.... and I Will Be Flying On a Broomstick

Photo by Enrico Mantegazza on Unsplash Dealing with the absence of your presence is like getting a paper cut. The wound is not large enough to warrant the use of a band-aid, like that one time I cut my finger accidentally with the kitchen knife. There is no substantial blood loss to show to other people as evidence of my pain. I might forget that it hurts for the most part of the day but whenever I wash my hands, it stings. I know I shouldn’t complain because it’s a small cut but sometimes, I have the urge to show it to someone just to hear them say, “Oh you poor thing!”. It may just be a tiny scratch on my skin but it still hurts and I need someone to acknowledge my pain. The absence of your presence has thrown a surprise party for me with my character flaws as guests of honor. So here I am, hosting all these unwanted guests in my tiny apartment. Mr. Anxiety likes to whisper to himself and no one wants to sit with him. Ms. Emotional is always making a scene, throwing temper tantrum

"I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order."  - John Burroughs *** It was the most aesthetically pleasing hike I had been on up until now. The trail passed through a valley, over man-made bridges, up and down several steep inclines, all the while accompanied by a river with crystal clear water. The water was so clear that if I wanted to, I could have counted the fish swimming in it and the stones on the river bed. The leaves were starting to change into different shades of red, yellow and brown. They glided down onto the ground silently, urged on by the cool autumn breeze.  They crackled under my footsteps like small fireworks.   They floated in the crystal clear water like droplets of gold.  There were 25 waterfalls of different sizes; some gentle, some a force of nature to reckon with. All of them had names and a story behind each name. I would have loved to learn about all the stories the waterfalls had t

Photo by  Alex Rainer  on  Unsplash I emerge from the underground only to be thrust into a rapid current of swarming people. Immediately, I am swept away by the crowd along a kaleidoscopic street filled with colors and bright lights. Like sirens calling out to sailors at sea, salespeople cry out for my attention, waving signs in big red letters – “50% OFF!!” “BUY 3, GET 1 FREE!!”. They warn me that time is running out. They promise me that I will find everything I need and want inside their shops. Resistance is futile. All around me, people drop out of the group and wander off into the shops with a glazed look in their eyes, seduced by the sirens’ promises. I keep my eyes fixed on the person ahead of me and try not to listen to the sweet voices that beckon me into their stores. I need to stay alert. Even the most seasoned sailors can get lost in these treacherous waters. Occasionally, the downstream people stray from their tracks, colliding with the upstream people, whic

Photo by Niklas Garnholz on Unsplash I. You will find the truth in an empty car parking lot. The tears will go away as quickly as they come. You will dig your hands into an old wound, ready for the mess and the pain. Instead, you will come up empty-handed and you will feel nothing. You will wish you were drunk so you don’t have to remember. But you will be sober and you will remember how he looked you in the eyes when he lied. That ought to make you feel something but all you will feel is numb. This numbness will take over your body for days to come until you accidentally spill boiling water on your finger one day. It will hurt like hell but in the first few seconds, you will stare at your trembling finger and think, finally you can feel again. But please remember. You do not need the pain to realize you are capable of feeling. II. You will look for the right moment to admit you are not okay. But you will realize there will never be a moment when you do not feel vu

I see him on Monday mornings and every other odd day of the week. He would lean against the railings with a smile on his face and call out good morning to the regulars who use the bicycle parking lot. He always wishes me a good morning as I ride past him on my way to park the bicycle. Then, as I head towards the train station, he would send me off cheerily, “Itteirasshai!”, to which I would always reply, “Ittekimasu!” Some days, he’s busy with other customers who want to park their bicycles. Some days, when it’s raining, he’ll stay inside the small office building. But even on those days, he would smile or nod at me and send me off silently. He reminds me of my father, who always tells me to take care when I go out and who I would sometimes catch looking out from the window after I left home. She works at the bakery inside the station. I am not sure which days she usually works. All I can say is that she sometimes have shifts on Friday nights. I restock my bread supply for the wee

I love reading books and listening to podcasts about how writers come up with ideas for their writing and what their creative process is like. Even though I have shared pieces of my writing over the years, I realized I have never written a post about my own writing process. So for this week’s blog post, I thought it would be interesting and fun (at least for me!) to share with you about where I get my ideas from and how I shape those ideas into a piece of writing. I will be talking about the times when I write for myself, not when I write for school or work assignments. For this post, I dug up some old pieces of writing to use as examples. It turned out to be a good opportunity for me to reflect on my own writing process and how it has evolved through the years. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did while writing this. If any of my readers share the same interest and hobby in creative writing, I look forward to hearing from you about your creative process as well! Where do

The hike was not planned well in advance. It called for an urgent midnight search on the internet for “easy hikes around Osaka” and a last minute cancellation of a dentist’s appointment. Three of us had the same day-off on a Thursday and because we have not yet grown tired of seeing each other almost every day at work, we decided to spend our day-off together. The hike we picked was called “The 48 Waterfalls of Takihita”. The place seemed easily accessible. We would need to take the train to Kawachinagano station, which was about 45 minutes from Osaka station and take the bus for another 50 minutes to reach the starting point of the hike. The article we found on the internet informed us we can “Take a tour around the waterfalls and be refreshed by clean air and negative ions.” We were not very knowledgeable about negative ions and their health benefits but we were excited at the prospect of seeing so many waterfalls on a single hike. Even the fact that we had to go to work the nex

“How did I get here?” I am standing on a tangled mess of roots sticking out of a narrow dirt path. The ground is uneven and I feel off-balance. I have spent the last hour hiking up a steep mountain trail and now find myself surrounded by tall trees, their sinewy bodies closing in from all sides. I catch glimpses of blue sky and sunshine through the narrow empty spaces between the trees. I long to feel the sun’s warmth on my skin but it is dark and cold among the trees. The sun is setting soon. I am overcome with anxiety that time is running out. “Is this a dream?” I am calling out a name but there is no answer. My voice sounds small and weak as it echoes through the forest. I clear my throat and tries again. It does not work. It just starts to sound more desperate. But I cannot stop because I am more scared of the silence than the vulnerability in my voice. It is a futile attempt to look for someone when you are not sure if you are in the right place. This feeling is all too