when they were growing up. She joked about how she...

My December Competition

How I Found Something To Love In December

December brings adventure, fun and games, great good and goodbyes, all wrapped in this bow that is only opened when the new year arrives.

There is this feeling we have when it is a certain time of year. There is this familiar buzz for the first day of school, the highs of falling in love, a dread, but also determination for exams and assessments. I keep making the effort to try to describe these atmospheres we create around ourselves during the year. It is there and it is what thrills us. 

This month rings a hundred different bells for this Sydneysider. December is another White Christmas I have missed from living in Australia, crowded beaches with picnic blankets that are like a pastels palette disassembled and scrunched into not-quite-so-rectangles. December is a streak of ridiculous heat with a sudden downpour of rain on the least expected day. December is writing cards to all my teachers and thanking them for the...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#25 Free Verse)- Amused

Merry-go-round
Dashing horses,
With loose, flying manes,
"I'm nineteen, not nine."
"Be a child for the day."
We rode off into the unknown.

Tea cups
A giant teapot,
And giant teacups circling it,
"I get dizzy so easily."
"Just close your eyes."
We spun and reached infinity.

Rollercoaster
Sleek, white carriages,
Racing along steel tracks,
"That drop is too steep for it to be safe."
"Think of it as a train but faster and it will feel safer."
We let the adrenaline consume us.

Ferris wheel
Primary coloured cabs,
Ours stopped right at the top,
"I missed you"
"I missed you more"
"I want to kiss you"
And so I did.

Collective Voice

Sinking Under

Fiction- an extract from a letter a sea captain wrote to his wife

"My men and I have found the secret to persevere through this new journey and coming out of it strong. Instead of plotting a seemingly safe route on a map, listening to the temptations of the wind, taking out a trustworthy compass to lead us, steer away- we take some other path. Some of us continue following and never realise how aimlessly we keep moving, convincing ourselves that we are going forward. We are not. The pilgrimage of life is one we should embark on without having an inkling of where it is we will go and what we will learn on the way. It has not been smooth sailing, literally and figuratively speaking, but we all have each other. Many sacrifices have been made, battles won from the shedding of blood, stolen to keep ourselves afloat. We carried our sins and made our way back to...

Visions and Portals To Get To Them

How glorious it was in its grandeur [1]! "Last night, I dreamt I went to Manderley again." If only I could sit myself down and paint the haunting beauties within it. All these invaluable heirlooms with histories and tales encompassed within, the obsession of Mrs Danver, the mysterious aura that stirred. I would race to the Cornwall mansion if I could, if it were only feasible and, more importantly, if it were a real place.
 
The intoxication of lacquer can be overwhelming to the visitors I seldom have, opposed to the calming effect it unusually had on me. The wooden desk and stools held up several stacks of plastic plates I collect as disposable palettes. Cut out milk cartons were filled with broken chalks and brush bristles. These pieces were often thrown away but I reused them, letting them swim in pools of murky water to become my new mediums. Beside the glass panes was a...

The Subject that Matters

How to live and how to learn

Philosophy is a radical study that was first introduced in Ancient Greece by Socrates and manifests itself in many different ways. This subject explores some of the most debatable areas of humanity. Students of philosophy can discuss the nature of our world, find ways to effectively criticize and question society, as well as gain a new kind of knowledge and understanding. I was quite fortunate that philosophy ran as a subject last year because I not only have always found myself an inquisitive individual, but also because I wanted to have an environment with like-minded people who would share a will to learn something different to the usual curriculum taught in school. This community of enquiry formed by my class opened discussions over some of the most sensitive topics that would not normally be accepted in other classes.

In designing this subject, I would like for a course similar to the one I undertook but run across every high school....

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

My Security Blanket

When the nights are cold and the days are rough,
When the price put out is not enough,
When the toughest fight tougher than tough can get,
Just cry under your covers with your blanket.

Who here doesn't have an insecurity? [1]
Who here doesn't rely on someone or something?
Linus Van Pelt, I would like to know too,
Tell me now, are any of you secure?

How can I be strong when no one lets me?
Should I fight it off? Just LET me be.
Stop tormenting me- you're not that buff.
Do you enjoy my endless suffering?

But I'd like to let you know now foremost, 
That no matter how much you brag or boast,
My INSECURITIES are my blanket,
And a pillow of hope will help me endure.

Am I demanding when it comes to work?
I thought my bad puns had their own quirks.
I don't look like Dracula when I smile,
If you say that,...

To Leave and To Stay

Saying goodbye to the antique store was never going to be the easiest thing to do. In fact, she never thought there would be a day where she would have to at all, but she found that leaving something behind was always better than being left behind. With the shop closing down in a week and her uncle sending postcards suggesting for her to live with him in Glasgow, she figured it was just a matter of timing.

Beatrice picked up the brass knocker. It was accumulating a layer of rust, reflecting the many decades that it had been in business. She knocked twice as usual. The old man never took her seriously with one knock, mistaking her for one of the schoolboys who liked to poke fun at him. Three knocks had this implication of urgency, often resulting in him rushing to the door and frantically asking if something was wrong. There was no rushing at all today, which...

Synchronized Sounds

A Vow To All My Unanswered Questions

Arbitrary articulations and amusing absurdities!  
Ambivalent atmospheres assaults yet allures,
Abducted by Anarchy,
Applauded as Art. 

Eloquent, elegance, exotic,
Entrancing entrances enchanting the Eager,
Eager to endure envy and embarrassment,
Exchanged with encouragement and empowerment.

In ideals, in inspiration,
Intrigue marries Innovation,
In indulgence, in infatuation,
I interrupt the Inscrutable and scrutinise.  

Omnipotent I am, of course, 
Overflowing obsessions, open as an outbox,
Opportunity, should I greet you,
Introduce me too to Optimism! 

Underestimation may
Unravel the Unruly and Unpredictable
Uplifting ostentatious irrelevance away
With easy answers.  

Creature View

Where to?

Rays of light seeped through the opaque window, draped by grey curtains with coarse lacing. A thick air dragged a sickly odour of expired milk from the kitchen. The house cat began to tread across the floorboards, minding the unsteady creaks that came out of it. The low humming of the ceiling fan was suddenly interrupted by a gust of wind, knocking over the photo frames on the fireplace mantle. In fright, the cat shrieked, all the hairs on its back rising, and bolted under a carpet mat. Peeking out, a winding staircase with intricate patterns on each step seemed to head to somewhere endless above. The cat crept out and began to make its way up, noticing how the staircase was both inviting it, but also warning it about what it could possibly face, waiting for it at the top. 

I Remember

Drawing Out From Deep Recesses

I remember stick figures with disproportionate bodies, triangle skirts for the girls and spiky hair for the boys. 
I remember uneven, chalk hopscotches with wobbling legs and triumphant children. 
I remember a crayon toucan, ridiculed for being purple instead of black for its feathers, green instead of yellow for its beak.
I remember folding one thousand paper cranes, foolish enough to think that I could save him.
I remember appropriating "The Great Wave" with ghost ships, tales that haunted and intrigued me, but were reprimanded by a teacher. 
I remember an art essay, accused of being work that was not my own because it was too advanced for a year nine student.
I remember the day I broke out of fearing art. 
I certainly remember that smile on my face when "first place for Visual Arts" was followed by my name. 

Op-Ed Competition

Pulling the Trigger Online

If a gun was pointing at you, telling you to silence yourself, would you run away or would you challenge it?

Trigger warnings, used particularly on a variety of articles and forums on social media, address the possibility of sensitive or disturbing content being discussed. This is mythologised to potentially decrease the risk of exposure to traumatic experiences in a community. Trigger warnings, in theory, are employed in order to provide protective measures but is it effective? 
 
There has been an abuse of the use of trigger warnings online and in the media but content with disclaimers like this are not necessarily as "triggering" as they claim to be. Like an allergy, triggers should be stimuli that will cause a negative, extreme reaction. Offensive or inappropriate comments are just that: offensive and inappropriate. Despite this, they are labelled as "triggering" and this is particularly misleading to people who do suffer from mental illnesses or post-traumatic stress disorders. Trigger warnings...

Unbelievable Food

Mama And The Indescribable

Fish eggs. Spaghetti.
Japanese. Italian.
Nevertheless an unlikely combination, I was fortunate to grow up with my mum's most fascinating recipe. In fact, I thought that this was what spaghetti was like up until I was disappointed with a microwaved bolognese from my lunch order in kindergarten. The prospect of fish eggs and pasta can be outrageous to most but I have become accustomed to this odd meal that my mum would occasionally make whenever she ran out of ingredients at home. We never ran out of packets because her relatives in Japan would import them to us yearly. 

Mum would boil the spaghetti and then throw the cooked pasta into a wok. She tossed the pasta with chopped garlic using cooking chopsticks that were as long as my forearm. Forever clueless of how she does it, Mum would pour in the spicy roe without having to measure it at all. She somehow managed to know exactly how much to...

Op-Ed Competition

Pulling the Trigger Online

If a gun was pointing at you, telling you to silence yourself, would you run away or would you challenge it?

Trigger warnings are used on a variety of articles and forums that may contain disturbing content. This is mythologised to potentially decrease the risk of exposure to traumatic experiences in a community. Trigger warnings, in theory, are employed in order to provide protective measures over sensitive content but is it effective? 
 
Content with disclaimers like this are not necessarily "triggering". Like an allergy, triggers should be stimuli that will cause a negative, extreme reaction. Offensive or inappropriate comments are just that: offensive and inappropriate. Despite this, they are labelled as "triggering" and this is particularly misleading to people who do suffer from mental illnesses or post-traumatic stress disorders. Trigger warnings are far too broad whereas traumas are more specific and personal. Even if the post is, as it claims to be, "triggering", it is not pinpointing a person's...

