HomesickEric

That Liberation Feeling

2026-09-22T19:18:10.273+08:00

Today, 22 September 2026, at 05:54 pm, I finally finished reading through my proposal and making all the corrections based on the reviewers’ comments after my post-proposal defence. I presented it on 03 August, and since then this thing has been sitting with me again and again. Reading it, finding something that needs to be changed, going back to another part, reading the same paragraph again, then realising that there is still something else that needs fixing. And now that I have finally reached the end of it, I already know that I am going to have to edit it again. Honestly, I am sick of it. I just want to get this over with.

But after I finally finished today, something happened.

It was not the reading that made me feel nostalgic. It was the feeling of finally reaching the end of it. For the first time in quite a while, I felt as though something had actually been accomplished. Something that I had been carrying for weeks was finally put down, even if only temporarily. There was this strange calm going through me, so steady that I almost did not know what to do with it. I just sat there with the feeling for a while.

Somehow, I also felt that I had learned something.

Not only from the proposal itself, but from the whole process of having it read, questioned, corrected and read again. I started this part of the journey with one version of the work in my head, and now I am looking at it differently. I know more than I did when I presented it on 03 August. I can see things I could not see before. There is still plenty to fix, but at least I know that I have moved somewhere.

And strangely, that feeling brought back something I have not felt for quite some time.

It reminded me of being a teenager. Not because the proposal reminded me of those days, but because of that feeling after finishing something and suddenly having nothing hanging over me for a moment. Being young and free, when finishing something could simply mean finishing it, and the rest of the day could belong to me. There was no need to immediately think about the next thing.

I think I miss that.

For several months now, there has always been something. Work, study, reading, writing, correcting, preparing, finishing one thing only to find another thing waiting behind it. Even when I stop, my mind somehow continues. Today, for once, it became quiet for a little while.

Something is off my shoulder.

Of course, I still have to edit it again. I know that. This is not the end of the proposal, and probably not even the end of the corrections. But tonight feels different. I finished something. I learned something from it. I can feel that little sense of accomplishment sitting quietly somewhere inside me, and there is a kind of peace that comes with knowing I have made it through another part of the journey.

I want to feel this again.

That calm. That little feeling of being young and free. That feeling that, for once, nothing needs to be solved immediately.

Just for tonight.

Minches 😘

THE SHEEP DETECTIVES (2026): A Little Mystery to Rest My Brain

2026-09-02T03:25:17.564+08:00

At 03:36:03 in the morning, on 10 July 2026, I finally finished watching The Sheep Detectives. I know, 03:36:03 is unnecessarily specific, but somehow I like remembering exactly when I finish things. Perhaps years from now I will look back at this and wonder why I was awake at that hour watching a flock of sheep solve a murder.

I first saw an advertisement for this movie when I was in Berlin last December. I remember coming across the trailer while I was watching some series, and immediately thinking that I wanted to watch it when it came out. There was something about the whole idea that caught me. A murder mystery, a quiet farm, and sheep who have apparently been listening very carefully to the detective stories their shepherd has been reading to them. It sounded ridiculous enough to be interesting. Finally, I got around to watching it.

The Sheep Detectives is a 2026 mystery comedy directed by Kyle Balda and written by Craig Mazin, based on Leonie Swann’s novel Three Bags Full. It follows George Hardy, played by Hugh Jackman, a shepherd who reads detective novels aloud to his flock every night, never really imagining that the sheep understand what he is saying. Then something happens on the farm, and suddenly those stories they have been listening to become rather useful. The sheep decide to investigate for themselves, following clues and watching the humans around them while trying to work out what really happened. The human cast includes Emma Thompson, Nicholas Braun, Nicholas Galitzine, Molly Gordon and Hong Chau, while the sheep are given voices by Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Bryan Cranston, Chris O’Dowd, Patrick Stewart, Regina Hall, Bella Ramsey, Rhys Darby and Brett Goldstein.

And I actually enjoyed it.

There is something pleasantly stupid about the premise, but I mean that affectionately. The film knows exactly what it is doing with the absurdity of having a group of sheep behave like amateur detectives. Yet beneath the humour there is a surprisingly intelligent little mystery taking place. They have learned about crime from stories, so they try to apply what they have learned to the strange situation happening around them. Watching them interpret human behaviour through the limited understanding of sheep is where much of the fun comes from. They are curious, suspicious, occasionally completely wrong, and somehow still convinced that they have everything figured out.

I also liked that the film does not immediately throw everything at you. There is a mystery sitting somewhere in the middle of all those quiet fields and human conversations, and the sheep are slowly putting pieces together. I won’t say much more about what they discover because I think the fun is in allowing the clues to arrive naturally. There are certain things I could probably explain here, but then I would be taking away the reason for watching it in the first place.

Perhaps I enjoyed it more because I genuinely needed something like this.

I haven’t really had much time to sit down and watch movies lately. July started with business, things to do, things to think about, and the usual feeling that there is always something else waiting after the thing I have just finished. At some point I realised that perhaps I needed to stop trying to be productive for a while and simply give my brain something completely unnecessary to think about.

So there I was at 03:36:03 in the morning, watching sheep investigate a murder.

And honestly, it was a good way to spend the night.

Sometimes I don’t need a complicated film that asks me to understand the meaning of life. Sometimes I just need a quiet farm, a suspicious flock, a strange mystery and enough humour to make me forget everything else for a couple of hours.

I’m glad I finally watched it.

The Good Doctor : A Predictable Emotional Arc

2026-05-20T12:55:54.055+08:00

Last night I finally finished the whole season of The Good Doctor. The series first aired in 2017 and followed Dr. Shaun Murphy, a young surgeon with autism and savant syndrome, as he navigated medicine, relationships, grief, and the exhausting pressure of proving himself in spaces that constantly underestimated him. Over the years, the show slowly became less about medicine itself and more about the emotional lives surrounding the hospital. Every season seemed determined to test how much loss these characters could survive before they eventually became shadows of who they once were.

I think the last time I watched an episode was in Bavaria around December 2022. I still remember the feeling clearly. It was freezing outside, one of those evenings where the snow made everything look quieter than usual. I went inside, sat on the couch, wrapped myself in warmth, and started what was then the newest episode. Strange how certain memories stay attached to weather. Sometimes I cannot remember what I ate yesterday, but I can still remember the colour of the evening outside that window.

This week, after waiting years, I finally continued the show. Part of the reason I stopped was because I wanted the series to fully end first. I hate cliffhangers. I hate investing myself into a story only to realise it was cancelled halfway through an emotional arc, or forced into an abrupt ending while still pretending there would be more. So I waited. And now that I’ve finally finished it, I realise I watched it with completely different eyes compared to who I was in 2022.

I still cried, but differently.

