I Don’t Hate You

TRIGGER WARNING! This post might be difficult or unsuitable for some people to read. Proceed with caution.


I don’t hate you, but I know I should.

My body aches from the weight of you, and I know this is a fight I can’t win. Tears cloud my vision, but I blink them away. It’s a small victory, I know, but I won’t let you see me cry tonight. I pick a point on car ceiling and gaze at it intently. I can feel your hot breath against my neck. It’s the least violating sensation right now. I stare at the ceiling harder, thinking desperately about the fabric texture, and wish I could numb myself to what is happening. Your hands no longer caress me softly. I wonder if they ever really did. I feel you everywhere, and want to burst into flames so that you will stop. Your teeth graze my skin for a second, before the pain hits. I want to scream, but who would hear me? We’re both tasting my blood in our mouths right now. I focus on the ceiling again, knowing what’s coming next. Suddenly, I feel light again. I hazard a glance at you just in time to see you jump back into the front seat and start the car.


It’s been 5 years, and every night I stare at the ceiling, willing myself to forget. I wonder why you did it, but mostly, I wonder why you stopped. That’s the part that traps me, the glimmer of hope that you are a better man than what you did to me. You’re not. I wish you were the man who is worthy of the love I felt for you. You’re not. In the daylight, that is painfully obvious. At night though, the sobs tear through me violently, as I try to hold myself together.

I haven’t told anyone. My friends hate you enough anyway. Sometimes I think they hate the part of me that doesn’t. Sometimes, so do I. The hate would be easier, more pure. It’s the betrayal that weighs on me, just as you did all those nights ago. But I haven’t told them, and I don’t think I ever will. Not because I’m ashamed, which I am, but because I’m afraid. Right now, it is inside me, an experience unto me alone. If anyone knew, it would be outside, free to grow. It would suffocate me, just as you did, and I don’t think I am strong enough to survive that.

I don’t hate you, but I wish I did.



This post is nonfiction. I wish it weren’t. I wish it didn’t even happen in fiction. Hopeless, I know.

This is the first time I have ever written about this, even just for myself. I could never quite bring myself to explore the memories I had locked away. So, if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sure exactly how accurate this is. For me, it felt as real to write this as it did to live it.

I’m still wondering if I should hit the publish button, if I want this out in the world. But at this point, it’s my only option. The past few months, it has been coming back to me, in dreams, during the day, all the time. I really don’t know how to make it stop. So, I wrote about it.

I’m going to hit the publish button. I am going to publicize this part of myself, and hope that somehow it will have less power over me now.



I hear it pounding on the roof,

making the house shake.

I smell it in the air,

inviting my lungs to take just one more gulp.

I feel it on my skin, hard and painful,

purifying and cathartic.


It makes my heart sing with the hope of a untainted tomorrow,

of an untarnished me.

As the light crackles and the sky roars at the earth,

I feel a freedom unlike any other.

In that single blissful moment,

I am weightless

and I transcend the chains that seek to dry my soul.

I am alive.


I know this is my first post in a really long time, and maybe I should apologize for that.

Things have been really busy for me and, perhaps more than that, they have been really difficult. The things I have been writing have been excruciatingly personal and painful, and for the time being I don’t think I’m quite ready to share them.

Over the past few days though, something has changed and I think the subject of this post will give a clue as to what that is. I don’t feel completely recovered yet but I do feel stronger, and that for me is a victory in itself.

I know this is my first post in a really long time, and maybe I should apologize for that. But I told myself that I won’t be sorry for how I feel ever again. So, instead I will say hello again.

Tell me about what this post makes you feel, and if you agree with me (or not!).



My Old Friend

I just want to start this post with a trigger warning. The content may be unsuitable or painful for some to read. Proceed with caution!

I met her when I was eight years old. She was ethereally beautiful, with kind eyes and a bright aura. I was too young, or perhaps too green, to comprehend the meaning of her presence in my life. As I played with the blade I had just learnt to unscrew from sharpener, she leaned over and softly asked me “What are you going to do with it?”. I hadn’t really thought about it, but she told me that if I used it to cover my body in art, I’d be remembered forever. Every time I drew, she encouraged me to press harder, go deeper. I decided to let her stay. For the next seven years of my life she kept me company. She wasn’t overbearing or clingy, just a comforting constant I knew I could always turn to. On nights when the world got dark and isolated, she would wrap me in her arms and cocoon me in her warm embrace. She told me I could end my suffering, go away with her to a place where I’d finally be tranquil. I wasn’t ready to give up my life just yet, so she promised me she would wait. With her around, I was never truly alone and that thought was always a relief to me.