Beyond Reason

Answer Me

How do we regurgitate the insecurities 
That we swallow ourselves whole in and release them?
Will knowing our inevitable end,
Only lock it into place and make it fated?
Why do the faucet of our eyes leak,
By a catalyst of saddened truths or pure exhilaration?
Who will raise their hand and respond to the questions that
We are all too afraid to ask?

Your View

Dogmatic

  • The more we scrutinise, the less we know. The less we scrutinise, the more we know. 
  • Both men and women are victims and perpetrators of rape and it is important that we acknowledge both sides in order to advocate active citizenship. 
  • Children should be allowed to have say in their parents' decisions for divorce, whether it be to keep them together or to urge it further.
  • The age for voting should be lowered and the age for alcohol consumption should be raised. 
  • Advertising has been perceived as derogatory for the last few decades for young girls' self esteems but there needs to be more light shed on positive advertising that promote body image by utilising everyday women as models. 
  • Learning another language outside of the native country's languages will enhance social empathy and cultural literacy. 
  • Animals should not be forced to work in circuses when there are capable performance artists out there to entertain the population.
  • Freedom of speech is only an ideology because...

Your View

Dogmatic

  • The more we scrutinise, the less we know. The less we scrutinise, the more we know. 
  • Both men and women are victims and perpetrators of rape and it is important that we acknowledge both sides in order to advocate active citizenship. 
  • Children should be allowed to have say in their parents' decisions for divorce, whether it be to keep them together or to urge it further.
  • The age for voting should be lowered and the age for alcohol consumption should be raised. 
  • Advertising has been perceived as derogatory for the last few decades for young girls' self esteems but there needs to be more light shed on positive advertising that promote healthy bodies and use real women. 
  • Learning another language outside of the native country's languages will enhance social empathy and cultural literacy. 
  • Animals should not be forced to work in circuses when there are capable performance artists out there to entertain the population.
  • Freedom of speech is only an ideology because in a...

Not Again

Were men supposed to be strong? Was it okay if they weren't?

I've always had this belief that men were the ones who did the rescuing, the saving and were the glorified heroes who deserved a happily ever after. What happens when they need rescuing? Who saves them? Heroes do nice things but if they did nothing, let themselves become the victims, who still sees them as heroes? They are but cowards and need a hero themselves. I've never seen someone rescue a knight in distress- damsel just rolls off the tongue easier.

Who saves him when he whispers in fear "no, not tonight, not again", from evenings where he strenuously sweats, waking up with eyes as clearly swollen as the pulsing bruises that surface on his arms and the touch that he longs to wipe away? Nobody calls him a hero for staying silent, for being afraid of his meant-to-be-happily-ever-after, for kissing her goodbye as he heads...

This I Believe

A Childhood Philosophy From A Child At Heart

"You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."- WINNIE THE POOH

BRAVER THAN YOU BELIEVE
"As if you're going to win the competition."
"You can barely sing as it is."
"Everyone's ready to watch you humiliate yourself."

"Then watch me. You're in for a show."


STRONGER THAN YOU SEEM
"Depression isn't real."
"Just get over it, lighten up a little."
"Stop feeling sad and sorry for yourself."

"It's okay to feel empty sometimes. There is plenty to search for, to fill you with a reason to live."

SMARTER THAN YOU THINK
"Look at this poindexter."
"What a nerd."
"Teacher's pet...goodie-two-shoes..."

"No grade, no report, NOBODY gets to determine my self-worth. I am clever in a few things, but wise in my own way."

A Simple Expression

As not only a singer, but also a performer, I truly believe in the freedom that music allows. In a world dictated by social rules and cultural conformity, it is in song that I can escape and find myself in absolute power. Likewise, I always sang true to the music on the score but eventually broke out. A dynamic on a sheet of music can only suggest the way the composer intended it to be sung but I have a voice of my own, and I have the ability to manipulate it however I wish. I can choose to release my voice and let it tower over those gaping in awe in the audience, or I can remain silent where it is crucial and let them think about what I have to say. Performing is living on the stage of the world and there is no greater sensation.

WILD

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#23 Pantoum)- Outburst

And here enters the thundering of the wild,
In a single rush, all, that is confined, is threatened, 
Leaving spectators on the sidelines stunned, beguiled, 
Captivated by the Adventitious, yet all internally frightened. 

In a single rush, all, that is confined, is threatened, 
Released in an effortless motion, grace beyond compare!
Captivated by the Adventitious, yet all internally frightened,
Though averting their eyes, denying they can not help but stare. 

Released in an effortless motion, grace beyond compare!
Surprised expressions that quickly departed when they smiled.
Though averting their eyes, denying they can not help but stare,
With each footstep taken forward, they followed, all wiled.

Surprised expressions that quickly departed when they smiled,
The performance was certainly not predetermined or styled,
With each footstep taken forward, they followed, all wiled.
And here enters the thundering of the wild.

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#22 Free Verse)- His Idiosyncrasies

Une corda

The metronome that is his right foot,
Pressing an imaginary soft pedal
At the beginning of each bar,
Holding onto the rhythmic sustenance. 

Morendo

With a back so sore,
Lies on the floor staring up,
Pondering about the world,
And the nihilistic thoughts he kept to himself. 

Staccato 

Series of stutters,
Short, detached, mismatched,
Sighing before starting his sentence,
"From the top." 

Con brio

A "buh" of confusion,
Proceeded a hearty guffaw,
Because the most humorous things,
Are things he can not fathom. 


Tre corda.
 

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#21 Pantoum)- Stares and Sparks

Two eyes that flicker not with a fire or a flame,
Wandering from the corners of the room to the ceiling sky.
Curiosity twisting to unravel a gentle grin,
A bewilderment from the pupils.

Wandering from the corners of the room to the ceiling sky,
Irises with swirling pools of hazel juniper,
A bewilderment from the pupils.
Optical optimism one could say as they smile.

Irises with swirling pools of hazel juniper,
Dilated from the darkness of the world.
Optical optimism one could say as they smile,
Lighting the way for ambitions to prevail.

Dilated from the darkness of the world,
Seeing clearer and looking straight ahead,
Lighting the way for ambitions to prevail,
Two eyes that flicker not with a fire or a flame.
 

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#22 Free Verse)- His Idiosyncrasies

Une corda

The metronome that is his right foot,
Pressing an imaginary soft pedal
At the beginning of each bar,
Holding onto the rhythmic sustenance. 

Staccato 

Series of stutters,
Short, detached, mismatched,
Sighing before starting his sentence,
"From the top." 

Morendo

With a back so sore,
Lies on the floor staring up,
Pondering about the world,
And the nihilistic thoughts he keeps to himself. 

Con brio

A "buh" of confusion,
Proceeded a hearty guffaw,
Because the most humorous things,
Are things he can not fathom. 


Tre corda.
 

Modern Poems For An Old Fashioned Lover (#20 Free Verse)- Short Sighted

Through thicker lenses I was gifted sight,
When I sought out for you. 

No need for frames and glasses, 
To bring the entirety of you into,
My vision.

My eyes are a camera;
Focusing into you and capturing you,
Even amongst a crowd of faces
Out in the distance.

Why squint and scrutinise,
When beyond the facade,
Is a rawness many can not see?

A photograph that is the world,
A filtered blur where
Only you, the brightest light, glows.

Some say I am blinded by love,
But I see clearly because of you. 

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#19 Sonnet)- Letters

In printed papers, my longing is still clear.
With cursive prayers, I deliver to you,
That you will be safe and come home, my dear,
In our sunshine-soaked city, skies of blue. 

To miss you is lifting, to not is pain,
To write is proof that you are mine somewhere,
To watch the ink flow, security I gain,
That you will know that I wait and I care.

Folded with a neat, calculative crease,
Slipped into an ivory envelope,
In an effortless motion, sealed with ease,
To help me yearn for you, to barely cope.

A "darling dearest" to greet you and start, 
Shares the loving words addressed from my heart.

The Library

Humming, the fan engulfed the room with a gentle breeze. As I walked in, I scrunched my nose, worrying that the bar-code sensors may go off before placing my school bag in relief on a circular table. Chairs had been neatly stacked in fours for the cleaners this morning and the floor wafted of that new-carpet smell. I slowly went up the stairs and headed towards the fiction section, minding the many taped boxes for book donations. The lined, uniform shelves were all decorated with novels of every colour imaginable. Delicately running my fingers across the spines, I chose a treasury of fairy tales encapsulated with a velvet cover and defined corners where, when opened, looked like a pair of square brackets. The pages were stained with hot chocolate and slightly crinkled; an inviting start. 

 I carried the book across the library to the desk, politely asking for it to be borrowed. 

Writing Synapses

The Subject That Matters (Proposition/Pitch)

The education system is one that is incredibly valuable for it develops qualities that we need in order to thrive in the real world. Education also evolves in terms of historical context and what was considered mandatory back then may not be something necessary today. 

In ancient Sparta, boys had to attend military school from the ages of 6 and 7, in which most of us are only just awkwardly familiarising ourselves into our new kindergarten classes. This civilisation was heavily combative and failing to be strong meant being a social outcast and being deprived of basic rights.

This week, design a new course that should be taught in modern high schools around the world. You can choose to create an entirely new subject, revitalise a lost form of teaching or even choose to put your own spin on a subject that is already taught in your school.

From this, list the different branches and units that would be covered...

Becoming Human

Pouring Pandora A Drink

A vial of truth,
Ingredients with,
Killer toxins.

Let it swirl in liquid anger,
Let the elixir be brewed from internal doubts,
Bottled up fears,
Denials and frustrations,
Disappointments and griefs,
Grudges not forgotten nor forgiven,
Continue filling to the brim,
For then the cork is placed on top,

"Let's move on."

