a raw portrait, this is my story

i took a break from writing. the emotions were too much to handle, i couldn’t find the right words to describe what i was going through. i lost all the inspiration to pen down how i felt because it was just too heavy.

writing seems to actualize whatsoever you’re feeling, reinforcing all the pain. ignorance seemed like the wiser alternative.

but here i am.

dawn is approaching and i’m filled with sweet melancholy.

this is my story.

for more than a year, i was suffering. for 18 years of my life, i lived in a perfect bubble. i was sheltered and protected from everything, from the “bad” and the “evil”. i had always seen the world in a pretty light. there were ups and downs, but there was so much color all around me. everything seemed nearly perfect, in that bubble.

when i turned 18, that bubble burst. i was sexually assaulted by someone – someone that told me he loved me.

“i’m doing this because i love you”, he said. my naivety led me into trusting the wolf in sheep clothing –  i was outrightly manipulated.  i didn’t know what to do or who to turn to.

a month went on and i consistently reassured myself that “this is love.” but how could it be? how could someone that claims he loves me cause me so much pain? i was so lost and ashamed of myself. i cried myself to sleep, every single damn night. the traumatic nightmares haunted me, day after day.

time after time, i psyched myself into believing those words he uttered.

and for a while, i think i did.  but, it wasn’t long before i found out the truth –  i was being cheated on this whole time.

i broke. its the kind of brokenness that leaves you speechless, tearless in fact. i remember standing by my window, in a state of shock. i refused to believe in the truth and began to repress whatsoever i felt. there was so much running through my head: “didn’t he say he loves me?”, “was i really that foolish?”, “where is my innocence?”. in those moments, i lost touch with God, pain and anger consumed me.

i was destroyed.

it wasn’t long before i fell into the arms of someone that held me in the darkest of days. someone that accepted my story, and held back all judgments right from the start. it seemed unconventional and absurd to fall blindly, diving in headfirst. but it was what i needed most at that point of time in my life.

but the war wasn’t over, it was only the beginning.

the start to a very long series of nightmares and monstrous attacks in my head. i’d wake up in the middle of the nights wishing i could just restart my life and remain in that perfect little bubble.

despite the trauma and the anxiety attacks, i tried my best to move on with life. i graduated from high school. it was a beautiful moment, but i was hardly getting by.

at that time, i had lost all confidence and security in myself. and so, i held on to this person and saw him as my protector. for the first time, i fell in love wholeheartedly. i was determined to make us work, i wanted us to.

however, distance kept coming between us. in due time, he left to explore the world.

i was alone again.

but we kept a promise – that i was going to spain to reunite with him after a few months. in those months, i battled with myself. i was up at 5AM, combating a whirlwind of emotions. it was the kind of pain that never leaves you, it just lingers throughout a whole new day. i took up 3 jobs, hoping to occupy my time and repressed whatsoever nonsensical invalidated emotions i felt.  i was learning to make coffee at a cafe, i was teaching ballet to kids and interning as a marketing assistant.

i was also just trying to save up enough for my trip to spain.

the trip that never happened.

a week before departure, i ended my very first official relationship with someone i loved and cared for deeply. they say love conquers all, but i guess distance won this time around.

i was destroyed, again.

i felt bare and completely naked. i felt completely hopeless, like i wasn’t worthy of love anymore – i began to distance myself from friends and family. i felt like even God had given up on me.

i suffered – crying under blankets, gripping window grills and staring soullessly into the mirror. i wanted to give up on living.

i fell into a toxic coping mechanism. for a while, my mantra was “the more i repress, the faster i’ll be over it.” if i can prove to everyone else that i am okay, it means i am. i fell into the world of drinking, partying and lying as a way to “escape from reality” because i felt so trapped. i didn’t want to seem weak in any way and forced myself to portray a version of myself i wanted others to see.

desperately needing an escape, i impulsively booked a flight to taiwan. in less than 24 hours, i left. this was my very first solo trip. i embarked on the wildest journey of my life. for once, i wasn’t doing something for anyone else but myself. i wasn’t going to taiwan because it was a family trip, or because a guy wanted me to find him there.

this is heartbreak, i guess.

it was liberating and surreal. i roamed the city with nothing but a backpack and searched for backpacker hostels to live in for the nights.

wanting to explore the outskirts, i booked a train ride to Hualien. on the train ride, i remember looking out into the scenic view of the mountains and sea. i felt an immediate sense of calamity and tranquility, something i hadn’t felt in a long time.

my trip to taiwan made me bolder and braver than i had ever imagined myself to be. i jumped and swam in the taroko waters, hiking back drenched and eating a fig.

i went up to absolute strangers to strike up conversations and became friends with many of the locals and even explored several night markets with an American-Taiwanese family.


i remember sitting on the pebbles by the sea with a cup of hot chocolate clasped between my hands, accompanied by the sound of waves crashing gently unto the shore. i closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. i remember breaking into a smile, one of those smiles that happen because you suddenly hear yourself.


that was the start of my healing process.

although a step forward, the process wasn’t a bed of roses. in fact, it was far from perfect.  self-doubt and self-sabotage crept into the depths of my soul every time something was improving. the trauma and anxiety attacks came in the most obscure and unexplainable times.

i remember in one of those nights, i broke down every wall in me – right in front of my mother, who took me into her arms with no judgments, loving me unconditionally. she provided me with unwavering support and constant prayers.

and that was when i experienced a love so strong – a love that made me strong.

fast forward, i matriculated into university, pursuing a course i love.

through the new experiences and people that i’ve been so privileged to meet, i’m learning so much about myself and this world.

everyone is going through something and honestly, we’re all just trying really hard to keep it going. but it’s not easy at all. in fact, sometimes its so suffocating. yet, we wake up each day, fighting those thoughts, pushing through all odds.

we will be okay.

i’m still healing, slowly but surely. i’m finding my way back to God again, slowly but surely. i’m falling wholeheartedly in love again, slowly but surely.

i’m lucky, i found an inspiration to write again. i feel like, i’m in touch with myself once more.

i am not the same nicolette i was 2 years ago, but that’s okay.

this is my story.



she remained nostalgic about the good old days

At age 3, I was bitten by a dog.

When I got home, I lied and said it was insect bites.

At age 4, a transparent Barney bag was all it took to make me realize that some people are capable of judging you based on the material possessions you own.

It was the age that made me realize this world is one heck of a judgemental place. For some obscure reason, having an “ugly” bag didn’t sit well with a particular group of toddlers who were obsessed with Winx Club. Perhaps, that was my first encounter with rejection. It was the age that made me handle such rejections with a, “I don’t friend you,” and had me becoming playmates with these group of rowdy boys.

At age 5, an hour every day was all it took to secure my safe haven. Even at a young tender age, we are all searching for a place to – belong.

It was the age that had me standing on the edge of the slide – shouting as if I was on the highest peak of some cliff I’d never been to. It was the age that had me pretending the playground was a castle and I could be the knight, for once – I didn’t have to pretend to be the stupid princess.

It was the age that had me befriending the self-anointed “neighborhood kids” who would call dibs on the castle and sit for hours on end outside my grandma’s gate talking to me. The boys once boasted that they’d only shower 3 times a week. That left me in awe.

It was the age that had me legitimately disciplined for the first time. My brother and I were caught for watching the television and lying about it. First came the hanger, then came the broom. It was probably the first time I had seen my brother cry, like actually cry.

Mayday Mayday, I was next.

I went berserk.

It was the age that I should’ve earned an Oscar. I pretended to hyperventilate, pulling my hair. I cornered them and left them with no choice but to calm me down. I avoided the deadly weapons.

Devious child.

At age 6, the cursed feeling of fitting in crept into me. They love Winx Club.

“Mummy, can I get a Winx Club notebook and pencil?”

It seemed as if we were all in a competition to outdo one another in the number of Winx Club merchandise one could possess. Fools. I just wanted to be their friend.

