Wings | Quick Piece Breakdown


This short story is similar to “Red Ribbons” in the sense that both pieces are written on the spot and I wrote them based on my feelings. “Wings” is about me growing up with some added literary elements. The piece is broken up into four parts. The first paragraph talks about my elementary years, the second paragraph talks about my middle school years and the third paragraph talks about my current situation, a mix between high school and college experiences. The final paragraph talks about unity as this story is similar to everyone else’s.

The first paragraph is supposed to give the reader an image of freedom and carefree. When I was little, I actually think that I could control the wind and what I wanted the most was to fly. It was probably because I spent my recess on the swings with my friend, swinging so high that I could see the entire playground and I felt invincible. I didn’t know much about responsibilities and I was only concerned about having fun.

In the next paragraph, it’s a transition from a carefree feeling to a worried and insecure image. This paragraph also starts with a doubtful tone that continues to the next paragraph. In middle school, I started falling behind in my studies because things were pretty overwhelming as I adjusted to things rather slowly. It’s also evident that I didn’t know what was happening as change was brought upon me.

The third paragraph is full of confusion about where my path lies. I’m still insecure, but I’m more insecure about what I’ll be doing in the future and if what I’m doing now is really worth doing. It has more questions than the other paragraphs because I’m seeking for answers. It’s incomplete because I’m currently living it.

And the final paragraph is a pact of unity. We’re all went through our childhood that spiraled into awkwardness and into a slow ascent of finding myself again. Since we’re all going through this “life” similarly, we should all help each other out because there are certainly some times when we can’t do it ourselves.

Have a great week!



Wings | Quick Piece

This is a story of my life. It begins with love and ends with no regrets. During the exposition, I find myself getting taller. I feel like I could graze the sky with my finger tips. Everyone around  me flew so well and I wanted to be just like them. When I was little, I could run really fast. The wind ran its fingers through my hair and my face was turned towards the sky. I felt free as a bird and I was convinced that I was invincible. I was a child of the wind. I ran about, flapping my wings because my feathers weren’t mature. I could only imagine what I would become.

When my wings started growing in, I found them rather stubby. I looked at them and wondered how I was going to fly. They didn’t look pretty or beautiful. There were some teenagers who called them cute, but I definitely didn’t feel that way. I felt confused because everything was moving too fast. When I ran in the green field, I noticed that there were more people in front of me. I strained and struggled, but I was always behind them.  All the books I read were about how to kiss and dumping boys. I glanced at the boys and I saw them milling around with their pants too low to the ground. I wanted my wings to come in fuller, but it was taking a while and I felt like I had been forgotten.

I’m only 19 and my story isn’t over yet. Have I reached the climax or is it still the exposition? I still feel confused even though my downy feathers have mostly dropped away. I look around and see everyone else, seemingly ahead. I think I can fly, but I’m scared. It’s a long drop from the sky to the ground. Yet, I’ve many people soar and I’m convinced that I may also be able to do so. With each downward stroke of my wings, I go forwards. There are many times when the wind was too strong for me and I drop, but I never hit the ground.

This is my story and maybe you could fly with me. We could carry each other when we’re tired or we could be there to shout words of encouragement when the wind gets too strong. After all, we’re all part of the same nest.


Tea | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone,

I hope you are all doing well and that you’re doing what makes you happy! It’s alright if you’re sleeping though because sleep makes things better. Anyways, I’m pleased to say that I’ve gotten an internship! I just never thought that someone would consider me and I’m very grateful for the opportunity.

This poem is full of back story, so prepare yourself!


The crisp clinking of the
tea pot and the lid
remind me of memories.
They gather up and show me
how life used to be.
They bunch together and
sing songs of
good times.
All in all,
it ended up having a great taste.
The routine of making the perfect
cup of tea remind me of
patience and how
sometimes you need to wait
for the best.
And the satisfaction of finally
having the perfect cup of tea.