Keeping it all contained,
Instead of sharing and being honest,
Holding it in and hiding it until it is too much to handle,

The boiling point, the champagne is popped.

And it all erupts in a moment.

This concotion is far
From being a fine wine, 
Where the longer left closed off, 
The better the taste. 

Becoming Human

Pouring Pandora A Drink

A vial of truth,
Ingredients with,
Killer toxins.

Let it swirl in liquid anger,
Let the elixir be brewed from internal doubts,
Bottled up fears,
Denials and frustrations,
Disappointments and griefs,
Grudges not forgotten nor forgiven,
Continue filling to the brim,
For then the cork is placed on top,

"Let's move on."

Keeping it all contained,
Instead of sharing and being honest,
Holding it in and hiding it until it is too much to handle,

The boiling point, the champagne is popped.

And it all erupts in a moment.

Emotional extremes are not a fine wine, 
Where the longer left unresolved, 
The better the taste. 

Anxiety #4- Off the top of my head

Do I really need a haircut?

What if the style I chose does not suit me as well as the one I currently have? I can not just will for my old hair back. Then again, if I had magical powers, would I really have to walk to a salon to get a cut?

What chemicals are being used for this shampoo routine? I do not seem to recognise this brand of hair product they are slapping onto my scalp. Are there any deadly toxins in there that might have been listed in the ingredients but because nobody reads those like I do, they do not realise the potential harm it could cause?

Are parallel worlds real? Perhaps a parallel world might form where I did not get this cut and I may be far happier there. Is this choice going to be one I regret?

Am I losing more hair than necessary? I swear that the amount of hair that...

What Came Before

The Third Speaker

Stop following the rubric you have always been following, and do not leave a thing unsaid. 
"Whenever you're ready."
30 seconds have passed from the beep. I have summarised the debate up to this leading moment.
60 seconds have passed. I have reiterated how important it is for physical education to remain compulsory in secondary education. 
2 minutes have passed. I usually would detail all the different arguments we have placed forward but instead, I try something new. I integrate everything my team and the opposition have stated and discuss them.
5 minutes have passed. I saved time from having to cut off the twigs of my opposition's points by taking down their branches, their core ideas. I talk about consequences and create impromptu hypotheticals that can question the topic, yet avoid bringing in new content.
7 minutes have passed. I tackle the key issues that would arise without physical education and I link that with my team's areas.
11...

Anxiety #3- Our Second Date

Why does he still want to see me?

How can he ask me for another coffee outing when I spilt his entire bloody latte on him last time?  I knew I was clumsy but it was not my fault that there was no waitress there and I had to carry it with my trembling hands. Did the ladies there whisper about how we would not last this first date after that?

Is he expecting me to pay for the both of us? I think he might want me to pay for the one that I drenched his lap in too. How much money do I bring for me to have enough but not too much in case my wallet gets stolen by a pickpocketer? 

Should I show up early again? I hated waiting half an hour for him to come but I do not want to keep him waiting either. Would he mind it if I was fashionably late and...

Cast of Characters

​Come Home

Pitch- Set in Melbourne, Australia 2009 leading into 2010

Denise- homeless (17), victim of domestic abuse from mother, thrown out of household when caught for being in a relationship with a classmate in school, brings along her paints to try and sell them at the price that people want to buy them at
New Years Resolution for the New Decade- Restarting her life away from her abusive background, becoming her own individual by being independent and saving up enough to afford somewhere to stay 

Mark- a gentleman (20) that passes Denise daily and starts to buy her artworks before realising she is homeless and starts to pay higher for them, a bartender 
New Years Resolution for the New Decade- Finding a career that he wants to fulfil since he went straight to work after high school, giving up on excessive drinking though difficult because of his job at the club

Jackson- Denise's classmate (17), shares Denise's love for art, ends...

Self and a Statistic

Underlying

Social media shares opportunities, brings awareness to global problems, promotes businesses for innovative individuals, motivates youth involvement in the world and makes memories.

Social media creates a culture of exclusiveness, fails to cover how to actively tackle and help out with real-time issues, advertises merely the previous successes rather than the areas of improvement without promises of changing anything or that you will make a difference at all, causes youth to become attached to self-promotion, and diminishes a memory's value by just taking a photo of it for proof that it happened. 

Anxiety #2- Ordering A Drink

What in the world am I going to get?

Is the bubble tea I usually order still available? I can not see the menu from here. Is my vision getting worse? 

What toppings would go with it? I am going to hold up the line if I do not decide right now and spend fifteen minutes contemplating when it is my turn. Will people judge my choices from behind? 

If the price rises for the one I order, how am I going to afford it? I should hold my wallet out and take the amount when they tell me to but I might drop all my money on the floor. What if the man behind me is a burglar and will reach for it when he gets the chance? 

Should I choose a smaller size? I did not finish my taro milk tea last time and I remember a boy giving me a glare when I threw it out hesitantly....

Anxiety #1- The Trip Up The Rollercoaster

Was this worth the half an hour wait?

Are my glasses going to fall off? What if I can not see where my parents are and have to find one of those places they announce lost children? They are probably going to get my name wrong and then I'll never be found.

Is this seatbelt secure enough? What if the safety bar suddenly lifts up and I fly out, falling flat to the ground? It has got to be at least ten storeys high from up there. 

Will this carriage come loose from the rest of it and slide off the tracks? What if it does a flip and I plummet to the snack shack over there, ruining all the churros? I would not want to have to pay for refurnishing. 

I remember reading somewhere that twenty two people died over the span of ten years from rollercoaster incidents. What if I end up being number twenty three? The statistic might...

1 Photo, 100 Words

That's The One

"You know I HATE modern art."
"It's not like you can create anything better than this."
"Better than a red dot on a piece of canvas? My niece must be the next Picasso then." 
"There's got to be something you'll like here."

"Wait. Oh wow."
"Caught your fancy? It's the newest addition to the gallery."
"That's the perfect juxtaposition of black sihoulettes against the blue background. Why wasn't this artwork at the front of the exhibition?"
"Putting it at the beginning just raises the expectation too high and some people don't reach to the end. Leave surprises along the way."

 

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#18 Sonnet)- Necklace

A silver string of everlasting hope,
Clasp of unconditional faithfulness,
An angel's wing, in hard times, helped me cope,
My timely charm for guaranteed success.

Your gift, an apparition of promise. 
A precious token of forevermore.
When I suffocated, it sent a kiss,
Breathed air in, around me to let me soar.

Though a small present bought quite last minute,
Wrapped messily with paper and a bow,
Though hesitant about giving me it,
I wore it instantly, I love it so.

Not many things remain after a year,
But the necklace from you stays with me here.


 

Odd Things About Me

  • When calling with me, you have to end it either on the number 5 or 0 such as 40:35; I find these numbers aesthetically pleasing and it feels finished. Ending it on 9:09, for instance, gives me the shivers.
  • If I ask for a tissue, I actually mean I would like two. One is too thin to wipe anything. 
  • My memory is terrible so when I want to say something but someone else is talking, I cross my fingers to remember what it was.
  • I always order my coffee with two and a half packets of sugar. For me, two sugars is not enough to sweeten it but three is just going overboard.
  • Even if I washed my hands as I leave a public bathroom, after closing the door behind me, I would instantly take out my hand sanitiser. You never know who else did and who did not wash their hands.
  • You will find that I often correct my...

Know Your Place

You are everywhere. I can't seem to find a place you haven't imprinted or are yet to imprint. 
There is a locked chest where your tee shirt resides and on nights I need you there, I take it out and I sleep beside it. The entire chest itself smells like you.
I keep the Christmas card you wrote for me on my bedside table and I've read it repeatedly to the extent where I memorised it word for word and the top flap of the coarse envelope has come off. I have opened and closed it that many times.
When I'm in the kitchen all I can think of is us washing the dishes together, drying them and occasionally breaking into dance when our favourite songs come on. 
On my bed, I imagine you arching over me and remembered how I knew that I was blessed with my entire world somehow condensed itself into one beautiful human being.
At the...

Writing A Book Review Without Spoilers

One of the hardest parts of being a reader is, by far, persuading someone else to invest themselves into a novel or series without unintentionally ruining it for them. You want them to be as intrigued by the book as you were, but you feel like the blurb at the back of the book is not enough to really capture the beauty of it or share the greatest moments that you adore. You want to let them experience it how you did, plunging into it completely unaware of what is ahead, but you have this underlying fear that they will not enjoy it the way you did, or understand the capacity of your appreciation for certain scenes or sentences. How do you balance between convincing someone, or discouraging them in certain cases, from reading a book but not reveal the essences, or the elements that make the story as it is?
 
The first thing you should discuss is what...

Walking

Just Babysteps

She looked up at her mother and smiled reassuringly, holding firmly on the bars and lifting her leg. Wobbling, she immediately grabbed tightly and shot a look of concern to the therapist at the bench. Nodding, he headed beside her and instructed the girl to just breathe in and relax. She hated that she somehow remembered the numb sensations of sitting more than taking the bold strides she once did before the accident. The last two sessions of rehab was only confronting her with a sad truth; that she wasted months in a lonely room and there was almost no way she was ever going to pick herself up again. Her mother's brow furrowed, seeing the disappointment in her daughter's eyes.

"It wasn't going to be easy, you knew this." Nobody told her it was going to be this difficult either. Running across fields of grass, pirouetting in the backyard, doing star jumps were all memories now and yet, people...

My Trinkets

In a book box with a lid of a beach, sea shells and gulls flying across a blue sky, hides my trinkets. These are my jewels and gemstones of memories, things I collect to remind myself to not forget. 

