• Unseen

    I stand among them, and I speak.
    I laugh when they laugh, nod when they do,
    ask questions, listen, respond—
    play my part in this effortless rhythm they share.
    But sometimes, in the pauses, in the breaths between words,
    I wonder—if I stepped away,
    if I chose silence instead of speech,
    would anything change?

    They have their own pieces that fit together,
    their inside jokes that I hear but do not feel,
    their moments that pass through me like echoes
    of a song I was never taught to sing.
    I am here, yes.
    And yet, I am not.

    It’s strange, isn’t it?
    To be surrounded by voices and still feel unheard,
    to stand in a circle and still feel outside it.
    I talk to everyone,
    but who talks to me, not out of politeness,
    not out of obligation,
    but out of want?

    Maybe I am just a passing presence,
    a shape that fills the space between,
    never meant to settle, never meant to stay.
    And if I walked away now,
    without a word, without a sound—
    would they even notice I was gone?

    Would they miss me?
    Or was I never truly there to begin with?

    -Itinerant Soul

  • My One Eyed Lover

    I was late. I had missed a period.

    My palms were sweating as I knocked on the door. No response. Was I too late? Was I in the wrong class again? Taking a deep breath, I knocked louder this time—hopefully loud enough. Still no answer.

    Finally, the door creaked open, and about thirty pairs of curious eyes locked onto me. The teacher said something, but my mind was buzzing from all the staring. My mouth was dry, my palms clammy, and my face burning. A small voice inside reminded me to introduce myself as a Humanities student, so I did.

    Laughter erupted.

    What did I do now?

    I blinked, confused, and looked at the teacher. Even he was smiling. His amused expression made me more self-conscious. Seeing my clueless face, he repeated his question: “What is your name?”

    Oh God. My face turned crimson with embarrassment.

    Muttering my name, I hurried to the seat assigned to me, my heart pounding. I could still feel the weight of different gazes—curious, mocking, amused, indifferent… And then, I met his eyes.

    A chill ran down my spine.

    Self-conscious, I straightened my posture, set my bag down, and took out my books, but his cold gaze never left me. His unrelenting stare froze me in place. Had he witnessed my entire humiliating entrance? My first day of college was nothing like what I had imagined.

    As the days passed, I started adjusting, but his gaze never let me fully settle in. His black eyes, tinged with a bluish-green hue, followed my every move. He watched me from afar as if I were some fascinating piece of art. No gesture of mine went unnoticed.

    At first, his presence made me uneasy. His hot gaze trailed after me whenever I talked to my friends. Sometimes, I caught a red glow in his eye—was that anger? Was he mad at me? Or did he have his own reasons for that strange glimmer?

    By the time autumn arrived, I had grown bolder. I started throwing him side-eyes, meeting his stare head-on. I knew he would never approach me. He only watched. So, I laughed louder, joked more freely, and stopped hiding in my timid shell. I began holding his gaze with confidence, even raising an eyebrow at him sometimes. On particularly good days, I would even wave.

    The world kept moving, but he and I remained constant.

    I had grown accustomed to his silent presence, comfortable under his watchful eye. While my friends despised him, calling him a watchdog, I had started to accept him. They would mock him, splatter paint on him, or twist his head when I wasn’t around. Poor thing. Not only did he have just one eye, but he also couldn’t even speak to defend himself.

    I resented their antics.

    So what if he had only one eye?

    Two years passed, and I had changed. His silent presence no longer unnerved me—it reassured me. I no longer panicked under scrutiny or shrank from judgmental eyes. He had seen me at my weakest, my most awkward, yet never wavered. Without a single word exchanged, he had taught me an important lesson: not every gaze is meant to judge; some are there to protect.

    Yes, my One-Eyed Lover was none other than the CCTV camera that had watched over me all along.

    Two years later, the timid girl who had stumbled into college stepped out with confidence and poise, no longer fearing the weight of watching eyes.

  • The Puppet You Created

    The Puppet You Created

    He is 11 years old. The only son of his parents. A brilliant student, always on top of the class. He loves football. Not just as a game but as life itself. He finds freedom in the way the ball moves, in the way his heart races when he sprints across the field. But his parents—loving, well-meaning—don’t see it that way.

    “Football will spoil your studies.”
    “Focus on your future.”
    “Do you want to be a failure?”

    So, they take his joy away.

    As he grows older, the pressure tightens around him like an iron chain. In grade 10, it suffocates. Parents, teachers, society—they all speak in one voice. STOP PLAYING. STUDY.

    No one asks, What do you want, son?
    No one listens.
    No one cares.

