Skin and Bones

This is simply inspired by Red Hot Chili Peppers’ song Skin and Bones and Jesus speaking about the world’s truth about “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth” in Matthew 5: 38-42. Take what you will from it.


Skin and bones. That’s all you know.
Another eye for an eye. That’s all you were told.
You have guts to spill without any frill.
Bones and skin, all pushed downhill.
Tooth for a tooth, wipe off the grit
After throwing back well deserved wit.
Give him your cheek, maybe your heart too,
But never trade your soul for something so shrew
Like the shadow poured into pounds of flesh,
Waiting, but there was something not quite meshed.
Never saving the cloak for nothing but your own
Until the shadow came and gave its own to you.
Skin and bones. That’s all you knew.
Then the shadow grew inside of you, slowly, but true.


To Them

To the day that poured.

To the day that drenched.

To the souls who mourned.

To the souls that went.

To the people that loved.

To the people wrecked.

To the one we called brother.

To the one who already left.

The amount of loss that my family has gone through these past few years has been more than enough. But despite all that has already happened…we found out that my brother, his friend, and their driver were killed in a horrific car accident in Croatia. There were no bodies to be found. Just body parts.

The day of the funeral, it poured, soaked, and drenched everyone to their bones. Over a 1000 people came for my brother yesterday. They stayed through the torrential rain and supported my family over there. I could not be more thankful.



This is dedicated to my late grandfather. A man of wisdom and love. I was recently cast as William Seton in Elizabeth of New York, the dying husband of Elizabeth Seton. I based my William off of my grandfather. And I never thought….

Never in life would I take another’s name.

Never did I think that name would be the same.

Taking the past and molding to present,

Turbulence causing by the one unforgotten.

I took his name and made it my own,

Into my grief I formed him from their soul.

Putting aside the fear, unbelieving,

Pushing past the ghost that embraced me.


Our House With No Name

We built a house with no name.

No roof o’er our heads to keep from the rain.

Tangled in a mess, the walls fell away

As you brushed aside the wind of change.

Surviving the wolf that blew down our doors,

Exposing a hell that rotted the core

The windows flew open, hot air seeped in

Blowing the ashes of a fire deep skinned.

The flesh on our bones burned down to our soles,

We climbed out the house in sackcloth and lore

Wishing to be a home no more;

Tearing the red that tied hope to the floor.

Listening to words straight arrow and true,

I couldn’t stand the mere sight of you

Throwing love to the swine, as pearls oft do,

Walked out of a time without home known as you.


Leave the Corpse?

Mosquitoes? May they all burn. Wasps? I wish them to drop dead. Spiders? As long as you aren’t bigger than my thumbnail I shall be merciful and allow you clearance to eat as many mosquitoes as you please.

Yes, I cannot stand these three. I squeal whenever I see a wasp or hornet in my room and they are worse when I’m sitting on the toilet, minding my business, and all of a sudden; the buzzing of doom. You may ask, “What’s the bother? Just get it out and you’ll be fine.” Oh no, no I beg to differ. I am convinced that all three of these bastards are out to get me, particularly the wasp. You see, my bathroom has been marked and they have been blacklisted. Every summer the wasps set up their bases strategically around my house. They find the crevices, the corners, all the nooks and crannies without tiring. I have been their sworn enemy before the beginning of time. A little dramatic this may be for you, but I’m telling that this is war and there will be no end. For the wasp, the usual plan is:

  1. Locate the enemy.
  2. Affirm target.
  3. Ready the vacuum cleaner and stay your ground.
  4. Have target on lock and engage until they swirl into the dark abyss of reality.
  5. Celebrate that, while you may have wet yourself and hid multiple times cowering in fear, you have successfully displayed the dominion of man over the creatures of the land.

Mosquitoes on the other hand don’t require as much careful attention. It’s quite simple, really. Just listen, wait, and slaughter. But amidst this process, I find there are two different kinds of people: the ones who, once have terminated their target, dispose of the body and leave no traces of the bloodbath or those who are more…sadistic, I shall say, in nature. I prefer shedding their blood, though the crimson I see is probably mine, clearly on the wall as a display. I wish to have their corpse for all mosquitoes to see and tremble in fear that there is one that will find them, and will kill them without fail.

I wish to ask you this: are you the disposer or the poser? Do you let others know how much pain you’ve inflicted or do you dial it down, hoping no one will notice the stains on your hands? Do you even know yourself or the people around you? Or perhaps…have we all gone mad?


A Musical Memoir


This is actually an assignment given to my Creative Writing class back when I was in the ninth grade. I stumbled upon it a few years back and even though I keep cringing at how I wrote then, I decided to somewhat re-work it and attempt to put it in a more flowing style. Sorry, past me, writing this the class before may have still gotten you a hundred, but your writing was horrendous, riddled with the lack of transitions along with terrible closing paragraphs. I don’t even know how to fix it and I’m a tad embarrassed about it. Maybe that’s a good thing.