  • Concert tickets to see The Script and CNBLUE in my first year of high school
  • A ticket to "Les Miserables The Musical" at Capitol Theatre
  • A rectangular badge, adorned with a large, pink ribbon, titling "Angelina Nguyen, Concert Volunteer."
  • Christmas cards from close friends and teachers, all wishing for the best for every new year to come
  • Programs from previous concerts I have performed in 
  • Directories around different venues where I have attended art and design workshops 
  • A tiny doll, given when I graduated from Vietnamese schooling three years ago
  • A red ribbon that I used to tie in my hair every time I had public speaking competitions in primary, my lucky charm that somehow brought out a confidence in me
  • A room...

My December Competition

How I Found Something To Love In December

December brings adventure, fun and games, great good and goodbyes, all wrapped in this bow that is only opened when the new year arrives.

There is this feeling we have when it is a certain time of year. There is this familiar buzz for the first day of school, the giddiness of falling in love, a dread, but also determination for exams and assessments. I keep making the effort to try to describe these atmospheres we create around ourselves during the year. It is there and it is what thrills us.

This month rings a hundred different bells for this Sydneysider. December is another White Christmas I have missed from living in Australia, crowded beaches with picnic blankets that are like a pastels palette disassembled and scrunched into not-so-quite-rectangles. December is a streak of ridiculous heat with a sudden downpour of rain on the least expected day. December is writing cards to all my teachers and thanking them for the...

Signing Off

At the end of the day

Dear Depression,

How have you been? I suppose there is not much you could tell me but since you have left, the world I live in has changed dramatically. Today, I felt compelled to inform you that I have never been better; that from six months of emptiness and loneliness, I managed to come out twice that amount of time more alive than I had ever been before. When 2015 ended, I swore a rejuvenated outlook on school, my friendships and my music and when I bid you farewell that December 31st evening, I knew it was not going to be easy starting again.

The school year was no different to last year, quite frankly. The teachers I had were far better but I still struggled in delivering consistent results across my subjects. It frustrates me how one assessment task can completely ruin my final report, how easily an A can just drop to a “Satisfactory” from a bad exam....

Names, Names, Names

Everyday Mysteries

A breakfast joint- Rise and Dine 
Early treasures that are savouring and invigorating.

A new smartphone- Buttonless
The technology sinks into the mind, as opposed to fingers sinking into the screen. 

An eyeglasses store- Visionary
Creative designs that allow insight to be expressed on the costumer's face. 

A dog pound- Puppies Protection Pound
Safe haven for dogs to stay and recover before finding new homes. 

A highway- Bartholomew Motorway
Travelling from the city mainland, across the roads to the humble country.

An island resort- Scappatella 
Italian for "escapade", an adventure awaiting, or just a relaxing getaway, in Sicily. 

A new constellation- Regium Margaritas 
Latin for "regal's pearls", one elegant, string of stars that dip towards a giant, night jewel. 

A pet polar bear- Marshmallows
My fluffy, little companion with giggles and an affinity for food. 

A nail polish color- Show, Don't Tell
Striking choice of art; "why say you're ready for the world, when you can wear it with pride?" 

A...

Mixtape

The Songs Two Musicians-In-Love Love

My partner, Alexander, and I are both musicians. Alex has been playing piano for around ten years and I have been singing for around the same. We met through ACE, a music school that is in the local area and share a teacher. I remember falling in love with him through the way he played, how magnificent yet serene it was. My life almost restarted the day we finally professed our undying love for one another (it was less dramatic as I made it out to be). I base a substantial amount of my writing based of him and this mix tape collates some pieces that have been tracking our relationship. ​

  • "Sonatina in C" by Khachaturian 
Alex played this at the annual concert the school holds last year and it was in this moment I realised I had been smitten for him. His performance inspired me to paint again and I created a wonderfully large canvas based on the way...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#10 Petrarchan sonnet)- Picturesque

Filtered dyes pooling sea blue and light green,
A photograph rimmed with a border line,
Shares a moment from when we had first dined;
Two tables, a hemstitch cloth draped between,
Silverware I had never before seen,
Glasses filled with a strong, fermented wine,
In the centre, a candelabra shines.
The chuckles, banter, a picturesque scene. 

How we gracefully twirled around the dance floor,
Gentlemen bowed, girls curtsied shyly,
My dress swirling, above the skies I soar,
Violins cease, and dinner is over.
Tickling words you left me feeling highly,
"These evenings with you, I can picture more."

The Innerworks of Love

  • The first step to realising that you love someone is denying it, pushing it into the back of your head, yet still considering it a possibility.
  • Jealousy roots not from a distaste towards someone, but the idea of them being better for the one you are with.
  • Someone could tell you a million times how much they love you. Someone else could show it.
  • We often overlook the people who help us in love because once we have something, we forget the effort it took to get there.
  • A first kiss is not a performance, but a confirmation that there is more to two people. A second, third, fourth and every other kiss after that serves the exact same purpose. There should never be an expectation of fireworks or sparks because so long as you are with the one you love, a kiss is the greatest wonder there is. 
  • Once you have held hands with the right person for you,...

10 Words

A Typical Aussie December From An Asian's Eyes

  • Farewells
  • Planes
  • Buble
  • Barbecues 
  • Footy
  • Family 
  • Movies 
  • Lights 
  • Fireworks 
  • Greetings

The Flaws Of Being A Narrator

"Caro mio ben,
Senza di te
Languisce il cor." - 'Caro Mio Ben',  Giuseppe Giordani


"Tell me a story."
"One you've already heard?"
"No, no. One about yourself."
"Well, once upon a time..."
"That's cheesy, you don't live in some fairy tale land."
"Alright then, it all started a week ago when I wa-"
"Now, that is boring. We have been friends for years, tell me something I don't know about you."
"Uh, okay. Hmmm, so in my mind, I paint pictures."
"Pictures. Pictures of what?"
"Sometimes when I am listening to music, I close my eyes and a story unfolds in my head. I build a face, a scene, an entire world."
"Tell me what you saw when you first heard 'Caro Mio Ben'! I know how you adore that piece to bits."
"My favourite aria? Why, I- I don't remember..."
"What do you mean? You see these things in your mind and you can't remember?"
"It's not...

Why I Write

In A Desperate Attempt

I write to capture the world, 
Not as a moment, but a memory instead.
It is impossible to do such,
Yet I still try and put words to the beauties around me.

I write to keep myself running,
Not to win a race, but to simply participate.
It is impossible to have the best stories, poems, tributes,
Yet I compete with myself to see how much greater I can extend.

I write to explain otherworldly wonders,
Not because I am crazy, but because all writers are just that bit more insane.
It is impossible to elucidate something in its perfection,
Yet it is my imperfection in my descriptions that makes it perfect.

I write to be no other than myself,
Not because I am another Monet but because I am an artist of my own.
It is impossible for a painting to live without paint on the canvas,
Yet from that empty page does my imagination flourish.

I write to...

Universal Knowledge

As a Musician, I Talk in Lyrics

Music is a language that is without meaning, yet all the meaning in the world; it is the language of song that is open to interpretation and all the people can understand, appreciate and live by.

The Peace of Wild Things

Look Around

How impossible can it seem to find hope,
In a world where it is difficult to see any signs of it?
Search amongst the forest tops,
Overlooking canopies of protection from disturbances.
 
Flower patches smile bright in different colours,
Greeting even when grief takes its strike,
Reminding us that even the most beautiful things,
Are only that beautiful for a moment.
 
Look where the weeping willows droop,
Though despairing as it may appear,
They shelter us from our failure,
A sanctuary away from the fears of it.
 
Despite the trouble associated with ambition,
A dose of desire is all it takes to succeed;
For even the smallest of mountain ranges
Tower above all in magnificence.
 
Animals that live with us, explore the world far more,
Not confined to expectations that bind us to fate,
The wandering butterfly's wings motivate and
Lifts us higher than we really are.

Unnamed

Colour In Between The Lines

Not a colour, but a colour.
Thick, bold streaks of calligraphy, 
Thin, shy curves of eyeliner.
Suits for men, coats of chivalry,
Mascara for women, coats of seduction.

A shade, but not a shade.
Striking against the geisha's pale complexion,
Winning against the pool table's balls.
Vintage television, flapper dresses,
Night skies, the hole of the unknown.

An artwork, but not an artwork.
Swirling words running across the page,
Dotted notes singing across the sheets.
Alternating piano keys, sharp and oriental,
Contoured, pencil portraits, gradient and demanding.

Liberty, battles, rights and freedoms,
Darkness, fear, loss and emptiness.
Plunge into the colour, the shade, 
For it beckons you succumb to its power.









 

Novel Writing Competition

Unattainable

End of Chapter ONE- Obsessed 
I picked up the new hardcover for "Ten Beats", flicking open to page 71 where Jacques stands at the balcony alone, whiffing its scent far more alluring than the cola stain on my copy. I have every single version of this novel, collecting all the different covers and laying them out once to just stare at them. They have evolved artistically over time, a story unchanged but the front changing forever to bring a new audience of readers in. "A Cellist, A Gentleman, A Musical as A Novel. TEN BEATS by Lillian Nagee" it read, stamped with a "New! Limited Edition with Unseen Scenes and Epilogue." How exciting will this be, memorising the format for this version, the page numbers and seeing Jacques, Jean, Valentine, Frances all in a different light after reading the newly released scenes.

I especially look forward to Jacques' extra scenes. Jacques has been my favourite character from the first turn of...

Some Philosophical Truths I Have Come To Accept

  • We have more and less freedom the more and less we scrutinise about it.
  • There is no right and wrong; there is only reason and justification.
  • To insult is to want fear, to criticise is to want change.
  • Nothing is real because reality would have to be eternal and nothing, no matter how space-time chooses to measure it, is eternal.
  • Absolute knowledge is unobtainable, there is only so much we are allowed to know.
  • We can predict an outcome but that outcome is not determined by our prediction; just like how we can predict the weather but that does not mean the weather will follow our prediction.
  • We believe in free will because we would be nothing without it. 