Back then, I reacted emotionally to the tragedies themselves. Now I notice the machinery behind them. This show is obsessed with death. It keeps killing its characters as if grief itself is the final destination for everyone written into the script. Maybe that emotional excess comes from its Korean drama origins, where suffering is often stretched until it becomes the emotional centrepiece of the entire experience. Korean dramas really do love turning suffering into a national art form. They have a habit of dragging emotions through the mud until sadness becomes the entire identity of the story. Anyway, after a while, this show begins to feel repetitive rather than profound. Not every meaningful ending needs death attached to it.

Asher Wolke, for example, was one of the strongest characters the show ever created. Passionate, opinionated, kind, intelligent. He felt alive in a way many television characters don’t. He challenged people. He cared deeply. There was something inspirational about him because he carried conviction without losing compassion. And yet the show chooses to end his arc through death as well, partly to prove a political point. I understand the intention behind it. I understand the commentary they wanted to make. But emotionally it felt cheap, almost like the series no longer trusted itself to create impact without taking someone away forever.

Then Claire returns, and for a moment her presence feels comforting, almost like the show remembering its earlier seasons again. But even then, the writers decide to surround her storyline with medical danger and the possibility of losing her too. At some point I found myself asking the same question repeatedly: why is this show so determined to kill everyone it loves?

And Glassman. Of course Glassman too.

After everything he survived throughout the series, the brain tumour, the loneliness, the long stretch of carrying other people while quietly wearing himself down, the show still frames his ending around death as if that is the only language it knows for closure. What made Glassman stand out was never just his role as Shaun’s mentor. It was the way he felt painfully human. Stubborn, sarcastic, emotionally guarded, but still deeply responsible for the people he cared about. He was written as someone who holds others together while slowly falling apart in ways he rarely admits.

That is why the way the show leans toward ending him feels so predictable and almost mechanical. It does not feel like a natural culmination of his journey but another repeat of the same writing habit. It is as if the series cannot separate character growth from character removal. Instead of allowing him a quieter form of resolution, it circles back to the same conclusion it keeps choosing for almost everyone else.

By the final episode, very little surprised me anymore. The structure became predictable. The emotional beats arrived exactly when expected. There was also too much talking, too much explaining of feelings instead of letting actions or silence carry them naturally. The emotional effect is still there, but diluted now, like something repeatedly reheated until it loses its original flavour.

Still, despite everything I’ve said, I know I’ll watch it again someday. Maybe because I wasn’t fully present while finishing it this time. Maybe because life has been distracting me lately. Or maybe because certain shows become attached to periods of our lives so strongly that revisiting them feels less like watching television and more like reopening an older version of yourself waiting somewhere in the background.

A Morning Spent Remembering

2026-01-24T05:54:00.005+08:00

Writing this at 05:41 this morning, 24 January 2026, back home in Malaysia. That’s right, the holiday has ended, and somehow work has already restarted as if nothing ever paused. I came back to it yesterday, slipped back into routine almost too smoothly. I slept early last night, the kind of sleep that comes when your body is done negotiating, and woke up before the sun without trying. Now the washing machine hums beside me. I’m doing laundry.

I haven’t done laundry since last year. And that sounds dramatic when written down, but it’s true in the most ordinary way. When I arrived, I actually thought I should let last year’s clothes sit for a while longer. Not out of laziness, but intention. I wanted to remember the last time I wore them, the places they were with me, the version of myself that existed when the fabric still smelled like another country, another routine. I’ve always done this. I let the past linger just a little longer before I say goodbye.

It’s the same reason I brought back small, almost meaningless things from my workplace. Trinkets that don’t really deserve shelf space. Things I know I’ll eventually throw away, or burn, or lose to time. But not yet. I want to live those moments again for a few more minutes. Let them breathe. Let myself remember how they entered my life before they quietly exit it.

When I hold them, I try to recall when I bought them, how long they stayed with me. Some of them have been around since 2024. I replay the day I picked them up, the mood I was in, the version of the world I was walking through back then. I remind myself how many small adventures happened while these objects existed alongside me, even when I wasn’t paying attention to them. Even when I was elsewhere.

I tell myself all the usual things. That living in the past is pointless. That I should focus on what’s in front of me, or what’s coming next. And maybe that’s true. But this is just who I am. I like remembering. Especially now, when time feels like it’s accelerating without asking for permission. Days collapse into weeks. Years fold into each other so neatly it’s frightening.

So I memorise what I can. The small things. The ordinary ones. A shirt, a plastic bag, a can of hairspray, a morning like this. Because maybe memory isn’t about refusing to move forward. Maybe it’s just my way of making sure I was actually there.

“The Healing (2025)”: A Cult Retreat, a Fractured Mind, and a Game-Like Descent

2025-11-16T10:25:00.000+08:00

Last night I finished watching The Healing and found myself thinking less about the story it wanted to tell and more about how it was built. I’m not touching the creative choices behind the plot because those belong to the writer’s own world, and creativity should stay free from that kind of judgement. But the technical side of this film kept pulling my attention in ways I couldn’t ignore.

From the start, the entire weight of the movie seems to rest on Lyuba’s mental state. Her trauma is not just an element of the plot but the pulse that keeps the film alive. According to the review on Macabre Daily, she arrives at a rural healing retreat to escape an abusive marriage, only to be met with visions, rituals, and a looming entity called The Shadow that might simply be the shape of her own rage. Everything the camera does moves with her psychological rhythm. When she is disoriented, the frame blurs into a strange first-person view; when she steadies, the world settles with her. Watching those shifts felt less like observing a film and more like slipping into a survival-horror interface, where the player’s state of mind becomes the environment itself.

And then there is Sergey. He is almost a phantom figure in the plot, appearing mostly in memory, as if he exists only in the space of her fear. But the way his presence returns near the end makes it clear that the obstacle she must escape isn’t the cult or the forest but the echo of him carried inside her. He feels like a character the film deliberately hides until the final decision point, the way a game leaves a final boss unseen until the player is forced to confront them. That structure shapes how the tension unfolds, even when the story isn’t trying to be subtle about it.

What really shaped my watching, though, was how unmistakably game-like the entire production feels. The dialogue reads like a scripted sequence, the kind you’d expect to click through in a branching narrative game. Reviewers even mention how the flashbacks and rituals are arranged in repeating loops, almost like scenes you could replay from different angles. The characters speak in a way that feels stiff, as if their voices were layered on afterwards without matching the movement of their mouths. Macabre Daily actually notes that the English dub mixes unevenly, which explains the strange disconnect I couldn’t stop noticing. It reminded me of playing something like Unforgiving, where the voice-over follows you just a little too closely, telling you what to think, where to go, what to be afraid of next.

The music carries the same energy. Instead of a cinematic build, it loops and swells like a horror game soundtrack, shaping the environment more than the emotion. Drums, guttural sounds, a haze that sits on every scene, all of it feels like atmosphere design rather than scoring, like the kind of background that warns you when you’re entering another dangerous chapter. Even the way characters move (slow, deliberate, almost waiting for the game engine to catch up) adds to that strange sense that you’re not watching a film unfold but following pre-set commands along a timeline.