The day I turned fifteen, she had starkly disappeared from the celebrations. I didn’t mind much, mostly because I was too engrossed in my fun. When I met my first love a few months later, she still hadn’t returned. As I explored my newfound passion, I realised that I missed her very little for someone I had depended on for the better part of a decade. In fact, there were days when I didn’t notice her mysterious absence at all. I had a new lease on life, and my world was filled with the promise of a future she hadn’t let me think about.

As with most first romances, it didn’t last all too long, though the emotions still lingered. However, while those flames usually just fade after sparking too brightly and and too quickly, I was consumed by it and burned to my core. For, though the enchantment had left, the person did not. I was trapped in a nightmare for the next two years, struggling to free myself from this self-inflicted prison. Luckily, I was not to face this threat alone. The day he shed his halo and wings to reveal the monster beneath was the day my old friend returned to my side. Little did I know, she wasn’t the lesser of the two evils.

This time was different. I needed her more than ever to help me carry the pain I was enduring, and she happily accepted the extra burden. She had changed since I last saw her. Her aura was tinged in darkness, and her eyes had turned to coal. She seemed on edge, almost like she was greedily anticipating something. She enticed me to numb my sorrows, convincing me that I’d find my peace at the bottom of the pill bottle. When that didn’t seem to be helping, she coaxed me into spilling my anguish on the bathroom floor, drawing lines of glistening red across my skin. She grew frustrated when I patched myself up again, wondering if I’d ever be ready to go with her. She told me that I had no one but her, that all my loved ones would only mock or desert me. I was grateful for her friendship.

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more than my gratitude, more than my loyalty. She wanted all of me. When I woke up in the hospital, with my wrists heavily bandaged and an ache across my whole body, I worked up the courage to ask her where she had been that year she had vanished. She looked away as she told me of the other people she had to help, the ones who were sadder than me, closer to the edge. She said she had given them the serenity they were desperately seeking, had rescued them from the the chains of this world. Her answer was legitimate enough, but I felt unease creep into me as she avoided my eyes. “What kind of serenity?”, I questioned doubtfully. She turned suddenly and gripped my hand tightly, making me reach for the increase button on the morphine monitor. She murmured soothingly “Let me show you”. I waited while the heaviness seeped into my body, slowly bleaching away the agony. As the darkness took over, I braved one last glance at her, only to see that her once-radiant form had mutated. A cruel smile played across her face as she watched me slip away, delighted to have a new piece for her collection.

This piece has been in the works for almost two months now. When I first started writing it, I had a very clear idea of what I wanted the”Friend” to represent. I was really frustrated when people who read it didn’t seem to get what I was trying to portray and so I keep editing, getting closer but always off by a little. However, I decided to stop editing.

I wish I could say that this was completely fictional but that would be a lie. If anyone of you is going through anything similar, please know that your pain makes you feel more alone than you are. There are always people who care, even if it doesn’t always seem that way. If you ever need a listening ear, feel free to contact me via email or social media.

I think this piece is special because it means something a little different to everyone. I won’t say what she was meant to be in my mind because now she belongs to you, and she can be whatever you think she is. So let me know what you think “My Old Friend” represents and why.


Today a kind boy with a sweet smile told me I was beautiful and asked me to join him for dinner. There was no good reason to refuse him but that is exactly what I did. As I formed the word ‘yes’ on my lips, the thought of you materialised in my head and I balked. I saw his face fall at the rejection, and felt nothing.

It made me realise that you and I are the same, both willing to taint the pure and hurt the innocent without hesitation. I want to believe you did this to me, fashioned me into a cruel beast that reflected yourself in the hopes that you would be less alone. I wish that was the truth, but we both know better. It always came easily to me, the ability to sacrifice the emotions of others for my own, and eventually for yours.

