Midnight Malarkey

a peek inside the poetic freak

So what’s your story?

“Tell me more about yourself.”

If you’re above 18 and have never been asked that, mail me and tell me what kind of life you’re living. That question is the safe starting point for interviews, first dates, or when you just want to get rid of awkward silences but skip the small talk. It’s crucial information to give people context on who you are and what make a list of appropriate topics to converse on. It’s that small bit of info you put at the top of a resume or you say in class on the first day with a new teacher.

And you, dear reader. Yes, you. How would you answer?

Common answers would include age, gender, place of birth/origin/current residence, where you go to work/education, hobbies.

Seriously, is that the best thing you can tell about yourself?

What about that one song you always play when you’re down? What about your life’s biggest achievement, or dream, or come back after a failure when the world felt like it was about to end? What about that one spot where you’re ticklish but no one knows, or that one thing you’re dying to try but afraid of the social repercussions?

You’re a human being, a unique compilation of selected social patterns that society has sculpted combined with your own individual traits. Don’t tell me that yellow is your favorite color or you’re the first child of three. Tell me what’s the most uncertain thing about the future that terrifies you, or your first memory. If it has to be something about color, tell me the color that you see when you first gain consciousness—the first seconds before you open your eyes to snooze the alarm clock (for the third time before a relative finally drags you out of bed).

I find it so heartbreaking when a friend tells me about their problems or just monologs on about their thoughts and then apologizes for making me listen to them. Did you read that right? They’re apologizing for thinking that their life struggles are unworthy of being listened to. They’re apologizing for expressing themselves.

Tell me more about yourself, darn it. Tell me what sparks your passion—that twinkle in your eyes when you talk, that slight stutter because you have so much to say about that one thing or person you love most. Who hurt you and made you think the mind is big enough to hold your thoughts but the universe isn’t? Who so excruciatingly cut your soul into little thin strips of hope you keep to yourself? Who made you believe you shouldn’t show others the causes you’re fighting for because it might just jinx all the efforts you’ve put into it, and that embarrassment of failure is a roadblock from starting again?

You’re a human being, a unique compilation of stories from selected experiences society forces you to undergo combined with your own individual choices. Don’t tell me who’s the first person you fell in love with or what you wore on your first day of something. I want to know how you figured out “Oh my gosh, this is it, this is love!” and how you calmed your nerves enough to tell that special someone.

This may make you uncomfortable. That’s okay. You’ve been conditioned to keep private information like that to yourself. That, or you’re an introvert, which is also okay. Or you’re more invested in the other person’s story, which is—surprise, surprise—okay as well.

I don’t have a point to tell from all of this. I just want to let you know that people like me exist in your life. That nice people who greets everyone passing by, the barista at your favourite café, the stranger you made eye contact with and gives that smile, expecting a conversation to start. We’re all around you, or maybe you’re one of us. In that case, you’re a story collector like me, and probably dying to tell some of the inspirational things you’ve learned about people and life.

So when you meet one of us and get that question, surprise us. Tell us your favourite cheesy joke, or that one time you felt accomplished. And even in formal occasions like interviews, pause before you answer. Think about this:

Seriously, is that the best thing you can tell about yourself?



Once again I find myself
Sprawled on the floor
My tears, turned ink
Staining parched paper
Forming itself into words—such a painter

Once again I’m startled
To hear the grandfather clock strike
Hours past midnight
And my rhymes still unfinished

Dearest Confidant, #1

Maybe the reason I love you is because you’re the me I never could be. Half the thoughts and double the action, you have more capacity to execute, while I’m just good at giving reactions.

Maybe the reason you love me is because I’m the you you’ll never be. Half the emotional investment and double the rational force. I know you envy my ability to not feel guilt and think myself out of remorse.

Maybe the reason we love parts of each other shouldn’t matter. You still find me adorable and I find you lovable. The parts we want go with the parts we found and I don’t think I’ll regret anything if we’re ever in any way bound.

I love your heart. I love me loving your heart. I love me loving you heart enough to let me make word art.

You love my brain and the way I think. How I scoop you and won’t let you sink when you overthink. How my brain rationalizes rue and you see my logical links can be true.

Maybe the reason we love like this is because we’re each other’s counterpart. You, the wanderer who knows you need to travel to find answers. Me, the wonderer who answers and wants to question through travel. How I can calm some of your anxiety and you deepen the shades of grey to my reality.

Maybe that’s the reason we love each other like this—love really, never truly. And truly, I’d rather not have it any other way.


On a plane, 20th April 2017

8.11 pm

I have learned to trust
That being is enough
That effort is merely social construct
That I will no longer let disrupt
What I am fundamentally 

Human being

What is the body but a compartment for stories
A manifestation of man’s want in seeking glory
Vessels in which purpose can validate its autonomy
In the form of a life-long journey

What are bones but phosphor and calcium
Chemical reactions that happen to be solid
In naked-eye form
Doesn’t mean it should steal legitimacy from
Concept and ideas built
By humans, with the mind as its guild

And what can you or I take from a train
Of undisturbed thoughts
Dripping drops of conceptual rain
Building blocks
Building our own version of reality

This is why man finds peace in nature
A reality we don’t need to ponder
An existence unquestioned
A systemized entity we may affect
But its inner workings remain undisturbed

It is here we find solace
Where our value isn’t based on solvency
Where the most urgent issue is only of survivability


April 1st 2017
@Nala Coffee, Serpong

A List of “D” Words





It’s scary. Took me less than two minutes to think of nine “negative” words. Took me over ten minutes to match that number with “positive” ones.

