I thought the poetry bug would have jolted its way out of my life after September declared its end, but to my surprise, it kept buzzing in my ears words lusting for attention. So much confusion came with October: aiming high then landing hard on concrete. Perhaps it’s because this month, I chose to completely neglect my bullet journal, and with that, I fell off the map. There’s good things in aiming for a no-specific-goals month where my agenda is open for ANYTHING; however, the bad news is not knowing if what I’ve done was enough.

Drinking Pumpkin Spice Latte

Listening to Ağlar mıyım? Ağlamam by Ziynet Sali + İnsan Sevmez Mi? by Soner Sarıkabadayı

Eating Kitkats and coffee biscuits

Obsessing over my black platform boots

Also obsessing over Aydın Kurtoğlu’s latest music video

Reading Moan About Men by Juliana Foster

Contemplating starting either a commonplace book or a poetry journal

Feeling perplexed, frail, and stressed

Wearing a white loose tee and pastel blue pants

Pressing yellow oleanders in poetry books

Blushing excessively

Also feeling proud about my writing for ONCE

Making peace with my current personality

Craving the darkness of November


40 phrases people have told me that PISSED me off

I am well aware that the majority of those phrases are compliments, but praises like these are usually either gratuitous or ludicrous. They make me very uncomfortable as I am well aware of all these points, and I do not need to hear people’s observations of me. I present you with forty comments I’ve gotten from people that have irked me.    


1- You’re so innocent

2- Why are you shy?

3- You write like a kid

4- With your body, ANYTHING would look good on you

5- You’re a nerd lol

6- Look at your white hands! Henna must look great on you

7- Are you 17?

8- You’re cute

9- What grade are you in now?

10- You need to be more social

11- Are you like… always on Twitter?

12- Why do you like that celebrity?? He’s old…

13- He looks very average! Are you okay??

14- Attention seeker!

15- You’re sensitive

16- Do you eat?

17- You’re so picky!

18- You need a husband

19- When are you getting married?

20- Spill the beans, are you secretly engaged?

21- To whom do you write?

22- Do you take pictures of everything?

23- We never see you anymore

24- Did you get a job yet! How come not yet?

25- But like why do you journal?

26- Do you carry journals with you everywhere?

27- Why do you hate men?

28- Are you getting braces any time soon?

29- You’re shorter than I expected!!

30- So like… what did you do all day?

31- What’s your GPA?

32- Do you not watch anything at all?

33- What do you mean you dislike the cinema?


35- You’re so pure and prude


37- What shoe size do you wear?

38- Marriage is fun. You should get married.

39- Can I get a hug?

40- Omg…. She …. Talks!!!!

When you fall for a spring

I had feared the day where my fingers would tap incessantly on the keyboard, admitting a faint-hearted feeling I had wished I kept to myself. But here I am, again, avowing, as a writer would, because words are smothering me.


My treasured readers, you haven’t the slightest of clue what if feels like developing feelings for a child of spring. I try to paper over this harmless craze, except dwellers took notice of me snipping and sniffing oleanders mid-autumn, in spite of their virulent toxins. My cheeks flush in primrose, baring me from every tiny secret my blushes covertly told.


Earlier today, a grasshopper attuned to my heart’s symphony and sprang atop my head, as if craving to hear me speak more of him; and I hailed its notion because my heart would not stop spouting timid words. I had a music box for a heart.


Loving him is so chaste that every time I lied down to a siesta, my hands would only yearn for his delicate grip, and nothing more. The sound of his name buries my timidity in flowerbeds and plants lilacs in the crevices of my inky-blotched fingers.


I am reading poetry mid October and pressing morning glories in my poetry books; his flowery touch had made springtime eternal.

Mi Hermano featuring Mario Rodríguez

This blog post is a writing collaboration with fellow writer, Mario Rodríguez.

Mi hermano,

I am writing you today with a head dense with burdensome thoughts. What has the world come to, I ponder? I have noticed that kindness, unfortunately, has become a sly scheme, and shyness is sympathized. Talk is easy, music is provocative, and men are vile. Is that what you observe from your bedroom window too? It’s as if decency and courtesy are a foreign concept, but when you do come across a decent person, you can feel it in your bones that their cordiality maneuvers in a path of ulterior motives.