There is beauty in its ambition, no doubt. The rural twilight, the ritual imagery, the disorienting shifts between past and present; reviewers praise the scenery and the effects for a reason. But that ambition is tied so tightly to its structure that the suspense becomes predictable. A game can afford predictability... you expect danger, you know when death is coming, you learn the patterns. A film needs a different kind of tension, something more fluid, more unexpected. The Healing doesn’t always let itself break away from its own patterns, and because of that, every escalation feels like another step in a track you’ve already seen from above.

Watching it felt like stepping into an experience that didn’t entirely decide whether it wanted to be a movie or a playable narrative. But maybe that’s why it lingers a little. It makes you think about pain as something programmed into a person, something they keep bumping into until they finally find a way out. Or think they do.

PS: Why do I have time to watch movies. I need to update my thesis!

Bramble: The Mountain King - A Review

2025-11-12T00:16:00.019+08:00

Before you read this, please press play for a dramatic intro:

At 10:50 a.m. today, 11 November 2025, I finished playing Bramble: The Mountain King, continuing my line of Northern Folklore horror games. It is one of the most beautifully crafted and emotionally unsettling games I have played, set in a world shaped by the deep forest myths of Scandinavia. If you stumble upon it, you will notice how every shadow, every melody, and every creature feels alive with an old northern soul.

Developed by Dimfrost Studio, an independent team based in Norrköping, Sweden, Bramble: The Mountain King was released in April 2023 under Merge Games and Maximum Entertainment. The studio was founded in 2017 by Fredrik Selldén, Mikael Lindhe, and Ellinor Morén, later joined by Fredrik Präntare and David Wallsten. Their earlier project, A Writer and His Daughter, already hinted at their focus on emotional storytelling, but with Bramble they fully embraced Swedish folklore and the haunting beauty of nature. Built using Unreal Engine, the game combines cinematic horror with folk art influences inspired by Swedish painter John Bauer.

The story follows a young boy named Olle, who wakes to find his sister Lillemor missing. His search takes him into the cursed valley of Bramble, where reality folds into the folklore of old Sweden. The world is filled with enormous creatures, twisted by grief, loneliness, and revenge. This game got super gore all of a sudden, shifting from playful quiet fairy-tale wonder to moments of pure horror without warning. The developers designed these beings not as simple monsters but as living fragments of Nordic myth, bound to nature and the fears that come with it.

The game draws heavily from northern folklore, with several characters drawn directly from Scandinavian legend and local urban myths. The Näcken, or Nøkken, from Swedish and Norwegian folklore, is said to dwell beneath bridges and rivers, luring wanderers with his violin until they drown... a story still whispered near real rivers like Sweden’s Motala Ström. The Skogsrå, the spirit of the forest, recalls the warnings from rural Sweden about women who lead lumberjacks astray, vanishing once they cross a boundary of trees. The Kärrhäxan, or Swamp Witch, is closer to the stories from southern Sweden and Finland, where marshes were feared as cursed places where witches and outcasts were said to sink. Even the trolls, vast and solemn, mirror Norway’s mountain myths, where sunlight turns them to stone... giving rise to the rugged cliffs and boulders scattered across the land.

I played the game using a terrible keyboard and mouse setup, probably one of the hardest experiences I have endured in gaming. The controls were complicated. At times I needed to press four different keys for a single movement, and I often forgot that I could jump. The awkward camera angles and constant shift in point of view added to the challenge. If I had a proper joystick or console, the experience would have been smoother, and I intend to revisit this game in the future, hopefully with a proper PC, ultra graphics, and a joystick (or maybe a console version).

The bosses in Bramble: The Mountain King are unforgettable. The Butcher, The Troll, Näcken, Skogsrå, Kärrhäxan, and the final confrontation with King Nils, the Mountain King himself, form a dark procession of mythic trials. Each fight demands focus and patience, but my poor hardware made it harder, especially the aiming segments. Kärrhäxan was particularly intense, both visually and psychologically. Her presence disturbs you not just through horror but through the feeling of something ancient and unclean pressing against the edge of reason.

Puzzles are simple and confined to small areas, yet they require sharp observation. The story rewards memory and attention to detail. Many locations reflects earlier moments through symbols, carvings, or murals. I found myself pausing to study the scenery, not just to solve puzzles but to understand the story told in silence.

One of the most emotional points in the game comes when Olle retrieves the light stone after saving Lemus from the pine cones. The light becomes his guide and weapon, both a symbol of moral strength and literal survival. I was confused why something so significant could be found simply lying around on a random mushroom. Still, I believe this light stone, not the sunrise, is what truly defeats the Troll.

The music deserves special mention. The soundtrack carries the emotional weight of every scene, rising and fading like breath. Blomstertid (Reprise) featuring BJOERN is my favourite. It plays at exactly the right moment, where the game strikes hardest. The sound seems to reach inside you, cold and warm at once, like northern wind on bare skin.

Despite my frustration with the controls, I was completely absorbed in Bramble’s world. The visuals, even on low quality, created a sense of ancient terror and quiet beauty. Some moments were deeply disturbing, but they taught the player to keep moving forward no matter what. I pity killing Skogsrå at first, but when she taunted me using Lillemor’s image during the boss fight, pity vanished. The game knows how to test you emotionally as much as mechanically.

I did not collect all the wooden figurines scattered through the game. These include the Gnome, Lillemor, King Nils, Pesta, Lemus, Lyktgubben, Skogsrået, Troll, Kärrhäxan, Näcken, and Tuva. My system could barely handle the game, so I focused on reaching the end instead. But one day, with better equipment, I will return and find them all.

In the end, Bramble: The Mountain King gave me goosebumps. Some scenes are unexpectedly gory, others breathtakingly beautiful. It may be simple in gameplay but it carries a profound weight drawn from real northern folklore. The combination of myth, music, and tragedy makes it memorable. After finishing, I watched the walkthrough again just to relive the atmosphere.

This game leaves you both haunted and fulfilled. It reminds you that even the smallest light can survive the darkest forest.

Draugen: A Quiet Descent into the Fjords

2025-11-08T21:12:00.004+08:00

At around 3.30 pm today, 8 November 2025, I finished playing Draugen, a single-player first-person mystery game developed by Red Thread Games. It is set in 1920s Norway and describes itself as a “Fjord Noir”, a psychological narrative that blends mystery with atmosphere. The game won the Norwegian Game of the Year award in 2019. You play as Edward Charles Harden, an American traveller searching for his missing sister in a small, forgotten coastal village, accompanied by his ward, Lissie. The game is meant to be experienced rather than mastered. It unfolds like a short novel: you explore, observe, and let the story move at its own pace.