A Memoir to Music

I began playing piano when I was around four years old. At first I didn’t want to have anything to do with it. When it came to music, I couldn’t bother with learning an instrument when there were so many records, cassettes, VCR’s and CD’s at my disposal. My brother then started receiving drum lessons and he served as an example of what it meant to be passionate about something. So I, being the prideful, annoying little sister that any older brother could have, gleefully followed in his footsteps. My mother inquired whether or not I was serious. Of course, I said yes.

As my first piano instructor conducted the direction and movement of my little fingers, I believed it was magic. We had a piano at home and I would often fool around with it, but it never occurred that I was actually producing something of worth. Even though I was young I had developed near-perfect pitch. Now that it was paired with proper instruction, it was much easier to play whatever caught my fancy. Ironically I myself never fully grasped what having any kind of pitch meant until last year, which is either sad or impressive (I mean, I didn’t even know I had dimples until I actually looked at myself in the mirror when I was in my senior year). My instructor was impressed with how quickly I caught on with the lessons and my progression in music theory. I was then moved to another instructor who was slightly harder and the process of drilling pure theory and technique was repeated. After five or six years of playing at recitals and receiving the standard trophies everyone was apparently entitled to after them, I had become tired of the piano and just tired of music overall. I practically begged my mother to stop taking me to music lessons. I grew such a distaste for them that I pretended I was so ill that would actually come down with a cold or flu. She finally stopped taking me. I didn’t realise how much I would regret stopping music for three years.

For the first year of my ‘piano cleanse’ I forced myself to not touch any piano I saw. I resisted every urge I had just to prove a point to my mother because of my stubborn pride. Two years later it was unbearable. By the third I had started playing piano again. I couldn’t help it. I discovered how much I really loved music along with the imagination, experience, and skill that drove the medium that could bring people to their knees. This time, I now begged my mum to take me back to lessons. It took me months to convince her that I wouldn’t back out of them. As an added bonus I also took up guitar, which I still can’t believe I convinced my parents to let me do.

Guitar lessons were fantastic. My teacher told me that I was sharp and a natural. On the other hand, piano lessons started on a rocky road. The instructor severely underestimated my abilities, which, to be honest, was quite fair to assume since I hadn’t been with an instructor nor formally practiced in three years. It went well with him, but he was eventually offered a higher-paying job at a different school so he left. His replacement was wonderful, to say the least. She did not go easy on me. She had a clear understanding of what I could do and what I’d be able to do so she pushed me. It was with her that, to both of our delights, I discovered near-perfect pitch. That instructor challenged me to invest everything I had in me towards music. I love playing the guitar, and I always will, but piano has been the starting point of it all and I couldn’t be happier with it.

Playing the piano was an enabler. It was the best way I could express my feelings. I’m not exactly someone who is clear in communicating my emotions verbally or in writing. So, music became the crutch I depended on to convey what I needed to. Even if it’s not that obvious, my emotions will always be the core of any song I play or sing and it can even vary the way I perform my own scores. It’s become one of the only ways I can effectively vent and communicate. When I am with someone who is also a serious musician it isn’t necessary for us to talk all that much with each other. What is usually spoken amongst others becomes that much more meaningful. Now, I’ve never been the best at making friends since I can either be ridiculously shy at times or be perceived as shy when I’m really just observing everything someone says and does. Many times I have been sitting alone on a piano bench playing away, escaping reality, and then suddenly notice someone else in the room. A conversation starts and somewhere along the way, I’ve made a friend without trying.

Music also offered relief from the world. Whenever I felt depressed, stressed beyond words, or was put in an irritable mood, I always turned to music. There was no better way to pull myself up, look at my problems straight in the eye, and finally determine the best way to divide and conquer.

I am currently teaching two kids how to play the piano and leading the vocals for the worship team in my church. Music has become the very essence of who I am, and I would never change for the world.


The Sunshine Blogger Award


As much as I don’t believe to be deserving of this since I tend to post here only twice a month, thank you to Nobody Musings not only for the nomination, but for being a cleverly witty madman. Please do check out his writings.

The Rules:

  • Thank the one who nominated you.
  • Answer the questions from your nominator.
  • Nominate fellow bloggers that you follow.
  • Provide ten questions for them to answer.

The Questions:

1. Are you a coffee or a tea drinker? 

Tea all the way. It is my lifeline and my blood. I may or may not have an unhealthy obsession with it seeing that an entire shelf in my mother’s pantry is dedicated to holding my tea collection, and even that is proving to not be enough room.

2. Where is one place in the world you would want to visit?

That would definitely be Japan. Where? It doesn’t matter. Throw me in the countryside for all I care. The culture and the language fascinate me. I hope to live there one day.

3. What is the most adventurous thing you have ever done?

This may sound a bit lame and cliche, but just by being who I am has led me to a variety of…interesting experiences. I am more outgoing than many like to think I am. One of my best moments has been when my mother and I were stuck in Switzerland for two days and I dragged her along with me on a wandering adventure across Winterthur. Wandering is my nature. I’m in no way sorry for that even though I often get lost in more ways than one.

