The Tale Of The Bird & The Rose

-[Dedicated To Someone Who May Never Read This…]-


found a seed once, with the potential to grow into something beautiful. So she planted it in her garden green; she watered, loved and nurtured it so she could watch it grow from a bud to a rose. Until eventually its soft white petals bloomed amongst the nettle leaves and became something of awe in that distasteful garden of hers. But she found herself struggling to care for it as the brambles and cruel nettles prevented her from tending to it without wounding herself; soon enough she gave up. With her eyes clouded with sadness; frustrated and distraught at her failure, she plucked it from the ground and left it to rot.



had a bird once, who sang beautiful songs for whomever it met. The bird sang songs that lifted even the weariest of souls and though the bird loved singing for others, it never sang for him; still he treasured the bird so long as it made those he loved happy.  But deep down inside, he harboured a sadness that of which yearned to hear a song dedicated to him. So he buried his sorrow into dedicating his time to teaching his bird to sing to others.


When the twilight embraced the sky one evening, things changed:

He stumbled across a rose one day, wilted and dying, he picked it up and it pricked his fingers and threatened to pierce his skin further. He wasn’t frightened though. Instead, he took the flower and hung it by his window, and it remained there for days, watching the wonder and beauty of the world outside.

She came across a bird one day that sang lovely melodies to her. She began to fall in love with the bird and the efforts it offered to every individual it met. But she noticed that it sang only in the presence of others and never for itself. So she sang to it, and it listened to her songs of woe and joy but mostly it listened to the way she sang only and especially for it.


When the dawn kissed the sky one morning, they met:

The rose had dried into a timeless beauty, and he adored the rose in all its unconventional magnificence, thorns and all.

The bird had evolved and sang wonderful harmonies not only to others but to itself as well, and she never let a day pass, where she didn’t especially dedicate a song to it.

When he saw the bird, it began singing to him, all the new songs that the girl used to sing, and the sadness he drowned with himself, overflowed and flooded him. But he was finally able to smile because the bird sang for him too.

When she saw the rose, she finally saw it for all its beauty and saw the world, from the window it was once hung by. It was then, that the darkness was lifted from her eyes and she appreciated the rose for all that it was and all that it suffered amongst the weeds and nettles that it grew in.

The two of them, thereafter, indulged in days filled with sweet songs that enlightened both their souls and gardens so rich in beauty it was near impossible to ever see different again…



Awful painting by yours truly 🙂

…The End…

The Act of Murder

This is my horrible attempt of an opening chapter for a mystery/crime story – Enjoy!


Her voice resonated throughout the quiet dimly lit room of men sat at the edge of their seats, before a loud roar of applause cut through the silence and showered Cara Reinsworth; her rouge lips curved into a smile. The air was filled with the desire of the many men seated before her, all admiring the the way her velvet red dress hugged her figure so tightly and the manner in which her golden hair enticed them in the same way their own filthy golden wealth did to them.

As she walked off the stage many eyes continued to follow her; all like wolves hidden in the shadows of the light, preying on little red riding hood. But Cara preferred her own twist on the tale. As she gracefully made her way down the stairs her eyes surveyed the room for an interesting night, she savoured the hungry eyes that beckoned for her attention and begged her to bless them in early hours of the morning. She relished the prospect that so many filthy rich men desired her pure presence and that within minutes she’d have them at her feet and their money between her fingers. Yet she knew that tonight like many others, she had little control over the cast of this story; she only had a role to play and one job at hand.

