a belated guide on making new year resolutions

this guide has come three years and two months late. during this time i have learnt to hate myself.


i. stop making it about other people

2016’s resolution was to get over the guy who held the universe in his eyes. his eyes were like black holes, deep and dark but also so potent. i forgot that space is an infinite abyss of silent hell. when he dropped my heart, the world blinked, and then it moved on. it hasn’t ever been the same then. i tripped over my memories of him.

2017’s resolution was to exercise that self love. go for a jog when the weight of responsibilities and toxicity crashes down on my shoulders. my feet pounding against concrete and blood rushing through my veins are all that i need to feel dead. i keeled over and threw up.

2018’s resolution was to clear the clutter in my life. sweep away the negativity. wash off the stench of rumors and hatred sent my way. trash the memories of what was possibly the worst year of my life, and focus on the good. i am (supposed to be) better than that mess of negativity on the table.  i left the pile of rubbish in a corner of my heart. i’ve been hoarding the negative energy ever since.

ii. understand that the new year’s positivity lasts only a day

i start every year a little more jaded and cynical than the last, but i am a romantic who believes in the power of change. this year’s planner: washi tape? check. cute? double check. it has hipster monstera leaf vectors on it. cute calligraphy? done. my two years experience was made for this moment. motivational quotes? dusted and sprinkled liberally with icing powder.

two weeks into january, and card captor sakura: clear card hen is the only thing keeping me from spiralling into anxiety induced meltdowns and self hatred. 2018’s resolution is intact and safe, baby.

(just ignore those days spent pressed up against the door of bathroom stalls, legs trembling and mind chanting: it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok. it’s not ok and i try to muffle my sobs because i can hear them chattering on the other side of the door.)

iii. aim for the moon and if you miss, your body will smash against solid concrete

resolutions are named as such because they are an ideal. ideals however, are simply not practical, nor realistic. ceteris paribus is a lie. no energy loss is a theory. my happiness is a myth. perfect specialization has never been further from the truth.

how many stabs in the back does it take to kill? my body is a battleground: every bombshell of scorn etched into my skin, the razor sharp anger digging trenches into my flesh and the army of self confidence soldiers dying bloody deaths. i am familiar with the metallic tang of resignation and helplessness.

i hear the whispers like screams in my mind and i fall inwards on myself. tuck my shoulders in a little more. stop wearing my pink jacket even if i am freezing and my fingers are numb. stop fidgeting even if my legs are falling asleep. bowing my head more. speak a little softer. speak a little less.

it’s never enough.

iv. don’t make them 

there is always a high. then comes the crash. the world burns.

you have my silence. just as you wished.


an ideal: keala settle is the baddest bitch 

i’ve learnt to slam on the brakes: before i even turned the key

i climb, till the entire sun shines on my face: and suddenly i feel the branch give way


a/n: my anxiety is off the charts but it got super bad today. this piece takes on a rlly different tone, but yay to my growth as a writer i guess. lol. school hasnt been too hot and hopefully break will be good. shop me my wishlist: unlimited warm hugs, instant death and a shoulder to cry on. thanks! but in all honesty, i’m grateful for all the love here at pointilisms :__)




and so it begins

happy new year, with lots of love from pointilisms. i have never been one to believe in changing yourself come the slide of a hand to twelve midnight (more of that in january’s pieces), but i believe in the power of starting clean.

thank you for having been with me in 2017-silent and active readers alike. you give me one more reason to write, and for that i am grateful. i started pointilisms last year as a way to keep the writing mojo alive even after going to college. college is undeniably the most draining and painful milestone of my life, but i am always glad that i have a safe space in pointilisms. the freedom to post my first drafts-raw, fresh and unapologetically me is a privilege that i have come to embrace this past year. even as the year ahead is packed full of anxiety and tests (for me), i hope that i can draw the same comfort from my readers and pointilisms. it was an honor writing for all of you, and here’s to a 2018 when we write our souls down on writing blogs.

if i were to choose a word to sum up pointilisms in 2017, it would have been unapologetic. may we always have the bravery to speak up for what we believe in.



you are never in the past

i was young and foolish and your impish smile drew me in. it was 2012 then.

today i am still your fan and will be tomorrow and next week and forever. dear jonghyun, you meant the world to me. you still mean the world to me. that grin never changed: it was unwavering and brave and the only thing i have ever known. at every concert you cry and tell us that you love us. we love you too, jjong. we love you and we’re so proud of you. you were a pillar of strength: those words of comfort, the familliar yell of fighting, the way you spread your arms out like you wanted to hold us in your embrace. you were a voice for the voiceless: the first idol that introduced me to lgbtq rights. you were the first icon of diversity i knew and i am thankful that you were always the one who fought for what you believed in.


