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

Left. Right. One step back. Right. Left. For a moment, we stood still face-to-face and sized each other up to decide what our next move should be. Right or left? Our bodies did not touch but we were locked in a complicated dance. Our false steps and erratic rhythm proved that neither of us were prepared for this dance. Suddenly, a familiar tune rang out, snapping us out of our indecision and signaling for a change in the choreography. In a split second, a decision was made. The right decision would mean a train caught in time whereas the wrong one would result in having to run to work or worst, being late for work. I stepped forward to the right. The stranger stepped forward to their right. It turned out to be the right decision. Just like that, the deadlock was broken. We headed towards our respective train platforms, never once looking back. Dancing with strangers and racing against time. This is what Cinderella must have felt like, I though...

It always begins with a hotel by the lake on a warm summer’s day. The characters and the plot may change every year. But the setting remains the same. At a hotel whose stairways and corridors echo with old memories of laughter and conversation. No matter how many times you’ve been here, you’re always greeted with a thrill running down your spine.   Like the countless elevator rides you found yourself in every day, life during camp had its ups and downs. There were mornings when you had to drag your ass off the bed at 6:45 in the morning and brushed your teeth with eyes closed, looking like a zombie. There were times when your head was spinning and you felt like you were being flung off into space. At times like these, it’s the voices of your fellow camp leaders and camp staff asking, “Are you okay?” and their reassuring smiles that kept you from drifting away and anchored you in the moment.   If someone told you three years ago that you would and could take care ...

Impatient hands. Tapping restlessly on the steel counter while waiting for their change.   Hands with dirt around the fingernails. Makes you wonder what they do for a living.   Weathered hands that shake with little tremors. You remember how you haven't seen your parents' hands for almost two years now. You would hate to see them tremble.   Perfectly manicured hands. Always accompanied by a whiff of expensive perfume. Hands with stubby fingers. Your mother once said, "People who have long, slender fingers are usually talented in the creative arts." You were crushed because you thought your creative career was doomed from the start.   Small hands that barely reach up to the counter. A shy voice saying, "One ice cream please."   Strong hands with callouses on the palms. Reminds you of your favorite pair of hands and the warmth they always provide.   Hands with veins popping out like landmark rivers on a map. How many people h...

Writers are strange beings. They are scared of a white blank page yet they’re not afraid to cut their hearts open again and again until there are no words left to bleed. They love silence. Perhaps a little bit too much for their own good. They always have a knack for noticing the little details that no one else really cares about. A crack on the pavement. The slight tremor in a voice. A shift in the air. They like to stare out of train windows. They enjoy conversations with the night and the rain.   When a writer loves you, they will hesitate to write about you. It’s not that they don’t want to. It’s quite the opposite. They want to write everything about you. From the warmth they see in your brown eyes to the comfort they find in your steady heart beat. Their hearts beat to the rhythm of the words pulsing through their veins, threatening to burst into a poem any minute. But they are scared to let those words out because they know words will be just words. No matter how hard ...

I love you like a snowstorm. Passionate and encompassing. A force of nature of reckon with, fierce and unapologetic.   I love you like the falling leaves. Silently and unassuming. Why must one be afraid of falling, as long as the autumn breeze promises to be gentle?   I love you like the blossoming flowers. Proudly and bravely. Let the world see that love never loses its colors, even when the sky above turns grey with April showers.   I love you like the falling raindrops. Soothing and unrelenting. Come listen to their rhythm on the tin roof above, and let us leave the weight of the world on the doorstep.

           The summer I turned 12, my mother took me to the pool for swimming lessons. On the third week, while I was kicking my legs and trying to stay afloat, my instructor picked me up and suddenly threw me into the middle of the pool. I swallowed a lungful of water and discovered for myself that fear indeed tasted bitter. That day, I told my mother I wasn’t going back to the pool. I was half-expecting her to march up to the instructor and blame him for trying to drown her daughter. But to my indignant cries of “I could’ve drowned!” my mother just smiled and said, “That’s how you learn to swim, sweetie.” The next day, she took me back to the swimming pool and I went back to kicking my legs in water.             Many years later, in the summers that followed, I came to realize that it was not only my instructor who liked to catch me unawares and throw me into the deep end. Life a...

1. She turned around and looked at me with those big round eyes. There were loud cheers and music playing in the background. And as if she was letting me in on a well-kept secret, she whispered, “I’m nervous.” I reached for her small clammy hands and gave a reassuring squeeze. “You’re gonna be just fine. Don’t worry. Just do your best, OK?” It seemed to work. She smiled and nodded, “OK.” Not soon after, the MC was calling out her name. Later, when she finished playing the last note on the piano, she turned around and looked at me with those same big round eyes. They were sparkling. There were loud cheers and applause in the background. And as if it were a secret only she and I knew, I whispered, “See, you can do it.” She gave me a dazzling smile and hugged me so tight. It was a short moment. But that short moment made me think of several things. Words of encouragement plant seeds of confidence in fragile hearts. We all need someone who will believe i...