Thomas sat there, patiently. The gangsters, dirty tricksters and dishonest scammers all surrounded him, gawking at her; he was practically invisible and perfectly integrated into the shady scene. The night was young but smoke clouded the room; glasses were being filled and hushed secrets of racketeering floated amongst the heavy waves of drunken laughter and yelling. Those who were not huddled suspiciously together were seated and captivated – not by her beautiful voice but her tempting lips. He ran his fingers around the rim of the bottle as he vigilantly observed her. He was about to play a risky game, one he knew was reigning champion at but one mistake and that title would be snatched away within seconds. The game was simple enough – capture the queen however the there was a whole chequered field stretched out before him. Every move was vital. She sang her last note and sauntered down the stairs, and glanced around the room. This was Thomas’s cue; he had one shot to initiate the game. He diverted his eyes to the seat opposite him and placed his hat across the table and waited. He didn’t look up, not even when the sound of her tapping red heels approached him, not even when her fingers curled over the gold bars of the chair. His hands gripped the cold glass of the empty bottle and her voice finally reached out to him.

“Hey there handsome,” He looked up and raised his brow,

“I was wondering when you’d come around,” he said coolly, gesturing to the seat opposite him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, what did you think of the show?” She asked as she sat down and fluttered her eye lashes at him. The game had begun and just as he had anticipated she was already advancing the field, just as prepared to invade and attack as he was.

“Amazing,” he answered simply, she shifted in her seat and tilted her head. She was bored of hearing all the same things but her performance had not yet ended and her funds was better still when it was tainted by her own corrupt lies and cheats.

“Why thank you,” she giggled, just as she had rehearsed many times before.

“But your voice,” he said as she stirred her drink delicately in her cup, “It really is beautiful,”

“Oh you’re too sweet,” she smiled, quickly getting fed up of the conversation.

“How about we take this somewhere private,” He suggested tactfully sensing her irritated mood and placing his playing piece across the board.

“Why of course! I have a great hotel room specially reserved for you….” Cara drifted off…

“My name is Eddie, Eddie Hills,” Thomas said nonchalantly.

Thomas watched cautiously as Cara floated around the room, wisps of her curly blond hair hanging behind her, the hotel room was lit with candles and the busy, chattering city was muffled by the quiet of the room. She walked behind him and ran her hands up his back and let them waver on his shoulders, before she whispered in his ear, “We both know why we’re here,” she started, “I know what you want and I’ll be happy to give it you at a price,”

“You deserve nothing less,”

“Oh I know but I need to know I can trust you,”

“Whatever it takes,” he said, knowing he was getting closer to the trophy, he subtly reached into his pocket,

“Tell me something important, oh I don’t know… tell me about where you get your goods?”

“My goods?” Thomas questioned.

“Don’t play dumb with me Eddie, we’re both know you’ve got the best business in town next to Henry and his band, so just tell me and I’ll know I can trust you and we can start enjoying the night already,”

“And why would a lady like you want to know such things?” Thomas could feel he was on the verge of attaining what he had been waiting for the whole night. The last piece of information. The confession he had been after all along.

“I told you, just as something to make sure you pay me fairly,”

“Hah,” Thomas mused, “Maybe I could double the price, triple it even, all I need is a little honesty to seal the deal, perhaps even an alliance, you’re a beautifully smart woman… so tell me what you really do ” Thomas tempted. Cara smirked, she was indeed tempted, and this was something new. But she dithered at the offer, Thomas sensed this and immediately knew he had to act. He suavely lifted her chin gently to meet his eyes; two could play at that game.

And in that moment the blue of the ocean met with the deep green of the forest and both absorbed each other. Cara was taken aback. She was sent here to meet what was meant to be a foul rich old geezer who’d have nothing but money and women on his sleazy mind. Instead however, the empty chair and that signal came from dapper man with weary but honest green eyes and a dashingly handsome face. His dark blue attire made him look a million dollars and his charisma could have won him a million more. And all of this was abruptly realised within sudden seconds for Cara, for unlike others he seemed far more aware and slick with his moves. Perhaps this was why he was so good, perhaps this is how he gets his goods? That had to be it. But Cara suddenly realised who she was really playing with-

A scream shattered the silence and ricocheted through the hotel and echoed through the night. Both Thomas and Cara found themselves immobile – the scream had come from next-door. They both exchanged a confused expression; they both knew that voice as familiar. Cara had heard it over the phone and Thomas had only heard it hours earlier…. – They both rushed out the room and stood at the door adjacent to their own. Thomas knocked on the door but just as quickly as the silence had fleeted it returned again. Impatiently, he kicked in the door and stumbled into the cold room. Instantly, both Cara and Thomas was stuck by the distinct metallic smell of blood. A man who lay on the floor, eyes rolled back, lifeless.