I started the game last night and completed it within a day. It does not take long because the path is mostly fixed. You follow the order of the narrative the way the developers intended, walking through a series of linear discoveries. The control is minimal... mostly walking, interacting with objects, and following Lissie as she pushes the story forward. There are no puzzles that demand time, and no freedom to explore beyond what is required. It is a game of direction rather than discovery.

I got stuck for a while during the mine chapter because my computer could not handle the performance requirements. The loading was slow, and the visuals glitched often that I had to restart the game a few times. Still, I forced through and managed to complete it. By that point, I had already sensed how the story was going to end, yet I wanted to see how the final scenes would play out.

Lissie became more unbearable near the climax. She is childish, restless, and refuses to understand the weight of what is happening. Her voice fills every silence. During conversations, I often avoided looking at her face, letting her talk until the dialogue was over. She is both the most frustrating and most necessary element in the game, the one who keeps Edward moving even when the player wants to stop. She acts as a guide, and ironically, without her constant chatter, you would not reach the ending.

The ending itself carries several plot twists, and the final revelation about Edward changes how the story should be read. The game is quiet, almost deceptively simple, yet its psychological core becomes clearer only near the end. If you pay attention, you will notice how even the main menu background changes gradually from colour to black and white as the story progresses, mirroring Edward’s state of mind.

I feel nostalgic ending the game, so I took one last snapshot (as if I was in that house, staying for six days already)

The Viking references in the narrative feel shallow. They appear in fragments, but even if they were removed, the story would remain the same. They function more as cultural decoration than as substance. I expected more integration of folklore after my recent experiences with northern-themed games, but Draugen stands apart in its own restrained modern storytelling.

That's me in Tromsø, circa Feb 2025

Maybe part of why I played it through is because it reminded me of Norway itself. I visited Tromsø earlier this year, and the fjord landscapes in the game carried that same stillness... a kind of quiet isolation that belongs only to the north. Even if the game did not move me the way others did, its setting felt familiar. That alone made the hours worth it.

The Frostrune: A Captivating Adventure Game

2025-11-03T15:23:00.008+08:00

At 2.15 pm today, 03 November 2025, I completed a game called The Frostrune. The game was developed by Grimnir Media and published by Snow Cannon Games, first released in 2017. It opens quietly with a shipwreck and the slow reveal of an abandoned Norse settlement surrounded by dark forest and coastline. The visuals are hand-painted and the sound design feels restrained, almost careful. The music has a Norse weight to it, and the pacing is deliberate. The story moves in small pieces, each scene linking to another through space rather than dialogue.

If you stumble upon this puzzle while playing, you will see the little girl standing with the Viking spirits. That is us, the player. We are written into the prophecy, destined to complete it. The introduction draws you in because it does not rush. You begin by walking the shore, searching through forgotten cabins and rune stones, learning through fragments what kind of place you have entered. The world feels old and silent, but not dead. The game leans on its northern folklore deeply, letting symbols, tools, and ruins tell parts of the story that the characters do not. You are left to interpret meaning the way an archaeologist might. That quietness becomes its rhythm.

How The Game Is Played

The Frostrune is a point-and-click adventure built around Norse myth and ancient ritual. You explore the island through first-person perspective, gathering objects, decoding runes, unlocking mechanisms, and piecing together fragments of its story. There are no battles or weapons, only observation and connection. Each puzzle requires careful memory and logic. You match symbols, align instruments, open chests, and understand how one item relates to another in a network of clues.

I finished the game in just a few hours because the number of quests is fewer than in other games I have played. The structure is simple and the focus stays on observation. It rewards players who remember small details. If you forget what you have seen, you will probably retrace your steps more than once. It is a game that would work perfectly on a tablet. The control style fits a relaxed posture where the mind, not the reflex, does the work.

The Puzzle That Stayed With Me

One of my favourite parts is the section where you must arrange musical notes, and when done correctly, the Vikings sing the sequence in harmony. It comes with this piece of verse that stays in memory:

“Four warriors guard the great Wolf’s chest
Bound by duty beyond death’s call
Listen to their songs of great deeds done
And bear witness to their final notes

For every duty at last must end
Every song at last is sung
In the eternal peace of Hel’s embrace:

Pink sings the swordsman, the highest note
Shorter axe sings deepest note in orange
His brother with spear joins his blue note
And the long axe sings in green hues.”

It is one of those moments where the game’s folklore and music merge into something complete. When the harmony resolves, you feel the story closing in on itself.

Reflections and Ending

What I love most about The Frostrune is how it treats the folklore with respect. The runes, the witch, the Viking remnants, all exist as part of the landscape. Nothing feels placed just to impress. It is a quiet balance between human story and mythic presence. The witch figure especially ties the past and present together, guiding you through her memory.

Reaching the end was neither satisfying nor disappointing. It felt like relief. The circle closed and the island was at rest. I was ready to leave, not because I was bored, but because the story had reached its silence. I will look for similar games later, something that carries the same northern stillness, where myth breathes through the trees and every sound feels deliberate.

If anyone has recommendations for horror or mystery games rooted in northern Scandinavian folk tradition with traditional elements like runes, creatures, and forest rituals, I would like to hear them.

Through the Woods

2025-11-02T01:55:00.003+08:00

At 12.28 a.m. on 2 November 2025 I finished Through the Woods, a third person Norwegian horror adventure developed by the indie studio Antagonist and published by 1C Publishing EU. The game was released in 2016 and maintains an intentionally restrained pace and atmosphere. Its environments draw from the Norwegian coastline and dense forest interiors, the lighting is deliberately minimal, and the story unfolds in short, deliberate beats. It is played as a walk through memory and clue, not as an exercise in combat or spectacle, and the design insists you pay attention to what is left unsaid as much as to what is shown.

This post includes spoilers. If you have not played the game and intend to, stop here.

Through the Woods places you in the role of Karen, a mother searching for her missing son, Espen. The viewpoint is third person, the camera close enough to feel like an observer and distant enough to keep some detail offscreen. Progression is driven by exploration, by reading notes and piecing together small narrative fragments, and by moving through spaces that shift between the literal and the folkloric. You do not receive weapons or direct means to fight. The tension is generated by movement, by timing, and by the limitations the game imposes on the player. Survival is procedural rather than mechanical: you avoid, you hide, you use light sparingly, and you decide when to press forward.

The creatures are drawn from a Norse-tinged folk vocabulary and they behave as extensions of the environment rather than isolated enemies. Among others, there are trolls, large and deliberate, that feel like obstacles the world itself has formed over time; there is the Huldra, a figure bound to darkness and light, whose reactions turn illumination into a risk; and there are the wolves Sköll and Hati, whose deception defines one of the more unsettling turns in the game. I spent time caught at the first troll area, then in the Huldra sequence where every step depended on how light was handled, and later at the wolves’ crossing where their betrayal reshaped the rhythm of play. None of them follow predictable patterns. They act through misdirection, waiting for distraction or misplaced certainty.