It was the age that had me craving for independence. The kind of liberty to brush my own hair and extract my own teeth. I soon came up with numerous ways to pluck a shaky tooth – I was desperate for the dollar from Mr. Tooth Fairy, yea hi dad.

It was the age where I wanted to be Big Bad Wolf instead of Little Red Riding hood during Ballet class and went around chasing the other girls. The teacher told my parents I was disrupting the class, but I was convinced that she was just jealous because I stole her limelight as the wolf. Damn it. I was then instructed to act gracefully, like a swan.

It was the age that left me in my first dilemma. It was our graduation dance and we were to reenact “The Three Little Pigs”. The girls had all been selected to do a fairy dance in these golden black tutus  (don’t ask me how fairies appeared in the story). Nearing the performance, a boy – supposedly the little pig got injured. The teacher broke the news, asking for a volunteer to substitute and play the role. I remember the girls shaking their heads vigorously.

The pig costume was hideous, in comparison to the tutus. I decided to volunteer. It wasn’t even close to volunteering as a tribute for the Hunger Games but it took everything in me to raise my hand. I was mocked for the costume, it was a onesie.

At age 7, I cried on the first day of primary school. Even then, adapting was crucial for survival.

It wasn’t the moment I parted my mum – it was during silent reading. I brought the book to eye level, hid behind it, and sobbed. That was when I learnt that you can hide your emotions, just hold a goddamn book up.

It was also the age where I craved validation from authoritative figures. It was as if being appointed class monitress equated to being elected as the president.

It was the age where I was first graded for regurgitating knowledge, the age where I was first exposed to the world of competitiveness. But also the age I realized, unlike my classmates, I just can’t seem to score 100 on a math test.

At age 8, a boy confessed he liked me and I flew into a frenzy. He wrote me a card for valentines day and signed off with the word “love”. Yuck, what does any 8-year old know about love?

I called my mum for 2 hours that afternoon, crying on my couch about this foreign experimental emotion someone expressed toward me. She laughed it off and told me to ignore. So, I did. A year later, he transferred schools and his older sister told me it was all my fault.

At age 9, I based my worth on ridiculous plastic trophies at the annual swimming competitions because I realized I wasn’t gifted in the academic route. Every kid had to go through this “Maybe YOU ARE GIFTED!” test. It has a pretty condescending ring to it, doesn’t it? It sure shot some of our self-esteem and morale down.

For the first time, I had a dream to pursue something competitively. But just like every other dream, swimming was short-lived too.

At age 10, the cursed feeling of conformity crept into me again. It was also the time I lied about my age to Mark Zuckerberg because having a Facebook account and playing Pet Society was the coolest thing.

It was the age where having a crush was thrilling. The act of passing notes in class seemed to be a classic way of showing your affection and pure adrenaline was when confessions were made through Facebook messenger.

It was the age where prefectorial duties had me living a double life. On one hand, I was in the good books of my discipline master. On the other, I was ripping my badge off and playing catching for whatever it was worth.

The age were I had a taste of an identity crisis.

It was the age where Ballet meant everything to me. But I was getting nowhere. I couldn’t do a split and spent half my time in ballet class making jokes about Beyonce’s songs. Despite my immaturity, I was still stubbornly adamant about pursuing Ballet. That’s what being 10 does to you.

At age 11, I figured I wasn’t a nice friend – or perhaps, I was just trying too hard to be someone I wasn’t. That was probably the first time I tasted the bitterness of betrayal in friendships. At that age, it seemed as if the world revolved around being liked and accepted by others.

It was the age where my Nokia phone meant everything to me. Text messages were well-crafted and curated before they were sent because every message was $0.05. I was broke then. 10 years later, I still am. Calls were sacred and kept only for emergencies – which really meant calls to my crush, even if it was just for a minute or two.

At age 12, I came to the conclusion that I suck at Math and Science. I was spending hours in my study room crying over math sums and the futile attempts to solve anything geometry related. I was flamed for answering science questions with flowery words and chided for writing it too much like a fairytale. My mistake but Jack’s beanstalk germinated a lot quicker than our green beans.