Eddie Hills was dead.

The air that late December was thick with booze and nicotine and death and perhaps even chemistry. A tiny spark had ignited a flame between two souls that vanished from the scene that night. When Thomas turned back Cara was nowhere to be seen; confused by the happenings of that night he replayed the tape that was hidden in his pocket and listen to her voice. He was so close yet so far; and now with Eddie dead he seemed even further. However he knew he’d see her again because the story, the game, the crime and the capture; all had to go on for both of them. But the roles they play were yet to be determined…

The Cure…

“First one to look away loses!”

“I’m not playing,” I mumbled, but I could already feel him staring intently at me.


I could feel my cheeks burn ablaze; set alight by the pyromaniac that was sitting across to me, waiting for me to embrace the flare as he had once embraced the cool water within my calm ocean. I diverted my eyes, trying to find something to distract me, something to distract him. Yet I knew that would be impossible with his burning, new-found determination to ‘cure my fear’.

As every second passed, the temptation began to overwhelm me, enticing my gaze to slowly drift up, towards his; to meet the glassy world that was reflected behind the deep hazel swirls of mischief. The world from his eyes seemed so much brighter, more beautiful and far more profound than anything I had ever seen myself. But when he blinked, all that I could see in his dilated pupils was me… his lips curved upwards as we both smiled at the explosive silence; so much unsaid, yet, the tiny microcosm between us revealed it all.

Our gazes; still locked; never drifted nor faltered unlike my heart which was dropping and rising like the chaotic notes in dubstep, making the butterflies in my stomach evolve into violent moths excited and enticed by a single dim flame…

And then I realised; amid the galaxy that we had morphed in empty space between us and the veil of our shy and secretive smiles: I had found the light that I had been searching for; the light that would banish all the darkness in my world; my own perpetual flame.

He was the cure.

Diagnosis – Love Sickness

“Your Creative-Writing assignment is to write a short passionate piece on the most romantic experience you have had – No fifty shades of grey please!” My teacher announces with tone of sarcasm in his voice as he gives a quick look to Jake who frowns. But I’m distracted, barely even looking at them.

Why do I take so much notice of her?

What was she diagnosed with? It can’t be that bad right? Because I watch her in class; we only share two classes together but either way, she always has that look in her eyes every time I see her. That passionate look, like she’s seeing the whole galaxy shine before her on a single faultless summer night. It made me wonder what else she was passionate about, it made me think about how often her face lights up with excitement. I felt like I knew her, yet here I was still not knowing her entirely. I wanted to know her from her breadth and height. I wanted to explore the depths of her darkness and investigate the light that vanquishes the abyss that she conceals with her smile. Is it normal to be so obsessed? Ah! – I need to stop.

I blink away my wonderment reluctantly and stare out the window instead, but I find myself gawking at her again. Her lips move but no words come out, the teacher announces something, and she smirks. There she goes again; she always knows the answers, whispers it to herself but never announces her intelligence to others. That really bugs me; if I were that smart, I’d make sure others knew! But not her. And I kind of like that. She’s humble. It’s annoying, but I find myself liking that about her. Weird.

I like her hair too, sometimes she has it in twin tails, like she’s still in never land; other times – like today – it’s just down naturally, messy yet so attractive. I’ve never really taken much notice of a girl’s hair but hers is just…It’s like velvet trails from her head and frames her face perfectly and hangs from her shoulders in the most elegant way. And her face, man – her face is gorgeous. All her features are so soft yet sweet. Her face is round, and her chubby blushing cheeks are constant victims of pinches delivered by her friends. I kind of wish I could pull her cheeks too… that sounds kind of weird. Perhaps, I should have kept that one to myself. The point is…

She’s perfect.

