There’s nothing much left to fuss for she’s resigning,

from this Farce.

via Daily Prompt: Farce


The old bird. 

It’s difficult to comprehend, why others say the things they say. It’s difficult to understand, why they can only do things their way. It’s difficult to communicate, when they don’t hear your reason. And you try your best to self-motivate, the brain just won’t listen. 

And you wallow in depression. 

But my dear, don’t sink to the rear.

For every thing they say, is a new option you can consider. For every inflexibility; their way. Is a method you can be sure. Afterall, they’ve been doing it for years. So silly, dry those tears. For their voice has given you a new reason, to accept differences and be open-minded. Continue observing and be willing to listen. For there’s much to learn from the old bird. 

Just remember, 

when it’s your turn to listen to what the young has to say, 

Just remember. 


Quote of the day: 

Be flexible around the inflexible. 



A mistake I’ve made, a terrible one indeed. It left me in despair, inside me, it planted a seed. As the coat broke, the roots emerges quickly. It waste no time to feed. The roots of despair, they penetrate deeply. 

I worried endlessly on the repercussions, I chided myself every second. I worried about the person I had implicate, my reflections had no end. My colleagues tried to console me, they said everyone make mistakes. And this time it went unnoticed, let the past settle, DO NOT rake. 

Yet I laid awake that night, my mind would not let me sleep. In between the sulcus of my brain I knew, guilt had started to seep. I sat on my bed researching the net, on ways to apologize to her. And somehow I felt a little braver, when I chanced upon her number. 

So I waited till dawn, when the time was ripe. I took a deep breath. 

And typed. 




It’s alright (: ” 

She replied. 

I stood motionless, as my lips slowly curled into a smile. The roots that once suffocated me, withered. I felt relieved, for a while. Then came gratitude, admiration and respect, as they pried into my soul. For such kindness overwhelmed me, this feeling, I’ll forever hold. 

To the lady with a huge heart, Ms Tan YJ, thank you. (: 

Happy Mother’s Day. 

She, who nags –

“Please stop!”, I’d beg. 

She, who rearranges my desk –

Where’s my pen?!” I’d scream in distress. 

She, who forces veggies down my throat – 

It taste terrible..”, I’d croak. 

She, who uses a pillow to cover my face when I snore –

Leave me alone!“, I was feeling sore. 

She, who calls every few hours to ask where I am –

I’m not a kid anymore!” I’d rage like a ram. 


She who nags, I’d miss it when the house is empty. When there’s no echoes of her rants. 

She who rearranges my desk, I’d flip every sheet of paper on it if she didn’t. And I still can’t find my pen. 

She who forces veggies down my throat, but she’ll never forget to cook my favourite dish.

She who uses a pillow to cover my face when I snore, but drop a kiss on my forehead before she leaves. 

She who calls every every few hours to ask where I am, today she didn’t. 

And on every mother’s day each year. I’ll sit by the window, reminiscing. 

Happy Mother’s Day! 

I love you mummy! Please come back home soon! 


Here are 10 things true leaders do:

1. They listen to their team members.

2. They coach employees rather than threatening them with a poor performance review or dismissal.

3. They trust their employees to do their jobs without close supervision.

4. They are open to and grateful for new ideas.

5. They encourage their teammates.

6. They bring important issues to senior leadership to be dealt with. They are not afraid to broach sticky or politically-sensitive topics — or maybe they are afraid, but they do it anyway.

7. They thank and acknowledge their team members.

8. They inspire people to do great things.

9. They hire people who are skilled in areas they’re not skilled in.

10. They lead through trust, rather than fear.

Taken from: Weak bosses

And a saying from the Spideman movie flutters into my thought bubble; 

With great power, comes great responsibility.

They told me I couldn’t.

They said it would be too heavy, that I wouldn’t be able to handle. They said I would fail to get it steady, and it’s true. I sure did fumble. 

They said it would be disastrous, for there was no auto on a bike. They said it was ridiculous! Whoever heard a young chinese girl ride.

They said it wasn’t normal. For I was such a girly girl. They said I couldn’t. And I simply wouldn’t. 


Nor would I live a life with a regret.

It wasn’t easy, I would have to admit. I failed twice on the actual test, yet I couldn’t swallow the defeat. And I’m pretty proud swallow I could not. Because my gorgeous sweet little thing here, is a tough battle I’ve fought.

And won.  

I still remember the day I met my friend’s bike and fell head over heels. It was angelic, white and sleek. His helmet matched perfectly, and I knew deep down. I wanted this to be on my bucket list.

I didn’t really love bikes, nor cars. In fact, machines bore me. I was like every other girl, dresses and heels made me squeal. My wardrobe had only 2 pair of jeans; one for lab because we had to cover our legs, the other given by a friend. But getting a riding license was something, interesting. 

However, I was hesitant. I was scared, to be honest. I didn’t know if I could handle the bike’s engine, or lift the frame up if it fell. I was afraid of loud sounds and the roar of any car’s exhaust, would freak me as a pedestrian. It was just not, within my comfort zone

I believe my parents weren’t exactly a fan of my newly found muse either. They laughed, and joked. They said I’d probably give up during the learning process. And then they became serious. Dead serious, just before I took my first test. 

“You don’t see chinese girls riding. It’s not normal.” 

I nodded and left for the test. I remembered how I came home to their laughter when they heard I’ve flunked my first test. They snickered again, when the second one failed. 

“Aiya, motorbikes not for girls. Cannot pass one.”

Daddy’s voice echoed through my head that afternoon, but all I had myself fixated on, was my demerit points. I went for more practice, trying to grasp the physics behind the terms, ‘clutch’, ‘gear’ and ‘brakes’. There was plenty of room for improvement and finally, it paid off. 

So here I am, sitting on my very own bike even when they told me I couldn’t. I still love my dresses, and heels still make me squeal. But what’s different, is that I’ve created another comfort zone for myself. 

One by first, stepping out of my “comfort zone”. 


How many times can a heart break before it screams for the brakes. 

I loved with all my heart, I gave everything that I’ve got. He was the man of my dreams, the man I thought I sought. I longed to be his city, the queen of his empire. But now I finally realized, it wasn’t something I could acquire. 

I’m sure he loved with all his heart, and he gave everything that he’s got. I’m sure he tried his best to be, yet I couldn’t be the woman he sought. He longed for one to submit, to be ruled under his empire. But I was too fragile for his iron fist, he raged when he could not acquire.

And so shattered was both our hearts, we knew. It was everything that we’ve got. Yet different things we wanted, from each other we both sought. With every argument it came crashing, our once perfect empire. We were both too stubborn to relent, to offer what was desired.

But for every city that falls, a new emperor reign. The cycle repeats itself, for the sun shines after the rain. But tell me again, how many a times, can my weary heart break. 

I think I’ve cycled long enough, it’s time to hit the brakes. 

Away from home. #1/13

Today I followed a journey, of an angel who fell from the sky. Her quest, to grasp true love’s meaning. Or she would be forever banished, unable to fly. 

Her tales suffocated my heart, and plenty a time, I sigh. However hard I try to control, these eyes of mine started to cry. 

So as the fairy climbed up to heavens, anticipating her friends and a gnome. Somewhere back down on earth, is a girl who just left home. 

In response to: An Angel Fell From The Sky by Frank Solanki