Tag: creative writing

A dark corner

We all have this one spot where we go to whenever things don’t go right. I’d like to call it the dark corner. To me it is a safe place, silent and alone, yet not lonely. I usually visit this spot once in a short while to see how dark it gets through time, or how brighter it becomes after putting so much effort to light it up. Even though we all have it, it is various from person to person. And it is caused by different factors in life.

Have you ever felt empty while you have everyone around? You feel that you don’t even belong there/here. You sound hopeful yet you know it’s a denial. You tell yourself every day that life must go on whether you want it or not; it doesn’t stop here, or unless yo… well I don’t have to finis the sentence, do it? Don’t be a fool. Even if you die, the problem will not solve itself; it is passed to others, worst, it might be passed to the people you love and care for the most. Still you are in your dark corner and looking for a way out, still haven’t succeeded.

Have you been told that you are a loser? Have you been thought to be successful and turns out the opposite? Has anyone said something like ‘I thought you were my only hope’ to you? Read the question again, slowly this time.

I bet we all have been through this and yes we have that dark spot where we appreciate so much that you don’t wanna share with anyone, not even with your partner. Special! I sometimes feel guilty for not being able to share my thoughts in a straightforward way. I can’t. I just am unable to express it the way common people could comprehend. All they do is judge.

I’m quite pessimistic and hopeless, but it’s funny that I teach people to be optimistic and hopeful. Here the irony is. I only try so that others might be motivated and start it over. They don’t deserve to swim through thing like I have been experiencing. Am I passive? Yes. Because all I wish to see in others is greatness and joy. I can’t now. I am all alone on a boat paddling on an endless lake. I can’t be thinking too much about others. I have to live. Like my previous post, I encouraged others to be selfish because I know people aren’t like us, seeing the world as a better place for everyone. They see us as a door mat they can step on and feeling no guilt whatsoever.

This dark corner of mine starts to show itself: I’m pissed. What is so wrong about being pissed? Non. You only become who you are, the real one. The worst thing is that I’m a passively pissed person; I don’t go around pouting my fingers on others; I take it all, by myself. Stupid, sometimes I call myself.

It’s too dark here. I can’t even see what I typing.

You heard me, how is yours?

The gate is there; go open it!

Stay in your financial lane (khmer)

អ្នកខ្លះឃើញគេមានបាន ចង់បានដូចគេដែរ ប៉ុន្តែមិនដែលឃើញខំប្រឹងរកទេ។ អ្នកណាក៏ចង់កើតមកមានស្រាប់ដែរ ប៉ុន្តែបើកើតមកក្រក៏យើងកែប្រែអ្វីមិនបានដែរ ដូច្នេះមានតែខំរក ហើយសន្សំប្រាក់យកទៅវិនយោគ ទោះតិចក្តី ច្រើនក្តី។

យើងឃើញគេសប្បាយចាយលុយ យើងក៏ចង់ចាយបែបនោះដែរ ប៉ុន្តែយើងគួរតែគិតគូឲ្យបានឆ្ងាយបន្តិចចំពោះការគ្រប់គ្រងហិរញវត្ថុផ្តាល់ខ្លួន។

កុំចាយតាមគេ ចាយមើលហោប៉ៅខ្លួនឯង។

មិនមែនឲ្យឈប់ចាយលុយ ហើយសន្សំទាំងអស់នោះទេ តែគួរណារកវិធីសាស្រ្តបង្កើនទ្រព្យឲ្យមានលំហូរសិន (cash flow) សឹមចាយបែបធូរៗ។

នេះនិយាយប្រាប់ខ្លួនឯងផងដែរទេ បើមានខ្លួនក៏យកខ្លះទៅ។ 😂😂😂

Put yourself first; thank me later

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ស្រឡាញ់ខ្លួនឯង គិតគូរខ្លួនឯងមិនយើងគិតពីអ្នកដទៃ។ ជួយគេជារឿងល្អ ប៉ុន្តែ ជួយគេអស់ពីខ្លួន ហើយមកដេកចាំជំនួយវិញ គឺជារឿងគួរជៀសវាងបំផុត។ ចូរកុំឲ្យខ្លួនធ្លាក់ក្នុងរណ្តៅនេះ។

ការដែលស្រឡាញ់ខ្លួនឯង មិនមែនជារឿងដែលខុសនោះទេ។ ផ្ទុយទៅវិញ វាគឺជាអ្វីដែលមនុស្សគ្រប់រូបគួរតែធ្វើ។ មនុសមួយចំនួន តែងតែយកអាសារអ្នកនៅជុំវិញខ្លួយ ហើយភ្លេចមើលថែរខ្លួនឯង។ វាមិនខុសនោះទេ បើយើងចង់ជួយគេ តែយ៉ាងណាមិញ បើយើងគិតឲ្យអស់ទៅ តាមពុទ្ធសាសនាក្តី តាមវិទ្យាសាស្ត្រក្តី ដើម្បីឲ្យយើងបន្តជួយគេបាន លុះត្រាតែយើងជួយខ្លួនឯងសិន ព្រោះបើយើងដួល នោះយើងនឹងមិនអាចជួយគេបានទៀតនោះទេ។