4. What has been your favourite vacation destination and why?

Home. Being at home is a vacation for me. Free room and board, not to mention parents that will take care of me when I get sick. Lame? Not at all. Practical? Maybe a bit too practical.

5. Do you believe in love at first site?

Ah, this I have to say yes to, as embarrassing as it is to admit. It’s very complicated how it happened for me, and I will also say that in my case it didn’t work out, but thankfully it’s only been once. My parents on the other hand; mum fell in love with my father at first site and boom. Marriage and babies. I’m alive because of it.

6. What’s your favourite movie?

May I say more than one? Yes? Perfect.

  • Spirited Away
  • Princess Bride
  • Lord of the Rings Trilogy
  • The Illusionist
  • Pulp Fiction
  • Good Will Hunting
  • Kill Bill
  • Unforgiven
  • The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
  • The Help

And the list can go on and on.

7. Do you collect anything?

Yes, perhaps too many things on that note. It runs in the family. My most notable would be my extensive amounts of books, the coins that I inherited, tea, and stamps.

8. What is something you are looking forward to this very moment?

To eat another lunch. I am honestly very hungry right now.

9. Out of your posts, which one is your favourite and why?

Mmm…I don’t know. Possibly Flying High. That one in particular describes an ethereal experience of a mundane event. I was happy that I actually wrote and posted it because it’s a glimpse into how idealistic and grandiose my own thoughts can be.

10. What is one of your pet peeves?

When someone gets me to trust them enough to lend a book to them and it either never gets returned or is returned in ruins. I believe that if someone can’t even take care of something that isn’t their’s, especially when it’s a book, it shows a major part of their character.

I would like to nominate Frank Solanki for this award. He is brilliant with his words and has moved my heart more than I ever thought it could be through poetry. A lovely genius paired with a lovely soul.


Would You Promise?


My dear, this life isn’t easy. It never will be, but I promise that it will work out in the end and that whatever problem is in your life unravels itself before you, you can look back and stand in awe of how you were able to conquer the world you live in. No matter how old you live to be, no matter what demons you may be struggling with every night, no matter the heartache you feel and see in the world; will you promise me one thing? Promise me that your heart and soul will continue to see and live as a child, and to love not only everyone around you, no matter who they are, but to love the one Who fabricated your very existence with all that you have.

Excuses: Always the One

I feel disgusting. I can’t hear from my right ear, my eyes keep overflowing with tears, I can feel the sterilization of my gut from ingesting over 1500 mg of penicillin every day and the strength in my muscles leaving me as wretch into the toilet. Not exactly the best feeling.

I’m always the one that has something wrong with her. Always the one comes up with the perfect excuse; flipped back into depression or something went awry and I couldn’t do what needed to be done. My own body, constantly failing, always coming down with the worst of the flu or common cold, which wrecks itself into pieces as I shiver under the blankets. People always ask me, “Why do you get sick so often?” A friend tells me I drink too much tea along with family telling me I’m under too much stress while there is someone else close to me constantly whispering into my ear asking why haven’t I given up yet and that I should quit everything before too much time and money has been invested. Unfortunately, that person is not myself.

I want to scream.

Of course I get sick. I’m only human, no? And shouldn’t you know, after all these years of knowing me, that my body doesn’t have the best constitution and the fact that I never sleep enough chains and suffocates my immune system even further? Does it really look like that I try to get sick and stay at home because I love missing a week of college and football practice, which will end up reflecting on my grades if I don’t find some way back to the top? I’m not just sick of whatever continues to ail my body, I am nauseated from what nonsense I hear from my own family and friends, and especially from my own mouth. There’s always an excuse. There’s always someone to blame. There’s always something someone believes you should give up.


I don’t want to hear it.


I don’t want to say it.

There’s no one to blame but yourself. What are you going to do about it?

The Cherry Tree


My grandmother had a garden. Often times I prompt myself to remember how it looked in the years of its prime; rows of delicate roses, sweet peas popping up from the soft earth, and even a pear tree bowing over the small church built in the back. I remember how selfishly reluctant I was to sit down on her lap next to my grandfather in the midst of the roses so that a picture could be taken, but I was convinced it was the same for my grandma since I rarely ever saw a true smile bursting through a photo that belonged to her.

Years went by, she had a stroke; all measures taken to secure her life yet she vanished like a glimmer into the twilight.

As I walked through her garden the memories eagerly rushed from the depths of my mind, as if my body and soul just couldn’t wait to relive what once was. I slowly ventured out back where there stood her cherry tree in all its youthful pride taking no shame in presenting the blood ruby jewels, knowing I would collect them as my prize. Swinging up into its branches, I gathered as many as I could physically eat and carry in a plastic bag. The taste was of love and victory, because even though she was gone to take care of the beloved place she called home, here was everything left for us to reminisce and enjoy forevermore.