The Death of a Dream

I’ve hungered for this dream many years; kept my eyes on the prize since I was 13. It was then I decided I wanted to be just like the people on the TV screen; dressed to impress, delivering their lines effortlessly.

Reality hit when I was just starting college; when Mama told me only the pretty ones made it to TV. I was sure she really meant that I was too ugly for the big screen; even too ugly for anything really.

After college, I found my business degree got me right where I expected it to: working like a slave, obeying my boss’ every command.

One day, I came home and sat myself down on the couch to watch some TV. On came the image of an unimaginably beautiful woman; a woman I envied greatly. Then came a much less attractive woman; a woman who looked a bit like me. Before I knew it, I was crying, as if mourning the loss of the girl I used to be; the one who dared to dream.



Sentenced to life by the judge in my head

Only on the basis of good behaviour may my freedom be bought

Now guilt eats at my soul, tearing me apart

Constantly reminding me of my yesterdays

So I try, with all my might, to be good

Yet day after day,  the more I try, the more mistakes I make

So, drowning in shame, I hide within myself

Allowing numbness to take my place

But now and again, I return, growing bolder


For it is better to feel pain

Than to feel nothing at all


Be The Light – A Short Story

“It’s kind of funny how this life works,” Alissa smiled. “All the good news gets lost in the noise.”

The news was the same as always; rumours of war, a tragic death, and what all the celebrities were wearing that week. There was a strange kind of divide in interest, the younger people being more enthralled by the glamorous lives of the famous, and the older, in the politics.

“I’m not too sure there’s such a thing as good news these days,” answered Ron.

“Or maybe people just don’t care to hear it.” Alissa spoke with a guilty conscience, as she, for one, fell into that bracket. To her, finding good in this world was like finding hidden treasure.

Growing up, she was taught that youth was a time for having fun, never worry or have a serious thought. Now only at twenty one, it was hard to ignore the reality. Life wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine.

After heading out for word, her awareness of all the pain and suffering present in her world disillusioned her. As she walked, she witnessed an emaciated man stretching his hand towards passersby, only to be rudely dismissed by each and every one. As she approached him, she reached in her pocket to see if she had anything to spare, only to find that someone else was already two steps ahead of her. Generously, the man gave him enough to buy a large meal and a drink.

He smiled at him. “God bless you,” he repeated, showing his utmost gratitude.

It was nothing unusual for her to see. She herself often gave to those who were in need. This time, however, it fascinated her to think that even after all the rejection the old man had experienced, a simple act of kindness, though small, had brought him so much happiness.

She decided in that very moment that she would not let her awareness cause her to despair. Surely, she knew of all the darkness that existed in her world, but without ever having to open his mouth, this gentle character spoke to her, and the message was clear.  “Be the light.”

The Problem With Men – A Short Story

Seventeen was an awkward time for Kelly, her physical maturity exceeding her mind’s. The first time she’d been catcalled, she’d been too young to know what it meant. Now that she had, walking on the streets felt more like a walking on a runway, only without the glamour.

Every man was a judge, and her body was on display for the world to see. Her attractiveness served as a sort of criterion to see if she was worth being treated to a leud remark or a stare that seemed to say it all. On better days she could find herself being treated like a decent human being, but only if she’d been considered attractive enough to deserve it.

After making her way home, she settled down to have a chat with her mother.

“Men are dogs,” she complained. “I can’t stand a single one.”

“I suppose you can’t stand your father then.”

“Ma, you know what I mean.”

“Not all men are the same Kelly.”

Majority rules,” she mumbled.

Ena sighed, pausing her duties. “I’ll agree that something has changed. But there is something you can do about it.”

Fight fire with fire.” That was the slogan of an activist group she and her friends hoped to form someday.

She shook her head. “Child. that’s not how I raised you child. Do better.”

Kelly sighed. “You don’t know what it’s like, ma. Sometimes you have to fight to get what you want.”

“And I agree. But there are other ways,” she continued, “and quite frankly, I dont think what we’re doin’ now is working. Fightin’ and insultin’ each other all the time.”

“I think it’s working fine.”

“Is it? ‘Cause I thought what we wanted was peace. These days, all I see is hate.”

Kelly paused in a moment of reflection. “Well then what do you suggest?”

“I say we fix the problem where it starts. Teach ’em early.” She explained, “Believe it or not, those men weren’t born that way.”

Kelly sighed. “So what you’re saying is, I’m powerless.”

“Who has more power than you? Speak up! Speak to the source of the problem. Make your plea.”

