For Mommy, To Mommy

Gosh, who doesn’t love their mother?

Mothers are a rare breed. Dude, they care for you. Even when the whole world is aiming a gigantic gun at your head, they’d side with you. A hundred percent. Unless you did something really messed up, like, you know, listen to 6ix9ine in public or something.

You get the point.

This poem goes out to all those kids who miss their moms. Times can be rough, and so can be your will. Listen to what a crushed soul has to say. Maybe, you’ll relate (or not). I’m just saying.

Okay I’ll just start with the poem. Jeez.

A crouching kid

On the floor

Scared beyond measure

For he thinks

His mother left him

To fight the demons

Behind a closed door

“Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe the number of questions

I had

Were one too many

For mommy.

Maybe the vegetables

Should have been nicer

To me

Or I should have been nicer

To mommy.”

18 years

And a thousand experiences later

A crouching guy

On the floor,

Beneath the shower

Which runs like a waterfall

And masks the sound

As he sobs

Behind a closed door

“Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe I should have had

A million more questions

For mommy

Since I can’t comprehend

Why’d I make those choices?

Why I broke the promises

I made in good faith

To mommy.”

Dang, I miss my mom now.


Eighty Three Dollars

Let’s just pretend like I was never gone. Let’s pretend like I’ve been posting invisible stuff since the last year ended. Or let’s just say that I didn’t want to write anymore.


It’s been a weird year folks. From switching countries to switching lifestyles, a lot has happened. It’s too much to be summarized in one single post. WordPress will probably sue me.

Safe to say I missed you all though. A lot.

How about we kick things off with a poem about love? Well…. not exactly, but hey, keep reading to find out.

Eighty Three Dollars

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

Wait no

I cannot say that

For if I do,

She will surely see

There’s no apology

There’s no plea.

“It’s just not working anymore.”

Too broad, too vague

She will laugh at my face

And my face?

Will be colourless,

Just like the average-ish décor

And the colour of the kitchen floor.

“Hold up, what did Sheila say?

A man who can break up with her?

For me?


“Hello, is this the break-up man?

Yes, yes, I agree to everything.

How much do I have to pay?”

“For dollars eighty-three,

I will take your weight

And set you free, with the key

of your life, locked away in your pocket

What do you say?”

“Amazing. You are like a blessing

In these dire times, but I noticed.

I must be really glad, since I am writing

In ecstatic rhymes, and not blank verse.

Is it happening? Am I, the guy in pain

and sorrow, becoming free of the morbid curse?”

“I hope so, for that’s what I’m known for

But tell me, a few things, for instance

the best parts of her, the ones you like

So, I can mutilate them and put them on a pike

And say, “Is this what you are worth?

Is this why you walk the earth?”

So she can cry, and she can realize

Where she went wrong. “Maybe it’s my eyes,

or my thighs, or maybe it’s the fact

That I never appreciated his neckties.”

“But she has amazing eyes, you know?

the kind which mesmerize, and more than once

I have stared into them, for what felt like,

an eternity, a whole year of my life.

I have stared into them, when we kissed

No, most definitely, eyes are off the list”

“Very well, but she is evil, right?

Is she selfish, or is she the kind of person

Who would kill you out of smite?”

“That is rubbish, she is an angel,

for she cares, and she cares with motive none

I have been sick, I had my rough times

I have been angry, complaining about my eggs


 but she never quit on me, and I respect that.

That one day, when she saw a robin on the ground

Left wing clipped, probably by an animal wild

She cared for the bird, as if it were her own child.

It’s almost like she feels for everything, and everyone

Wait, is this why I think the sparks are dying?

Is this why I think she keeps lying, when she

on the other hand, makes every being happy, and I

think she does not love me anymore, when in fact

she loves all there is. What a fool I am!”

“Once more, I have failed at my job

And yet, won at the same

See, it’s easy. It’s like a game.

It’s hard to admit, it’s simpler to blame.

You are insecure no more; you’ve been set free

And don’t forget,

I’ll be waiting for my check of dollars eighty-three”

I promise I’m here to stay.


Keep in touch!

The Tiny Traveler

Greetings, and welcome to my blog. I have spent the last 21 years on this planet exploring it in every way I can. I finally decided to take the plunge and put all of my memories, stories, and information learned about travels into one open place for anyone who is interested to see. Here you are going to find a mixture adventure and information on traveling to places foreign for my fellow North American dwellers, as well as some lifestyle posts, and maybe even a few recipes I’ve picked up along the way.