I completed the game in a few hours overall, spread across sessions. Work and other concerns meant I returned to it in fragments rather than as an uninterrupted run, and the game worked well in those gaps. The credits feature a quiet acoustic track that clears the air after the final scenes; I do not know the title yet but I want to find it because it felt like a necessary ledger for what came before. On the narrative side, the late revelation about Erik and his motives made the arc feel coherent rather than arbitrary. By the time Karen’s situation is made explicit, the pieces fit together with a logic that had already been hinted at, and a note about Erik’s intention supplies the connective tissue that the rest of the story had been arranging. I attempted the revived Espen sequence and spent time trying to change the outcome, but the game does not offer that repair.

Practical note: I will not invent how the scenes affected me emotionally beyond what I have said. I attempted to revive Espen and I predicted the ending from the clue about Erik. Those are actions and observations. I finished the game while needing distraction from other tasks and responsibilities. The soundtrack in the credits is one concrete detail I plan to track down. The character is explicitly revealed at the end and her choices become clear in the final scenes.

Finally, a personal aside in plain terms. My cat Bulou died today. She had a long standing tumour in her left eye. I buried her earlier. I hope she is at peace and no longer in pain.

My Alternate Ending of Unforgiving: A Northern Hymn

2025-10-26T03:13:00.008+08:00

At 2.22 a.m. today, 26 October 2025, I finished playing an old horror game called Unforgiving: A Northern Hymn. Developed by Angry Demon Studio in Sweden and released in 2017, it’s a slow, strange, and heavy game about fear and folklore. The language switches between Swedish and English, which somehow makes everything more real. It feels foreign but believable, like being lost somewhere you were warned not to enter.

The game is pure survival. You don’t get weapons or help. You just move, hide, and hope nothing finds you. I think it’s one of the hardest games I’ve ever played, probably because I move fast when I play. I don’t like wasting time. I just want to reach the end and see if I can finish without quitting halfway. Unforgiving punished that habit. Especially in Chapter 8 with Bäckahästen’s children. You can’t run from them. You have to move slowly and plan your next step. My heartbeat felt like part of the soundtrack.

What I liked most was how the culture sits quietly in the background. The folklore, the faint hum of folk songs, even the carved symbols on random objects. Everything feels rooted in something older than the game itself. It doesn’t scream for attention. It just exists.

I startled myself a few times. While playing in some scenes, I knew I shouldn’t look back, but I still did. Sometimes it killed me. Sometimes it didn’t. Either way, it worked.

The ending wasn’t satisfying, so I’m rewriting it myself. Lukas stays. I don’t fight back. Why would I? The game taught me enough. There’s no logic in escaping only to fall back into the same pit. The developer should’ve known better and made two endings, one for those who learn and one for those who don’t.

And if I can’t have that choice, then in the next game life I’d rather sacrifice myself and let Lukas live. He deserves it more.

Unforgiving is the kind of game that lingers. It doesn’t scare you with noise. It just stays quiet and waits until you realise you’re still inside it. Sometimes survival isn’t about running. It’s about knowing when to stop.

Lukas deserves to live. He was kind, patient, and he never left.

This should probably sing for my truth:

Christmas Like That

2025-10-17T16:09:00.006+08:00

I have not written a blog entry in a very long time.

Back in college, I wrote constantly. Every holiday, every small transition, every new chapter of my life found its way into words. Writing was a quiet space for me, a way to release the thoughts that never stopped running. It helped me make sense of myself.

Then life changed.

Work took over, time became limited, and I slowly stopped. I told myself I was busy, but perhaps I simply drifted away from what once healed me. Writing used to be my form of therapy. It steadied my mind and helped me live with all the questions that had no answers.

Lately, I have been thinking about Christmas.

Every year, on the 26th of September, I mark it as the day to begin planning for the celebration. It became a quiet ritual that grounds me. I remember one particular morning at the office. It was still dark outside. The room was cold and silent, and something in the air felt like the beginning of Christmas. I remember thinking, it is time.

I played a song to set the mood, The Christmas Song. The version by Celtic Woman always finds its way to me first. The original may have been by Nat King Cole, but the Celtic Woman rendition carries something more fragile and haunting. Every year, that song cuts through me in a way that words fail to describe. It feels like home and longing at the same time.

I once shared that song in an old post. The video no longer exists; perhaps it was removed over the years. Still, there is always a new upload somewhere, waiting to be found, as if the season itself refuses to fade.

Since 2022, I have spent Christmas abroad, except for last year. My time in Germany remains unforgettable. That experience felt like the beginning of something new in me. A new tradition was born. A new way of seeing and feeling the season. There was something about the quiet streets, the smell of roasted nuts in the air, and the calm of winter markets that made me feel at peace with myself. It was both foreign and deeply familiar, as if my own memories were learning a new language.

I have not planned Christmas this year. Not yet. But I already sense the shape of it forming quietly in my mind. I hope it can once again become a calm space for my restless thoughts, a reminder that some traditions are worth keeping, even when everything else changes.

I miss Christmas like that.

The kind that does not need crowds or glitter.

Just a quiet room, a single song, and a heart that remembers how to be still.

If I die young

2020-07-14T12:55:00.003+08:00

Reading news about the demise of Naya Rivera has got me thinking today. I wasn't much of her fan but I liked the character she brought in Glee... and judging from all my entries back in 2010, you'll know that I'm definitely a die-hard Gleek. The show has helped me a lot during my time growing up in a place I found hard to be accepted and I personally thank all the casts for the lesson, the strength, and the wisdom back then. I can honestly say that I became the person I am today because of the show.

I'm sorry for the terrible tragedy happened to you, Naya and thank you. Rest in peace.

Full text from Pope Francis’ homily for the special ‘Urbi et Orbi’ blessing

2020-03-28T02:19:00.002+08:00

“Teacher, do you not care if we perish?”

In his homily during the worldwide moment of prayer that Pope Francis led this evening, he reflected on how Coronavirus has united us in our common humanity, as brothers and sisters.

“We have realized that we are on the same boat, all of us fragile and disoriented, but at the same time important and needed, all of us called to row together,” he said.

He used the image of the disciples on the boat, caught by an unexpected storm, and Jesus asleep in the stern. When they call on the Lord, the disciples prove their faith, and yet Jesus rebukes them for their lack of faith.

Let us try to understand. In what does the lack of the disciples’ faith consist, as contrasted with Jesus’ trust? They had not stopped believing in him; in fact, they called on him. But we see how they call on him: “Teacher, do you not care if we perish?” (v. 38). Do you not care: they think that Jesus is not interested in them, does not care about them.

But “he, more than anyone, cares about us,” Pope Francis assured.