i struggle with depression. your passing today has hit me hard: made me realize that you are something that i took for granted. i think about the what ifs and if i had to pick one, it’d be what if you had gotten the support you needed? i know that depression has always been a taboo topic-that sadness that is more than just sadness. everyone parades depression in their mental health project but no one ever understands us. i’m sorry you had to feel this way: that your dying was the best way to stop the pain. it hurts, but i don’t blame you. jonghyun, you are loved and we are so so so so proud of you. for many of us, you pulled us out of this slump. i hope your journey now is a smooth one and that you’re happier. rest well, jjong. you carry the world on those sturdy shoulders everyday and i wish i could have told you that you are beautiful. that you are loved. that you mean something. that there is no darkness without light. i love you, angel. nothing’s going to hurt you now.

i beg of all my readers to be sensitive. to stop tossing depression like it means sadness. to stop seeing depression as a joke. to stop using triggered for giggles. to always lend your ear to someone else. please.


ive been crying something crazy and the shinee vids are rlly killing me now. pls, dont let ur loved ones be driven to suicide. hold their hand. tell them they are loved. hold them tight. i dont have much words rn, but dont take depression lightly. to jonghyun, thank you for all the smiles you have given me. i love you so much, and you are someone who wont remain as history only. you are beautiful. condolences to shinee, jonghyun’s family and friends. it must hurt even more.

you will be found

dedicated to every person who’s ever loved me. it means the world. thank you.


failing doesn’t get easier even after seventeen years. falling still hurts like fuck, the way the gravel rips my skin raw open and the first gush of blood still nips angrily across my tingling skin and my leg is still as numb as the first time i fell. the pain is still as acute when i come out of the hall with the sinking feeling of i’m going to fail. i already knew i was going to fail but this didn’t make the blank paper and swimming words any better. failing is still lump in my throat that makes swallowing the news so damn difficult. every day is a struggle when instagram feeds and twitter timelines are filled with someone’s else success. i want to be happy for you but your brilliance is a reminder of everything i want to be but will never achieve. i want to be pulled up into honey warm hugs and have a shoulder to cry into and a chest to nuzzle and i want a hand to stroke my matted hair and lips to whisper it will be fine i still love yous into the shell of my ear but it doesn’t happen. i go home to a microwaved muffin and i jump into bed and pull the covers tight over myself even if it is only two fifty in the afternoon. when i come to at seven i am disoriented and the dark sky outside is starless. dead the way i am, not a spark of light within sight. i have my dinner (microwaved again because i don’t trust my trembling fingers to light the gas and i know that my kerosene tears would start to burn if i lit up the stove) and the house is eerily silent. i am left alone with my thoughts so i jump back to bed and scroll through my phone aimlessly. i see my little prince and my heart aches for the way he will always be happy without me.

ping ping ping 

1 whatsapp message

1 instagram dm

i ignore the whatsapp message even if it is from s, because i feel like i cannot face her today. my fingers slip into my ig dm and the words that come next draw all the breath out of my throat: at least tuesday is over, right? that’s what you wanted! my heart is pounding sixty miles an hour. you remembered, i want to say, you remembered. the tears are welling up and my heart suddenly feels better.

2 whatsapp messages

3 whatsapp messages 

4,5,6 whatsapp messages

i slide open the text from a. it says i found something, venus and i am too tired to say much so i type a ?. the reply that comes is swift: a picture of finger heart with my name on it and i am going crazy because i find it oddly endearing. i laugh.

i open up s’s text and i read it and i cry because it’s been six months since i’ve felt anything. and i cry and cry and cry and cry and

i’m still crying today because

i’ve been found.


not poetry not prose just word vomit. it’s been what, half an hour and this track already means the world to me. at first i thought that this was going to be inspiration porn 101 you are great and good and loved so don’t be depressed! because when has depression ever meant anything except Easy Mental Health Topic Everyone Talks About But Doesn’t Actually Understand or diversity quota to act like we care for the mentally ill even when we make fucking ableist jokes every day. but i digress. i have been crying at my laptop screen for half an hour because this is something. idk. it’s almost two in the afternoon but i am tired and speechless. give it a listen. oh, and don’t forget the tissues.