I Am 16

Sometimes, when I’m just in the middle of something, trying to concentrate, my mind skips to this though, more like a realization – I am 16? Already?

There are times when this is not surprising at all, like growing up this fast was obvious and unavoidable. And there are also times when I’ll stare at an empty spot on the wall, tears escaping my eyes, my mind pondering about that ONE fact – I am here and I am 16. I hate being 16. I didn’t think I would make it this far, I didn’t want to. It’s scary, as much as I don’t want to admit it. It scares me.

Then there are war flashbacks – war with the mind, emotions, complications, hormones. Myself. Leaves you nauseous like a roller coaster ride. How did all the choices that I had ever made in life lead me to this place? And the most important question is, if I can call this LIFE.

Now and then, I just want to go to my mother (when she’s not pissed because of something I did), and hug her and stay like that for a while. When I tell her “I really hate school”, I want her to understand that I hate much more than school. I can’t tell whether she understands my fears or not, but all she says is “When I was your age, even a day without school seemed empty.” That made me so mad, because she knows that our lives cannot be more different. She knows that school destroys my creativity and prevents me from having a productive life. Yet all she manages to do is make that reference from her past.

A few years back, I was different. Completely different. Me from the past would have argued with my mother until she made her point. I believed I had a stand. I believed I could make a change in the world just by being myself. I had a vision. I smiled a lot, loved debating on issues and was quite popular among classmates. Something happened. Although, I’m not sure what it was. But out of the blue, everything started to fall apart. Everything changed drastically in and around me. It all happened too fast for me to be able to grasp the situation and make  the right choices. There was no sudden death,  no adversity. It was just like a cloud, jet black, that steadily swallowed up whole what I knew as ‘my world’.

I was a monster in their eyes. I could tell from the looks on their faces, they thought I was imbalanced. I don’t know whether I enjoyed intimidating them or a part of me felt sorry for myself. The sentence I heard most often from my parents and teachers is, “You’re a girl with a lot of potential. Your life would change drastically only if you knew how to use it in the right things.” Every time I did something I wasn’t supposed to, they said “This is not at all what is expected from you“. What I didn’t understand is, what I had ever done to make them believe I’m anything more than myself. I did not choose to be a good girl and neither did I choose to be the bad girl that I’m now. I did not choose to have good grades. All I did was study because I felt like it. And when I don’t, it’s because I don’t want to. What in the world did I do?

Now when I look back at all those shit, and then look myself in the mirror, even though the person is me, she feels foreign. She’s better looking than me a few years back, skinnier, taller and with sharper features, but it seems like she’s terribly, scarred and almost hollowed out. Back when I was a child, even though I was not an impressive person, at least the person I saw in the mirror, I knew was me. I don’t even know where the present me has come from. I have completely accepted myself, but sometimes I really start questioning whether I am real or just an alter ego.

I am 16. And I am not sure what I am supposed to do (you can’t tell me I’m supposed to study because that’s what I and everyone else my age is doing anyway). Sometimes I just feel like skin, muscles and bones that breathe and move around. I can’t not feel them because of how intoxicated with carbon dioxide they are. Everything confuses me. Everything makes me question existence. I hate being 16. But I’ll be alright.

download (1)
Young Apathy


Under The Skin

**Everything that led me to this:

Exams, Korean music, obsession, pain, studying, despair, panic, inspiration, sadness, my new guitar, discovery of more Korean artists, more pain, more unexplained pain and goddamned pain that just won’t stop. And lastly, inspiration strikes.**


There are planets and stars

Forest fires, under the skin

There are tales and fantasies,

Scars that will never heal

And undiscovered feelings

Under the skin

All the words that you were told

Were sharper than a knife

Pierced right through your shield

They’ll always remain in

Under your skin

You don’t try to kill the thing under your skin

You wanna kill something that’s deep within

You wanna burn all your scars

But they’re so out of your reach

Like the planets and stars

Under your skin.


I’m stuck. I wanna write lyrics and compose songs so desperately. It’s just that the conditions in the life of a random 16 year old school girl who hates life, aren’t quite favorable for that kind of a thing. I’m still trying. I’m trying so hard. I don’t wanna get stuck amidst academics, meals and sleep like other people my age. But things just suck. Okay bye.