Open Prompt

Quotes from a Person who Quotes

"I always tell people to dream, for it is in dreams that we are entirely our own; swimming in oceans too deep to be discovered, flying above the skies that we claim are the limits."

"Why do we only see our mistakes after we do something, but in the moment, seems fine? Maybe we should not think before we act in an instance, but think before we do something we might regret."

"It's okay to be a sucker for poetry; all those with character are too."

"People tell me to think outside the box but even that has restrictions. There should be no box to consider, think out of, to think of; we should just think. We should make our box. That is how true creativity grows."

"Being intelligent comes from recognising you are imperfect, but still innovative enough to forever try proving yourself wrong."

"When you read something that speaks to you, you have this desire to want to...

Invisible Cities

Forelsket

The dreams of lifelong companionship blossom at Forelsket. The houses are packed close together, windows of many kinds of rectangle are wedged in between terracotta bricks. Rosy-faced lovebirds chirp, brightening the mornings and stray puppies are welcomed inside whenever days get far too cold by the hospitable citizens. Each person wears a rose of pink for the euphoria of a crush, a red for a strong-going relationship and white for a partner that has transcended space-time itself. Children wear blue and purple for loving their parents and those who had yet to seek for someone left their chest completely bare, their heart free to be stolen. 

Bike bells ring harmoniously as husbands signal farewell to their wives who blow smooches from the balconies above, school girls giggling as they sit behind blushing boys when they thread their arms around them. Petite cafes and amorous restaurants recreate the spicy thrills of a first love and the sweetest sensations of an everlasting...

Unnamed

Colour In Between The Lines

Not a colour, but a colour.
Thick, bold streaks of calligraphy, 
Thin, shy curves of eyeliner.
Suits for men, coats of chivalry,
Mascara for women, coats of seduction.

A shade, but not a shade.
Striking against the geisha's pale complexion,
Winning against the pool table's balls.
Vintage television, flapper dresses,
Night skies, the hole of the unknown.

An artwork, but not an artwork.
Swirling words running across the page,
Dotted notes singing across the sheets.
Alternating piano keys, sharp and oriental,
Contoured, pencil portraits, gradient and demanding.

Liberty, battles, rights and freedoms,
Darkness, fear, blankness and emptiness.
Plunge into the colour, the shade, 
For it beckons you succumb to its power.









 

Novel Writing Competition

Unattainable

End of Chapter ONE
I picked up the new hardcover for "Ten Beats", flicking open to page 71 where Jacques stands at the balcony alone, whiffing its scent far more alluring than the cola stain on my copy. I have every single version of this novel, collecting all the different covers and laying them out once to just stare at them. They really have evolved artistically over time, a story unchanged but the front changing forever to bring a new audience of readers in. "A Cellist, A Gentleman, A Musical as A Novel. TEN BEATS by Lillian Nagee" it read, stamped with a "New! Limited Edition with Unseen Scenes and Epilogue." How exciting will this be, memorising the format for this version, the page numbers and seeing Jacques, Jean, Valentine, Frances all in a different light after reading the newly released scenes.

I especially look forward to Jacques' extra scenes. Jacques has been my favourite character from the first turn of...

Walking

Just Babysteps

She looked up at her mother and smiled reassuringly, holding firmly on the bars and lifting her leg. Wobbling, she immediately grabbed tightly and shot a look of concern to the therapist at the bench. Nodding, he headed beside her and instructed the girl to just breathe in and relax. She hated that she somehow remembered the numb sensations of sitting more than taking the bold strides she once did before the accident. The last two sessions of rehab was only confronting her with a sad truth; that she wasted months in a lonely room and there was almost no way she was ever going to pick herself up again. Her mother's brow furrowed, seeing the disappointment in her daughter's eyes.

"It wasn't going to be easy, you knew this." Nobody told me it was going to be this difficult either. Running across fields of grass, pirouetting in the backyard, doing star jumps were all memories now and yet, people...

Godsend

Have mercy on me when I fail. 

There is no chance for any success.

Charity is no longer received from generosity.

Those with kindness will sin for perfection.

Those darkened have virtue from their flaws. 

Hope does not exist in the light.

Hope exists where a darkness dwells.

 

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#18 Free Verse)-Air

I once hated
standing next to people,
Feeling threatened,
watching them breathe
the oxygen that could be
for me.
What if I were to die,
oxygen-deprived?
Some call me rude
and pessimistic but it is how I think.

Yet when I met you,
Oxygen became something I wanted to share,
For I breathe more when I am with you,
I am more alive with you.

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#18 Free Verse)-Air

I once hated standing next to people,
Feeling threatened, watching them breathe the oxygen that could be for me.
What if I were to die, oxygen-deprived?
Some call me rude and pessimistic but it is how I think,
Yet when I met you,
Oxygen became something I wanted to share,
For I breathe more when I am with you,
I am more alive with you.

Now That You're Gone

I don't miss the fairy lights strung up in the backyard, each one a star that twinkled kindly. I don't miss the rusting pots and pans or the bubbling kettle, warming up the water for your English Breakfast and my morning chamomile. I don't miss the vase sprouting lilies and how I hid behind the sliding door to watch you pour life into them or the dinner table with the plaid cloths that you changed every spring for a fresh look. I don't miss the bombarding schedules that took us away from each other or the lazy afternoons simply enjoying your company.  I don't miss the way you jumped whenever our Bordie Collie greeted you on the veranda after work; your guffawing, surprised expression, even though it happened day after day.

I do miss the screaming that our daughter trembled from in the room next door. I miss the scent of your voice embellished with alcohol, slurred and murmuring curses...

Should we use it? (Gene Therapy)

Gene therapy has been a major breakthrough for science, being researched and tested for potential uses in curing, or at least alleviating the symptoms of, various genetic diseases. It simply is done to replace faulty genes with the correct sequencing for proteins or can be used to provide supplementary proteins in order to aid with the treatment of a disorder. Scientists have been able to discover the exact coding for genes that instruct the order those amino acids are built. This creates proteins that can be given to the body or repairs damaged proteins. Although the general idea of gene therapy is seen as a positive way for medical treatment, there are various ethical debates that arise from tampering with human genomes.

There are problems in using gene therapy because of how experimental it still is. The viral vectors being used, sending genetic coding into the body can attack other perfectly functioning cells. Treatment must then be repeatedly carried out because...

Speech Writing Competition

Act, Don't React

You. You hear on the radio that another earthquake has struck in Nepal. You see on the evening news that there has been a mass shooting at a nightclub in Orlando. You read the papers to learn that more rape cases, more kidnappings, more assaults are arising. You sit back and you let out an "aw, how unfortunate" or a "that's horrible", only to then go back to your morning coffee, scrolling past the article, changing the channel, turning the page. The page I want to turn is a page in history.

Why are you only reacting? Raising awareness is not doing what it is aiming to. Awareness is now trending, hashtagging, labelling an entire event, issue, problem with a few words. Awareness is never a few words, and those few words will never raise awareness. Awareness is showing support through a screen, posting a video of yourself being dunked with cold water for ALS, changing your Facebook profile to some...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#17 Haiku)- Lipstick

Rouge lips neatly smile,
Leans in unprecedented,
Kiss me for a while.

Rewilding

Butterflies Bursting

pupallion- The release of the butterfly from its confinements, the cocoon that nurtured it.

Objection!

Women and Why Marriage is Still All There is To Us

"“I wouldn't want to stay with daughters who are not getting married. Because that in itself is a problem in society. I know that people today think being single is nice. It's actually not right. That's a distortion. You've got to have kids. Kids are important to a woman because they actually give an extra training to a woman, to be a mother."-​ South African president Jacob Zuma (2012)

Although I did not hear this statement made in a speech itself, I remember running out of ideas for generating topics for local public speaking competitions. I decided to research and tackle some more controversial claims made by people who are supposed to be our world leaders and this particular quote infuriated me.

Having a daughter is a privilege, or any children at all. They should not be seen as a problem or a burdened responsibility, an object to be married off to someone in order for them to have children. In...

Our Final Hours

"Give me one sec." 

His heavy breath obscured my vision, like a camera that was in focus and it captured nothing more than what I needed to see. I stared into his eyes, gazing into this longing for me and reached my hand out to stroke his cheek. He trembled slightly and grabbed my hand to pin me down, heavily sighing before falling on top of me. 

"You're so fat."

"Deal with it."

Tossing me over, he let me lie on top of him where a little heartbeat was ticking away. There was something marvellous about it, knowing that he was alive and real. Unbuttoning his shirt slowly, I studied him and his body. It was well defined, just as I remembered it from last time. Perhaps it was the night light but I always thought of him to shimmer, nothing too over-the-top but with a friendly, inviting glow. 

"Do that thing I like. Please"

I chuckled and gently dragged...

1 Photo, 20 Words

It Is Still Life

The artwork,
Mythical, otherworldly, enchanting,
Swirling, spinning, exploding,
A universe that does not speak, only in
Painting energy,
Colouring photographs. 

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#16 Free Verse)- 'Sorry' and 'Thank You'

Sorry for trying to fix my flaws,
By fixing an already flawless you.
Sorry for looking for an answer in my purpose to live,
By questioning you and your intentions.
Sorry for thinking you had ulterior motives,
When all you wanted was me.
Sorry for doubting that this was everlasting,
When you never stopped telling me it was.
Sorry for creating distance between us,
If you ever inched too close to me.
Sorry for pushing myself away from you,
If I ever inched too close to you.
Sorry for saying sorry,
Knowing it hurt you to see me feeling down.
Thank you for loving me,
Knowing I would love nothing more than you. 

