shoulder openers

10x23 continued

the impala sputtered up in front of the warehouse covered in mud and streaks of black mist. dean winchester exited the drivers side, shaking dashboard glass and dirt from his hair. he began to walk towards the graffiti covered building in front of him, confident sam would follow behind.

the second dean walked through the door something felt wrong and he hurried down the stairs to the main room. a pair of shackles lay broken on the floor amid scattered pages of printed code. charlie’s he realized. he gulped down a sob and turned to scan the room, his eyes falling on crowley who lay in a puddle of blood on the floor. next to him, curled up in a ball, was castiel; clutching a bloody angel blade.

“cas?” dean approached the angel warily. he knelt in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

cas’ eyes snapped open, rimmed in blood and he sent dean flying across the room. 

dean sat up and spit blood onto the cold floor, “cas…fight it.”

cas was in front of dean in a second, punching him several times, “why should i? to save your life? that’s all i’ve ever tried to do, but when it’s me kneeling on that floor, covered in blood you spilled, you didn’t fight it, dean. you barely let me live.”

“dammit, cas! don’t you think i was trying? i wanted to kill you back at the bunker. do you know how much strength it took to make sure that blade didn’t go into your head? and if you’re talking about the crypt, hell, you barely let me walk away either.”

cas laughed, low and maniacal, “the trouble, dean, is that in the crypt you tried to ward me off, but all i did in the bunker was beg for my life. you’re a coward, dean winchester. you can’t even say the words you mean, you pretend you’re too selfless to say them, pretend we all need each other, pretend we all feel the same way about eachother. well,” castiel lifted the angel  blade, “i think i care much more about you than you do about me.”

with that, cas swung the blade at dean, who barely managed to snag the angel’s arm before the blade would have swept across his face.

“you think i’m a coward, cas? you think i was being selfless? well the truth is, i was terrified, terrified of dying, terrified of leaving sammy, and terrified of losing you. so yeah, i couldn’t get these words out then, but i’m saying them now.” dean twisted the angel’s arm, causing him to drop the blade, and lunged forward, pinning cas to the ground.

“we’re family, cas. but i don’t think of you as a brother,” cas’ eyes surged red and he struggled against dean, who was holding him with strength that should have been coming from the mark, but was resonating from dean himself.

“i’m in love with you.”

cas stopped moving and stared at dean as the red melted from his eyes and blue orbs found green ones.


dean sat up, moving away from the angel, “you heard me.”

“i did,” cas admitted, “but i feel it would be beneficial for you to repeat yourself.”

dean spun around and punched cas in the face, “i get it, okay? i understand it’s a sin or whatever, but you don’t need to be such a dick about it!”

“dean,” cas whispered, standing on shaky legs, “i rebelled against heaven a long time ago.”

their lips met in a chaste, sweet embrace, both of their eyes wide open. and from the corner, leaning against the wall, a smiling sam winchester coughed out, “finally.”

things i think about a lot: pushing luke up against a wall in the bathroom of a party of something, making out and leaving hickeys all over his pretty pale neck. and grinding against his crotch as he groans deeply in your ear, your hands gripping his sides under his band tee. and the alcohol running through his veins and your lips on his neck and the friction you’re causing against his hard-on is too much so he’s whimpering against your shoulder, mouth hung open and eyes clenched shut as he rocks his hips up to meet yours. you’re egging him on as he lets out these little moans like, “yeah baby? you gonna cum right here?” and he’s so turned on bc he’s got his hands on your breasts and your sucking at his sweet spot right above his collarbone and before he knows it, he’s cumming in his tight jeans with a gasp and a broken moan. ugh sub luke is just so :)))))

Pink skirts, floral blouses, blonde hair. Thirteen and womanhood is new for me. I do not understand the difference between love and lust, so when he calls me pretty I believe him. And he’s seventeen and he takes me in the back of his truck and I let him between my thighs because he has to love me, right? Monday at school I feel their sword tongues point at my back. Slut. Whore. The voices don’t stop.

Black boots, black jeans, black shirts, black lips, black hair. Fifteen and I am drowning. The water in my lungs rises and rises so I stick needles into my thighs, let lighter flames flicker on my shoulder blades, split open the skin around my belly button. Anything that takes the pain away. I pray to God he’ll take me away someday too.