My Name Is Poetry

My name is poetry
And I am the reason
Your heart wrenches, fast
Upon hearing angst
Against all reason
For things merely spoken

My name is poetry
And I’m the “why”
You people try
To find meaning
In between sounds that ring
Why you’re so adamant
To make these lines seem relevant

My name is poetry
And I’m the cause
For you to pour
Sweet, sweet honey
Dripping forth between your lips
Quenching the thirst to pour out your soul

My name is poetry
I am the thief that steals your sleep
Why at 2 am you’re awake
Ink staining your fingertips
A testimony of what’s unspoken
When you can no longer weep

My name is poetry
And I am just what I am
And that’s why you love me
That’s why you try to understand
Master every rhyme
Collect vocabulary as much as sand
Write like you’re out of time

My name is poetry
An activity, ideology
A way for your whole being to breathe
You may think you can meet me
Get a taste of me
Then leave

But my name is poetry
And I will consume you
Your feelings, thoughts, memories
And when you do me, I can see it in your eyes
How you feel so free, so fine
When the truth is, darling
You. Are. Mine.

Series of Thoughts (2/12-9/12)


I was thinking on how long it would take for you to look for me if I ever disappear from your radar. Then I thought about doing such a thing, just to find out.

Childish, aren’t I?

Why would I believe you’d ever notice?


It’s funny how people don’t like the fact humans always chase things and people just beyond their reach, how people ignore or take for granted what they have, yet everyone does it anyway.

It’s funny how some people are just like walking waste and others take the burden of God knows how many people just because they know they can do something more for others.

It’s funny how people want to be productive and contributive in tasks then they always bother you and ask you to explain things to them, then end up doing so little. You could’ve done the whole thing and save more time. Sometimes it’s good they’re learning something new, sometimes it’s not worth it.


I’m screwed, screwed, screwed.

Bye freedom bye holidays bye opportunity to get myself together.


Why is it so hard for people to understand there’s a wide spectrum of emotions? Like if I’m sad you don’t tell me to be happy then I go happy like there’s a fucking switch inside my brain which I always have access to.

And it’s not just emotions, it’s personalities as well. Me acting like a brat then like an old soul then a shy person isn’t being two-faced, it’s adapting to different environments and circumstances.


Bubbles bubbles bubbles UGH BUBBLES

Me wanna pet and balloons. What about pet balloons? Nope they’d whither away and I’ll be sad again. :'(


What in mother nature’s name are you doing back here again?

No, you do NOT get to resurface for a few minutes then disappear just when I realized you were there. Why on earth are you back in my head after months of not being there?

How dare you leave me to deal with V alone, then give me a smirk like that.Get out of my head you manipulative little delinquent!


KYAAAAAAAAAA these people are just ADORABLE I wanna cut their heads off!


Something’s gonna break, isn’t it?

Gosh I’m scared of myself.


Why aren’t more ceilings made of glass? It’s not like people are gonna peep from the 6th floor or something, right?

No good night kisses
No good night wishes
Just a sentimental quote
That I wrote

Because, dear
What good can night be
Without you near

One thing only
Is I can dream
Make us sweeter than

The things I write after a flurry of romantic quotes can get disturbing sometimes. sigh

Why I Write

You were right
That I write
About so many things
Facts and feelings

You were right
That I write
But you don’t know why
I keep this habit of mine

I’m a little broken
Heart, spirit, soul
And words flow out like a stream
Out of the unplugged cracks and holes

Words help me make sense when I don’t
They comfort me when people won’t
They speak for me when the tears won’t come out
When no one will listen even if I shout

You were right
That I write
Out goes my hidden skeletons
Hidden in metaphors and comparisons

You were right
I write
To filter out what to say
So people won’t ever get away
With anything to talk back against me

I write
To filter out those who stay
I go back and reflect
Figure out the people who crept
Out or in my life
And the ones worth it have I kept

I write
Because my voice isn’t as strong
As ink is on paper
With lack of an eraser
It will stay longer than my little squeak
It won’t show if my tone is meek

I write
Because at 3 am
No one’s up to hear my rant
When the voices are so loud it forbids me from sleep
Or worse, so silent

I write
To get my feelings out
To quiet down the memories
That my mind won’t stop to spout
So unrelenting
So threatening
To my sanity

You were right
When you said I write

But you had no idea why

I break into song and dance
I skip and jump and prance
It’s like I’m in a trance
When I’m with you

They say my life’s a movie
So watch me fall in love
Let’s make this thing a happy ending
Worth watching on the silver screen
Worth giving awards

I’m thinking of a tune
I hope you’ll be immune
Get used to this random me
I’m like this because I’m happy

And this is actually new to me
Letting out emotions so freely
But I guess that’s why music is universal–
Everything in life has a melody

High or low
Home or on the go
You can count on song
To help you move along

With life
And its strife
So you can enjoy the ride

Turning Point

This is when my heart
Breaks apart into tiny pieces
I want to put away my love
Lease it
To writers who’d at least
Appreciate it

This is when I face
The stone-cold
Reality is
I knew this plot would unfold
With something happy
In the end
But not for me

This is when the end looms
When I take up a broom
Sweep away all traces of you
Or at least try to….

This is when I write
Of what went wrong
What was right
There, staring straight at me
Something I just couldn’t see

You, my dear, didn’t want me the way
I wanted
You needed me
For comfort’s sake

How lucky am I to now awake
To the harsh

Reality is I’m blessed
Able to differ what I feel and
What my brain says is
My priority is
To let everything pour
Out of my brain, rhymes float
About you

And to tell you
The truth is I’m sick of
These feelings, clinging so
Tightly clenching
What I imagined
Would make me happy

No, scratch that
I meant things that
Would make me happy
But I can only
Imagine to be

So… it brings me to

This is where I
Stop posting for
Now I should try focusing
On other things
That are more tangible than feelings

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: