Of what’s apparent,

Rises and then declines,

Races and then subsides,

A chaotic,

Turbulent catastrophic green,

No, no…


Maybe amber

Or Crimson,

And yet blueish black,

It is hard to follow,

Or make sense

Or lack of it,

I’m unsure.

I feel choked,


Floored and beaten,

I scream,

Yet, there is no voice to muster sense,

Some form justification,

Some sense of redemption…

I feel hope,

But breathe a shallow reflection of the opposite.

But still…

There is a pulse…

Am I alive

Or am I dead inside?

Note: Trauma is something that is hard to explain. It is hard to justify. Hard to quantify. Hard to make sense. I felt it a few years back. And it totally crippled me to the point where I simply could not recognise myself. That was probably one of the darkest, if not the scariest point in my life. Nothing mattered but at the same time everything mattered. I was not in control of my emotions- I just let them rip through. I believe grace pulled me through. And if you’ve ever gone through real trauma- seek help. And remember to just let your emotions run through, don’t pen them inside- find some safe space to simply mourn, and truly let those raging emotions out.

Melodic Expression

I haven’t been writing much these days. Well, maybe just sermons now.

But I’ve been trying something new. Instrumental music compositions. All done on the iPad. I’ve been pushing myself to post as much as possible for 2021. As of now I’ve posted around 134 tunes as of now. I wouldn’t say they are pro level but, I do try to the best I can. Still learning the ropes.

So, if you’ve been around my blog and read my stuff, my current work is an expression in the musical side of things. Here are a few samples of what i’ve posted.

Be honest, but not too honest.

I used to think personal narratives, stories born out of your own journey, or testimonies if you will, were free to be shared because they were mine and I’m ready to do so.

But, some have made it known that it is not wise, or because i’m ill informed about my own stories, or because others feel offended (which I don’t know why.). Just be vague, be indirect, beat around the bush, so the story is a safe one.

My own intention is to give encouragement so people who walk a similar path can also see that they are not in it alone because there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Maybe I sound like I want people to know i’m a hero. Or maybe i share out of pride. Or maybe when i say (for example), i did not eat today the implication is because you who are listening did not feed me. Or maybe i’m just an immature 40 year old who can’t make head or tails about what is share and not.


I hear others sharing their journey. They are ok. They applaud. They rave.

Maybe it’s because others are more financially stable. Or because they have good jobs and a good career built as a foundation of their story. I assume this is the case.

I’m someone who values raw and real life stories. Because I want to know what you struggle with, not the victories and successes. I want to know your failures, not how you aced the test. The bruises, wounds, rage, emotions; the things that make me know you’re human. And how through your humanness, you survived and managed to climb upward. I want to hear real stories, not fairytales. Leave that to story books and movies and Netflix.

I don’t actually speak or write a lot about my journeys. Maybe because of that, when I do mention and make know, people assume all I talk about is myself.

I have stories of my journey I want to share, but I can’t because my testimonies are cringeworthy (to some people).

Be honest, they say, but not too honest.


The gift of isolation is a window into the soul.

There you find question you’ve never ventured asking.

Answers you’ve never attempted to conclude.

Beginnings you’ve never expected, nor endings you’ll never spun.

When we are devoid of noise, it’s then we begin to make sense of what we hear, and see them for what they should be.

Isolation can be a prison, but if you let it be something else, it can be turned a gift.

This thing about forgetting

Can we forget?

If the thing we want to forget is the very thing that stabs

Deep down, inflicting wounds?

If the very thing inhales the very life of you

And robs you of your dreams?

If the very thing blurs vision and whatever that was of importance

To ashes? Worthless, lifeless, and soon carried off into the wind?

Never to return to its former form because

You’re burying the remains of what was

Just not that deep but you’ve put enough soil

To keep it under. Just enough or so it seems.

I don’t think we’re meant to forget because memories

They come back,

They get jolted into the present because something in the moment

Conjures the past.

We don’t forget because we’re human and how much we do or want to suppress

Won’t erase the past.

They stand and will always stand as that part of your story

That particular part.

We don’t forget because we’re made up that way,

Wired that way.

If we can’t forget what should we do with those parts that spell


Like all wounds, like how we’re made up, it will heal.

We dour it with medication,

We bandage,

And with time, we attend to it when need be.

From time to time we open the bandage and see,

And repeat the process of attention

Until one day our attention shifts from feeling pain to just reminders.

Eventually it heals and no more attention is needed.

Wounds that are deep and when healed leaves a scar.

A scars only means that there was a time when it was painful but now there is none of that available.

We remember that phase when it was so, just minus the sharp searing feeling.

We don’t forget

We just remember rightly

That which was at one point unbearable

Has no effect in us moving forward.


It is not victory

Nor escalating success

That causes the world to remember.

They will remember depth of soul

Strength of courage amidst impending defeat

Will, that is unwavering even when shackled, when imprisoned- still stands.

The narrative of the real remembers what the world thinks of as weak

Weakness is only spoken for in the present

But what was deemed weakness is lifted as legend

We remember not victory

But bravery, a person of integrity

A person’s value of humanity.

Happy ever after

Our ideas of happy ever after can’t breath life without the in betweens- the sufferings, the pain, the indifferences, the hurt, the state of dissolution. Remember that stories are edited progress that are presentable. Without the mess, we wont have a message. Reality makes us realise the middle and essential to make the story. Live with that tension because its what makes happy ever after realistic.

If it was easy

A child takes time to learn

Like breathing coming out from the womb, like turning over, like crawling, like walking, like forming sentences so they can begin speaking, conversing.

They take time to learn standing, to turn it to taking steps for walking and running and jumping.

We dont need to force them. We guide them. We give them time and even of they stumble we dont say, “you’ve failed, you’re never going to walk or whatever.”

It takes time and effort.

Like learning to trust again, to believe again, to see hope to be happy to have joy after betrayal.

Today i fail. So what?!

People may judge the process and tell that i’m a quitter. So what?!

Have they been in my shoes to peer inside my soul and see all the hurt that im facing?

To know that im absent because i cant stand people asking where ive been and why it looks like im not responsible.

Im trying. Im learning. It’s hard because i just dont know when emotions trigger the depths of my hurt.

Sometimes i dont know who i am and what im feeling and the darkness that eats up inside. The voices, sleepless nights, my breath degrading.

Who you see outside as smiling and conversing and greeting and walking.

Im just a mess sometimes i forget days, what people say, important dates, small details.

Today was hard.

I forgive myself for fearing for lashing for being angry, for being bitter. I just cant breath right my mind goes into a fog.

I write so i stay sane. My emotions i just cant trust them now.

In sorry but today i just cant. Cant be myself, cant withstand pressure.

If it was easy

Life would be for a child.

If it was easy

If it was easy.

Its not.

So i need to pick up myself now and start over.

Don’t fix

“Are you ok?”


“But are you really?”

Ok…no im not.

“You can’t say that. You gotta be…”

If you cant deal with the truth then just listen to the lies.

Dont fix

Refrain from the fix

Just be there



Dont pretend to understand

Just listen



Looks innocent

And all the decent

And all the good


Boyish smirk

White as snow

Credible status

Esteemed for leading

But you dont fool me

I forgive you

But for now you are still