Sweatpants, sweat shirts, greasy hair pulled up into buns. Eighteen and they said it would get better. Failed classes, fired from jobs, alone, alone, alone. The emptiness sinks in on me, makes my lungs collapse, gasp for breath. My family couldn’t stand me but fuck, I just want somebody. I pretend my pillow holds me at night, as if I weren’t all alone in the black.

Knit sweaters, beanies, glasses, pink hair. 20 and it’s a little better. The scars have started to fade, but some days I still feel like my bones are about to cave. I’ve got petals scattered all over the apartment floor, “he loves me”, “he loves me not”. He loves me not. But for the first time, my hand hurts from all the writing, and it’s a good pain. The sun seems to shine brighter now.

Dresses, sunglasses, lipstick, blue hair, flip flops. 22 and I am a beautiful mess. They said it would be okay. I didn’t believe them, but it is okay. I have learned to roll out the scrolls of my veins, transcribe the DNA into poetry. I look in the mirror and I do not want to cry. My family calls and I answer. Saturday nights is for Scrabble with friends. I come home to a man who kisses my cheeks and tells me he’s the luckiest one in the whole goddamn world. I am not lost, I have found myself. She is gorgeous.

—  I wish I would’ve listened when they told me it’s okay not to be okay.

What’s my story? I’ve been told I don’t look Chinese enough, or told that I’m not that pretty to be an “Asian”. I have been brought up knowing that even though I wish to be an Actress, I will never be able to get a important main role. I’d never be the main character, not when I’m an “Asian”. People don’t even have to say it sometimes, I can just see it in their pitiful smiles when I tell them what I wish to be in the future. I have been told that for my dream career where talent should be the main deciding factor of how good I am and what job I get is in fact not the case for me. For me its if I am “whitewashed” enough to pass as a Westerner. It sucks too, because I don’t get to see much representation out in Hollywood making movies or TV shows, where the Chinese isn’t a side character with a huge stereotypical trait about them, or featured in an action drama. I want to see more Chinese playing love interests as a normal person without being fetishised or to even see a comedy where the joke doesn’t include how Chinese people can’t properly say English words.

Another thing that bugs me a lot too is when people think it’s okay to stereotype someone for their race. How many times had I told people that “No, these noodles aren’t expired. That’s how it’s supposed to smell.” Or “Yes, I am a human being that can fail in an exam. I am not born a genius just because I’m ‘Asian’”. I’ve been made fun of for my eyes, my language, my food, my way of living.

One thing that hit a huge nerve for me was when someone made fun of how I said a certain word in English wrong and when I accidentally made a small spelling error. It hurts when it’s students your age laughing and pointing it out, but the person that made fun of it the most was one of my school teachers. Thing was, English isn’t my mother tongue, I only learnt English mostly from listening to songs and reading lots and lots of books. I was in a Chinese public school in Malaysia where they teach subjects mostly in Malay with some exceptions. So when I read books I would try to say the words in my head whilst I read on. ( which I had had a British teacher look at me in surprise when she knew I could read “advanced English books for someone like you”) I mostly guessed here and there for how certain difficult words would sound like based on how I thought the English language worked. Even though I got most correct, it didn’t help that I had been speaking Chinese or Malay when I was younger, so for example the word “Through”, it should be said with a slight ‘hr’ sound. For me that was difficult, and so instead of “through” it sounded like “trew”. In Malaysia, this is common too, so no one really corrected me or pointed it out, and so I carried on assuming it was okay. Fast forward into British School. I was supposed to say “Three Hundred and Four” (for some weird reason). As I couldn’t say words with ‘hr’s well, I ended up saying “Tree Hundred and Four”. My teacher called me out and asked me to repeat what I had said again but louder and slowly. Then there was me thinking I did a great job and the teacher wanted to show the class of a great example. My teacher only made fun of me by saying “tree hundred” multiple times in an exaggerated Chinese accent. He then proceeded to the white board and wrote. “Three.” and “Tree” with a couple cm space apart. He then asked a really sarcastic question to the class in a slow manner going “Does anyone else in this class not know the difference between these two words?”. Needless to say, I was absolutely embarrassed nearly on the verge of tears, but because I had been brought up in a culture where questioning the teacher is rude. I only shut my mouth tight and carried on the lesson with my head faced downwards the whole lesson. Later on, one of the students came up to me and ask “how are you even in the top set for English? If you can’t even say things properly, you should just give up.”. This made such a huge impact on me, and this has caused me in many ways. I lack in self confidence in anything I do, I am scared of public speaking because I believe that I’m gonna say a word wrong or mess a line up or speak and have no one understand what I say from my (not anymore) Chinese accent. What hurts the most was that because of being teased, I decided to stop speaking in Chinese because it influenced my accent. I absolutely regret this move, but back then when I didn’t know how to fit in with the new western style. Getting friends was hard, much less fitting in. Although, I don’t have my accent as prominent as how it was when I first started at a British school, I still have a small bit. But I can’t say that I’m not afraid of public speaking or that my confidence is to the most. I only pretend that I have confidence, I only pretend that I am not treated like an outsider. I only pretend that people aren’t judging me based on my race. I only pretend that people are okay with my tradition and culture. I don’t want to go on pretending. Now I am proud and I embrace my tradition, culture and language to its full extent. I only wish I knew that sooner and that I had someone to tell me it’s okay. So this is for all those other Asians, be it Chinese, Indian, Taiwanese or Filipino. Do not be ashamed of your culture, this is what makes you you. Not your friends, not your clothes or your style. But your roots, as to where your from. Don’t let anyone put you down because of it. Don’t abandon them to be accepted.