Everything about her is perfect. Even the way she falls asleep and drools during class presentation days. And the times where she has random angry outburst or goes on a rant to her friends – I find it amusing. Oh, and her awkwardness! That, along with her innocent voice, shyness and bushing are the definition cute. She’s probably not that humble either – as much as I try to make myself believe that. In truth she’s simply she  a wallflower. Sure, she comes in everyday like as if she’s someone new; different moods mean a different look, but I think that’s interesting. And so what if she carries around a box of happy pills, and has scars cascading down her arms? She tells everyone that they’re battle scars… but that doesn’t make sense to me, since all she ever emits is peace, wisdom, and a tad bit of clumsy dorky-geeky-ness .

How can anyone hate her? How can she hate herself like that?

Regardless, she’s perfect, and all I want, to is to know her better, know why she’s so cute, why she’s so shy when she’s a bloody philosopher-author-photographer-in-the-making; I want to know what kind of guy she likes and what goes through her mind every second of every day. I long to know what it’s like to have her stare back at me with those big brown eyes, filled with love and lust and affection. I want to know what it’s like to love her. I just want to know her –

“Three words, go!” – My teacher suddenly interrupts my thoughts bringing me back to reality. I realise he’s talking to her. I swallow and sit up, quickly finding myself immersed in the lesson… or just infatuated with her all the same.

“Uhmm… Non-existent, Imaginary… um… hopeful?” She smiles bashfully; the teacher shares the same surprised look as me but then returns the smile and spares her any further embarrassment. Yes!! I grin to myself – I have chance, however slim – I have a chance!

“You boy, three words to describe your experiences of love!”

“M-M-Me? ” I stutter. My teacher nods and urges me to go on and share on my gory details. “Well…” I stall as everyone waits patiently for me to answer. My eyes look desperately to the door and then the clock – there’s no escape this time. I sigh, all my experiences have been pretty bad but I suppose I have no choice but to share that with the class. I sigh and search for the right words. Let’s see… well I’m traumatized for starters and:

“Scarred and…” my eyes drift towards her… “Shy, and … so… and so unfathomably beautiful…”

The words leave my mind and escape via my mouth before I can even comprehend what’s happened. Suddenly conscious, I realise I am amongst a silent class who have turned back to stare in confusion. I steer clear of the possible awkward eye contact and doge my vision up at Sir. He grins at me fully aware of the inducement behind my words.

“That wasn’t three words, but I’ll let you off since you’re such a hopeless romantic!” the class all laugh under their breath not fully knowing the intent behind his words. Then, as if nothing has happened he resumes with the lesson. Asshole – he knew! He picked me on purpose!

I slowly drown in my seat and hide behind my book; embarrassed… One last look, I promise myself. I turn cautiously. My chest tightens as I realise she’s already staring at me; our eyes meet, she stares at me in puzzlement, her face is flushed bright pink. – She knows too!? She quickly hides her face behind her fringe and avoids me…she hates me. She hates me! She definitely must hate me!

However, from behind my book I see her glancing at me.

Though as much as she tries to hide it, she’s smiling now and I find myself smiling too.

She’s contagious. And my diagnosis?

… love sickness…

Tragic Romance?

Dear Stalkers,

You may hate me for what I’m about to say but…

I hate romance…

Or do I?

Girls at school are constantly reading romance and watching rom-coms; so naturally they get offended when they ask ‘why’ and I answer with: “It’s not very realistic, I mean… it’s just setting you up for false hope and disappointment,”

Alright, alright, I know, I sound like some cynical pessimistic demon that loves to sit in my blazing throne and prod couples with my spear of hate. But I’m not, I promise. (Mostly. Just kidding… partially.)

