Tag: memory

I just bursted out loud laughing in the gym. 
Maybe it’s because my grip just slipped
trying a heavier weight on lat pull down
on my last set of twelve reps,
maybe it’s because I just survived
a set of barbell squat with all my might
on a weight less than half of that in my peak time. 
or maybe it’s the voice of Beyoncé 
ringing like the crystal halo in my AirPods. 

Whatever it is, 
all at once, it all came crashing down. 
The joy, oh how so glorious and light it is!
Everything, the air, the weight, the people, fell into its places, like puzzle pieces coming together. 

I wish to share this light with you. 
Because I know what it felt like to be there. 
I hope this will come across to you. 


5.11.2026

Keep the will
to continue the fight. 
Remember what you fought for. 

those who fought with you
still remain in your heart. 

Remember them. 
Carry on their will
and get to the destination. 

5.4.2026

You would have said, “come on, do it again —
forget about them, remember what matters”

I remember the scratch on the skin,
the scrapbook full of cutout pictures, and the pens. 

a heavy metal music played from earphones. 
A fragment of sun light glistened on your sclera. 
Everything else was just a noise. 

quietly, tenuously, you scribbled. 
Against a wall after a wall —- you carried on. 
A flower blossomed in the crack of the wall. 

The rain, coffee, book, movie, and violin. The heavy silence. I remember them. I remember what they stood for. 

I will carry them on. 

5.1.2026

It was two, no, three storied yellow ltownhouse.
Squeaky wooden stairs led to a purple room. 
I remember the red couch, the glass vinyl player
and a vase of flowers by the window. 
On a coffee table sat an ash tray filled with cigarette butts. 
A fishnet hammock between chestnut trees
also had a cigarette burn. 
A cardboard-made octopus sat by the street
as the song by the Radiohead creaked from a stereo. 
A hawk sat on top of a pole, tearing up a rabbit,
as neighbors gathered over a garage sale 
where I found a Dostoyevsky book
and a letter between two lovers
slid in between the pages. 
A hookah bar hid a couple blocks down the street,
not to far from the quiet church
whose stain-glass glowed by the moonlight. 
The burning scent of oil paint fumes,
the sole piano on the hallway,
and burning heat through a white coffee cup
all mingling into one night. 
The closed eyes,
soft whispers of breathing 
and eternally peaceful fraction of a moment. 

4.29.2026

The scent of the rain
puts me right back to the moment. 
One of the Christopher Nolan’s movies
aptly captured the nostalgia. 

In between rows of library shelves
the chosen one was from the Norwegian woods. 
I remember how mundane and profound it was. 

simple sun, simple air, a plain comment:
“in repetitiveness, a new universe can be glimpsed by shifting the angle of my perspective”
It seared into my heart. 

These slices of memories
exploded within the compressed moment,
a fraction of a second
the scent of the rain passed me by. 

4.28.2026

Twilight before the storm moves me.
Turbulent waves of tree leaves portends
an impending force growling and swirling. 

Listen carefully, so you may feel it too:
the grand orchestra, the somber parade, the ferocious redemption. 

As I stroll down the street into the storm,
I let edges of myself imbue in its hue
as a brief remedial sojourn for my soul. 

4.27.2026