In addition to my hamstrings and hips, my shoulders need particular focus to open well.

Here’s a video I’m working on.

Easy Yoga Shoulder Warm-Up with Kino on Maui (by KinoYoga)

21-day yoga challenge

Day 6: Shoulder Openers with Kate Holcombe
As a student, I think this video might come in handy. All those poses are just stretching the arms, while sitting on the chair. I think during the exam period where there is almost no time for a decent yoga practice, this stretch exercises might release the tension of neck and shoulders after the hours of sitting studying.

Day 7: Hip Openers with Rebecca Urban
I loved the poses in this video, and the flow from one pose to another. But I wished that the instructor pointed more on how to breathe. I still struggle with proper breathing during yoga, but when instructor says when to inhale and when to exhale, it’s a lot better for me.

;; O P E N

Hud hasn’t slept in days. The anxiety and depression that loomed over his head seemed to invade his mind all at once and the herion that was once a warm blanket was gone now. He’s broke, over tired, and now crying but he doesn’t want you to know that. Worst part is, the music isn’t even helping anymore.

Turning my world upside down



Today was my Shradda yoga class with Shannon Lynch, one of my awesome instructors. Shradda means “faith, devotion, trust, surrender, confidence, attentive awareness, pure love”. It is mostly an inner attitude that guides the yogins through their yoga journey at alls levels.

Shannon prepared us for Salamba Sirsasana with lots of shoulder opening, upper back strengthening and downward facing dog. I wondered if there was a “Once upon a time…” story behind those two words. Apparently not for this pose. This term is simply made up of two Sanskrit words. ‘Salamba’ which means 'with support’ and 'Sirsa’ which means 'head’. So, it just means a supported headstand pose with not particular story behind. 

I realized that I need to practice a lot in order to be able to do my headstand in the middle of the room. This pose is quite familiar, I have done it often but I don’t do it regularly enough I suppose. I perfectly understand the instructions and the actions needed to get up there, but somehow, I don't squeeze my legs enough and still need the wall. I think I need to start practicing away from the wall using only core strength and achieving balance, rather than trying to stay longer in the pose against the wall. I feel that if I continue practicing against the wall, I will always be afraid to do it unsupported.

Inversion poses are scary as we see the world upside down. The pose is not very difficult as a matter of fact, it is more about overcoming fear. Concretely for now, I would say the fear of falling and breaking my neck. At the same time, it reverses the force of gravity and I love the feeling. Inverted poses are said to increase mental power and concentration. 

I will try again tomorrow.

My very first fanfic...

So, after some lovely advice from Faiza, I have decided to be brave and post my very first piece of fanfiction. I am not a writer, but these characters have completely captured my imagination. Hope you enjoy and I am going to scuttle off now and hide under my duvet!