Book Review Writing Competition

Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exúpery

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

My interests have fluctuated over time but I generally am open to reading anything. I gravitate towards classics the most, along with romance, mystery and historical fiction. Being a romanticist, it is natural for me to appreciate the strength of good poetry; the thrills of the rickety ride up the roller coaster, sometimes more fascinating to portray than the split second travelling back down. I have presented many speeches about the hypothesises I have about storytelling such as the purpose of good and evil, the concept of backstories and what makes a book change a person. I am aiming towards a major work on the philosophies of children's books and the novella I have chosen is a childhood favourite of mine, an embodiment of poetry and truth. I was only a little girl hearing my grandma reading it to me before...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#15 Free Verse)- Vietnamese Cafe

Wooden stools propped with three stubby legs,
Tables smoothed with boats of ice creams on top,
Exotic pandan to the black sesame delight,
Dangling lights cupped to dim the lighting,
Soft and sensual the air breathed in,
Traditional music seeping through the speakers,
Bitter, erotic hot chocolates and mochas,
"Let's grab a coffee." 

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#14 Petrarchan Sonnet)- Nightingale's Song


Tweet, tweedle, for me, my nightingale, sing
Chirp, cheerirp, whistle a song such sweet.
To the flower fields of spring shall we meet, 
The wintry blossoms of snowbells doth ring.
With a warm coat that wraps a broken wing,
A heart so true, forlong travelling feet, 
Searching for a love of everlasting heat,
For the nightingale, a bosom friend bring.

Hark! A ballad old, melodious fair, 
The wander'ng of the lost love it yearns for,
A lonesome bird that too has never bore,
A harmony, a new challenge to dare.
Tweet, tweedle, dee, my nightingale adore ,
Chirp, cheerirp, whistle a song such flair.


 

7 Cubed

Miserere

There is nothing or nobody to envy.

Angered fumes are softened by wrathful damnation.

What trouble is there from lethargic effort?

What fear is there from unchecked ambition?

What pain is there from being hungry?

What crime is there from unsatisfied desire?

Prideful of my sins, I am not. 

History Alive

Hatshepsut Revealed

[Thutmose the Third]

Let's take a step back into history,
A mystery unfolds, 
The ruler of a kingdom, a tale to be told.
A devilled mastermind against her planned,
To ban her straight from the book,
Damnatio Memoriae, her successor did, a crook.

[Senemut] 

Dissembling the statues of Pharaoh Hatshepsut,
Assembling a plan to get rid her for good,
Despite the years of reign in Egypt, she brought justice,
In spite, nearly died a death years later bloodless.

Erasing a Queen, disrupted propriety,
Shame it seemed, ruptured society.
A female Pharaoh, fair roamed true,
A warring warrior, a worthful regent too. 
Gained power by the hour and the hour, she pulled through,
A stirring will to be the change, to Punt to make it global and she was

[Thutmose the Third]

Noble, or he was noble when she faked a beard, 
She tried to please Maat that her subjects so feared,
A step ahead her stepson who felt stepped on, mistreated,
She stepped in his...

The Pianist

"Every Renaissance comes to the world with a cry, the cry of the human spirit to be free."- Anne Sullivan Macy

"...la ti do..."

Her lesson for the week was over. Thanking her teacher, she smiled politely before opening the door and briefly catching a glimpse of the student who was after her. 

Sitting outside in the foyer, waiting patiently for her recital class to begin, she stared at the closed dance studio she was in a few moments ago, listening to the scales echoing from within. She would have needed at least six hands to even try that, muttering to herself in disbelief that the awkward giant who shyly said a quick "hi" every week and waved was the same, charismatic man behind the piano on the other side of the door. The concert was in a few days and she was excited to finally see him perform the piece he had been repeatedly tweaking to perfection,...

Book Review Writing Competition

Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exúpery

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

My reading interests have fluctuated over time but I generally am open to reading anything. I gravitate towards classics the most, along with romance, mystery and historical fiction. Being a romanticist, it is natural for me to appreciate the strength of good poetry; the thrills of the rickety ride up the roller coaster, sometimes more fascinating to portray than the split second travelling back down. I have presented many speeches about the hypothesises I have about storytelling, aiming towards a major work on the philosophies of children's books. The novella I have chosen is a childhood favourite of mine, an embodiment of poetry and truth. I was a little girl hearing my grandma reading it to me before bed in the original French. I certainly did not understand the content of the story at first, only admiring the aesthetically-pleasing watercolour illustrations but...

Final Note

Me before You by Jojo Moyes

Like expired milk, don't take a taste of this if you don't want to spoil yourself. 

I genuinely believe that everyone can grow to love romance so long as they find a novel that really changes their outlook on love. As a big sucker for romance, finding a novel where I would not be left heart-wrenched and broken is difficult especially when the young adult genre itself relies on realistic endings to make it great. I always wished that Aaron would be declaring that he would be willing to heal Alice's grief and reestablish a relationship with her by the end of the "Ketchup Clouds". A ray of hope from "Love and other Perishable Items" had shined with its ambiguous ending but even there, I wanted to know for sure if the two had found love elsewhere or, better, in each other. I even loved the bittersweet surprises of "Eleanor and Park", the uncertainty that it left me wondering if...

10 Second Essays

10 Shorts About Stories, The World and Reality

  1. Fate can not be changed; the events that leads to the outcome may be different but the outcome itself remains the same. 
  2. Peace would not be something we aimed for if we did not question war; happiness is not what we want to achieve until we question what makes us sad. 
  3. Those who are evil will attack, those who are good will defend. 
  4. Medicine doesn't always heal you but if you tell someone that eating parsnips would make their flu go away, they would be better just from that. 
  5. The most deceptive people are usually the most insecure. 
  6. We love what we can not obtain and we hate what we possess. 
  7. Nothing is real because reality would have to be eternal to exist and nothing is eternal.
  8. Why is it acceptable to be afraid of something we can expect, and yet cowardice if we run away from something we know nothing about it?
  9. If abstract ideas had physical apparitions, would beauty,...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#13 Pantoum)- Sweetest Words

A music that is sweet, your euphonious sound,
Lyrical teases that tickle my patience, 
Sugary in the centre, rich redolent around,
Dulcet melodies with a wayfaring fragrance. 

Lyrical teases that tickle my patience, 
Pleasant pressures sinking into skins,
Dulcet melodies with a wayfaring fragrance,
Floating to the first pages where it all begins.

Pleasant pressures sinking into skins,
Unearthing the lost treasures of a song now found,
Floating to the first pages where it all begins,
Turning sheets concocting magic, leaving us spellbound. 

Unearthing the lost treasures of a song now found,
Sugary in the centre, rich redolent around,
Turning sheets concocting magic, leaving us spellbound,
A music that is sweet, your euphonious sound.

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#12 Sonnet)- Fireplace Stories

Cackling laughter swarming the fireplace,
Breathing in the smoke of your flaming chest,
Looping locks of curls, unfurls ebony lace,
My head gently on your shoulder at rest.

The stories of winter games, running fast,
From lodge to lodge, across the sheets of snow,
Rolling on the grounds as bramblings flew past,  
Harking above the travelling ski tow.

Recklessness and daring, our fun sure had,
Company could not be enjoyed just still,
Now, the little chairs rock and I am glad,
My comfort is with you and always will.

Memories that we throw into embers,
The blazing conflagration remembers. 

Flash Fiction Competition

Rushes

Wiping off imaginary pools of sweat from my forehead, I exasperated at my lack of options before a great idea struck me. I clenched my left fist and persevered. I could not tell if my fingers were numb or simply accustomed to the pressuring sensations anymore. The end was nearing, inching closer by the second but I kept running, looking down and making sure I was on track. 

Tick, tick, tick, tock. Time's up.

The closed-in-room suddenly burst and the walls pushed themselves outwards. My palm are red, both unfolded and finally relaxed. 
 
"Pens down, the exam is over." 

Breadcrumbs and Riches

St Paul's was far dimmer today than usual, a little life in the streetlights would be nice.

I sat myself down on the marble step, smoothing down my chestnut dress and adjusting my cotton shawl to let it overlap around my shoulders. I scrunched my nose and felt my forehead slightly wrinkle, the creases defined. The weather was pleasant in the way I liked it most; the trees were swaying gently and the pavements were aligned with morning dew. 

It was right on time, 9:31, and before I knew it, I had been surrounded by a flock of pigeons. I welcomed one on my lap and it cooed as I stroke its head. They seemed to love the cathedral and as a little girl, I decided I wanted to greet them every morning. Hospitality knows no limits, mother once told me, and with my reed basket full of breadcrumbs, I waddled to these steps, waving to the birds and the people...

Tick Tick

The sharp ticking of the metronome wakes me up. Its unchanging rhythm syncopated with the rapid clicking of the receptionist's pen, clearly showing a level of urgency and stress she must be under, having to send all the exam requests in by today. Despite it being in the room next door, I can distinctly hear "Sonatine in C" and the pianist behind the door flutters his fingers almost like Khachaturian did himself. I breathed in the lemon freshener and it brings back the atmosphere of the foyer before the door slightly opens and my teacher smiles.

"Come in, dear."

Countdown

When She Smiles

The ringing of bells resonates in my head in motion,
Concoction of fragrances bubbling and dancing around the air,
Sweet candies of giggles bouncing in my mouth,
My cautious fingers running across her skin,
In case I disturb her gracefulness,
But yet I long for her,
The chance to touch,
I am smiling,
When she
Smiles.

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#11 Haiku)- Fragrance

Aroma surreal,
Binding in an entrancement.
Lingers on my lips.