I hope that through this blog you can gain some knowledge on travel and how to make the change from travelling as a child, to solo travelling as a young woman. It’s a wide world out there to explore, and in an everchanging world it’s always useful to have one more resource to learn from.

As a…

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Hate Above Love

In a place where time doth stand still

Where the wind screams louder

Than the lady sobbing on the hill

She refuses to move, refuses to budge

For she’s an apparition

Formed out of pure emotion and sentiment

But deep inside, lies a grudge

Growing ever so slightly, a bit at a time

For its a grudge against feelings divine

Love, and Hate in the fields of Rhine


As Love parts its lips to state a fact

Hate suggests they abide by a pact

To halt on the opposite sides of every war

Every argument, every decision ever begot

And so Love agreed

For it was every strand of nobility it could ever ask for


Said Love, with a smile

“I will humans to stroll down the aisle

And when they narrate their childish vows

It is I, who holds them together

And ensure a lifetime of togetherness

In dire times, when fears arise

Love arrives in the shadow of a guise

So that the sun can shine again in the skies”


Hate, with an expression unchanged,

Sighed and informed of a soul enstranged

“You can never be as strong as me,

For the literal embodiment of hate

Can overpower any form of thee

Eros, Philia, Storge, Pragma

Or even pure unadulterated glee

I may never be welcomed as a friend

But I do reside in the corner of every heart

For without hate,

love could never play its part”


With eyebrows raised, Love phrased

“I’ve been there since the beginning of time

Been the anchor of art and every incarnation of rhyme”

To which Hate replies

“Can you cloud the senses of a sane man with red?

Make him wish that the person he hates is dead?

I can drive passion to lay the foundation of glory

You? You blind humans and render them weak!

And force them to write their own story

In blood and sweat and everything that’s gory

Me? I’m easy to cultivate

Hard to terminate

And yet, I make you shun what’s wrong with you

So you can let go and be a better chronicle of you.

Who is equally able, yet more pure, more true”


For the first time in millennia, Love couldn’t smile

The realization was sudden, yet obvious

Hate wasn’t the sinner, Hate wasn’t guile

Hate is the necessity that had to be hostile

The pact made more sense than ever


Since Hate and Love are two peas in a pod

Yin and Yang, a Boon and a Bane

Both induce the vehemence of pleasure and pain

And in a reality where emotions can’t be restrained

The world, the mind, the eternity can be ruled by the twain





Labels And Rainbows

What am I thinking right now?

Am I just like the rest of them,

Or am I the best of them?

In a way entirely unknown to my own self

And the ones who mock me for who I am


Why was I born this way?

Was it the sins of my past?

If such an anomaly even resides

And creates an illusion so vivid

Where every insecurity of mine hides

In the dark corner of a void

Gnaws me to death on the inside


They go out on dates

They go out for drinks

They mock us for fun

And have fun on skating rinks

Yet we’re the same

That’s what they say

For we are shaped out of the same clay

But if that’s what you think

That we are meant to suffer, to retreat into a shell

Do as you may


For we are stronger, we are weak

We are every version of the beings you deem us to be

Pride in what we are, Pride in what we can do

Pride in every little thing that holds true

Overcome what diminishes the self

And kill what brings us down

Harbingers of the new world

Shunning the enchanting crown


For being someone in a world

Where everyone else hates you

Is a feat of its own

A can of dreams

As she works her way round the block,

She’s tired, and she needs rest.

But she won’t halt, she won’t stop,

She looks at her feet, blistered and busted.

She notices the sweat dripping down her frock.

And that’s when it hits her.

She’s not running away, instead

She’s running to where she wanted to be.

A place where boundaries are a myth

And rules are something out of fairy tales.

Where judgements are rare,

And freedom is not just a term

for what you can achieve but you cannot

As there is no freedom at all.

Where she can fall in love

And still be on the brighter side of things

She’s running to a place afar,

While her thoughts are bursting at the seams.

Where sorrow is a penance

And contentment is abundant in streams

With a hope so frail yet alive like the wind

She’ll get to own her very own can of dreams.

A life by X

Askew with the burden of excellence, people succumb to the unrelenting path, sometimes, way too early.