Every one of us had to take the “Did you waste 6 years of education” test in order to graduate. I remember breaking down when I saw my mark. That was when I learnt, comparison kills joy.

The nostalgia of childhood seems to be placed on the pedestal. It has been pictured as this perfect safe space in the most conventional way. Reminiscing memories seem to encapsulate this magical bliss – as if once upon a time is really all that mystical.

But revisiting my memories has left this bittersweet aftertaste. My years of growing up were not perfect, ugly to a certain extent but the imperfection is where the beauty lies.

She remained nostalgic about the old days.








drifters bleachers

“Pack up”

I stuffed the doll and some leftover crackers from supper last night into my transparent mini backpack and slipped on my sandals. We ran across the big junction, making our way through barbed wires and into the restricted “no trespassing” zone. My backpack felt unusually empty, and I realized the doll was missing. I could only imagine the wheels that must have smashed its face and tore its ribs apart. I grew up.

“Pack up”

I stuffed my laptop and my potentially irrelevant piggybank into the haversack. That amount of money was not going to sustain any sorts of lifestyle – lavish or meager. We had no choice. We needed to puff, we needed the intoxication. Tell the lawyers, to see us as equals. We were merely running from the knives they carried. Dear lawyers, we look like beasts you see.

“Pack up”

I stuffed myself into the sack. I have nothing left. With love, we murdered. We were attempting to hide, for as long as we were alive, we were on a run. We were wanted criminals, so we could not stay to enjoy another night of sugared crackers for supper at the same strangers’ house. So I sought refuge in a different home every night, craving some affection and intimacy. I cooked up a tale, victimized myself, gained their trust. They’d look at me in the eye, slightly teary-eyed and they’d tuck me into bed goodnight. Remember who Little Red Riding Hood saw on Grandma’s bed? Oh yes, it took her a while to realize.

“Pack up”, the teacher announced.

The bell rang. In synchronization, the class stood up. I hated the way they stood in unity as if rehearsed to thank the teacher. Of course, they demand forced manners and insincere formalities.

“Pack up and stand up”, the teacher repeated, a tad intolerant.

I stuffed my scribbled textbook into my bag and stood up reluctantly. Pew Pew. I’m the last person alive on earth after they vanished in toxic gas. I smirk because as the last person alive, I have essentially outwitted the teacher and that gave me a reassuring sense of satisfaction.

“Pack up”

“I’m in 2008, I should’ve fought harder!”

“I’m in 2100! I’m the king of the North Pole!”

“I’m in 2019, in search for refuge in the wildest imaginations and fantasies because quantum mechanics bore me!”

We are drifters coexisting in a different present world.


to my chocolate lover

i remember the first time i told you i wanted to be a tree. seasons pass, and winter comes around. there is something raw and honest about them that i find incredible. amidst the harsh cold winds, they let go. bravely barren, seeking solace.

and maybe, that’s the beauty of letting go.

i can’t believe i had my ankle fractured, bruised and slammed – the day i met you. an absolute stranger, i held on to the thin line of hope. you bent over, signaling me to get onto your back. was it out of mere obligation to be a decent being that you offered that piggyback ride? because my faith in humanity was instantly restored.

“sorry, i’m a little heavy” i whispered into your right ear as you trudged through an unknown path. you chuckled, i remember the way you did. you gently place me on the bench, reassuring me that you were returning with medical ointments for my wound. with those lanky legs of yours, i had no doubt you’d make it seem as if the pharmacy was only a stone’s throw away. my thoughts were running wild, but i had exactly 15 minutes to escape. you could’ve either kidnapped me or extorted all my cash – yes kids, get a digital wallet. unfortunately (fortunately), my ankle made it impossible to move. that was the start of something new.

so, i fell in love with a stranger who treated my wounds. i fell so in love with a stranger who took me down a different path. i fell so in love with midnight sand, and believed in magic carpets rides at dawn.

oh no, the construction had yet to be completed at the half-way mark of the path. the straight and polished path soon had bumps and humps along the way. a palpable sense of fear that you might end up tripping on debris. the government should’ve paid a little more to bob the builder.