I usually type my works in Ms Word before transferring it here, but thanks to my crappy memory, I can’t remember the password to it. So I had to wait till I was actually angry so I could get my words back. But right now, I’m typing so hard I think I’m gonna break the keys. So let me calm down.


Anger. Sometimes I feel anger has found a permanent home in me. Like it can never fade and that when everything in the world stops making sense. When a string of random thoughts and feelings streams through my mind. Nothing exists in the world but my me, anger and my clenching fists. It’s seems like the objects in the room are pleading me to destroy them. And it feels like just a touch of my hand than shatter everything that exists. I feel doomed, helpless, motionless.

I’ve done it countless times. Hit walls, broke things, tore pillows. But in the end, it doesn’t make any sense. Yet it feels so good, so liberating. But every time I looked down at my hands, I felt terror and a sense of guilt. Guilt for hurting myself. It’s an odd image, but I can almost visualize the tissues tearing and bones getting wounded. Strange, how I don’t feel any physical pain and yet feel a totally different kind of pain (like I’m Hulk. No seriously, try to understand him on a deeper level ignoring all the make believe cinematography). That’s the moment when you’re convinced that you’ve lost it and may never get your sanity back.

And then my disassembled thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door, which sends all the emotions into a pit in a deep remote corner of my mind . And that’s all it takes to get back my superficial, lifeless and dull self. That’s all it takes for the madness on my face to reassemble into a cold, ghastly, stone like visage. A knock on the door. The tsunami of emotions, tears and inaudible screams converges into a shell of masked grimness, leaving no sign of the disaster caused by it. As if someone had rewound time itself.

I cannot let them see my true self. I cannot reveal my human side. That will make me vulnerable and weak. So I shut up and sit with my head down. Take in all that the person who has entered the room has to say, which feels like a hailstorm against my hard skin, battering its shield.

I wanna shout.

I want to tell them that their accusations are doing no good to me. All they do is come in and stir up my emotions and then leave me alone to deal with it. Like, “hey this is the list of things that are wrong with you..”, and you expect me to go through some kind of self reflection after all this? How? How am I supposed to do that when there’s no space left for light to enter. My mind is completely dark and overflowing. It’s like a black hole. It sucks in all hopes of life and what remains is this infinitely dense point where all of existence comes to an end.

If you really wanna help me, don’t talk to me or advise me. I may act like I don’t care about your blames but it’s killing me. So stop. Instead, listen to me. Shut up and listen, try to comprehend. Just listen. If you wanna talk, you might as well wanna leave me alone.

Your accusations Does. Not. Help.

Please Stop.

So this is probably something I’ll never say to anyone.

Impersonating Hulk is no fun.

(Yeah, so I’m into Marvel. Don’t judge me.)




Kill The Thing Within

Something is wrong. Something is so wrong and you don’t know what that is. Now that’s called suffering.

It’s something deep inside that you want to kill. Not the pulse throbbing under your fragile skin.

It literally hurts.

When you know all these years you’ve turned yourself into stone, only to let it crumble and melt again, all over again. You lose yourself, you don’t know who you are anymore.

Wishing you weren’t born for one moment and then craving some seasoned caesar salad the moment after. You try to blame someone for what’s causing you pain, but you can’t because – You Don’t Know What’s Wrong.

You cry in front of a million people and no one notices, because you have so perfectly mastered the art of faking. You lay in bed shaking, whimpering and the person next to you is completely unconscious of it, because  no one knows silent screaming better than you.

When you’ve lost all hope, and drown in your tears and then slowly fall asleep, because you still have the hope for going for a run in the fields the next morning.

You don’t know what’s real anymore.

You try to live as normally as possible but that freaking thing inside your brain won’t stop coming back. It triggers the pain, the clueless feeling.

And just when you realize that you still have feelings because you find yourself caring for people, something in your mind tells you that it’s a shame – that you’re a bad person, and it should remain that way, that you must shut everyone out even though you love them because…you are doomed. Something tells you that none of this real life shit belongs to you.

I don’t know whether it’s the people or a person himself, that creates his demons. All I know is that it’s getting terribly hard to kill them. But I’m trying to find out, and maybe in that process, I’ll destroy mine.

