Let’s talk about mental health and idol worship.


I was 15 when I first tried to kill myself.

I just came home from school and the house was empty. I can’t remember what prompted the action (if there was any recent event that triggered it), but I do clearly remember wanting to end my life so much that I downed x number of anti-depressants all at once.

I woke up some six hours later in the same room. I tested my body; I wriggled my toes and pinched myself to see if I’m still alive. To my disappointment at the time, the answer was yes.

I was 18 when I tried to kill myself for the second time.

This one has been more ‘planned’ for the lack of a better term. Farewell letters were written, a last ‘will’ that includes notes for which possession goes to whom after my death, a goodbye text message was sent.

The letters were, ultimately, scrapped in the end. The attempt failed.

Still, I told myself I’ll never make it past 20.

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across the universe


It’s a little crippling, you think, how you can have these hundred universes and characters in your head that are waiting to be written yet you can’t find the time to give them proper justice, to breathe life into them, as you struggle to find the proper place and time to transfer them onto paper. When all you just want to do is be at peace and write but you are hindered by time constraints, deadlines, and what feels like a hundred responsibilities on your shoulders. You want to get lost in their world – your world that you have created – but before anything else, you have to take care of things in the events unfolding in your own reality.

You think it’s funny and sad at how, even after spending nine hours of your day telling the stories of brands you aim to promote in the digital space, at the end of it, your tired fingers are still itching to write. There is just so much to tell about.

These days when you tuck yourself to sleep, you don’t think about the places you haven’t gone to yet, unlike before. These days before you close your eyes, all that haunts you is the thought of the 40,000 words you haven’t written yet. It’s a little frustrating and thrilling because it reminds you of the days when you were still 12, always itching to write new stories before you can even complete one.



“I wanted to take a break from writing,” you remember telling one colleague when asked about why you chose to enter an industry completely different from the one you just came out from. But as fate would have it, your job title still ended up bearing the word writer and you begin to think that maybe, this is it, this is all I’m cut out for.


You secretly you wish you have more hobbies and interests. Photography, drawing, sports, even. If writing can only help burn calories, you would have probably reached your target weight long ago.




You’re far from being a best-selling author, that much you’re sure. In fact, at this point you’re not yet even sure if you can still achieve that childhood dream. But as long as there are stories to tell, as long as there are universes to get lost into – you know you’re not going to stop any time soon.

You still have a lifetime worth of stories waiting  to be written.

Japan: Lost in a Dream

A  few months ago I flew to Japan to spend my Christmas vacation with my family in Tokyo. The trip had long been dreamed of, with my mother expressing her ambition to take me there for the past 18 years or so, but the dream did not fully materialize until the year 2014. Despite being only two weeks long, it was a trip that meant so much to me and my family, and I want to remember it as much as I can before it completely falls into the void of my (declining) memory stash, so here we are.


December 23

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