the ointment for my infected wounds was running out and the pharmacy was no longer in business. so it felt like rationing the ointment was the only option left to keep the infection at bay. i attempted to keep up with you but my insecurities held me back.

the ointment diminished, and so did we.

i wanted brand x of ointment but you could only find brand y. i detested that brand because i kept getting recurring allergies but it was all better than nothing, really. i hated that the pharmacy had to fluctuate operation hours because therein lied the uncertainty of when I’d get the ointment for my infection once again.

so should i try harder or should i let go? would i be a fool if i pick the former or a coward if i pick the latter? it is hard to pick a path with solid conviction because i’m trying to decipher wisdom from impulsiveness. but one thing i do know is that i held nothing back. i put myself out there, broke down the walls, seized the moment, went out of my way and compromised. it hurts in the gut to be punched like this but life will never make any sense.

i realized i was clinging on to fleeting moments this whole time – a complete paradox. i still love you and you will always be a part of me. the stranger who came into my life and turned it around almost instantly.

my fracture is permanent.

but when i come to terms with the reality of us, i think my wounds will heal.


no spiral pasta!

in the day, I’m one of those people you detest on train rides. there I stand, leaning against the possibly contaminated germ-infested pole attempting to regain my balance after some abrupt jerk the train decides to take. I’m avoiding the Airpod trend or bluntly, you can say I am broke – so you see dangling wires bopping rapidly as I begin to groove subtly to some melodramatic yet empowering song on my “feminist!” Spotify playlist. In my pursuit of exuberating confidence, I eliminate factors of possible negativity. I ensure the songs queued throughout the day relate one way or another to the whole idea of being unstoppable – possessing the kind of power Thanos has. I begin to dig the whole idea of having lunch in solitude. Amidst the crowd, I find an empty seat right smack in the middle of two tables and prop myself down with nearly no hesitation at all. I grow wary of certain social behaviors and more so, intrigued by their food choices. Fried chicken wings should not be soaked in a bowl of porridge.

in the night, my mind becomes a rain vortex that turns people away unlike the artificially man-made one in the airport. bewildering thoughts about acceptance, appreciation, annihilation, reality, rejection, reconciliation – all these thoughts persistently infiltrating the exhausted brain of mine. I’m on some sort of “spiral pasta” ban for the week so I’m only eating penne for the time being to avoid spiraling into a whirlwind of excruciating self-torment. Unfortunately, the night works differently on me. No amount of empowerment music to liberate my entrapped feelings of despair.

The proposals of who you really are – often get trampled upon because you fear repudiation. That this proposal might be torn apart and dumped into the nearest trash can. We live in a world that calls judgment, intellectual acuity. A world that calls abomination, tough love. We live in a world that contorts the notion of beauty, and a world that corners individuality – forcing acquiesce. yes, reluctantly accepting without any protest. there’s no need for a hullabaloo but opinions are very much treasured.

And in this world, the original copy of your book needs to undergo major editing by the senior editors with mighty authority. The raw original copy might pollute the mind of innocent readers, creating an infuriating atmosphere. Every page goes along with the pencil slipping, erasable in time to come. Or perhaps, you have unreadable monstrous handwriting they decided to do away with it. They would complete this book with a hardcover because they claim that it’s easier to tide through rough comings. Perhaps waterproof?

So who am I really? how does one combat an existential and identity crisis all at the same time? how do day and night find a middle ground? perhaps we were meant to be unpublished authors. so – keep the original copy in the drawer, or that recyclable box you use to stash away all the cheesy yet believable love letters back from kindergarten.

Screw the edits deemed necessary, you’re quite an author yourself.

caving in to you

“you sure you don’t need a torch?”

“i’m good”

yea bloody right good i am.

I am in Antiparos, Greece. I am aged eighteen, figuring out why the hell I would need a torch to enter a cave. I am convincing myself that I’ll find my way without a torch. Buckling my ripped boots, I tuck my hair into a braid. I jump into the entrance of the cave.