    He watches kids playing football from his window. His chest aches. His hands tremble, itching to touch the ball, to run, to feel alive again. But he clenches his fists and turns away. He must make them proud.

    Slowly, something inside him begins to die.

    The boy who once laughed with his whole heart now forces a hollow smile. The boy who used to dream now drowns in books he never wanted to read. The boy who once lived now merely exists.

    Results are out. A+. A perfect score. Applause fills the house. His parents beam with pride. Relatives shower him with praise.

    “You made us so proud, son!”
    “We always knew you were special.”
    “This is just the beginning of your bright future!”

    But no one sees the emptiness in his eyes.

    No one sees how his hands no longer tremble for a football—because now, they tremble for something else. Something darker.

    No one notices the boy standing at the edge of the roof, staring at the endless sky.

    No one hears the silent scream trapped in his throat:
    “I did everything you asked. I became everything you wanted. So why do I feel like nothing?”

    But by the time they notice, it will be too late.

    Dear Parents,

    This is what might happen when you drown your child in expectations.
    This is what happens when you never ask them what they want.
    This is what happens when marks become more important than happiness.

    Look into your child’s eyes. Really look.

    Are they smiling, or are they wearing a mask?
    Are they happy, or are they just obedient?
    Are they living, or are they simply surviving?

    Before you push them any further, ask yourself:

    “If my child succeeds but loses themselves in the process—have I truly won?”

    Because one day, you may stand in front of their empty room, holding their trophies, their medals, their report cards—wondering why none of it was ever enough to keep them here.

    And that regret?
    It will never leave you.

    Let This Be Your Wake-Up Call.

    Let them dream.
    Let them live.
    Let them be themselves.

    Before it’s too late.

  • Certified Sane (And Other Lies)

    Certified Sane (And Other Lies)

    Have you ever pretended? Slipped into a role, put on a mask, and played along? Can you even count how many times you’ve done it? No? Never mind. Neither can I.

    Why do we pretend? You already know the answer. Fear.
    Fear of being judged. Fear of standing alone. Fear of being unloved, unnoticed, unwanted.
    Fear of not being enough. Fear of being too much.
    Fear of losing what we never really had.

    Does that make sense? No? Good. Who said I had to make sense? Who said you had to?
    Don’t pretend you’re sane—heck, nobody is. The world is a stage of carefully choreographed madness.
    We pretend so well that even insanity wears a suit and calls itself normal.

    We pretend to be what our parents, teachers, friends, lovers, strangers, society—hell, the whole damn world—wants us to be.
    We pretend to belong, to impress, to outshine, to matter.
    But tell me—have you ever pretended to be yourself?
    Do you even know who that is anymore?

    Now, imagine a world without pretense.
    No filters, no façades, no rehearsed smiles or scripted words.
    Just raw, unfiltered truth.
    Could we survive it? Or have we pretended for so long that we need the lie?

    I pretend that if I am not pretending who I am pretending to be right now, but pretend that everyone is pretending not to pretend who they are—then would that still be called pretending?

    Or would it finally be real?

  • A Glimpse of Childhood

    Today, as I was walking down the road, a group of kids came running toward me, their white Taekwondo uniforms crisp against the afternoon sun. Their laughter echoed in the air, full of energy, full of life. As they passed through me, for a brief moment, I was transported back to my own school days. The rush of excitement, the friendships woven through shared experiences, the innocent worries of unfinished homework. Back then, life seemed simpler. The biggest dilemmas were remembering equations for a math test or finishing an assignment before the teacher called your name. There were no burdens of the future, no weight of responsibilities—just the present, lived wholeheartedly. Watching those children now, I felt a pang of longing, a quiet wish to relive those moments, to run once more with the same carefree spirit. But perhaps, the beauty of childhood lies in its fleeting nature—a time we cherish in memories, a reminder to find joy in the little things, even as we walk the roads of adulthood.

  • Beyond Judgment: The Power of Being You

    Beyond Judgment: The Power of Being You

    Do you know what the greatest fear of human beings is? I believe it’s fear itself—the fear of what people will say if we dare to be different. The fear of judgment, of disapproval, of rejection. Do you agree? Well, that’s your choice. But from my point of view, this fear is the invisible chain that holds us back from living freely.

    Every move we make is scrutinized by those around us, as if we are actors on a stage, performing for an audience that never stops watching. Society expects us to fit into molds, to follow the script, to never stray from the “acceptable.” And because of this, we often hesitate. We suppress our dreams, silence our voices, and compromise our true selves.

    But let me tell you this, follow your heart, follow your instincts. They are the only guiding light you need in the fog of confusion. The greatest minds in history didn’t wait for permission to be themselves. Imagine if Galileo had feared what the Church would say when he proved that the Earth revolves around the sun. Imagine if Rosa Parks had been too afraid of judgment to refuse giving up her seat. The world would have been robbed of progress, simply because someone was afraid of whispers and stares.