So here goes…

Aaron was tired. It had been yet another long day at the scrap yard and he was desperate for the weekend to begin.
“Robert?” he shouldered open the front door, dropping his keys and hat on the table in the hallway.
“I’ll be down in a sec…” Aaron let out a small huff as he tripped over a cardboard box, apparently abandoned in the doorway to the kitchen. They had not long moved into the cottage at the far end of the village and to say they were still finding their feet would be an understatement. This wasn’t the first time they had lived together, but it was their first home together, and sometimes Aaron had to pinch himself that this was real.

If Aaron had known the perils of choosing paint colours, he would probably have just let Robert do it; but he didn’t, and so they had spent the last few days endlessly poring over paint charts. Well Robert had. Aaron had glanced at them, picked a colour, had it vetoed, picked another, another veto, got a beer, put the football on and left Robert to it. When Robert said to pick a colour and Aaron said blue, well he thought he meant blue. Oh no, little did he know that there were hundreds of different shades of damn blue. The bickering about colours, the unpacked boxes, the remote control wrestling, all paled into insignificance though when, every night, Aaron fell asleep with Robert by his side.

Robert spent much of his day travelling around, selling some fancy ‘computer shit’ to businesses, but he always came home to Aaron, regardless of the hour. They hadn’t spent a night apart since they had officially become a couple. There had been horrendous arguments, fighting, sulking, the occasional furious storming off, but they always came back to each other. The reason was, simply, they couldn’t be without each other.

“Good day?” Robert appeared at the top of the stairs, his grin still causing Aaron’s heart to race.
“Not bad,” the younger man returned the smile, climbing to meet him halfway. Robert had taken a week off work to deal with the majority of the move, although to be fair, Aaron wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he’d been doing apart from arguing with the Sky man for two hours on the phone and breaking three of the new plates that Diane had bought them.

As Aaron leaned in for a kiss, he paused, his eyes drifting over Robert’s face.
“What?” Robert frowned, lips millimetres from his boyfriend’s.
“What have you been doing?” Aaron pulled back, peering up at him.
“Nothing,” Robert put his hands out, palms upwards.
“Liar,” Aaron shook his head, “You know I can see through your bullshit.” Robert chewed his lip, “And…” Aaron reached a hand out to ruffle his hair, “You’ve got paint in your hair.”
“I just thought I’d make a start,” Robert slid his arms around the shorter man, “I was trying to be helpful,” he mumbled into Aaron’s hair.
“Let’s have a look then,” Aaron rolled his eyes, leaning up to peck the blond on the lips.
“OK,” suddenly Robert looked hesitant, unlike his usual confident self.
“Oh God, why are looking at me like that? You didn’t pick some weird psychedelic colour did you?” But Robert didn’t reply, and that worried Aaron. He brushed past him and strode up the remaining stairs towards their bedroom.

“Right then, let’s have a look at the mess you’ve…” Aaron flicked on the bedroom light, the words fading into silence. The room was just as they had left it; the bed neatly made (on Aaron’s insistence), flat pack furniture standing proudly in the corner of the room, constructed with their bare hands and copious amounts of pizza and beer. The walls were the exact same colour as they had been that morning, except for the neat words written on the wall opposite the door, in Robert’s looping handwriting and the exact shade of blue that Aaron had chosen.

Will you marry me?

“Well?” Aaron slowly turned round, his vision blurred with tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks. Robert stood in front of him, eyes wide, shining with more emotion than Aaron had ever seen.
“Yes,” Aaron whispered, the word tumbling out with no hesitation.
“Really?” Robert cupped his face in his hands, tears now escaping his own eyes.
“Really,” an ear splitting grin took over Aaron’s face as he leant up to kiss him.

“Oh shit…” Robert sighed, resting his forehead against his new fiancé’s.
“What?” Aaron slid his arms around his waist, fingers finding their usual resting place on his lower back.
“There is one tiny problem,” the taller man gently rubbed his nose against Aaron’s.
“What’s that?”
Robert pressed forwards, softly kissing the frown creasing Aaron’s brow, “How the hell are we going to tell your mother?”