“hush now baby”, i heard a mellow voice somewhere deep in the cave. i dug my own grave that very night. woke up the next morning with an indescribable pain, fingers and toes ripped apart. my skin grazed with abrasions. my face slapped in every other direction. i open my eyes to a man. he smiles, reassures me it was all just a nightmare.

“i’m here now” he whispers.

when you’re all alone in a dark cave with the sunlight barely peeking through the cracks, you become a vulnerable little lamb. mary’s stupid little lamb. and so, i became that gullible girl in the red hood, trusting a man smiling menacingly.

“hold my hand” he whispers.

and so, i did. i held onto his wide palms innocently, trusting he was leading me to great adventures every step of the way. he tugged my hair roughly and smothered my face into  the river bank, as i suffocated and gasped for air. what was all that for? was he really protecting me?

“you needed to wash up didn’t you?” he asks gently. he caressed my head and cupped my tiny face between his hands. he did all that because he said he loves me. oh stupid me, how could i think he was trying to hurt me?

yet, i woke up the next morning in pain. the wolf in sheep clothing deceives me time and time again. because one night, i fell asleep and realised there was no tomorrow.

i’m eighteen, barely figuring out why he would devour me the way he did.

did i make it out of the cave eventually? or am i just trudging through another cave awaiting another voice to find me?

perhaps, i needed a torch this whole time.

but damn am i naive.

thinking i could trust comforting voices when i couldn’t even trust my own.

almost loves suck lozenges

feelings are vague ambiguous emotions that overwhelm us. we barely understand what it entails. it’s a sort of disproportion to our souls. at times, it really stretches us. bends us, breaks us. feelings can be catalysed in so many ways. most often, we don’t anticipate it. when we do it becomes more of our delusions than actual reality. our human mind is so capable of the wild and preposterous imaginations. the beauty of it does lie within. we feel something, someone. we subject our feeble vulnerable self to a tangible emotion. but it’s amazing we can even do that. that at one point in time, we could feel what we felt. it might just be gone in an instant and you’d be a little lost – but somehow it wouldn’t matter in time to come. we are abstract, ludicrous creatures trying to define moments and actions. we are fearless even though we have fears. we are ruthless even though we abide the laws. we are complicated beings but we hate to admit the complexity and settle for conformity to show that we are simple despite the loopholes. feelings demand a lot. it demands your attention and it often sends you into a whirlwind of thoughts. but feelings also make us. feelings shape us through unexpected experiences and makes us understand the potency of it all. you wish you didn’t feel this much – but honey, it comes when it comes. i’d like to think, i’ll embrace it either way. no moral obligation, just a personal conviction. whatsoever i may feel – is purely a journey i choose to set foot on.

amused memory

we sat on separate chairs, tilted at a forty-five degree angle towards the wooden table. you stood up, carefully placed the stereo right in the middle of the table and sat back onto the stupid red plastic chair.

we both propped ourselves upright, anticipated the twenty-second sci-fi introduction of gun shots and horse neighing.

“Knights of Cydonia” a point to you.

the muffled repeated sound of “mmmammmammma mad” within the first second.

I, I can’t get these memories out of my mind
And some kind of madness has started to evolve

“Madness” a point to me.

first fifteen seconds sounded like a complete rip off from a Bond theme song. too much wants, not needs. unfortunately, neither of us can show each other how its done. you’ve got your guard up and all titled beauty is merely still a mask.

“Undisclosed Desires” in unison.

Point to us.

In my dreams, you could be my unintended.




hide to seek to bleed

“1…2…3…10… I’m coming to find you!”

I had no idea where this game was headed to but the night had just begun. The roads were jammed and the many around me held flowers in their hands. The bus-stop lights flickered – dimming the atmosphere every once in a while.

For a moment, there was a voice in my head. I had the sudden urge to check up on the stock market. Within seconds, I was downloading YAHOO finance and StockTwits on the AppStore. The percentages and graphs of inconsistent heart rates did not intimidate me the way it used to. In fact, I grew intrigued. The numbers became codes in my head and encryptions that resonated with the left side of my brain I never exactly got in touch with.