Tea has always been a part of my life and I can remember when I was young refusing tea just because it was too hot. It was boiled leaf juice after all. In school, I would drink lots of tea because I can’t drink coffee due to its caffeine content, so I just drink camomile tea. While I was in China, tea was everywhere and there’s also a way to make the tea and pour it. You always pour to the oldest at the table first and make your way down until you pour the tea for yourself. It’s a way of saying thank you. For some reason, while people were preparing the tea, I really enjoyed the clinking sounds.

With regards to the first line of my poem, the clinking sounds do bring back memories of eating with my family. Sharing a meal together is something that should really be cherished because it’s time spent well. In that moment, life is great. Your family and friends are there talking and eating good food. It’s a great hustling and bustling. Just like steeping tea, the longer you steep it, the stronger the tea. The longer you spend with your family, the stronger your bond will be. That can go with your friends as well.

Yet there are times when your patience will be tested, but everything will turn out and you’ll be happy to not have given up.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s Poetry Breakdown and have a great week!


Dripping | Quick Piece Breakdown


I wrote this piece when I was in China and I had discovered a clever writing app. I also didn’t write anything for two weeks, so all of my writing ideas streamed out of my fingertips at a rapid rate. That would explain why it would seem so unorganized at some parts.

The first couple of sentences were inspired by the exhausting heat I experienced while I was in China. The little plastic fan was constantly on and you could find me lying on my bed trying my best to cool down. It was just very humid in China and it tended to make you pretty drowsy. I made my character, Steven, doze off and have a nightmare that was about his past that constantly haunted him. His younger brother remained unnamed because I didn’t want the name to draw away from the background the brothers have. Steven’s younger brother haunts and comforts him only because Steven is responsible for him. I’ve noticed that I tend to write younger children with an innocent wisdom because what I’ve gathered from my experience with children is that they have a very difference perspective than adults and teenagers. It’s simpler and makes you open your eyes. In my stories, I want to be able to display what makes children children through their innocent wisdom.

When I wrote the background story for the brothers, I wanted it to be tragic, but not too cliche. I didn’t want it to be too complicated as that would distract from the moral of the story. I wrote a story that was about a hardworking mother providing for her children. She married, but she wasn’t happy, so she impulsively bought a house which caused her more problems that caused her children to be neglected. As the mother said goodbye to her children, I tried to maintain her maternal instincts as she tells Steven to take care of his younger brother and himself.

The last paragraph is to tie everything together now that the reader knows about Steven and his brother’s background. It’s also supposed to have an impact on the reader and to make it clear that Steven’s past definitely defined who he is at that time. The symbolism of the dripping faucet is responsibility. You need to be aware of it as well as knowing how to control it. A dripping faucet can accumulate to a large quantity of water lost and wasted money and knowing that the faucet is dripping and closing it would prove that you are responsible and that you also know the consequences of not closing the faucet. It’s sometimes trial and error though.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s Quick Piece Breakdown and have a great day!


Distraction | Mentality

Hello everyone,
It’s been a while since I’ve posted a Mentality post and I thought I would update you guys.

When I was in fourth grade, I became more aware of everything from my body image to how I fit in with other people. I became more reserved and that was when I dove further into books and avoided the things that were difficult to process. That was also when I had a fear of death and it would keep me up for hours while I tried to wrap my head around it.

Time went on and I got better at dealing with my problems by myself. My method wouldn’t be to face it, but it would be to distract myself from my problems and pretend that it never happened. I would immediately plug into a book or  music and tune myself away for a couple hours. Granted, my problems would accumulate and they would eventually be way too big for me to deal with. Even now that I’ve learned that my worries have a name, I still resort to this method. I need to learn to let things go and move on.

Naturally, change is incredible difficult for me. During the summer before I left for college, I had a panic attack every single week because I was so uncertain and terrified of going to college. The week of graduation, I had a panic attack every single day and even during graduation, I was depressed. The age I’m in right now is full of adjustments and changes, so I definitely need to accept change. I know that change is inevitable, but it’s so difficult to go through with it for me and break a comfortable routine.

