Stolen Time

Trying to collect pieces

of time,  minutes found lingering

in-between lecture halls, leftover

seconds from deep, recreational

breaths against Spencer’s Faerie

Queen. In these scarce, compressed

moments, brief dimensions where

I cease to be a student, I sneak

glances from novels unlisted on my

course syllabus, nibble at a blueberry

or two and type furiously on the keyboard

to release spontaneous bursts of poetry

before I need to return to my desk,

the real world, and once again resume

my duties as a anonymous slave of

my English professors.



You sprinkled your cold stare like salt

onto the cut on my heart, a sordid

wound that reeked of good-byes,

a smell strenuous and uncouth that

lingered by the side of my pillow

every night, in which I dreamed

about forgetting you, and it stayed,

like an unwanted pregnancy,

brooding and growing

to become something that was




Dear Miss Grammar

Words. Mispilled.

Modifiers dangling at the

wrong places, having stared too long

into your turquoise eyes

The sparkles in them fall

into my run-on sentences of deliberation

like punctuations; little commas

with an attitude that divides my manhood

and stubborn periods

that keep everything

I say and do  in line.


You don’t need to control my words

You’re on my mind, in my heart,

down to the bottom of my soul,

across from my sight like a phantom,

all about me and all the way through me


This is what you do best

These subtle distortions

of a man’s prepositions


This is what you do best

The forceful reduction

Of  a man’s expression

to mere adjectives for your existence


And you, being always plural,

will never agree to be the subject of my romance

for I, being perpetually single due to my

pathetic inability to talk to beautiful girls,

I am the lame verb in the wrong tense

with taped retro glasses and jeans that are

so last-century-ago, without the sizzle


That is why in English,

a sentence’s subject is never changed

for the sake of the verb

for it is definite, written in stone,

while the verb, so meagre and hopelessly in love

suspends his life with the decisions you make.

The Social Network

(Picture taken from

After watching the movie directed by David Finch—“The Social Network”. Awesome movie.


You feel it settle

On your skin, the deep penetrating stare

Of a restless spirit

Letting loose the gate of untrammeled desires

The uncontrollable mouse-clicks

Your sweaty index finger’s frantic tap

The flash of a blinking screen


Refresh. A tiny red box. A number.

Your popularity.

It is the calling tugging

At the strings of your mind

A fidgety monster

A wound that refuses to heal

An itching that manipulates your impulse

With disturbing ease


Your eyes, pressed against your eyelids,

Fighting to burst free

That thin layer of skin is the only thing

That keeps you from tumbling down

Down that the infinite sleepless blue


Your soul is here, on The Wall.

Trapped inside a white rectangular box.

This is where your voice is heard.

This is where your life begins.

This is who you are.


By Kim T.

When you look at me.

When you look at me,

The light bestowed in your eyes, that melting gem, shining in a way that makes me blind.

I have to close my eyes. Cover them with my tired hands

Those hands have been furiously writing all these years. They have been trying hard.

They have been building a dream.

They have been searching for words they have never owned.

Tearing at them, desperately trying to hold on,

I swoop with my meagre arms, hugging those words in front of my chest like a pillow,

Dying for more, fearing for less, and loss.


I will never be like you.

I will never have what you have.


As I kneel down, defeated, I release my arms

Those words run like rebellious water

Mingled with my soft, silent tears

Those sad little things gather themselves up

Stand before me, touching my cheek, my hair, the tip of my nose

Whispering to me

Shhhhhh. Shhhhhhhhhhh.


My words. They say they love me.

I whisper back. I tell them I love them, too.


But I will never have what you have.

I feel sorry for myself, sort of.


I remember those years when I still believed in who I am going to be.

Right now, I’m just a mess.

I remember what I had lost.

If I told you I used to live in another world,

Eight years ago, for thirteen years. And

After those thirteen years, I had to rebuild my dream,

Relearn the language of my future profession

Fight against monsters that ripped apart

Pages and pages of my poetry

My expression

My representation

My stories

My heart?


I remember what I had gained.

I remember those wars I fought, inside of me, with me.

Never known I could be capable of this feeling.

I feel like giving up. But I can’t, because I only get one shot at life.

I feel like crying out loud, to somebody, to the sky, to God

Help me.


I don’t know who I am anymore.

I don’t know what I want anymore.