The pope said that God is calling us to faith, “which is not so much believing that you exist, but coming to you and trusting in you.”

And he said that this time of trial is a “time of choosing.”

It is not the time of your judgement, but of our judgement: a time to choose what matters and what passes away, a time to separate what is necessary from what is not. It is a time to get our lives back on track with regard to you, Lord, and to others.

Read the whole homily below:

“When evening had come” (Mk 4:35). The Gospel passage we have just heard begins like this. For weeks now it has been evening. Thick darkness has gathered over our squares, our streets and our cities; it has taken over our lives, filling everything with a deafening silence and a distressing void, that stops everything as it passes by; we feel it in the air, we notice in people’s gestures, their glances give them away. We find ourselves afraid and lost.

Like the disciples in the Gospel we were caught off guard by an unexpected, turbulent storm. We have realized that we are on the same boat, all of us fragile and disoriented, but at the same time important and needed, all of us called to row together, each of us in need of comforting the other. On this boat… are all of us. Just like those disciples, who spoke anxiously with one voice, saying “We are perishing” (v. 38), so we too have realized that we cannot go on thinking of ourselves, but only together can we do this.

On this boat… are all of us.

It is easy to recognize ourselves in this story. What is harder to understand is Jesus’ attitude. While his disciples are quite naturally alarmed and desperate, he stands in the stern, in the part of the boat that sinks first. And what does he do? In spite of the tempest, he sleeps on soundly, trusting in the Father; this is the only time in the Gospels we see Jesus sleeping. When he wakes up, after calming the wind and the waters, he turns to the disciples in a reproaching voice: “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” (v. 40).

Let us try to understand. In what does the lack of the disciples’ faith consist, as contrasted with Jesus’ trust? They had not stopped believing in him; in fact, they called on him. But we see how they call on him: “Teacher, do you not care if we perish?” (v. 38). Do you not care: they think that Jesus is not interested in them, does not care about them. One of the things that hurts us and our families most when we hear it said is: “Do you not care about me?” It is a phrase that wounds and unleashes storms in our hearts. It would have shaken Jesus too. Because he, more than anyone, cares about us. Indeed, once they have called on him, he saves his disciples from their discouragement.

The storm exposes our vulnerability and uncovers those false and superfluous certainties around which we have constructed our daily schedules, our projects, our habits and priorities. It shows us how we have allowed to become dull and feeble the very things that nourish, sustain and strengthen our lives and our communities. The tempest lays bare all our prepackaged ideas and forgetfulness of what nourishes our people’s souls; all those attempts that anesthetize us with ways of thinking and acting that supposedly “save” us, but instead prove incapable of putting us in touch with our roots and keeping alive the memory of those who have gone before us. We deprive ourselves of the antibodies we need to confront adversity.

In this storm, the façade of those stereotypes with which we camouflaged our egos, always worrying about our image, has fallen away, uncovering once more that (blessed) common belonging, of which we cannot be deprived: our belonging as brothers and sisters.

“Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” Lord, your word this evening strikes us and regards us, all of us. In this world, that you love more than we do, we have gone ahead at breakneck speed, feeling powerful and able to do anything. Greedy for profit, we let ourselves get caught up in things, and lured away by haste. We did not stop at your reproach to us, we were not shaken awake by wars or injustice across the world, nor did we listen to the cry of the poor or of our ailing planet. We carried on regardless, thinking we would stay healthy in a world that was sick. Now that we are in a stormy sea, we implore you: “Wake up, Lord!”.

Lord, you are calling to us, calling us to faith

“Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” Lord, you are calling to us, calling us to faith. Which is not so much believing that you exist, but coming to you and trusting in you. This Lent your call reverberates urgently: “Be converted!”, “Return to me with all your heart” (Joel 2:12). You are calling on us to seize this time of trial as a time of choosing. It is not the time of your judgement, but of our judgement: a time to choose what matters and what passes away, a time to separate what is necessary from what is not. It is a time to get our lives back on track with regard to you, Lord, and to others.

We can look to so many exemplary companions for the journey, who, even though fearful, have reacted by giving their lives. This is the force of the Spirit poured out and fashioned in courageous and generous self-denial. It is the life in the Spirit that can redeem, value and demonstrate how our lives are woven together and sustained by ordinary people – often forgotten people – who do not appear in newspaper and magazine headlines nor on the grand catwalks of the latest show, but who without any doubt are in these very days writing the decisive events of our time: doctors, nurses, supermarket employees, cleaners, caregivers, providers of transport, law and order forces, volunteers, priests, religious men and women and so very many others who have understood that no one reaches salvation by themselves.

In the face of so much suffering, where the authentic development of our peoples is assessed, we experience the priestly prayer of Jesus: “That they may all be one” (Jn 17:21). How many people every day are exercising patience and offering hope, taking care to sow not panic but a shared responsibility. How many fathers, mothers, grandparents and teachers are showing our children, in small everyday gestures, how to face up to and navigate a crisis by adjusting their routines, lifting their gaze and fostering prayer. How many are praying, offering and interceding for the good of all. Prayer and quiet service: these are our victorious weapons.

Prayer and quiet service: these are our victorious weapons.

“Why are you afraid? Have you no faith”? Faith begins when we realise we are in need of salvation. We are not self-sufficient; by ourselves we flounder: we need the Lord, like ancient navigators needed the stars. Let us invite Jesus into the boats of our lives. Let us hand over our fears to him so that he can conquer them. Like the disciples, we will experience that with him on board there will be no shipwreck. Because this is God’s strength: turning to the good everything that happens to us, even the bad things. He brings serenity into our storms, because with God life never dies.

The Lord asks us and, in the midst of our tempest, invites us to reawaken and put into practice that solidarity and hope capable of giving strength, support and meaning to these hours when everything seems to be floundering. The Lord awakens so as to reawaken and revive our Easter faith.

We have an anchor: by his cross we have been saved. We have a rudder: by his cross we have been redeemed. We have a hope: by his cross we have been healed and embraced so that nothing and no one can separate us from his redeeming love. In the midst of isolation when we are suffering from a lack of tenderness and chances to meet up, and we experience the loss of so many things, let us once again listen to the proclamation that saves us: he is risen and is living by our side.

The Lord asks us from his cross to rediscover the life that awaits us, to look towards those who look to us, to strengthen, recognize and foster the grace that lives within us. Let us not quench the wavering flame (cf. Is 42:3) that never falters, and let us allow hope to be rekindled.

We have an anchor… We have a rudder… We have a hope

Embracing his cross means finding the courage to embrace all the hardships of the present time, abandoning for a moment our eagerness for power and possessions in order to make room for the creativity that only the Spirit is capable of inspiring. It means finding the courage to create spaces where everyone can recognize that they are called, and to allow new forms of hospitality, fraternity and solidarity.