ក៏ប៉ុន្តែ អ្នកខ្លះស្រឡាញ់ខ្លួនឯងលើស ក៏ជ្រុលទៅធ្វើបាបអ្នកផ្សេង ដើម្បីឲ្យខ្លួនឯងបានខ្ពង់ខ្ពស់។ នេះមិនមែនស្រឡាញ់ខ្លួនឯងនោះទេ គេហៅថាលោភ។

សរុបមកវិញ ធ្វើអីក៏ធ្វើទៅឲ្យតែធ្វើឲ្យខ្លួនឯងសប្បាយចិត្ត ប៉ុន្តែព្យាយាមធ្វើយ៉ាងណាកុំជិះជាន់អ្នកដទៃ ព្រោះគេក៏ចង់រស់ដែរ។

គិតយ៉ាណាដែរ?

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Come again!

“… but why was I not shredding any tears?”

Every night I would sing myself to sleep. I hummed the melody and sang the lyrics in my head. Not a single tiny bit of sound was made. The room was too silent that I could hear the white noise coming out of the lamp. I would stare at one particular spot of my ceiling until my brain formed a picture of things, sometime things that had never existed. I would change the spot the next night so that I would entertain myself with a different picture every night. The house was so quiet after everyone had left. I remember vividly the loud noise my dad used to talk. My mom would sit quietly doing her paperwork. She was still working at her 50s. My older brother was a nerd, but he liked rock music, and he liked it loud. I could hear them songs clearly from room through two walls. I couldn’t imagine how my younger sister could stand living wall to wall with my brother. His favorite was Linking Park’s In The End, and it was also mine.

Everyday was alike; nothing was special about this family until the spread of a pandemic in 2020. They called it Covid-19. I didn’t know what it was; all I knew was the millions of deaths would wide. The disease was not as scary as the economy. It saw a huge plummet that had never seen before, even more intense than the great depression during the 1930s. People were panic and no one was happy, and neither was my family.

We went through the pandemic like champs because non of us went out, nor did we work. We stayed in and did the usual thing we had always did. My brother would stay in his room listening to his loud rocks, my sister would locked herself in her room doing something I had never known, my mom would just sit at her death table doing her work for the fact that she was the only one working during that critical time to support the family, and my dad would be at the backyard smoking and drinking wine and beer. He wanted to smoke and drink as much as he could, but our budget didn’t allow, so he needed to save every drop of his alcohol drink. He only smoked half of the cigarette in the morning and so that he could enjoy the other half in the evening before dinner. Dinner to us was a fancy word. We had not had a proper diner since Covid-19 started. My mom would only allow half of the meal we used to have, so every one only had a small bowl of rice and a piece a fried dry-fish.

So where have they gone? Everyone? I woke up one morning just to find out everyone was gone. I didn’t what had happened the night before, or probably the year before. I felt exhausted and lifeless. It was weird at first, but I got used to it fast. I thought everyone died, or they was fed up with me and moved out without me. I thoughts a lot, but why was I not shredding any tears? I guess I was the who who was fed up with living in such family. I used to hate my family, not any one in particular. I used to think running away from home and never ever coming back, but I never did. So where are they now? What happened to them? I don’t miss them actually; I am just curious. I want to be ready for my time. Was it hurt? I mean when they was killed? If they were killed. or Was it hurt to leave me? If they left me. I haven’t had the answer for 10 years now, so this doesn’t really bother me much.

The boy next door experienced the same thing. He is the only friend I have now. His family suddenly disappeared and he had no clue. He sounded and looked rather stupid when he was telling me what he found out the morning he woke up in bed alone.

Every midnight, he and I would climb to the rooftop and look at the sky. We hope one day they will come again.

I didn’t mean it

… Some time later, I opened my eyes just to find myself in bed staring at the ceiling without any sheet on. I felt the cold air passing through the window, but I couldn’t tell what time it was. I looked at my clock I got for my 26th birthday, and I was wide awake; it was 7.45 in the morning. I had to go to work. I rolled to the left and both of my hands helped me sit up. I shook my head a few time to get a whole of myself. I knew I was about to be late, so I grabbed my phone to make a call. Tears dropped on the screen and I couldn’t help but collapsed. I again found my back against the bed. My left hand was still holding on to my phone tightly.

“Why did it happen? Why couldn’t I be more careful? Why couldn’t I be more sensitive? It was actually my fault, but she was the one who got the punishment.”

The phone rang, and I realized it was 8. I didn’t pick up the phone; I didn’t even care to check who was calling. I was on my own sitting by the edge of the bed thinking about what happened that night. I didn’t mean to hurt her feeling; she knew I didn’t, but she still did it.