What they don’t realize is the fact that they are not entitled to a certain level of achievement before attaining a certain age. Norms designed by the society are never meant to be fulfilled, at least by the time you don’t want.

Why does the human mind think that one is supposed to have a job by 22?

Why does the human mind think that one is supposed to marry by 28?

Again, why does the human mind even gives birth to the fact that you are to have kids by 32?

The numbers may differ, but the facts don’t. It’s not ethically right to impose upon someone the pretentious need to get oneself to live his/her life, in an entirely different way than what is desired by the person in the first place. And yet, at the very moment when you think that your place in society is rectified, the accusation of not completing your responsibilities hits you right in the face, out of nowhere, and you’re left reeling in the wake of compulsions, that gnaw at your mind, make you want to tear yourself from the inside out and lead you to roads you have despised from the beginning.

Your life doesn’t come with a handbook that summarises the rules and dictations of how you want to live. It’s an empty notebook, straight from the press, which you can fill with whatever the hell you want. Don’t let anyone tell you how to go about with your life. Have a job by whatever age you want. Marry, or if you don’t wanna, don’t. Simple as that. Someone telling you to pursue something just because it is worth pursuing for them doesn’t make it any less tenacious.


Break boundaries. And don’t fret while doing so.

You know why?

Because in the end, it’s just you.

Just you.

Ungrateful Infections

Skimming the Starline

Intentions so pure

A bird may not breathe its last in his lap

All the pain it won’t endure

He thinks of the magic

And the words of the old

In a niche deep inside,

He knows.

His heart is tainted

With lust.

And feelings untold,


A whirlwind of sorts

A train laden with thoughts

And a wish,

Buried under a plethora

of restraints

and impossible knots


To have someone

Who could care


Who has a lifetime to spare

In the cloak

Shrouded by avarice.


Who has her existence to share.


And when he uncovers,

Her reason to breathe.

Solely to lay waste,

to the human race

Or whatever is left of it

He hesitates.

A moment too long.

A lifetime too early.


A leap of faith

was all it took.

As the entirety came crashing down,

in an avalanche,

of destruction and chaos.


In the aftermath of the infection,

That ruined what made him

What he was.

In spite of his broken heart

And all his flaws.

The things he could’ve been

If only,

He hadn’t soared,

a little too close to the sun.

Grey Rainbows and Blue Shadows

It’s really hilarious
It’s almost right
But why do people feel this way?
I come off as manic
By the way I write
You should hear what I have to say!

For this one time,
I will talk of the sun
And its rays
And its color
And its heat….
Okay I’m done.

Let the darkness engulf.
For there are shades of grey
That you’d rather repulse
You can smile,
Or you can even pass a giggle.
But be wary,
For no one knows the result

My bad, I got carried away
We were chatting about happiness,
And stuff that’s not grey
Like rainbows and that pot of gold,
Even though it’s a fable from the days of old
The colors are literally seven.
And we all know what they are,
Because that’s all we were told!

Notice the shadows bleak,
The apparitions that follow you everywhere,
Doing everything you do, except they don’t speak.
But that’s the beauty, see?
They melt away when threatened,
Like lies and ego and the worst things that can be.

I would make the worst guide ever,
for I happen to sidetrack like a hopeless lunatic.
Love, the brightest thing in all of the lands
So bright, it burns out every sense.
What’s right, and all those wrongs,
And then of course, all those sugar coated love songs.

Think, instead, of hate
And the reasons inexplicable
Why we resent the good and embrace the vile.
In all our knowingness, and yet we defend
The tiniest bit of self-respect in a mile
And then cry, with our heads in our hands.
The aftermath creeping, akin to the bitter taste of bile.

Well, I give up, for I fail to see what’s happy
In a world where paper rules humanity
and folks think with everything.
Except their minds.

For true glee
resides in you
In the long run,
Feel it.
Embrace it.
Explore it.
Okay I’m done.



So bright that it burns itself out.


In a light of self-exhaustion,

And a chance to make the world believe

In the tales of valor and golden times


Thoughts intertwined with actions

Dreams crumbling to solitude.

Yet, an unending spring of will,

Spurs you on a journey with no conclusion.


Give up, or succumb to the pain

Of defeat or the absence of the fact,

That not an endeavor was made.

Let the universe ridicule you,

While you drown in guilt and regret afresh


For it is the nature of imperfection,

To shine the brightest,

When it is least anticipated to.