By his cross we have been saved in order to embrace hope and let it strengthen and sustain all measures and all possible avenues for helping us protect ourselves and others. Embracing the Lord in order to embrace hope: that is the strength of faith, which frees us from fear and gives us hope.

“Why are you afraid? Have you no faith”? Dear brothers and sisters, from this place that tells of Peter’s rock-solid faith, I would like this evening to entrust all of you to the Lord, through the intercession of Mary, Health of the People and Star of the stormy Sea. From this colonnade that embraces Rome and the whole world, may God’s blessing come down upon you as a consoling embrace.

Lord, may you bless the world, give health to our bodies and comfort our hearts. You ask us not to be afraid. Yet our faith is weak and we are fearful. But you, Lord, will not leave us at the mercy of the storm. Tell us again: “Do not be afraid” (Mt 28:5). And we, together with Peter, “cast all our anxieties onto you, for you care about us” (cf. 1 Pet 5:7).

https://aleteia.org/2020/03/27/full-text-from-pope-francis-homily-for-the-special-urbi-et-orbi-blessing/?fbclid=IwAR2uAarBK5stsmKji9qAZDpTvQREK1VDtwA3V1tjU9r0CO7czBwQ-bxOrBQ#.Xn5CN66Fih4.facebook

LOST

2020-03-08T15:44:00.003+08:00

March has never agreed with me.
I don't really want to say that this year but it is... and during these final days of me pushing 20, I could never imagine it to get even worse. I'm not really writing to tell the world that I am the victim of a toxic mind. I am not. I'm here because this needed to be heard... too.

My self-esteem is dying.

I feel like a worthless person who doesn't deserve anything. My anxiety is at its peak and the only thing I could do about it is to brush it off but I can't. My mind keeps belittling me for everything I'm trying to say, to think, to write. If you would ask... Everything, EVERYTHING is wrong with me. I keep telling myself to restructure my self-being but my body is just too exhausted to even do that.

I'm exhausted.

These days has been the darkest ever... and putting a smile up on my face is a lie.
I'm once again lost. I don't know where to go.

I'm lost.

I need help.

An anecdote for the past decade

2020-01-11T19:50:00.001+08:00

Greetings.

It's finally 2020 and a new decade has commenced. I'm currently using my free time to write because I needed these to be heard without judgement. My social circle is very small, even talking in it seems a hazard. People have always assumed that my words are argumentative when I was just being expressive. In this era, it is explicitly rare to find someone who will actually be there and listen to you when you're actually just trying to be yourself. So here I am, writing for that mean.

The past decade has been challenging. I finally received my scroll of degree after all the dog days. I did went back to my Alma mater as a master trainer back in 2016 but I have no fond memories to be recollected there (other than reminiscing back the one I have with my 12 other siblings). The ambiance did track me back to what has happened particularly in certain places especially when the same thing happened back at the same exact time but nothing much has changed compared to the last time I set my foot there except for the nearest town development in process. I didn't really expect to go back after just 3 years of graduating but fate don't know me like it does now, don't it?

2014 was the year I started working as an educator. It was funny considering all the years I was trained to be one, I still found myself apathetic to the real situation (probably because of my work environment). I kept telling myself lies for a year thinking that I won't let myself be kept in contempt here for more than 2 years. Then came 2015, the most significant year I could probably live in. I'm positively definite that, what has lead me to stand here today, started in 2015. Everything turned upside down and I got addicted to working. I was miserable back then but ludicrously I was happy with what have I gotten into - I didn't even count my days for holidays! This kept going for a year (specifically August 2016 - been writing about this since day one).

I received my first award in the education industry in 2016. I was awarded excellency that year and I quite didn't expect all the accolades to keep coming in up until last year (received my ninth award already). It wasn't actually that easy to achieve them all. My dedication is still being questioned even after all the sacrifices I've made but I refuse to let myself deal with the negativity of society. If so, I'm no different than them. I'm not sure why smart shaming is still a choice in our community but that really cleared up to the reason why certain people can't progress. An advise I kept telling myself is not to sink to that level.

I'm still here, at the same old school. This might probably be the last year I'm going to teach here since it's really hard to grow here intellectually - even one of my colleagues confessed the same thing. I didn't mind the money. I just want to be happy. I'm willing to let go of the idea that money can provide me that (it does not!). There are lots of opportunities out there I've missed without knowing and spending another decade here is idiotic.

So here goes 2020,

another decade to savor, to relish and to live for.

May this be another significant decade for us all to reminisce.

Maybe this decade holds something for as all, God only knows.

HAPPINESS IS AN ILLUSION

2019-08-12T14:49:00.000+08:00

I'm in the middle of an emotional disturbances and writing somehow is a good therapy. Dealing with two long weeks of an emotionally exhausting period has got me thinking that this has been happening occasionally for a while now, and I am too much of an idiot to not realize that I can walk away from this. I somehow needed a mental therapy week to let these all go. I am currently planning for one. Spending holiday alone this year is so common that I am learning to get used to with it. I should look above future planning for the next long holidays. I tried resting but I got grumpy somehow. I am mad at everything – even on small things. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even get my words together to participate in a normal conversation. I miss the time when I found inner peace in me. I miss being happy.

Goodbye

2018-07-25T17:30:00.004+08:00

I pray for nothing but your happiness with him.

Someone's sometimes

2018-07-24T18:18:00.001+08:00

I'm tired, stressed and feeling insecure.
I don't want to be someone else's last resort to play the fire with when the fun in their life has gone for. I want to be someone's priority, not just an option. I'm sick of all the thrown sweet words but received nothing as an action.
I hate being someone's sometimes.
I deserve better in my life.
I'm waiting for this week to be over so I can finally be emotionally independent.
🤗

Come What May

2018-07-19T11:51:00.000+08:00

There have been a great changes in my life lately, I was home the other week when it occurred to me. The only thing bookmarked to the occasion was the 3rd play off between England and Belgium on the current year FIFA World Cup league. I was rooting for the Welsh's neighbor to win but to disappointment. Anyway, there we were, the whole family sitting together to watch the match. I don't think it'll be easier for us to gather round as such in the upcoming days. Now that the last of our siblings have already chosen to further her study, everything is going to change therefore. I have always thought that leaving home is a great chance for me to grow, to experience new things in my life - and the family was so lucky that we are able to undergo those experiences together since the last 13 years. We lived in so many places that we get to live the life of other races differently to make us a tad more cultured. Each places haa a different story to tell but I'll get to that back later.