“But what about right now, ma? What about all those men on the street looking at me like a slab of meat?” Emotions were running high. Ena could tell.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, she comforted her. “Respect them.” She continued, “but more importantly, respect yourself. Don’t let anyone – man or woman- tell you what you’re worth.”

“You just don’t get it, ma.”

“What’s not to get? You want peace, but it’s going to take time to get it. Start with yourself.”

Kelly hated the old-fashioned. But in some ways, she could understand it. Her mother, however old-fashioned she was, only wanted to show her that equality, at its core, was about love.

The Other Lover – Short Story

As Asia got ready for work, thoughts of last night’s love affair began to haunt her. She was already ten minutes late, but moved at a snail’s pace. She hated to live like this; using a married man to medicate her loneliness, only to find that the next day, she’d be lonely again.
Not a single call came in, but it was no surprise. He had a wife and a family to think about, and by morning light, she despised him. But it wasn’t always like this. Just three years earlier, she was an ambitious young woman with a promising future. She worked tirelessly to make her parents proud, and all she asked for in return was love.

The older she grew, the more she stumbled. By age 20, she was a disappointment. Worry had taken over and failure had persisted. She was devastated, but the lesson was learnt. Sometimes, being a ‘good’ person was not enough, though for years she’d been taught so by the very tongues that convinced her otherwise. Feeling betrayed, it was a hard pill to swallow.

Now she was free, belonging to everyone and no one. Her flirtatious ways often got her whatever she wanted, so why wasn’t she happy? Guilt had brought her to her knees more times than she could count, but acknowledging her wrongdoings seemed even harder than simply accepting them. Again and again, she returned to her old ways. Spiritually, she was broken; too tired to fight.

That night, she saw a handsome fellow. He disgusted her, but she struck up a conversation with him nonetheless, as if it were her duty. In the quiet cafe, she made her advances subtle. The man was good-looking, much different from Greg, her secret lover. For one night, at least, she could pretend to be in love.

But despite her efforts, he would not give in. Not once had he called her beautiful. Not once had he yielded to her advances. Instead he asked her what her name was, where she worked, and what she wanted. By the end of the conversation, they were both laughing, and she’d forgotten her original intent. When he’d offered to walk her home, she felt disappointed. What made him any different? She knew how the story would play out, and she prepared herself. He wasn’t Greg, but maybe for one night, she could forget him.

Opening the door, she called him inside. “That’s fine. You take care,” he said, taking his leave.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, puzzled.

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

For a moment, there was silence. “Do you want me to stay?” She couldn’t answer. It was the first time a man had asked her what she wanted, and it scared her to say no.

“If I said yes, would you?” He shook his head. “Why not?”

“Because I respect you,” he continued, “and I respect you enough to tell you that this isn’t love.”

She felt uneasy. “Well who said I was looking for love?”

He shrugged. “I know I am.” From his bag, he pulled out a pen and a piece of paper, wrote something, then handed it to her. “Call me if you ever need a friend.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He smiled. “You remind me a little of who I used to be.”

She hesitated for a moment.”What changed?”

“I realized that what I called freedom was far from it,” he confessed. “I wasn’t happy. Nothing in this world satisfied me, so I stopped looking for satisfaction in it. ”

As he walked away, she felt a sense of peace. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The next morning, she couldn’t allow herself to despise him. Something about what he’d said had stirred something up inside of her.

That day, she went to work and played the fool once more. When night had fallen, Greg called to tell her he’d be coming over.

For the first time, she said no, but he hardly listened. Finally, she’d had enough. “I’m sorry. This isn’t love.” She hung up on him. From her bag, she grabbed the piece of paper the stranger had given her. Quickly, she explained her situation to him. “I don’t mean to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” he said, smiling as if she could see him. “I’m proud of you.” She went silent, not knowing what to say. Up until then, she’d only been crying, not realizing that she’d just been liberated.

I don’t usually do these kind of stories, but just felt the need to.

P.S. I’m starting a story narration series on YouTube. More details coming soon.

In The Quiet – Short Story

Elisa liked to be alone now and then. For a moment, she could forget what the world around her was really like. Silence was her escape, and a humbling experience, but only lasted so long. Soon the cycle would repeat, and she’d return to the madness it felt only she could see.

Something was different again, and it was no surprise. The world around her was constantly changing, becoming more bitter by the day. Life was meant to be sweet – at least, that’s what the movies taught her – but it was anything but. There was nothing was worth holding onto, because in time, everything would pass away.

She knew this, yet the concept of death often caused her to stumble. When the love of her life died, it became too much to bear. She screamed, cried and did all the things you’d expect of someone who’d hit all-time-low. That was when she met hope.

