block by block ink

i feel i have been ghostwriting myself. like i walk my body through the world and let none of it in. the other day my teacher asked us “are you happy with who you are?” and i couldn’t think of what words to fill in. the good girl i’m supposed to be would laugh lightly, of course i’m happy, i’m always happy. but some little part of me wonders how long it’s been since i was really behind the wheel. since i did anything that actually made me feel. 

Smokes forming and visions blurred,
letters flying yet not assembling words,
pen and ink are waiting to move,
by the hands tightly holding them both.

Eyes shut off every letters in between battles
as mouthful of words crumpled
into terrifying bliss of seedless defection
slowly ashen the desire to vision a piece of the universe .

Sleeping memories behind my mind,
not yet ready to be revealed so they hide,
wearing untouchable veils and masks,
whispering lyrics to the song I can’t recognize.

Plead released the soul from haven
yet words still intact with a heart that’s grieving
no one knows until when
maybe one, two, a decade or more of imprisonment.

Time is running out at endless round,
I’m searching ways for alphabets to collide,
mixing vowels with different consonants,
yet ending up with rhythms I refused to dance.

Galaxy filled with darkness and tiny bits
but none of them were my words which could wipe a tear
maybe stars could talk and tell me
or maybe lull me into deep sense where I could see myself writing a page again.

Stuck in the middle of everything
where words became as hard to find as it should be
even people forgot to scribble their names
and the hardest part is letting go of the words that gave your life a meaning.

Now you’re seeing things I came up with,
I write and see broken stars while I bleed,
separated by white spaces and scars,
combined with stitches that run across my heart.

—  A writer’s block by @vomitingwords & @dentedheart
Writing tips #1
  • Set up a sanctuary for your writing, don’t let anyone interrupt you. Listen to music, get a ceremonial drink. And write write write 
  • Don’t edit until the end, if you’re writing a novel. Seriously, you’ll just go back through again and again. Within a years time, you’ll realize you need to edit the entire thing. Just keep writing. 
  • This one is a bit odd, but I don’t believe in keeping a notepad. Stephen King says, “Keeping a notepad with you is a good way, to immortalize bad ideas. If the idea is good enough, it will stick”. (Note* the only thing I put in notes on my phone is character names, I’m bad at remembering long names.) 
  • Every first draft is absolute shit. Ideas will be jumbled, mixed up; not consistent. Don’t fret, it doesn’t matter how rough a rough draft is. 
  •  If you can’t figure out the mood you want for a certain scene, get up, take a breath. Call a friend, walk your dog, read a book, play a video game. Do something to clear your head, don’t worry. Harry Potter wasn’t written in one sitting. 

That’s all for today guys, thanks for all the support on this blog. Let me know if you have any ideas about other writing tips, I’ll try to do this as often as possible. I hope everyone has a great holiday season! 

for all of my poc kpop fans, lets make a list on what non poc kpop fans need to leave back in 2016, shall we?

- silencing poc kpop fans when a idol appropriates or slanders our cultures
- using the excuse of “they didn’t know because of where they grew up” when a kpop idol messes up
- using hashtags such as #justicefor_ that are made for serious issues in other cultures to support a kpop group
- getting mad at poc kpop pages because for once, you’re not included
- trying to speak for other pocs when you aren’t of that ethnicity

UPDATE: aye 2017 started only 2 and a half weeks ago and there’s already more to add.

- getting offended when called out about the behaviors stated above
- saying “poc kpop fans get triggered over everything!!1!1!” when these idols will literally shame, slander, and then romanticize the struggles of our cultures for their own pleasure and they do it cause they can. not cause “they didn’t know”
- make pages for wwam (white women, asian male) because of the uprising of poc kpop pages and feeling as if “white women aren’t praised enough” when literally every fanfic, scenario, reaction, and even idols themselves praise white features and use them in everything which makes the reading material in kpop not relatable to most poc’s

this is all I came up with but I’m probably missing some. feel free to reblog and continue.

Why do people have so many breakups these days? Why do friendships plunge and relationships break? The bottom line of this curious happenings is simple.


Yes. Ears. The things we can use anyway we want. To hear. To listen. They mostly listened, the people before us. We don’t as much, do we? We just hear.