This is my mentality as of now- I feel rather confused.

Thanks for reading Mentality.


Dripping |Quick Piece

The fan gently cooled down my overheating body and I stared blankly ahead. Echoes of voices sounded from the floor underneath us, reverberating gossip and news. I let the heat wash over me until my senses become dull. The fan barely kept me awake. All I wanted to do was sleep until winter came. A voice grew louder and I tried swatting it away, but it persisted. “Steven!” someone said as I started dozing off. I mumbled that I was asleep and rolled over. The voice suddenly screamed and then the room fell silent. I jolted upright and surveyed the room. The fan was still blowing. A gentle breeze rolled in through the window and my door was still closed. A bead of sweat rolled down my temple and dripped from my face. I frantically wiped my face and leaped up from my bed. I walked up and down the hall, looking for the source of the devastating scream, but the halls remained empty. I went downstairs to find the house eerily silent. Something was obviously wrong, but I didn’t know what to do. “Anyone there?” I shouted. My voice bounced off the smiling pictures and echoed back. I stepped into the kitchen. Everything was still except for the dripping faucet. My mom would always drill into our heads to close the faucets tightly so water wouldn’t be wasted. I gingerly walked towards the leaky faucet and stared at it. I extended my shaky hand to turn it only to find that it was already tightly closed. I surveyed the  kitchen to see if anyone followed me, but this was my house after all. I remembered locking the door after coming back from work. By now, the sun had long gone down and my stomach angrily growled. I sighed and headed to the fridge. The light flooded the kitchen and a little boy casually walked out. I screamed and fell backwards. “Who are you and why are you in my fridge?” I frantically said as the little boy approached me. He shrugged and opened the faucet. He scrubbed down his hands and dried them off. The faucet continued dripping. He walked toward me again and I scrambled back. “Who are you and what do you want?” I demanded as I backed into a corner. He whispered, “Steven, you never turned off the faucet when you finished. Why? You wasted so much water! And that really hurt me that you never seemed to listen to one simple command.” The little boy’s face warped into my mother’s face and I yelped. I tried backing up, but I backed into the wall. My mother/the little boy continued scolding me and the pinging of the water droplets hitting the metal sink grew louder, echoing through the dark house. I closed my eyes and started screaming.

I woke up with a start. The fan was still diligently spinning around and my face was drenched in sweat. From across the room, my younger brother looked at me with a face full of concern. “Bad dream?” he inquired. I rolled over and sighed, “Yeah, I guess I should have really listen to mom.” He crawled into my bed and peered at me. “But you always did” he said innocently. I laughed and said “I did, but I never seemed to want to close the faucet tightly. There was some aesthetic that I liked about a drippy faucet for some reason.” He patted my head and within a couple minutes, he was fast asleep. I quietly got up and went down to the kitchen. The first thing I did was check if the faucet was dripping. I gave a sigh of relief when I found that it was tightly closed. I opened and closed the fridge even though I felt sick to my stomach. I pulled up a chair and put my head in my hands. Things were spinning back to me again.

When I was little and my brother was just an infant, we lived on the streets. All of us worked hard to fill our stomachs. My mom worked two jobs and even as a 7 year old, I handed out leaflets on the street corner for something I had no idea about. My little brother would cling onto my ankle and he would be the reason that I was able to give away all 200 leaflets each day because people thought my little brother was as cute as a button. After two years of living on the street, my mom married a guy she met at work and we moved into a small apartment. It was small and crammed, but it was it was better than the dirty and noisy streets. We only lived in the apartment for a couple months when my mom decided to take us away. I later found out that her newly found husband had been treating her terribly. It makes me wish I had noticed so I could have done something. My mom was so anguished that she bought a two floor house with whatever money she had. In just a couple of weeks, the house sent us back to where we started. My mom fell into depression, but managed to hide it from us. Every day, she put food on the table and I never questioned how she got it that that day.

