At first, i was looking to write a lengthy, meaningful essay-like piece where I poured out my sentiments and feelings about why I write. Reasons like “to create something that outlives me” or “to let others see the world how I see it”, but I realised that while these are perfectly valid reasons, they simply did not apply to me. […]
I love the English language. I think I always have, since the moment the words first wrapped around my tongue. I grew up with it, and I learned to love it, and I doubt I ever will stop. As a young girl, I discovered Enid Blyton, who cultivated my love for the stained yellow pages of old books from years passed. Then, as I got older, Jodi Picoult taught me the value of life, and what it meant to feel with all your heart. […]
It’s 2012, and the Mark of Athena had just come out.
Percy and Annabeth fell into Tartarus, leaving us to wait a whole year just to find out what happens next. I’m not sure about you, but I spent most of that year coming up with how they could get out of Tartarus and win the war with the aid of the other members of the Seven (plus Nico) in just one more book […]
In a world where technology is used in daily life, writing is a big part of what constitutes our reading content. Social media sites like Twitter or Facebook is where people write to express their feelings or their thoughts. It can be a platform for people to release their feelings they have bottled up. Many write to classify their thoughts and to understand their inner self. As for me, I also like to write just for the sake of sorting out the things going in my mind. It helps me organise my thoughts. […]
The truth. It was the one thing Marilyn could not tell. From little things like admitting she ate cake saved for her father when he came home from overseas, to who copied someone’s work in the examinations […]
That night, with the metallic pelting of rain filling the room, you looked at me and your eyes pulled me in with their pleading. Your voice broke the scattered silence, rough and desperate. “What is it?” you asked me, hands outstretched, as if reaching for something unattainable, “What is your truth?” […]