Chilly Haiku

I may be writing 

Too much snow themed poetry 

Ain’t getting warmer. 

Someone get me a medal already, am I a haiku pro now??

I’ve counted syllables on my fingers. As a math student, this is the most arithmetic I have done in a year. Phew. I’m not even kidding.

It Is Time!

If I have anything to say for myself with regards to my prolonged and mysteriously silent absence, all I can say is that I was frozen in time. I’m not even kidding. If midterms weren’t time consuming enough, check this out: 

This is the definition of perfection (ignoring the fact that my hands have frozen just like the rest of me).

I can’t complain about the cold when going outside is this rewarding! 

In other stories, Merry Christmas already. If I can get myself out of bed by then, I’ll be amazed with myself. I went to bed at 4:45 AM last night questioning why I even bother trying to sleep. 

But then again, it wasn’t too bad a day either.

Please ignore the mess. My roommate’s getting better at doing that. 

I can’t wait for December. I can’t wait for finals to end. 

And while your mercurial and unpunctual writer waits…

Scratch that, I’m just waiting for a decent hour tonight so I can go to bed. On Maslow’s pyramid, I’ve dropped to the underground levels where the Pharos were buried. 

Which basically should translate to only so much: I’m underground 😉

Until the next time I surface for breath!


You there? December just called. It wanted its gimmick back.

It said, October, what the (expletive deleted)?! You have Halloween! You freaking have falling leaves and back-to-schools! You even have your own rains! Why are you stealing my thunder!?

October could just sit there coolly and not care less.

Coolly might be an understatement though. October’s defying all patterns known to and loved by psychologists and meteorologists.

The leaves and still here, and half of them are still green. The temperatures change every day, but this has taken the cake:


The first snow showers, in October. It was admittedly more like a few chunks of ice, but you see the one piece that doesn’t belong here, don’t you? It’s only still October! My sister back home is sweltering in the plus thirties, and here, there are ice daggers falling from the skies. It’s ridiculous. It’s October.

And all the chemistry they taught me was a lie. Water doesn’t freeze at zero degrees. It froze at four (to be fair, ice does melt beyond four, but). All those benzene rings, for nothing. All that hyperconjugation and moles of pain for nothing. All those wasted chemistry puns.

Fuck you, high school chemistry, and no deleted expletives.

If you want me, I’ll be in the corner crying in denial and writing more chemistry poetry.

For real though, it’s my first time in the snow, so you’ll probably find me out at four in the coldest hour of the morning hunting for ice shards with a ridiculous determination on my face (it was only 9 PM, but that’s exactly the state my friend found me in, so it’s no exaggeration!)

I dunno, should I say happy fall, like I usually do? It’s more like ‘kiss your expectations goodbye’ now…

So happy curveballs, y’all!

Just for the record, that tree is losing leaves like I’m losing steam.

It doesn’t look all that bad from one angle…

But just wait till you get to know its other side. 

Quite like a certain someone I can think of.

Soap Suds of the World

“You are not special. You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We’re all part of the same compost heap.”

“Didn’t I realise that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness?”

“We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are.”


I guess all three of them were right, weren’t they?
‘Jack’, Tyler and God?
We have the potential to be any, we all have it in us to be special unique snowflakes. Or we could choose to be trash and dirt of the world, but most of the time, we just don’t try to be either. We resign to, or just content ourselves with just being.
As ‘Jack’/’Joe’ (depending on whether you followed the book or the movie Fight Club) said, “we just are.”
Nameless, faceless beings, happy to rot away in a cubicle on minimum wage, or conversely, we just are, the label, that image, the good employee, the award-winner, the hard worker, the faceless, well-lubricated wheel cog.
Neither are we essential, nor are we causing trouble.
We just are, and that’s probably why, we’re replaceable.

Do we have any personality? Are you anything other than a well-labelled diagram? Is there any part of you a tag can’t define?
Is there any characteristic of yours that isn’t a Google-searchable Shutterstock image?
Can you define yourself outside of your resumé? Is it too hard, or much too easy?
Are you an online personality quiz? Are you your zodiac?
The daily horoscope?
Can I tell exactly how you’d react to this?
And is something wrong with you if you don’t?
Isn’t your name shared by a million others? Aren’t your traits in fifty others?
Aren’t you a compilation of influences, then?
Are you you? Who are you?
What about you isn’t replaceable? What about me isn’t?
Is this really me, then? Could an algorithm have picked up my style and be writing this right now, then?
Can I be predicted?
Am I just existing?
Not the melted snowflake nor the trodden shit, yet nothing at all?