Like normal kids, we did our chores and I was assigned with washing the dishes and my little brother was to clean up his toys. After washing, I would constantly get scolded for not closing the faucet tight enough. My mom was adamant in making sure money was being saved. This would become a reoccurring thing with my stubbornness. My mom has lost the battle with money and lost her impulsive house. We ended up being sent to many different foster homes. Before my brother and I were shuttled away, my mom grabbed my arm and quickly said “Stay with your brother. Please, my dear, take care of yourself and him.” There wasn’t enough time for me to say anything and we were quickly sent to an unfamiliar house with strange smells and looming faces. Those past couple of years were a blur as I grew up under many different parents as well as the constant worry of staying with my brother and if mother was okay. Because of this, I didn’t want my brother to ever experience what I did, so I made sure his innocence was maintained. I made sure he got the best whether it be the bigger bowl of food or the better gift during holidays. For the time when I cared for my brother, I understood why my mother hid her depression.

Now I have a stable job and my brother is in sixth grade. I recently bought an apartment, but the fear of a dripping faucet still haunts me. Even though our bellies are full and we’re sleeping comfortably, I will never forget about what it was like to live unprivileged. I will never forget my mother’s strong grip on me as she gave me one last command. I will never forget about the feeling of success when I was able to break free from the foster homes and give my brother and I a more stable life. And I will never forget the hollow sound of water droplets ringing against the metal sink.

Beautiful World | Poetry Breakdown

Hello everyone,

I hope all is well and that you’re enjoying your summer so far. Lately I have been doing lots of writing for more practice and to start building up a portfolio. I even applied for three writing internships and I hope I get into one of them.

“Beautiful World”

We live in a beautiful world
despite the adversity that plagues us.
There’s something empowering about
brushing the dust off your shoulders
and pushing forwards.
Even if you’re walking
or if you’re crawling,
you’re still moving forwards.

We live in a beautiful world
and I want to capture it all in
twenty six letters.
I want to paint pictures that
no artist can ever paint
because each of my single paintings
are different.
I want to sculpt emotions and characters
that make you feel anguished
or filled with joy
despite it being just twenty six letters.

We live in world
in which artists are busy capturing beautiful things
yet everyone is moving too fast
to stop and stare.
We live in a world
in which artists cannot fully capture the beautiful things
because they are too busy defending themselves
that yes this is what they want to do.
We live in a world
in which artists and engineers are on different tiers
even though
we both create beautiful things.

This poem has three layers. The first layer talks about the raw beauty of the world. The second layer talks about the privilege of being an artist and the third layer talks about the struggles of being an artist. The layers are broken up by each stanza.

We are incredible people. We are capable of doing so many things and even if it’s small compared to others like organizing papers, it’s still a great feat. There are times when you should consider yourself as an individual rather than blending in with the entire group. It’s also quite amazing how we’re able to push forward after we’ve been hit with whatever kind of difficulty. Even if it may take a while to move on, we are still able to.

Because of these awesome feats, there are people who want to capture it whether they write about it, film it or draw it. Being an artist is a large umbrella term for anyone who creates and as a writer, I consider myself an artist. All I want to do is capture everything to emphasize the beauty and preserve it. The world is our canvas.

Yet, artists aren’t always looked upon favorably. It’s always a constant concern of the artists not making enough to sustain themselves so people would divert us from this field. There’s a reason there’s the phrase, starving artist. It’s difficult to simply create and to sustain ourselves because there aren’t that many people who would take the time to understand the painting or the story someone has written. The world is moving too fast when all the artist want to do is slow down the world and show everyone the beauty of the world. There’s also an instance where artists are told to be something else that is more successful when other professions also create things, but with different materials. Some engineers create codes and teachers create inspiration in students.

The moral of this poem is to give the artists a chance because everyone is an artist just with different fields and materials.

Love the world and have a nice day,