I try to tell myself

those creatures aren’t real

that it only lives in stories,

but in life, I’ve seen                                                        monsters,


and it feels like they are

everywhere. I try to calm

myself, convince myself

that all monsters                                                             are

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Outside the Window

Outside the window, a bright hot sun awaits its next victim to torture relentlessly. No shade saves its victims. Even an air-conditioned house is no match for the powerful sun. Not even water can save them.


In this time, at this day and age, people seem to have less and less time for things they want to do. And even for things they need to do.

Sleeping at twelve, waking up at six, going out to the hospital every other day, attending classes, staying late till seven at school about twice a month, getting home late about three times a week, starving myself without enough food, gorging on food in the weekend – everything in my life is just a simple blur.

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A Sick World

I remember the last time I was sick.

I realized it when I was on an elliptical. I had been trying to exercise every day, increasing my time on the elliptical to the max of an hour nonstop. The elliptical was placed in a room with a large TV since only my grandparents used the room to watch TV, and my sister and I and our friends would sometimes use the TV and computers there to play games or watch movies. In other terms, it was a room barely used, and since the elliptical was also barely used, it seemed fitting to put it there – out of sight, out of mind.

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I feel like I can write for an eternity. the feeling of writing with pencil, pen, marker – anything – on paper is something I feel I can do for the rest of my life.

I want to have an endless notebook, a notebook that never runs out of pages.

To write, for me, is life. To hear the sound of writing. To see my own handwriting. To see the words in my mind on plain paper.

To see a world on pages.

I live in my own world, I know. But to live in that world is a magic only I can do.

By writing.


School. It’s weird. They prep you in a building since you were four – sometimes three – for what? A future?

They get you ready for the future by teaching you how to read. How to write. How to pee. How to socialize. They command and dictate every small thing you do. You have no freedom to choose what to learn: you will learn the alphabet; you will learn algebra; you will learn to deconstruct and analyze a piece of rhetoric; you will learn to write a research paper.

And when you ask them, “Why?” They will stare at you like you’re a moron and repeat – “Why?” – to mock you. They will say you must learn because you must prepare for the future.

You have no choice.

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