I don’t know if I can still do this.

I don’t know if I’m good enough.


I will never have what you have.




When I put my hands in my hair

Clutching at my own scalp

If I pull hard enough, maybe I can pull it apart

Touch my skull.

Feel my brain.

Run my fingers through that neurotic maze.

Trace through those jagged lines.

Find the exit of my confusion.


I wish there are better words for my depression.

I know there are.

Just not with me.


I wish there’s a way

To lose myself.

Because I’m not worthy of my dream.

Not anymore.



I saw a Wing Cloud today…

Four more days until the end of summer…and then, my sophomore year at UBC. My summer this year is filled with new understandings. Hiding in the basement watching three movies in a row and avoiding the vicious heat, suddenly finding Sanada Hiroyuki is surprisingly and undeniably handsome. Satisfying my addiction of udons, which I gobble down greedily and crave for more. Wasting time on Facebook, making friends whom I have never seen, posting on their walls as if we’ve been best pals forever. Taking a summer class, learning that not every professor is easy to please. Reading book after book after book, developing an obsession with autobiographies and Chinese-Canadian writers. Sitting through hours that are stuffed with boredom. Speeding through hours that never last long enough.

Most importantly, I guess…I found myself. Who I really am, and…I found myself closer to God, closer than I have ever been.

I look forward to my second year. I am living in dorm, same as my first year, but this time…there’s a kitchen, so I can actually cook. Which isn’t something I’m bad at, or something I’m unwilling to do…I’m actually quite good at it, or…it might just be my narcissism. You know, it’s hard to condemn myself.

Originally I’m scheduled to move in on Sunday, but both of my parents have to work on that day, so I’m left with no car. Not that I’ll actually be motivated to move all my stuff completely on my own and drive all the way over to UBC…because I have no sense of direction whatsoever, and I get lost on roads more easily than I get lost on math. I will DIE. So…I must be super needy on occasions like this. And after all, I will mostly be away from home for a year…and this is the one of the few times I get to be a kid to my parents.

I am going to eat some apples now…haven’t eaten fruit for days.

I am also writing two short stories at the same time…flash fiction. One of them I shall send to a writing contest and see what happens. Sometimes I wonder how on earth am I going to become a published writer? There is no designated path for a writer. There just isn’t…most of us have to find (or create) our own path, compensating our ideals and dreams and trying to break all the cliches that are attached to us…

Anyway. I’m babbling now. This whole entry does not make sense. But oh well. It’s supposed to be my random babble.

(Which is the same excuse I use over and over to justify my lack of organization. Yep.)

Happy day today…so yay! (lame attempt to rhyme)

Woke up at 7:30 this morning to register for my courses. I wasn’t as anxious as I was during my first year; I swear the adrenaline could have stopped my heart last year. This year, having gone through it before, I held up pretty good. I sat in front of my laptop, casually reading a Evelyn Lau’s “Runaway: Diary of a Street Kid”, which is an awesome book. Okay, not so casually. I was still slightly nervous. This course I wanted to register only had one spot left, so I was dying to get it done.

Fortunately this year I’d discovered a function that I didn’t know of last year–stupid me. I could have registered every single course AT THE SAME TIME. How idiotic of me that it took me a full year to realize this, eh? Well, better sooner than later.

So I got all the courses that I wanted. English, sociology, creative writing and some Asian studies. A friend of mine claimed that I’m a weirdo for taking four English courses this year. But I LOVE ENGLISH. What other logical course is there to take? I wanted to take more, but I was afraid I won’t be able to handle the reading load.

Anyways. I’m pretty excited for this year. I’m living in dorm, again, surprisingly…considering that at first I didn’t get a housing offer. But I did, all of a sudden, and my entire mindset of commuting reluctantly disintegrated.  I was was like…what?

And, I’m planning to sign up for Tai Chi Chuan this year. Have to wake up early to do it…it’s from 8-9…AM. If I want to make to class having my hair washed and all, I’ll have to wake up at 6:30, at least. Because I am super slow at everything and it takes me 40 minutes to wash my hair (twice…because it gets really oily) and dry it and straighten it. Plus washing my teeth, wash my face and all that jazz.

Anyways. Enough babble about my dull life details. Going to sleep now. I think waking up early each day actually works. I’m fixing myself!! 😀 I’m so happy. Hence the title la.