You didn’t make my soul dark and cold. You didn’t create a partner who so perfectly matched your own perverse nature. You simply found the demon in me that needed your twisted love as much as you needed mine. We were monsters, destined to destroy together.


I don’t really have much to say about this piece, to be honest. I had a strange dream and this is the result of it.

Do you think people can actually fashion and shape others to satisfy their fantasies and whims? Are we, as a species, so malleable that we can so easily be bent and twisted? Are we so selfish that we would be willing to do that to someone for our own desires?

Always Rushing

They never seem to stop, always waiting, always rushing. It occurs to me that they have no souls, none of us do. As long as we are within these walls, we are shells of the people we hope to be when we get to our destinations. Despite all that, I feel abandonment settle over me as I watch them leave. It could be reminiscent of a memory or perhaps a dream; I can hardly tell the difference right now.


I felt his lips leave mine and opened my eyes just as he let go of my hands. A heaviness invaded my chest and I struggled for breath. As he turned away, I whispered “Don’t go”. It was a last gasp attempt to salvage a sinking ship and I couldn’t even be sure he had heard me. He turned around, though, and gave me a sad smile before disappearing behind the metal detectors.


I used to love watching people at airports. It seemed like everyone had a story, a life they were clamoring to return to. It’s different now. I see them running away, like cowards, scrambling for the hills when their worlds have gotten too tough. I know I’m being unreasonable. What do I know of these strangers dashing past me? But in these moments, they are all you, breaking promises and leaving without a second thought.


I am so sorry for being AWOL. Life has been very hectic. I am out of the country for a few weeks so my post schedule is going to be different, due to time zones and my plans.

I wrote this piece during my travel. The entire journey took over 24 hours and that leaves a lot of time to think and reflect. I genuinely do feel that being in an airport strips people of what makes us real and human. It’s strange vibe that I can’t quite seem to shake, no matter how many airports I go to.

Everyone seems to have an opinion about airports, whether its love or hate. I love to travel, but I tend to not be a huge fan of airports. Although, if you’ve been to Singapore, Changi Airport is absolutely gorgeous. What do you think about airports and the feeling of being there? Am I crazy or have you also had this experience?

A Much Needed Break

Hello lovelies.

This is just a quick life update. I am currently on vacation so I won’t have a chance to post until next weekend at the earliest. I am spending some time with my family, away from all the hustle and bustle of regular life and our recent move. I am also gearing up for what is supposed to be a monumental birthday tomorrow, which is a little ironic (check out my last post if you’re confused). 21 seems like such a big deal but for a brown girl who doesn’t drink, it’s really just like any other birthday.

Anyway, to fill the space until my next post I thought I’d do a “Currently I am”. I was inspired by https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/132156769/posts/371

Listening: basically anything by Rubber Duc. They’re a South African band and their music  is just really mellow and wonderful to listen to.

Reading: ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ by Margaret Atwood. I haven’t seen the show but I really want to, so I thought I’d tackle the novel first.

Watching: I am currently obsessed with Sherlock, after a friend recommended it. Yes, I know I’m late to the party but that seems to be my style for popular shows.

Wearing: pyjamas because I’m on vacation and comfort is top priority

Making: pasta for dinner

Feeling: kind of heavy about this birthday. Not fun to be spending it far from the people who matter most.

Planning: my trip to see my best friend in just over two weeks! I am so excited because we haven’t been together in almost a year.

Loving: the holiday home I’m currently in and the fact that pre-season tours are finally  starting up (European football is everything!)

Let me know some of  your ‘currently’s in the comments! ♡

Happy Birthday, My Love

Today is a strange day, your birthday. I’m not quite sure how I feel or how I want you to feel. I do know that, somewhere in the world, you’re celebrating right now. It feels strange, wrong, that this is the first time in five years I won’t get to be with you in some way. I wonder if you think of me when the clock strikes midnight. Or perhaps when you walk into a room filled with the most important people in your life, minus me. Or maybe I’m desperate enough to hope that when you blow out your candles, it is my name on your lips, as you wish for me the way I do for you.

Happy birthday, my love. Please don’t forget about me…


So this post is sort of non-fiction, save for the date. Birthdays are such an odd celebration. What kind of achievement is being born? That being said, I love my birthday and I also love seeing other people enjoying theirs. Some birthdays are tough, those of people we’ve lost, either through death or just life. It’s surreal to celebrate someone’s birthday without them, almost like “I’m glad you’re in the world but I wish I was in yours”.