    Don’t let others’ opinions dictate your life. They are not you. They don’t walk in your shoes, they don’t carry your burdens, and they certainly don’t get to decide your happiness. If your heart tells you to take a risk, to chase a dream, to speak your truth—then hell yeah, do it! Don’t waste a second worrying about the approval of people who wouldn’t even remember your name in a few years.

    Yes, your actions may disappoint some. But remember this: You cannot please everyone. Even the most beloved figures in history had critics. People mocked Van Gogh while he was alive, only to worship his paintings after he was gone. Had he listened to those who doubted him, the world would have been deprived of masterpieces like Starry Night. If he had let others define his worth, his legacy would have been lost.

    There are differences among people—in thoughts, in beliefs, in actions. No one is exactly alike. And that’s okay. We may dream of an ideal world where everyone understands us, where we are never judged, where acceptance is universal. But that world does not exist. And that’s okay, too. You don’t need a perfect world to be yourself. You just need the courage to own who you are.

    You were created exactly as you are meant to be. Never shrink yourself to make others comfortable. If someone judges you, let them. If someone doubts you, prove them wrong. And if someone tells you that you can’t—show them that you can!

    But in all this, never forget the ones who gave you life. The ones who stood by you when the world turned away. The ones who loved you before you even knew how to love yourself. Because while you owe the world nothing, you owe gratitude to those who truly see you.

    So go. Be fearless. Be unapologetic. Be you.

    – Itinerant Soul

  • Just Pause

    It’s okay to stop.
    To step back. To breathe.
    This world moves fast, too fast,
    but you don’t have to keep running.

    It’s not selfish to think of yourself,
    to sit in silence and feel the sun on your skin,
    to walk without purpose,
    to exist without the weight of expectation.

    You grew up in a rush.
    Always reaching. Always chasing.
    But who said life is a race?

    You don’t have to hurry to achieve.
    Not everything is meant to be conquered.
    Some things—most things—
    are meant to be lived.

    So take a break.
    Look at the sky, trace the stars with your eyes,
    talk about galaxies, about aliens, about nothing.
    Be weird. Be free.

    Laugh until your ribs ache.
    Smile at nothing, at everything.
    Feel the wind, hear the silence,
    be still.
    Be.

    -Itinerant Soul

  • To My Sister : The Peony in the Storm

    They tried to break you,
    whispering doubts like venom,
    believing you’d wilt
    under the weight of their words.

    But they don’t know that
    you are a peony,
    thriving in the harshest soil,
    blooming despite the cracks in the earth.

    Let them speak.
    Let them judge.
    Their words cannot touch
    the queen who reigns within you.

    Let them call you small,
    while you carry universes
    within your chest.
    You hold galaxies in your soul
    a universe too vast
    for their shallow minds to grasp.

    So rise, my sister
    unshaken, unbroken
    and wear your crown of resilience.

    You are light.
    You are fire.
    Cry if you must,
    but never dare you forget

    You were never meant to be ordinary.
    You are a queen,
    born to rise,
    to wear your crown with quiet defiance,
    and rule the world
    they said you couldn’t touch.

  • La vie

    We meet
    we laugh
    we dream
    we part,
    A fleeting echo in the heart.
    Like waves that kiss the golden shore,
    Then drift away to come no more.
    Yet every soul we chance to find,
    Leaves traces deep within the mind.
    Not lost, not gone
    Just rearranged,
    For life is meant to shift and change.
    C’est la vie!

  • The Echo of Emptiness

    I spill too much of myself,
    pouring secrets into open hands,
    hoping someone will hold them gently.
    I know I shouldn’t reach too far,
    but kindness feels like home,
    and I have been homeless for too long.

    Perhaps it’s the ghost of being left behind,
    of never being the first choice,
    the favorite page in someone’s book.
    So when warmth lingers for a moment,
    I mistake it for forever.

    I love too deeply,
    I give too much,
    and then
    they leave.

    The void widens,
    stretching like an unspoken grief,
    a hollow space no laughter can fill.

    I want to be more than a fleeting thought.
    I want to be the story,
    the ink that stains a poet’s hands,
    the face that lingers in an artist’s dreams.
    I want to be seen,
    loved,
    kept.

    Yet love eludes me,
    a shadow I cannot grasp.
    So I wear my joy like armor,
    paint my pain in quiet hues.
    I pretend.
    I survive.

    But, universe—
    tell me this:
    Was I made to wander alone,
    forever calling out to a soulmate
    who may never answer?