I mean, let’s step back and think about it; take the world’s best romance stories and films: Romeo & Juliet, infatuated with each other and then dead; The Titanic, I won’t let go… but you did! And you let the love of your life drown? And lastly The Fault in Our Stars, ‘okay’ didn’t last forever did it? I know this may be sad… but have you noticed that all these memorable and successful romantic stories end in a tragedy. Not only does that bother me, but… everything in between seems so farfetched. I was actually really interested in The Fault In Our Stars, until I head the dialogue that was used in it: “My thoughts are stars that I cannot fathom into constellations,” I understand it sounds amazingly philosophical but I have never in my life heard anyone speak like this, not even in general. It just makes it feel so fake for me.

So why do people love tragic romance of all romance!? Is death now romantic?

Well, after asking my around I have come to the conclusion… that my friends are useless at answering such questions (- no offense guys)! I however came to the conclusion myself that it was because death is the end for us all; sad as that may seem it is the reality. Thus, perhaps having a tragic ending to a romantic film not only makes people feel emotional-attached and empathetic for the characters but maybe brings a better sense of reality to the story than a fake ‘happy ever after’ would have.

However, I’m no expert so of course my thoughts are … well just that. Thoughts. Therefore I know  it’s time to whip out the good ol’books! Now for this, we’re going to need our good and wise philosopher friend: Aristotle

So I found this video by one of my most favourite channels (and charities) – The School Of Life (I highly recommend that you check them out!)

Any-who they made a short video about Aristotle, part of this video explains why he believed people needed art. The art during the time was rather gory and tragic and thus Aristotle explains why he believes people enjoyed and needed these tragedies.

The answer? – Catharsis.


noun: catharsis; plural noun: catharses
  1. 1.
    the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions.
    “music is a means of catharsis for them”

In summary Aristotle’s theory is that people watch tragedies in order to remind them that

Terrible things can befall decent people – including ourselves… so we need to have more compassion and pity for those whose actions go disastrously wrong…

and to make profound truths about life stick in our minds…


So I was completely wrong about tragic-romances it seems. The tragic romance stories are there to actually bring you to the sad truths about reality and inflict pity and sympathy into your stone-cold hearts! Never the less, I still feel the same general romance; but perhaps it’s time I at least gave them a chance, after all… I’ve probably been sitting on this blazing throne with my cold heart for too long… 😉

Happy Loving Stalkers


Nerdy Boys? Ft.QuoteV

Hey, hey, hey,

I have come to a realisaition… I have a thing for nerdy boys!?

Let me expand. So it all started in my Computer Science class when my teacher wasn’t in; we basically had a free lesson so my friends and I went on this quiz website which has the most weird, shallow and fun quizzes on there: QuoteV. The quizzes are all made by other users so they’re not accurate or anything but they’re still fun to do. I usually just do personality quizzes or ones that test my knowledge on the things I take interest in such as YouTubers or games or movies.

I saw my friend doing one called “What boys do you attract?”, so I thought I’d do it myself and compare our results, my friend got the ‘sexy athlete’, which was so predictable; I on the other hand… got this:

QuoteV - what type of boy do you attract?To tell you the truth, I was kind of surprised, I didn’t know what to expect but this wasn’t it. Yet somehow it really appealed to me.

Then it hit me!

My dream! (If you haven’t read my last post about a dream I had, then the following may not make sense!) In my dream he was a sort of nerd too; and the part where it says that I catch him, it’s kind of like how I swapped roles with the boy in my dream too? It kind of made me laugh because my dreams usually come true unless they’re about boys, yet this one sort of came true! – Maybe I’m reading into too much but hey, this blog isn’t called ‘introspective’ for nothing!

Since then, I can’t seem to stop thinking about nerdy boys and it just makes me blush more than anything! I even did a few more quizzes and all of them either concluded that I’d be a perfect match for an ‘Emo’ or a ‘Nerd’.