Here’s Something (warning: it may be displeasing):

Crywolf – The Hunger In Your Haunt (Official Visual)


I Don’t Know What A Perfect Day Is…

I Just Didn’t Want to get out Of My Bed. I most probably didn’t want to get out of my bed to go to school. God, I hate school. And, I was exhausted from the entire week I didn’t sleep properly. All I wanted to do was collapse and not get up, EVER.

They say, the perfect moments of your life present themselves when you least expect them to. I have no absolute idea about that saying. I never will, because it’s not that easy to label a day as ‘perfect’. They’re moments we remember as ‘perfect’. When you feel at least for while, at least in that moment of infinite nanoseconds, that nothing can go wrong: everything is perfect.

The thought of Annual Sports depressed me, not because I hate running (I love it so much!), because I was made the Mascot. More accurately a stuffed cartoon whose only job is to walk about the field doing stuff (I don’t yet know what I’m supposed to do, look funny I guess).

And then I was stuck with the worst group of singers ever. I thought of backing out, but that would seem rude and make others think my ego has gone high (because yeah, I’m much better than the rest and I proudly admit that). And besides, I was talked out of it by someone. And there I was in the school auditorium sulking at the ignorant world and it’s tiny representation in the general chaos of the hollering crowd.

Quite involuntarily, I ran out into the playground, dragging my lazy friend (I don’t have a substitute word for ‘friend’, but I’m looking for one) with me. We ran for about 10 minutes non-stop, exchanging words now and then. When we stopped, collapsed, all that existed were our hearts trying to beat of of our chests and the intense body heat that felt pleasant in that cold winter afternoon.

This is what motion does to you: you can’t stop anytime soon.

Junior kids as usual were engrossed in their holding-hands-and-spinning stunt. I don’t know what came over me, when I blurted out “Let’s do that.” Response was not positive. So I gave them a short enlightening speech on how we lose our childhoods and become snobbish and lazy as we grow into the fuckups that we are. They were up at once (most of them). And then I was doing the same stunt with them, when I realized that after a fairly long time, I laughed genuinely- the kind of laugh that children laugh when they are extremely amused by something lame. I spoke to myself (mentally of course), “I didn’t know that I could ever be this fun”.

The absence of teachers gave us the courage to play random songs on the computer. It was almost like someone else in my body when I started dancing. But I knew, I knew that That Was Me. I told myself that it was okay to let yourself be happy, despite all the struggle that you have to go through. I would probably go back home again to my dull life, and face all the things that absolutely Suck. But I could enjoy Now. So I gave my all to that moment.

We did Waltz, hip hop, ballet just for the name of it. What we really did was look weird pretending to actually dance these exotic styles. But that was all it took to make us children again. It didn’t matter anymore that we were 9th standard girls about to face the most important examination of our lives, just a month later. We practically rolled on the ground, soiled our white uniforms and laughed like lunatics. All in all, it was Perfect.

That Was A Perfect Day.

It’s Okay To Let Go

Someday Exists

via Daily Prompt: Someday

As the classroom grew noisier, the silence between us grew more distinct and painful. Not the kind of pain that just lingers; it stung. The truth was that their mirth and laughter made us realize just how hollow and lonely our lives were. But we were thankful that at least we had someone to share it with, share the silence with; each other.

Breaking the unbearable silence, she said:

“When will we run away? The question is, will we?”

The hope of escaping was the only one that gave us some amount of relief and well, happiness (a feeling quite alien to us), no matter how little. It was in fact the only thing that kept us going.

Suddenly uplifted, I replied:

“Of course we will. Someday.”

Then she said what I knew in the back of my mind:

“Does that ‘someday’ exist? Or is it just an illusion that we have created to make ourselves feel better?”

The conversation ended. I let the silence sweep in again.

The thing is, I was sure that ‘someday’ exists. She knew it too. We maybe broken, but not delusional. We maybe dull and gloomy, but do not lack zest and hope. There is real strength and determination in our dreams and vague plans. We do not imagine what leaving would be like just to escape the bitter present. The truth is, we ARE surviving. Not just moving towards a goal that does not exist. We are truly trying to make it out, our dreams being the only ray of hope. Without it, we would have already been gone. The fact that we are still HERE, alive and awake (no matter how depressed),  tells that we can reach THERE.

We  still know; ‘Someday‘ exists. And we are still trying our best to survive, keep our strings loose and prepare. Prepare for that day we Leave.


– A Wandering Soul and her Sympathetic Partner in Crime