lyhcheese-blog

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big words. Small Words. Fancy Words.

People I think have this misunderstanding of using fancy words means that they are going to become the next Shakespeare. For the people that believe in this theory, I apologise that this is going to break your belief. I don’t think when people stuff and shove these words like ‘ intricate, perilous (doesn’t really know what this mean)’  in, it will make it sophisticated. Instead it would sound awkward and weird. Let’s take an example, would ‘ the cantaloupe leaves scattered down the magnificent tree.’ or  ‘The leaves reminded me of the bright pumpkins in Halloween. They glided towards me and whispered words of cheers as they pass by.’ sounds better?

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Success?

Personally I feel people are concealed by achievements and the valuable progresses are lost. People are not living to enjoy the process of failure and then achievements. They only understand the word success. Failure became a thing that people hide from. Even for me, the one stroke I accidentally swiped on my piece made me scrunch up the paper and threw it away. There were many pieces I threw that may become beautiful artworks at the end. Even when I write, I try to think how to write beautifully. Not knowing that in others eyes, I already wrote beautifully. However, getting out of this loop is hard. I know this problem from the roots of my heart but is helpless towards getting the problem sorted. So as this is a platform to speak up, how did you get rid of the seemingly never ending loop. 

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fEaR FaMiLy

Tears trickled down like thorns. They stabbed into my skin. My head in daze contained so much information. Panic seized me. Mi first time of experience this overflow of emotions. I’m scared, afraid, petrified. My family on the other side of the world with crises brushing over the head. I am sitting here in the bathroom letting fear swallow me. I want to go back. I want to be with my family. I want to go with them until the end. Even if my city get quarantined, I am with my family. But now I am sitting in this bathroom tearing, sniffing, and trying to strangle the voice that is coming from my mouth. I try to picture how grateful I would be running up to my mum and squeezing her. Maybe I’ll cry maybe I won’t. I don’t know. In my head right now are only the nasty nasty statics. I pray my best for my family and country.

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I’ll be home

“I’ll be home”  the jolly tone bullied her as it continued. The lights hung u- between the building pierced her into tiny pieces. The angles hunged up cackled at her. The couples and family on the streets whispered invisible mockery to her. She hated Christmas. The time where joy and love supposedly given to people were just drowning her into the isolated and opaque quicksand. Hopes about the word ‘home’ didn’t even occur to her as a young child. Home was only associated with a place where fear lurked around. When every family where throwing parties or huddling under the Christmas Trees, she was shivering in bruises and cuts. She recalled the late nights she stay out refusing to go back ‘home’. She knew the monsters were waiting for her. The monster would imprint marks on her that she will never forget. Christmas was a joke, a dream she could never dare touch.

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Many things

Many things my mum told me

I only won’t understand

She only would reply,

“‘One day... one day”

Now grown up 

I understood 

The many things my mum told me

I tried to repeat to my kids the many things my mum told me

They only would shake their heads

I only smiled and said to them,

“‘One day....one day”

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Intro intro

This is just a small blog posting my regular little creative writings and poetries. Feel free to correct my mistakes and give me better suggestions!!☺️☺️