GOOGLE Total Gain (%) +2.66%. NETFLIX Total Gain (%) +0.02%. NIKE Total Gain (%) +3.66%. 

When the bus approached the stop, the crowd of commuters surged forward as if The Beatles Mania of the 60s was a thing again. They tightened their grip on the stalk of the dull-witted flowers and whispered prayers to the petals. I hated being in the middle of the bus because that meant meat patties. I strategised and positioned myself right by the exit so I could hop off the instant we arrived at my stop. The bus driver might have been an F1 driver his past life. There was an ongoing catastrophe and crisis happening right behind his back but he drove at the speed of light. The only reason I can ever excuse such an abhorrent behaviour is if he had to use the loo at that instant – because really, having the bus come to a halt every other second left me trampling on the feet of several unfortunate victims. I wanted to hold onto a hand rail or something of that sort but to my right stood a boy and to my left stood a man. And to my front, the exit door. Leaning onto any of the three mentioned was deemed relatively inappropriate and dangerous at that point in time. Music up, I want to love somebody like you. My stop approached and I leapt out of the bus only to fall in-between the gap of the bus and the pavement – there and then, I figured that hurdling was not my forte.

The wind hustled my soul all the way back home. Couple of moments pass and the left side of my brain continues twitching in awkward muscle spasms. The phone begins to buzz, to ring. Ring-a-ding-a-ling. 

“Car’s down. Punctured tyre. SOS”

I chuckled listening to the anxiety. I was not amused, yet the urgency of the voice galvanised me into taking possible actions – which did not play out too well. The scenario unfolded within the empty spaces of my head – I would’ve punctured all the other tyres to capture the deflation or perhaps sat on the ring of the tyre because they do seem like the perfect fit for one’s gluteus maximus. I left the house with the scenarios unfolding in my head. The wind continued to jostle me as the shade of blue turned the atmosphere dimmer. The trees were dancing to the beats of the wind and sashayed to rhythmic melodies.

The bar was full and a group of hoodlums (ruffians) lingered right outside. There was a man at the bus stop. He looked at me, and tilted his head to the right. I paced myself as a bus approached. The release of hot air from the engine of the bus ambushed me as soon as it came to a stop and the man immediately boarded. As the bus rolled away and the man settled into his seat, he looked out of the window and stared into the depths of my soul as a smile creepily emerged. Once again, he tilted his head to the right and raised his eyebrows. His face was rather skinny and his eyes a tad droopy. But as he smiled, the wrinkles creased by his cheeks.

I saw a figure – my friend, from afar and ran after. But he yanked his chinchilla and scurried away. Wait up, wait up was all I tried to say but he left without a word like Cinderella on ball day. The street lamps hovered over me creating unknown shadows on the uneven road. Within meters stood the car with only 3 wheels. It wasn’t as jocular as I had thought it to be and that in itself was a tad disappointing.

His chinchilla seemed to have needed a break at some point which left me walking past in ignorant disguise. The road was winding and leading up somewhere. I needed clearer instructions – similar to the way Dorothy followed the red-brick path to the Wizard of Oz. The industrial buildings were gloomy and dull. I heard sudden movements in the bushes right beside and the noise sent an entangling chill down my spine. The chinchilla was nowhere in sight and I figured it decided to call it a night.

As I attempted to cross the infested drains, I almost stepped on a toad that croaked in agony and pain. If this was a fairytale, I would’ve kissed it and the story can end with a happily ever after and the end in stupid cursive fonts. But no, reality continued to eat me alive.

I was contemplating before two guard dogs barked the fear out of me. Aight I give up, perhaps reality wins. The chinchilla soon emerged, greeting me with a grin and guaranteeing no business or politics involved. The doctor walked past carrying a plastic briefcase, heavily panting and taking abnormally deep breaths. He was rushing to rescue but he had no cape or mask or stupid black boxers as underpants. Time froze and there he stood, the emergency held in perfect reservation.

Hurry, the mad scientist on my right yanks out his guitar at 4am every day.

Chinchilla you can come out now. The game has ended, I quit playing.