i want to cry. it feels like a mountain of pain is building up inside of me. my eyes well up with tears, but as soon as i blink they disappear. nothing falls. there’s no door to release this angst. i feel the muscles of my face tensing, i feel how my teeth are gritting, i feel the grief that’s all over my face — hell i even feel it in the way i’m walking. i’m listening to the same two songs on repeat. i feel a strong urge to talk to someone. but i have none. it’s only me, my pathetic words that no one will ever read, and nature. i just take myself on walks. i’ve been walking more than i’ve been sitting, and i’ve been alone more than i’ve been with company. i’m not okay. far from it.

there’s this strange thing that’s happening inside me though. a co-existence of opposite forces. pain and gratitude. anger and compassion. fear and love. burning rage and calming surrender. the pain speaks, it invades my body with its sensations, and then gratitude speaks and its light permeates my body. i sense both a blankness and a sparkle in my stare, both lifelessness and vibrance in my skin.

i’m both happy and sad. both angry and understanding. both lonely and whole. i don’t know what to do, and i don’t know who to share myself with. i just walk and then sit on a bench and write and then walk again and sit again. i keep going in circles, and my head doesn’t even get dizzy. i just keep going, keep experiencing opposites and extremes. i feel like i’m drowning and flying simultaneously.

i don’t know what to do. i don’t know what to do. i have no one but myself. no one but my goddamned self.

{this piece was written in july during summer vacation. i wish i can walk around in nature every time i feel sad.}

Collection: Unrequited Love


1. ‘Because I Love You’
would it matter now
if i told you that i love you?

that i’ve loved you
for the past two years
and been too scared
of your rejection.

would you come to me
to mend your heart
after he breaks it?

because i’d take you.
i’d take you without a single thought
and i’d wrap my arms around you
even though i know you could never
love anyone like you loved him.


2. ‘Independent Love’
i’d notice
how your eyes
don’t sparkle when you see me

i’d notice
how your lips
don’t smile at the mention of my name

i’d notice
how your skin
doesn’t fill with goosebumps when i touch you

and i’d still love you
because my love for you
is non of your business
unless you love me too

because unless love was
independent and unconditional
i don’t think it’s love at all

and because
i wouldn’t accept anything less or more
i wouldn’t give anything less or more

that’s why i’m leaving

i’ll live my life
and i’ll let my love for you
be the standard to which i will be loved


3. ‘The Choice to Leave’
i respect you too much
to let you stay in a relationship
with someone you’re not madly in love with

and i respect myself enough
to save myself from this feeling
of unworthiness and unlovableness

photos from Book of Dreams

Mornings in Seefeld


i’ve been waking up early; opening my eyes to a field of sleek grass, couples playing golf; showering in sweet cold water, putting my nikes on and slipping out the door to the freshest air my lungs have ever breathed; the joy of the present moment makes my feet feel giddy, and so i let them speed up to a jog; cold air, warm air, i can’t decide because i’m too occupied with how pure it feels; i find myself in roads between houses and hotels, the smell of breakfast toast and coffee invades my nose and stimulates my senses; i’m fueled by a craving for bread that sends me running faster, looking forward to breakfast; i go to the supermarket and let my hands pick up what my body craves without any judgment or apprehension — i choose to be a child that’s too alive and careless to think about labels and ingredients; i walk all the way back to the hotel, put my craving on a plate, sit in front of the huge balcony window, and enjoy myself just like i used to when i was seven; too invigorated to stay inside, i grab my novel and notebook and walk to my favorite café, order an americano, and start writing.




by Alex Stoddard

there’s a cloud of sadness sailing in the sky of my heart, obscuring the sun of my soul. i’m lost in a sea of idle desires that mean nothing to me as me, not the me that’s in the world. my mind is infatuated with ideas that are too silly and destructive for the sake of my contentment. it clutched onto a desire and turned it into an obsession. i have completely lost myself in the yearning that i’ve never once allowed myself to actually look at my life and see that i had a good part of what i wanted. until i lost it. or didn’t. i don’t even know anymore. i’m so fucking stuck. it’s like my rationality cannot cooperate with what my eyes are telling me. i feel and think and see that i am both what i want and what i don’t have. it’s not a mixture — more like a co-existence of the two opposites. it’s tiring. you never know what’s real. you look for clues in what people say to you or the way they treat you, but you don’t believe what they think of you, especially their compliments. you doubt it all because you don’t even know your own truth. one day you’re okay, you see that you have a wonderful life, and one day you’re just deflated. it keeps changing up from good days to bad days to good days to bad days as months pass and then years pass and you realize just how much you’ve changed, what you’ve gained and what you’ve lost along the way. and you’re struck with something else now. nostalgia. wishing to be back there because it looks better than right here even though you know it wasn’t really any better at all.

A Moment of Reflection



waves of words bubble through me yet i can’t totally catch the letters to write them down.

it’s the afternoon on a Saturday, and i’m sat in a café crowded with sound and motion.

table for one; just for me, my book and my coffee.

the world inside me feels like a sheer white curtain flowing with the wind. innocence, love, compassion. joy, joy, joy. and a most delicious peacefulness.

i choose not to voice my thoughts, so i write them down.

i bow my head to my book and underline sentences that feel like pure blows of oxygen to my lungs. sentences that the excited child in me urges to share with the next person and dive into discussing them.

i take a look at myself and my life and i see a succession of blessings, meaningful interactions, genuine connections, travel and exploration, pure love and outrageously overwhelming gratitude.

and it dawns on me that i truly am, in this moment, the sum of all the experiences i’ve been through and all the books i’ve read.

To Miss a Friend


in my list of things to do before i travel is to see two of my friends so that my heart isn’t choked up with missing them when i leave town.

but you know what the irony is?

my heart is already ridden with longing for my dearest friend studying abroad. i’ve last seen her when she came to town unexpectedly (which was the most pleasant of all surprises), but it only made me realize how terribly i was missing her and how much more intensely i would be missing her now that i’ve seen her for a most wonderful but short while.

writing my two friends’ names on my list clenched my frail heart in wishing that i could write her name too. that i could see her so that i don’t miss her too much for the next two months. it’s true i wish she was here, that i so terribly miss feeling the connection and chemistry when we talk, but i also feel grateful for this time in our lives. i’m grateful that she’s expanding with experience and knowledge. that she’s working hard at taking herself closer to the person she aspires to be. i’m grateful for her friendship because it has showed me how deeply my heart could love. how faithfully it could miss. how it could surrender to these feelings rather than suppress them or associate them with pain. because missing someone is nowhere near pain to me. for pain cannot exist when love does. this missing makes me feel how much i love her, not how much i’m hurting over this impermanent separation. this missing for her is bittersweet because i’m happy she’s thriving and i’m sad i can’t physically witness her doing it.



this pulsing desire to travel and be someplace else is not a pursuit of happiness nor is it motivated by an underlying urge for escapism, for i am already happy and my life is already a delight from which i do not desire to run away. for me, traveling is the thing that most triggers growth and self-discovery. if i were to pack myself in a suitcase and leave this room shielded by comfort and safety and dependence on my family, it wouldn’t be an attempt to find myself or find my comfort and contentment. it wouldn’t even be to live one of my dreams, for i know that a manifested dream is no longer a dream, but a fleeting reality. it would be simply and solely for the experience, for the newness, and for frighting yet delicious unfamiliarity.