One Sentence Story

Quiet Affections

She was always the one who responded, who said "yes" to them being together, who said "yes" to their dinner dates, who said "yes" to moving in with him but one afternoon, she drove him out to where they first met, fixed her gaze directly at his and knelt down on her right knee;
"You have done so much for me...yet I have not in return but I will spend forever trying to so today I ask you, 
will you marry m-", he tackled her to the ground and laughed wholeheartedly,
"Yes." 

Inventory

Ho Chi Miss

Chanh Thanh Hoa Nguyen
Aged 16 and thriving in Saigon, Vietnam

In her bedroom, she has (a)-
 
  • plastic hairpin that is adorned with mai flowers, for festivals and celebrations
  • wind chime that rings whenever someone slides the door open
  • kitten face mask with whiskers and a pink nose, worn outside when it is dusty 
  • rainbow dream catchers that hang above her mattress; it was tradition for her uncle to give her one every year for her birthday
  • two drawers being fed and hoarding foreign CDs of American pop idols
  • photo frames of her father who had left for the military to support the family
  • fan that squeaks as it spins but does a great job at keeping her cool
  • neat books from school stacked in piles on a stool beside her small desk
  • green helmet for motorbike rides with her brother, seeing the familiar streets and exploring the country she loves.

Enumeration

10 Things To Say When You Don't Know What To Say

Everyone at some point talks to themselves due to the fact that the hardest thing for a few of us to do is to start a conversation with someone. The school we learn in, the workplace we thrive daily in, the family and friends we depend on all require us to engage in them. We depend on everything to come to us first before we approve of it. However, a conversation cannot unfold without a start and sometimes we should be the one to cast the first stone. Here are 10 effortless conversational topics to get the awkward running and the bonding arriving.

  1. “So how was your day today?” The cliché question we all get whether it is from someone we had not seen in a very long time or to break any dreaded silences. Surprisingly, this conversation starter is helpful because it indirectly conveys both interest and concern. We all have good and bad days lounging around and we...

180

How a Philosophy Lesson Changed How I Saw Music

I was almost furious when it had been revealed to that I had not received philosophy as an elective subject for Year 9 but was determined to get a class up and running in Year 10 by promoting it. Fortunately, I had been successful and I am currently undertaking philosophy alongside music, my future career path and most invested subject for inspiration in stories and research. I was posed with a series of questions one afternoon and my teacher had instructed us to choose one and spend the lesson constructing further questions for it. I chose one that simply asked this but was far more difficult to answer than I thought, even though it was about an area I am versed in;
 "Where does a piece of music have existence?"

We listen to music everyday whether it be for leisure or in my case, to learn and add to my repetoire list. If I can hear it then it surely...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#9 Diamante)- The Instrument You Play

Piano
Black           ,      white
Leaping,                         dancing,               flickering
The                music              shuts                   out               the            world
Enrapturing,           encompassing,      encapsulating,
Sound           ,      silence
Fine

Literalture

Being different is not something we all choose to be but we can choose to be different and happy. I suppose it is important I start from the beginning because that is where every good story starts.

I am that kid. I am the epitome of “that kid.” I could not speak a word back then because I was afraid to speak. I was afraid to express my thoughts and I was afraid of myself. With hair that curved inwards, glasses that covered a large proportion of my pale complexion, and lonely eyes that showed no signs of life, it was not a surprise I was isolated from the world. I look back and I wonder if they had isolated me with their cruel remarks or if I was the one who chose to isolate myself from them. I felt like I could never find someone or something to make me want to live on but that changed the minute...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#8 Free Verse)- Scented Candles

Senses I lose from one whiff of your scent, 
Into a candle shop my mind enters.
I grab each one
And smell it.
Letting it waft around my nostrils,
Infusing and exuding. 

You are not the lavender orchid,
Demanding and striking.
You are not the Osaka tea lights,
Exotic treasures with swirling tales.
You are not the lemongrass reeds,
Leaping into the air and livening the crowd.
You are not the apricot blossoms,
Spring's surprise that thrills the meadows.

Your fragrance none can recreate.
The aromatic mystique, the warming perfume,
The bouquet of laughs, zesty ardour.

You are my ocean gardens,
To explore hidden jewels glistening below.
You are my jasmine oils,
Hinting mints and fairy secrets.
You are my amber nights mist,
Silently smiling across the room as I turn away.

You are my vanilla melts,
My kind of candle. 

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#7 Color)- Brown

Brown are the highlights of the irises in your eyes.
Brown are the leaves that clumsily fell in your lap.
Brown of different kinds illuminate through your hair.
Brown are the folk songs I strummed awkwardly on the guitar.
Brown is the musky cologne you spray yourself with.
Brown is the smooth chocolate you brought to me for Valentine's.
Brown for the wooden piano your fingers glided across.
Brown for the love I have for you.




 

Letter Writing Competition

Letters To The Stars I Will Never Get to Meet

Delivered to the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame 
1100 E 9th St, Cleveland, OH 44114, United States

17th of July 2016
To Elvis Presley who is "Always on my mind",
To begin my story, I would like to begin with another. My grandma absolutely could not help falling in love with you. She lived on the other side of the earth in a war-stricken Vietnam, married off at the age of fifteen to someone who failed to be the man she needed him to be. She became a housewife and had her first child the following year and from then on went to having over 10 children, seeing a small handful of them being miscarriages or dying young from disease. What kept her dancing through the dark was the King's revolutionary style. She hoarded your live performances, the taped ones obviously, and kept a VHS copy of "Change of Habit" for me that I still watch today....

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#6 Pantoum)-Butterfly

Wings short-lived but alive more than most, 
With dancing patterns as she dances,
On nature's stage, the world, her host,
She performs, leaving flowers in entrances. 

With dancing patterns as she dances,
The butterfly glides across the air.
She performs, leaving flowers in entrances,
And the critters can only stop and stare.

The butterfly glides across the air, 
From the spheres of fields to the meadow's coast,
And the critters can only stop and stare, 
As if she were a living ghost. 

From the spheres of fields to the meadow's coast, 
On nature's stage, the world, her host,
As if she were a living ghost,
Wings short-lived but alive more than most. 

Twenty-Six Sentences

Audition Day

Audition day had been a week ago but I remembered it vividly. Blouson dress with a light curve that enveloped my legs, I styled my hair in an intentionally messy bun and fixed it with six bobby pins. Catherine always complained about how theatre actresses looked too pompous but I disagreed because for me, it was about being yourself in the most fashionable way. Despite my lack of colour coordination, I found a nice pair of bold scarlet ballet flats to complete the modest attire, setting foot out and ready to present myself. Even though I was worried, I knew Catherine was watching and cheering me on because we both dreamed of being in this production someday. Fortunately, it had popped up in a newspaper advertisement I was skimming through and I was more than delighted to request a place. Goodness knew if I even had a chance at it since I had...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#5 Free Verse)- A Red Umbrella

Pitter patter, the little drops from heaven fell gently through,

Pitter patter, my eagerness, my thrill to see you.

Rumble thumble, the skies stirred with impatience,
 
Rumble thumble, your euphonious words sweeten the uneasiness.

Woosh, the lullaby wind that makes me wish I was in bed.

Woosh, you pull open an umbrella ruby-red.

Wishy-washy, windscreen wipers of the huddled cars on the street,

Wishy-washy, the strokes of our strides that struck the concrete.

Boom, a thunder hungry for the fear of its worshippers clearly,

Boom, my heart pounds as you pull me close, nearly. 

Splat, lightning springs into action and to scare me, it struggles

Splat, your clumsy steps that destroyed unsuspecting puddles.

Drip drop, the rain showers from above and the bathroom floors of the world, water collected.

Drip drop, with you I feel safe, at home and duly protected. 

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#4 Haiku)- Our Song Comes On

I clutch onto you, 
You pull me close and I say, 
"Dance with me, darling."

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#3 Sonnet)- Seasons We Vowed

Once upon a summer I found you there,
Basking sun sprites while pirouetting rays twirled.
The trickles of sweat crowned your tangled hair, 
And the warmth of your charms kindled my world. 

Leaves of time slip through our fingers like sand,
Auburn acorns raining on the shutters, 
As fairy lights are strung with hand in hand,
The last beat of the swallow's wings flutters.

Like water poured in bottles to the brim, 
Melted paths hauntingly sing as we trek,
The snowflakes falling grins as lights dim,
Cuddled close, you whispered above my neck,

"These seasons of us, thou hath did bless me
I shalt an oath to shareth spring with thee."

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#2 Ballad)- Lost Meadows

Mountains ranges colossal as they stood watching us,
Knowing our fates, mocking our ignorance of it thus,
"A world out there is not a meadow but a desert, 
You will only search for a reason to live and from that, get hurt." 

Woven in patterns of cherry roses with the bluebell, 
Firs, elms and grand oaks, all lined on the loom they dwell.
Daring dreams, sensitive secrets, faraway 
Warping wishes, wefting worries, with me nevertheless you stay.  

As we flew the kite of innocence across the tickling grass 
We raced to see who was determined rather than who was fast.
The brushes of muddy paint sweeping our feet
And at the heart of the meadow our restless flights would meet. 

Counting together every dainty petal of all the flowers,
Our adventures told from mere seconds to epic hours,
In these cherished hills who else shall love hereafter,
Where we crafted memories of content and laughter? 

One day, children shall...

Modern Poems for an Old-Fashioned Lover (#1 Sonnet)- Compass

What does it mean to feel completely lost?
Your sense is wandering further from home
And your heart reluctantly plummets, tossed
Onto a path that winds, astray you roam. 

Map spread open, your arms, what will you win?
Your pride and dignity, there is no more.
A game of the body when you love him, 
Over mind, your heart is sure from your core.