I never see this from a different point of view - my parents. Since the last time I fetched my younger brother, the second last, for this same occasion, I was actually glad that he'll venture the life for his own. This is the kind of things that will make you up to who you become in the future. Thinking that the youngest would still be around, it eased me to at least think that they will occupy the denomination of home. There were a few times when I have nothing to do being stationed outside and I chose to go back. Those were the days when I would spend the time with her watching our favourite series, or playing ps4 and of course me being a sore brother asking her autocratically. We actually are not that much of a different. I can see myself in her. She's smart and very very independent - that's for sure. The one resemblance that put me to my worry is her state of bottling up her emotion. Her degree of respects towards other people are very high that it is hard for her to say no to some things. I can also see the aspiration in her eyes that she won't be talking about. I don't actually want these to change, per se, but up to some point, we have to learn to say no to things we don't like and to just grab those that we do. She's still young. I'm sure she will grow up to be a better person, even besting me.

I miss the old days.

I miss everything the old days have to offer.

I hate changes and even more if it's radical.

I refuse to believe that it grows you up, it most certainly is not.

The best teacher we have in our life is experience.

Changes have nothing to do with it.

Hidden scars

2018-07-11T01:17:00.001+08:00

Oligang

2018-07-09T03:43:00.003+08:00

It's a quarter past three in the morning and I can not manage to be sleeping. There are abounding memories that keeps lingering in my mind right now and I can not seem to hush them away. I'm still outside, drinking beers and hoping that the moon will show up but I know my efforts are to be disappointed.

I chose to stay out this week. I can not afford to go back to my work place. I'm depressed, and going back in there would be another mistake I'll make today.

I'm writing this entry for you.

I miss you. I miss you so much. Truthfully, I miss the old you. The old you who cared about us, about the relationship. The old you who didn't take me for granted. The old you, who listened. I knew how much this situation hurts, believe me but I chose to be quiet today because I know I can not control my words when my feelings has got into me.

I can still recall how this all started. I can reminisce every memories we have ventured together from day one to what made us up until now - every ups and every downs. From the very first movie we watched together to the very last period of the recent subtitle. From the very first sunrise, to the last sunset. From the very first song to the last of its lyric. I cherished every bits of them in tiny details.

I want you to know that my feeling has never changed for you but who am I to say that, I'm no jackpot boyfriend. What could I possibly have for you to accept me back. While you're the best person I have ever met in my life, I have nothing to provide to you. I lack your qualities; your sensitivity, your intelligence, your thoughtfulness... I'm surrounded by my shortcomings that might have possibly driven you away to who you are now.

If you're reading this, I want you to know that I still love you. With all my heart and soul. No words deep enough to be written, no gesture can act utterly to prove. To the moon and back, to infinity and beyond.

#414

A Cessation Of Hostilities

2018-03-17T22:31:00.000+08:00

I’ve met anger.

No.

I’m meeting anger

Frustration

Disappointment

Repentance

March has never agreed with me and this year’s might have been the worst of it. I haven’t planned anything for the day but I did expect it to go well.

And that’s where the problem begins.

I expected too much.

I wanted so vastly much that even a slight detour can lead to helplessness in the face of fate. So it did. With no reserved plan, I might as well finish this book of mine. There are still thousands of pages left, I hope some of it will distract me from all the jumbled feelings.

I am glad you found tranquility in being alone because these above, are too heinous to abide. I’m hoping nothing but you to be fine and dandy. Maybe this is what you need; a little break from all the commotions I’ve made lately. #414

Maybe this is for the best.

Tu Me Manques 😔

Page 365 From The Book of 2017

2017-12-31T03:54:00.002+08:00

I haven't written a thing this year (although there are a few unpublished drafts saved on my dashboard). I might have gone pretty much occupied and the state of having a significant other in my life has actually changed my course to the other direction. I have nothing much to say here. I initially wanted to review my year of 2017 but there's actually nothing much to be talked about. I'm still working in that interior school and I am getting used to with it except for the fact that it rendered my intellect moot. I've been taking a lot of courses and concurred to some outstation duties just to expand my mind so that I won't have to debate that this 'working in an interior place yields thousand experiences' could actually be a consent. I refuse to use my experiences as a weapon of battering tool. There are lots of great people out there and I'm well aware that I still need more acquiring to reach to that level - and I'm willing to do that for the sake of self-improvement.

My journal this year has been mostly empty. I've spent all my leisure sleeping and resting because that's the only free time I'll ever gonna get. This year has been exhausting, both physically and mentally. I wonder how did I get pass through with it all but I actually did and I'm moderately proud of myself (because after all the reflections made, I still think I could do better). One of my resolution every year is to achieve something in my life (career wise). Even if it's something small, it will still appear as a blotch to prove that I'm relatively developing.

I'm hoping for the best next year - professionally and personally.

This will be my only (and last) entry for 2017. 2018 comprises a lot of new adventures ahead. Let's buckle up and say cheers to this final page.

Is It not?

2016-12-15T16:34:00.000+08:00

Why is this indifference so confusing?

I want to hold your hand everywhere I go,

grip your palm and never let go,

I want to listen to your voice every day,

Until there is no words left to say,

Is it not your desire?

Don't you want it also?

I thought you want that too...

I want to be able to see your face every night,

watch the windows of your soul close tight.

I want to feel your heartbeat as you sleep,

hug you dearly as you go into the deep.

Is it not your desire?

Don't you want it also?

I thought you want that too...

I want to walk along the beach with you again,

make footprints to mark it when.

I want to watch you build your fortress,

sit on the sand smiling to your fondness.

Is it not your desire?

Don't you want it also?

I thought you want that too...

I want to gaze the moon with you again,

glorify its beauty that made me blind.

I want to fondle your face under its illumination,

as we listen the radio for another love song.

Is it not your desire?

Don't you want it also?

I thought you want that too...

I want to feel the breezes of the warm wind with you again,

mere walking every now and then.

I want to stay with you here,

for the air is clear and there's nothing to fear.

Is it not your desire?

Don't you want it also?

I thought you want that too...

I want to adore the sunset with you again,

Can we just do that just one more time?

I want to have that endless talk with you again,

Can I just have it one more time?

What is it that you desire?

That could be so different from all those

Ain't I making you happy?

Don't you find happiness in me?

#414

Fading wave

2016-12-10T10:57:00.001+08:00

They were so different from each other yet still there they are together. Despite all the quarreling and occasional altercations, something in their mind binds them to the realization that those are actually one of the distinctions that complete them. Time doesn’t support their affections so as conventional opinions; they get through no matter what. Well there's something about the scenery that describes the whole situations differently. The fading hue of the yellowish sky refracts the illumination of the sun admirably that it touches both of their skin so warmly to their heart. The sand they’re standing on is a mere representation of a dais that allows the final wave of the ocean to fade out and when the hindmost bubbles reach their feet, they seem so ferocious to erasing the footprints they have left behind but no matter how far it hits, it will never be able to wash away the memories they have created there together. The breezes, yes the one element that amalgamates their vicinity to their core consolidates their awareness of being together, blows tenderly condoning the warmth of the bright sunset. That day seems to end in no minute. The moon finally came to address that. There’s another chapter that tells about the moon - but not there… not now… #H4R1