There was a better life to come, and the bitterness of the world proved it. All had been said before. All was to be expected. She believed, and she had reasons to, none the world could ever understand.

There was a hole in her heart, and only one thing could fill it. Faith. She clung onto it, knowing that everything else would fail her. What good was chasing the things of the world if all is expected to pass away? The answers weren’t enough. They would never be.

But in the quiet, she felt at peace again, reminded that someday, it would all come to an end. For her, this was the reality, and one worth celebrating. For them, what followed death was nothing. For her, what followed death was something more.

This is a really vague one because it’s a little personal. The world is changing rapidly, and the more it does, the more out of place I feel.  At times, it gets hard. But as always, thanks for the support.

The Family Secret – A Story

Warning: this story contains mature topics (death, abuse). 

For many, home is a safe place; a place where you could escape all your troubles. For Stanley, it was anything but.

At only age six, the world revealed its cruelty to Stanley. In a flash, his childlike innocence was stolen and replaced with anger. Time and time again, he’d try to speak, but his tongue never allowed it. He was loyal to his father’s command. “Don’t say a word.” So he didn’t. He never said a single word. His peers feared him. His teachers couldn’t understand him. It seemed as if he were alone in his little word, and would always be.

Sometimes he’d watch his mother applying makeup to cover the scars, and he’d feel overcome with guilt. He felt useless, allowing this to happen to her over and over again. When he did fight, he was overpowered. When he didn’t, he was filled with guilt. Little did he know that he’d only been a child, and there was only so much he could do. But one day, it all came to an end. Now my mother can rest in peace, he thought. Now he’s been locked away for good.

At age twenty, he promised himself that he would never become like his father; that he would never hurt the woman he loved. Then one day, he did, and he thought he’d become the very thing he hated the most. He knew the cycle would only continue if he didn’t stop at some point. But Stanley was not like his father. He was good. He had a conscience, and that was his strength.

Finally, he decided to start therapy. At first, things went well. He acknowledged his wrongdoings and wanted to change, but again, he fell. It was almost as if his body wasn’t his own at times; as if the past would forever haunt him. He blamed therapy for its lack of efficiency, but deep down, he knew the real problem. He knew that a therapist could only guide him; that only he could really change himself.

Many called his wife a fool for her loyalty, but she loved him, and hoped that one day, this love would get through to him. But at some point, she’d had enough. She left him. Then in a flash, all the guilt, shame and regret had returned to him. He was at his lowest point, and it felt as if there was no hope left. But just then, a small voice spoke to him, trying to convince him that maybe, just maybe, there was something to live for.

Months later, he’d become a new man; a man who had forgiven his father and himself. He wanted to love again. He wanted her by his side again. He wanted to prove to her that he was different now, but it was hard. She despised him, and she no longer forgave so easily. But slowly, he worked his way back into her heart, and together, their wounds healed.

The past can be painful, but love heals all wounds. It has been a while since I wrote about something a bit on the dark side, but I feel that I must be honest in my writing. The world can be dark, but there is always hope. Sometimes, you just have to find it.

Song recommendation:


To Love Another

Tessa was completely in love with Dean; at least, that was what her 16 year old brain had been telling her. It had already been three months since they started texting nearly everyday, and she couldn’t get enough of him. Finally, her two-year crush was beginning to show signs of growth.

Tessa wasn’t sure if she’d been over analyzing, but there were times when she felt positive he felt the same. At the same time, it was comfortable keeping her thoughts to herself. It spared her the shame of possible rejection. But as time went on, she felt more and more uneasy, eager to share her feelings.

So one day, she did; through a handcrafted letter, of course. How relieved she’d felt when Dean told her that he not only accepted her feelings, but felt the same way too. Tessa could almost cry knowing that, in the end, all her worrying had been for nothing. It almost felt too good to be true.

About a week later, she shared the news with her friends.

“Dean? Doesn’t he already have a girlfriend?” Clara commented.

Tessa had a bad feeling. “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah! If I remember clearly, it’s that girl, Melissa.”

“Melissa Moore?” Tessa sought confirmation.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

The girls silently asked Clara to be quiet, noticing Tessa’s worried expression. After their conversation, Tessa went looking for Dean, though unsure what to do. They’d only been on one date, and they barely knew each other. Could it really be that he already had someone? Just then, she received her answer.

From across the room, she spotted Dean and immediately thought to call to him. But much to her surprise, there was Melissa standing next to him, holding his hand. They’d been standing so close that Tessa began to feel sick just watching them. I am such a fool, she thought. Soon, he spotted her too, chasing after her.