Despite all that though, I really don’t care, I’ve never been a fan of labels. People are people to me, if I like a boy, it’d be because of his personality and because he makes me laugh and smile. I wouldn’t care if he was an athlete, nerd or even a misfit. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it forever more

When you fall in love with someone’s personality, you fall for everything else about them too,

and it’s true. I’ve met girls who thought a certain boy wasn’t perfect or all that great looking, yet after a few months later, fell for their personality and forgot about their initial thoughts about this boy. Because love makes you both blind and dumb (in the nicest way possible).

Mostly, what I’ve learned from this experience is that:

  I really need to sit with a boy and just play ‘Last Of Us’ because it is a  ‘freakin’ epic game.

That’s all for now,

Take care Stalkers, x



[Bonus round: Personality results]

Screenshot_5 Screenshot_6 Screenshot_9I don’t seem to conform to any stereotype which is pretty cool and at the same time kind of frustrating because that means I have no set clique! – Hence I’m always feeling left out, but I’d never trade my personality in to be ‘apart’, I like being unconventional 😉

His Speech & My Kiss

I have really strange dreams quite often. I usually write them out in my dream journal but as someone who has palmerhyperhydrosis (real illness right there ladies and gentlemen – no joke) I struggle to grip a pen and write them, so I thought why not record and share them on here?


Dream Ended at 7:00am Monday 16th June 2014

I was on a school trip and we were riding around London on the buses, going across bridges and so on. We were on the train as a class and we were getting off the train in a line for some reason. I was the last person in the line but as I was getting off the train the doors closed and I was separated from the rest of my class. I remember contemplating what to do: “Should I get off and go back to them on the opposite train or should I wait for them to come to me?”. In the end I got off the next stop and ended up finding a teacher there.

Then after that, I somehow found myself in some sort of place where young people (my age) were delivering speeches to some really important people (PMs and so on) and their futures depended on these speeches. It looked like an open theater and they gave their speech on the balcony to the audience seated below. There was this boy there who I spent my time with although I don’t know how I knew him. He was introverted, intelligent and kind of a pessimist; which is so not my type of guy.

Anyhow, he had to give his speech in a few moments and he seemed pretty nervous; (well somewhere between nervous and annoyed – I couldn’t really tell,) and I wanted to help him. He went up the ladder to the balcony bit, so I went after him to wish him luck. However… I slipped on the ladder and only managed to grab the ledge! I was hanging, my grip slowly loosening, in the dream I was terrified! I kept holding on and crying out for help but I didn’t know where he was and his speech needed to start.

I should mention that I’m kind of  a lucid dreamer and at this point I knew I had to help myself.

So I changed my dream so that I never fell. Instead I sat behind the curtain to the balcony and watched him pace around nervously, then he turned to me and told me he couldn’t do it.

Now I really must inform you at this point that… I have a mild case of hetrophobia. I can’t be around the male species without getting all flustered or awkward! After a traumatic incident involving men and boys (that I prefer to not discuss) I’ve just grown fearful of them. Yet in my dreams I never really have a problem with boys hitting on me within my dreams. Though I’m never so bold to do so myself… Until now…

I looked him in the eyes told him he’s amazing and could do anything, pulled him by the collar and kissed him.

Let me just process this for a second please…



Okay I’m done. Go on…

He was so taken aback by the kiss yet he seemed so happy! He went off to do his speech and he made a very moving speech, he came back to me; took my hand, smiled,… and asked me out….

The dream ended there…


Nooooo! Why end there!? Just when things were starting to sweeten up! Sigh~ I’ve never done something like that. I’ve always been saved, never been the savior! But god, how good it felt to both help someone and overcome my phobia. I’ve never helped a boy in my dreams, it’s always been the boy helping me. Like in my virtual zombie game dream… that boy came and asked to protect me – but that’s another story dream for another day!

Maybe this dream was the key to overcoming my fear?

Maybe… I’m not the one who should be a frightened  damsel in distress… Maybe because he’s the one that needs me to save him?