Again, I’m sorry that this post is sort of a ramble. When I write about my life, it’s a way of trying to process the mess in my head so it comes out very confused. It’s raw and a little painful, which is why it’s not very long. I try to deal with it and then sort of pack it away and move forward. Whether I’m successful remains to be seen.

What’s your opinion on birthdays, yours and those around you? A meaningless celebration or a day of well-deserved merriment? How do you feel on the birthdays of those who no longer share your company?

Things Break, People Shatter

He stands still,

Hoping that he could simply let the anger pass,

But knowing that she is too far gone.

It is inevitable.


He ducks suddenly

To avoid the glass plate she flings at his head,

And hears it smash into the wall behind him.

Another day, another broken item.


Without warning, she is right in front of him.

He covers his head for protection,

A fruitless act that makes her smirk.

He sees the devil in her once beautiful eyes.


And then it comes.

The pain as her hands make contact,

The stinging slap on his face,

The burning pull of his hair.


He hears her manic laugh,

As the assault continues.

She’s right, he thinks.

No one would believe him.


He tells people he got into a fight,

Stopped a mugging,

Tripped in the stairs.

It makes sense, and no one questions him.


Everyday is a nightmare.

He wonders when it will end,

When the shattering of his soul

Will finally be complete.


Or if he is destined

To silently suffer


I mainly write from a female POV because that is simply how I identify. Recently though, someone I know spoke about abuse he faced in a previous relationship and I was motivated to write this.

Abuse suffered by men is a widespread issue that is often ignored due to patriarchal views of masculinity and strength. As a society, we need to change that by highlighting the problem. Art is meant to reflect life and so I hope that this piece works to that effect.

It takes great courage to leave a toxic, violent situation and to move forward in life. If you or anyone you know is experiencing domestic violence, please don’t hesitate to seek help and know that you are not as alone as your pain makes you feel.

Mind Over Matter?

What convinces an intelligent mind to fall

For someone who is not capable of mentally challenging them?

What do we think they can offer us

That we don’t already have or can’t get with sheer brainpower?


He couldn’t hold a profound conversation with me,

Yet everything he said captivated my spirit.

He didn’t understand my philosophical references ,

Yet my heart danced whenever he would sing along to his favourite song.


Somehow he molded a part of me I had long ignored.

He made me feel;

Burning, raw emotion, the likes of which I had never experienced or even imagined.

I felt crushing fear, because there wasn’t a specific pathway or a clear outcome.

I felt insatiable awe, from seeing a world that wasn’t based on logic and facts.

But more than anything else

I felt freedom, the lightness of not thinking, planning or calculating.


Falling for him was like blindly leaping off a cliff into an abyss of uncertainty.

It was abandoning all rational thinking and just jumping head first.

I didn’t know if he would catch me

And wrap his arms around me in a cocoon of warmth and love

Or if he would let me crash to the ground

And watch as my soul shattered into a million unrecognisable pieces.

Yet, as I jumped, I wasn’t afraid.


The feeling of falling is difficult to describe.

There is a weightlessness unlike any other

And an overwhelming sense of infinity.


Someone once told me that truly smart girls don’t fall in love,

That people like me chose mind over matter.

Maybe she was wrong,

Or maybe I wasn’t all that intelligent to begin with.


He was orgasmic to my life.

He made me rethink everything I had known to be true.

He turned my world on its head and made me question the very bane of my existence.


I was introduced to a life I could never have foreshadowed

A life of passion and ecstasy

A life of pain and heartbreak

A life where my heart, rather than my mind, understood what was happening.

A life I would never regret, despite the darkness it weaved into my soul.


This is something I wrote two years ago. I was trying to make sense of events that I was witnessing and experiencing. It seems a little silly now, but I still wonder what it is we are looking for when we look for love. It’s companionship of some sort, but what sort? Is there a balance between intellectual company and emotional company? Or are they unrelated in this instance? How much are our minds, hearts and souls in play when we fall in love? And how much of it is just internal, with the other person completely separate from the experience, despite being the cause of it?

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