You pack merriment, but keep close your fears
With candles lit by absolute fire, 
Endure the turbulence, 'til when it clears
As you are journeying with this desire.


Let this passion drive you; I have one clue,


My final destination is to you.

Collected Wisdom

Tips for writing from a high school student

What makes writing such an amazing phenomenon? It has baffled me to this day how a few words can pronounce grander than gestures do. Some of the smallest of things can change how well you write and what message you want to carry across to your audience. I see good writing building from and incorporating the following- inspiration, intonation and innovation. I also want to note down some quotes that I wrote at the front of my poetry notebook that have made me want to write and I hope they shine with you. 

The urge to want to write something begins when we have something to say. As obvious as this sounds, when you have a passion or simply a need to let your creativity spin, your writing generally flows much better. Knowing what inspires and motivates you will help your reader engage in what you present as well as keep you on track instead of being lead off on...

Pantoum

Carry my song

I sing a song that can not be sung.
I cry a call that echoes evermore but nevermore arrives.
From the tip of my tongue, the words, they hung,
On the shores of beaches, under the tumbling waves the lyric dives. 

I cry a call that echoes evermore but nevermore arrives.
Its melody that unfurls undeniable grandeur yet hidden suffering,
On the shores of beaches, under the tumbling waves the lyric dives,
Its harmonies fill a chasm that swallow sounds, only buffering. 

Its melody that unfurls undeniable grandeur yet hidden suffering,
Distances measure our love, beyond the greeting horizons and departing sun.
Its harmonies fill a chasm that swallow sounds, only buffering. 
When had this aching, this longing, this inaudible singing even begun?

Distances measure our love, beyond the greeting horizons and departing sun.
From the tips of my tongue, the words, they hung,
When had this aching, this longing, this inaudible singing even begun?
I sing a song that...

Stop the sound, start the sounds

Imagine the world in silence,

Not a single sound stirring,

All voices seeking to speak, 

Ceased upon the land they unwind.


Yet the world silent,

Shields a will to make noise,

Released, overflowing, steadfast,

Disturb the slumber and
 
Be still, the woken. 

Touches

Hear the sound of my voice, the faint pulse that surrounds your mind,

Listen to how I call for you, the recollection of my heartbeat voice.


Smell the scent of my skin, the fragrance of spritzed violets and lavenders, unsure of which would be more to your fancy,

Let it diffuse and attach itself to yours.


Taste my flavoured kisses like they are candies; the sweetness of innocence, the bitterness of experience,

Become addicted to it and satisfy yourself, keep begging for more.


Feel the shivers that you too make me feel, the sensations that travel to all the corners of your precious body,

Play with my senses and make me numb with desire. 


But most of all, look into my eyes.

Look at how my eyes hunger for you, the passion you give me and the passion I have for you,

Look. Fall in love with me. For I am touched by you.

 

Mysteries Abound

Let's take initiative

We don't know who will join us on the journey we venture towards.


We don't know where the twisted roads, broken paths and dead ends will lead us.


We don't know how long the drive will take, what will drive us to valiant victories or drive us to our inescapable insanity.


And we certainly haven’t agreed on when we will start because all endings, happily or not, must begin some time soon. 
 

Band Name

Dolce Philtre

Dolce Philtre are a humble indie-jazz quartet who reside in the bustling streets of Amsterdam. The band consists of a young fingerstyle guitarist, a bass guitarist with soothing vocals like a warm latte with silky foam, a saxophonist with this natural flair for improvisation and an adventurous percussionist who ranges from the pounding Mexican drums to the light-heartiness of the marimba. The four, originally from Sydney, had travelled the world to find a place where their stylistic endeavours would grow and found marvellous satisfaction from harvesting their career as cafe musicians. 

Their eventual settlement in Holland found them gigging at the local bruine kroeg where alcoholic Dutch beverages were sold. Dolce Philtre were surrounded by the hearth of the dark-stained walls and milky chocolate ceilings where steel lanterns dangled, lit by a well-fitted wax candle that diffused a gentle musk that intoxicated the room. Beer and wine, with the occasional jenever gin, were served to customers and the men always had...

Illumination

The Gentleman

It was remarkable to even think that there was someone who could radiate all over the way he did with just a smile. The subtle charms he employed were not only of absolute modesty, but of pure innocence; complete unawareness towards the impact his captivating linguistics and actions had upon me. 

Everyday Magic

Wandering eyes

Emerald stones with minuscule hazelnut highlights illuminated despite the absence of embers in the stirring fireplace. Gazing into them sparked a bright desire in me that numbed my sensitivity but drew me towards the version of myself I saw in them, how splendid I looked and how I sparkled. Lightly pointed, his nose twitched when I told him how charming he was and his ears brightened red like a ruby that had just been unearthed. Embarrassed as he was, he still articulated conversation well enough to leave me quite in a fluster. How could I compete with such astound? He ruffled his tousled, hickory hair that was far from being anything other than a brown, but was a fine detail in my eyes, all shades of a lovely chestnut throughout and wafted of cinnamon and apples. He smiled mysteriously from the corner of his cheekbone and twinkled lightly, thrilling his body with a glow.

It was hard for me to...

Pages

The hospitable corners born from the spine, venturing out to a sudden halt,
open and inviting the explorer in.

The intoxicating scent of a novel, each described by the author in a way that crafts a subjective atmosphere and thrills the newcomer or the visitor;
sea salt "Percy Jackson",
fresh blood "The Odyssey",
dripping chambers "Dracula",
the taste of a cappuccino spilt along the fine edges of "Sense and Sensibility" a good ten years ago when it was first checked out.

The sarcoline sheets all illustrated majestically with dancing fairy tales, painting illuminating facts of the spectrum of fish below, memoirs of old and new. 

An adventure into the Ancient World, studying hieroglyphics and the lost wonders,
two taps of a pair of ruby shoes to whisk away into the magical land of Oz or
sharing the fragile moments of a contemporary, teenage romance.  

The cream of the pages of a book means welcome, where all it is waiting for is a home to ignite.

Color Swatch

Piano Keys

Piano key, the color of sleek and sensual; the alluring instrument silently stirring before erupting into capturing sound.

Historical Fiction Competition

The other side of the story

He entered the room, slowly shuffling, which was clumsy to do with his oversized boots. Conscious of the footsteps of mud he had made, he promised quietly to himself that he would clean it up once he was done. The day had been long but for him, it was over in a split second. It proved that time really did fly when he was busy though he could not help but feel unsettled, as if his daily routines were going to be played by a cruel trick. He did not suspect this to be true; he rather disregarded it as another one of his uneasy anxieties that he always managed to keep concealed under a masculine demeanor. Before he knew it, the night greeted him with a soft rain, trickling lightly down the translucent windows that had not been washed for months, he assumed, in the far wall across. He recognized the bittersweet scent anywhere- the calm before a storm. ...

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Counter Melody

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Words That Stuck With Me

Liked by 2 people

How to live and how to learn

Liked by 2 people

My Security Blanket

Liked by 1 person

Drawing Out From Deep Recesses

Liked by 3 people

Where to?

Liked by 2 people

At the end of the day

Liked by 5 people

Mama And The Indescribable

Liked by 1 person

Pulling the Trigger Online

Liked by 1 person

Straight Ahead

Liked by 1 person

Sinking Under

Liked by 1 person

​Come Home

Liked by 1 person

Pouring Pandora A Drink

Liked by 1 person

The Third Speaker

Liked by 1 person

Anxiety #3- Our Second Date

Liked by 2 people

A Musician At Mind

Liked by 1 person

Odd Things About Me

Liked by 1 person

That's The One

Liked by 2 people

Know Your Place

Liked by 1 person

The Flaws Of Being A Narrator

Liked by 1 person

Colour In Between The Lines

Liked by 1 person

Colour In Between The Lines

Liked by 1 person

Unattainable

Liked by 1 person

The Stage Fright Fight

Liked by 1 person

Just Babysteps

Liked by 1 person

Present

Liked by 1 person

Me before You by Jojo Moyes

Liked by 1 person

Literalture

Liked by 1 person

Falling, flying, living, dying

Liked by 1 person

The other side of the story

Liked by 1 person

Good neighbor

We like your photo and your biography.

Earned over 1 year ago


Master reviewer

Um. Just saying you have published OVER FIFTY REVIEWS!!

Earned 6 months ago


Pro reviewer

You've now submitted over five reviews!

Earned about 1 year ago


Self editor

You've published multiple versions of the same piece

Earned over 1 year ago


Follower

You're following over five other writers.

Earned over 1 year ago


Supporter

You're following over 10 other writers right now.

Earned about 1 year ago


Admirer

You've followed over twenty other writers!

Earned about 1 year ago


Patron

You're following over thirty other writers!

Earned 8 months ago


Leader

You're being followed by over five other writers!

Earned over 1 year ago


Super star

You've got SO many followers - more than thirty!

Earned about 1 year ago


Luminary

Woah. You've published ONE HUNDRED PIECES!!

Earned 11 months ago


Power writer

Do you ever sleep? You've written over TEN THOUSAND WORDS.

Earned over 1 year ago


Publisher

You've gone live!

Earned over 1 year ago


Prolific

You really are prolific - you've published over ten pieces already.

Earned over 1 year ago


Favoriter

Love your work - you've read and favorited over ten pieces published by others

Earned over 1 year ago


Popular penman

Very nicely done - you've got over ten favorites.

Earned about 1 year ago


Reviewer

You've reviewed!

Earned over 1 year ago


Top critic

Woohoo. You've submitted over fifteen reviews.

Earned about 1 year ago


Competitor

Thanks for entering a competition.

Earned over 1 year ago


Best seller inactive

Get over twenty favorites for one of your published pieces and you'll be a bestseller.