We make the other person want to explain things. Justify each and everyone of their actions. If you do love them, you should be willing to listen to them, right? You will listen to their movements. Each smile. Each tear. Each hiccup.

But why don’t we? Why are we part of generation that doesn’t belong anywhere but is still adjunct to the worst of causes?

It is not that much of an mystery, is it? We are just cowards. Cowards amidst death and decisions.

—  The paradoxical woman | what are we?
You don’t get it do you?” She frowned as he cradled his head in his hands, with his hair falling delicately around his fingers.
He went to speak but she cut him off.
“How do you think. Logically. How do you think that you can just give me the world- everything i’ve ever wanted and make me feel like the luckiest girl alive. Then rip it all away from me. In a split second- while simultaneously asking to ‘be friends’? What could possibly make you think that i’d be fine with that decision?”
“I..” He began.
“Don’t you get it?” She cut him off again.
“I was in love. I’m fucking in love with you and somehow i’m expected to stand here right now and pretend it’s not breaking my heart that i’m not kissing you at this second.
What happened? Why don’t you love me too?
—  a long overdue conversation
How many unfulfilled destinies does it take to reach the breaking point? One, if you’re a bug smaller than the size of a penny. Two if you’ve lived your life in binary code, wading through grayscale, answering yes or no to every hard problem you were ever given. But none if you’re someone with wants and needs and blank pages and too much wanderlust to pick a direction; none if you feel the whole world beating inside of you, an untapped vein of inspiration and exploration; none if you are too human to know where you’re going to end up in ten years. I hate that question. It puts you on a path, it gives you an expectation, caps all possibilities to one fate, demands the moon send you down one starry road, like there’s no hitchhiking to the other side of the galaxy or detouring to the next subway station, where you are at the heart of a hundred different places. I don’t get why we have to treat ourselves like we aren’t subject to change. I don’t know where I want to be in ten years because yesterday I didn’t even like crowds, but today I want to see the city. And maybe ten years from now I will be somewhere else but there is always a present day. Don’t worry if you’re not where you thought you’d be. The future and the past exist in a separate breath, and right now you have to remember to breathe. There will always be time for disappointment and failures but don’t let your whole life chase that. You are headed somewhere in some direction and for right now that is all you need.
—  Subject to Change

The real fairy tales were not full of fairy dust and now we have turned them into one.

There is a lesson there, not every story is a fairy tale but we have the power in our hands to make it one.

—  The paradoxical woman | the Grimm’s fairy tales are kinda a nightmare
I love you in the most painful way possible. Forgetting my own existence is a common symptom, whatever it is I can do for you, I think I can live through it. I carve a piece of my hip out, decide that appendices are placeholders for partners and say, here, my body is yours. Purge memories we have tarnished, look at you like you’ve never done anything wrong, empty the part of the brain that holds my better judgment and say, here, my mind consumes you.

Don’t you know I know what I do is wrong? But I love against all reason, I love even when I’m bleeding and pretend I can patch myself up when you’re gone. They talk about me, the girl who lights herself on fire to breathe, inhales smoke like it’s good for her, runs on passion like it’ll last, loving as if she doesn’t know this kind of infatuation is unsustainable.

But I do. My only regret is that I can’t find anyone else who would do the same.
—  Dido Reincarnated 
You still appear in the autocorrect of my phone’s keyboard.
—  The paradoxical woman | modern heartbreak tale.

You say my name, emotion latching onto the emphasis, in the way it clicks in the quiet.

It feels complete, like you haven’t had to cut off the end of my name like cutting off ties, like maybe ties weren’t cut all along, like maybe they were just frayed.

I choke on my wrong doings. I want you, I had said, and I hear your question over and over again.
“How long for?”

My arms are around you before you can spit out any more guts. Forever I want to say, but forever is a lie, forever doesn’t exist and I want to apologise for it. You grip me and I can hear things you’re not saying, it’s ok, I know. But you don’t, no, you don’t.

“How long for?”

“Till the candles burn out.”

“How long for?“

“Till the sky hits the ground.”

“How long for?”

“Until the end of time.”

Forever doesn’t exist.
“Always.” I’ll give you that.

I hear it in the wind and name that always too. I swear it, I will want you until the end of always.


Bits and pieces of what could be anything