“It’s not what you think-”

“Save it.”


“I don’t want to hear it.”

“What if I make it up to you?” Tessa stopped. “What if I leave her?”

Tessa felt conflicted. After all, this was the boy she liked for two years now, and he was willing to do such a thing for her. But was that really the right thing to do?

“We’ve been together for a while now, so it’ll take a while, but…” he paused, “I really do like you, Tessa.” She fell for it. It felt too good; sounded too sincere. How could see resist?

Weeks passed, and the two had continued to secretly date, while he worked on letting Melissa down easy, or so he said. But Tessa felt strange, and couldn’t ignore the little voice in her head telling her that something wasn’t right. Her friends seemed to agree, too.

“Tessa, you can’t go on like this,” Allie said. “Either he leaves her or you leave him.” She was right, Tessa thought.

That day, she met up with him in their usual hiding spot. “I’m tired, Dean. I’m tired of hiding.”

“Just…just give me one more week.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past six weeks. I’m sick of it.” Tessa grabbed her bag and headed for the library, and he followed her.

“Tessa, please-”

“The sign says no talking.”

“Just follow me, please. I need to talk to you.”



“Either you keep it down, or I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the librarian warned him.

Dean sighed. “Just know that I really did like you, Tessa.” He turned to leave, only to find Melissa staring back at him. It was then Tessa knew that, in an odd and almost satisfying twist, he’d end up alone. But apart of her felt could tell that he’d really been sincere; only too greedy to let go.

But none of it mattered now. The damage was already done, and she didn’t want him to end up like his father; lost. He had to feel the consequences in order to change. Silently, the three went their separate ways, Tessa remaining in the library.

To pass some time, she went looking for some books about music, hoping she could learn more about her craft. As she reached for a book, her short legs failed her. But then, in a timely fashion, a helping hand greeted her.

“Thank you.”

“A musician I see.”

Aspiring musician,” she corrected him.

He smiled. “What’s your name?” he asked.”I’m Eric.”

Finally, she turned to face him. Looking at him in that very moment, it felt as if time stood still. Soon, the words returned to her lips. “Tessa. Tessa Rosconi.” Suddenly she remembered that life went on; that there were people to meet and places to go. She felt hopeful again.



The Good, The Bad & The Misunderstood

There are three kinds of people in this world: the good, the bad and the misunderstood. The good people are those who always seem to know exactly what to say; who are always willing to help you out, and who seem so perfect that you either bleed with envy or love them endlessly. The bad are the kind you can’t stand and do not wish around for even a minute. You either hate them or fear them.

Then comes the misunderstood: the kind that means well but is never able to show it. Draya was like this; quiet but troubled enough to make anyone who bothered to get to know her regret it. Thankfully, not many people tried. It was safe that way. But when someone brave enough to take the chance stepped forward, that safeness seemed to vanish.

Unexpectedly, she found herself caring for the brave fool. But even the bravest of all couldn’t withstand her flames for long. It was always easier for her to keep a comfortable distance; to go about not saying a word and allowing people to make assumptions. But she still had a beating heart, a heart that reminded her that she couldn’t continue living that way.

So she took heed. She cleaned up, fixed all her flawed perceptions and even became a better person. Little did she know that the damage was already done. She could forget the past. She could start over, but the damage was already done. She’d broken a heart without even knowing it.

She never thought twice about it; regardless of where she’d been in her life, that brave fool would always be with her. But somewhere along the line, that connection was lost, yet she’d been so lost in her own head that she couldn’t see it.

She felt hopeless at the realization. Like lightning, the memories came back to her. How nasty she’d been to them. No wonder, that in the end, she was alone, she thought. But what she didn’t know was, she still had hope. As long as she was still alive, she had hope.

There was no use in dwelling on the past anymore. People come and go. Now it was time to start over, and acceptance was the first step. She had to accept who she’d been in the past in order to be able to accept who she was now. She’d always been a good person, after all; just misunderstood.

Hello everyone! Yes, I’ll just come out and say it. This story is basically about me. See, I haven’t always been what you could call the best person, but like this story says, that is in the past. After all, beating myself up won’t make anything better. I am a flawed being, but I’ll never be able to redeem myself by giving into the idea that I am a bad person and will never be able to stop being one. Instead, I wish to focus on other things; on helping others and being able to show my true self, shamelessly. Thank you for being here, readers.

I encourage you to find it within yourself to forgive those so-called “bad people.” Neither hate nor fear them. After all, they too may just be misunderstood.