It’s a scary world we live in, isn’t it? It’s too advanced for my old soul that wishes technology only came in gradual doses. But I know, we’ve got vinyl record stores and antique boutiques in every town; however, it’s not the same tranquility. Somehow, even the beaches aren’t the same with color-matching teens posing in piers, conversing about utter nonsense, when the shore is gushing placid waves, and it urges for our silent admirations.



Even love is becoming a cheap term in this era. And God forbid you chose not to be a part of it, and suddenly you’re singled out from your group. The concept of love makes every bit of me tingle, and I bet it does for you too; except, I only want to admire it from afar. It’s not for me, it’s not the perfect timing for it either. My detestation for men only grows deeper by the day, which I heard offends your kind. You know it’s only a generalization, right? But in any case, do you get bombarded by that topic too? It’s quite the burden!


If I am ever hopeful, it’s God reassuring me that this is all normal and expected. But hey, at least we’re here, and we’re alive.



Algo es algo; menos es nada.


Yours respectfully,




Minha Irmã,

I question the course of this world in its near future. If the wickedness witnessed today is as bad as we both experience, there is no telling what is to come except that it will be worse. People become ridiculed for being respectful towards others and to themselves. Women too have adjusted to the foul way by knowingly using their appearance as a lure to the innocent few left on my side. I have learned to not pay attention and openly ignore good and bad gestures.


Meine Schwester,

It is a frightening globe we live in! I love the concept of technological inventions; although, electronics are the particular culprit to the rapid decadence of this world. The only places in which I find a remote sense of refuge are in the forests. The lack of others’ presence satisfies the sense of silence needed from the spoken atrocities of which you speak. Sitting on the rock near the pond in the middle of the night is how to get away. This is my oasis.


Moya Sestra,

Every day, I am the center of attention on the topic of solitude when I am with my friends. The idea of love is not understood by me. I see what people mean, but I believe myself to be incapable of love other than being at most a brother. Even then, I still wish to get away. All these relationships I witness seem to be about women taking advantage of their resources. This I find to be what barricades me behind the barbed wire that would enable me to want someone should it be taken down. I do understand that it is a generalization, but it happens so often as well. As for being bombarded by this topic, yes. And burden should be an understatement.


If this is what is to be expected indeed, then God may keep all his creation and leave me as I am. I am in no need of any of them.


Besser allein als in schlechter Gesellshaft.


With heartfelt sincerity,



Upon the dreary glooms of shame,

I’ve wandered around the shore,

The brisk ripples called his name,

And my fancy for him grew more.

My pale cheeks await lest he came,

His delicate hugs and kisses to pour,

The soft wave of blues cannot tame,

Wrecked pieces of him that I adore.

But alas, he was a figment of flame,

An imaginary figure to which I swore,

Currents of longing now not the same,

Since I am not the soul he yearns for.

24 made me softer?

If there’s anything I am an expert at in life, it’s definitely introspection. The calendar reads October 2nd, which means by the 5th, it’ll be half a year since I turned 24; evidently, my mind started its series of self-reflection, where I started asking myself: has 24 made me softer?



I’ve always despised gender-specific adjectives such as soft and delicate because they misrepresent my reality. It boxes me in a category I do not wish to be in. Growing up, I’ve always been viewed as this tiny, innocent human being merely because of my height. Then again, this is not the purpose of my pondering. Instead, I wonder, has I always been this soft and fragile, and somewhere in my mid-twenties, I became even softer?


And the next question that haunts me as I am typing this is: why do I detest this word so much, and I’d circumnavigate various other labels just to find a macho alternative?


Who said soft was coined to represent females only? Hasn’t I always raved about soft gentlemen? So when it comes to me, I cannot use that term because a “softie” is seen as weak?


Coming out of the very bitter 23, April embraced me so softly and I saw my pieces melt so gracefully. I’d say it’s understandable because my 23 took place in the also bitter 2016, so my sourness surfaced correspondingly.


What I am certain of, however, is that 24 was solely my production. There were no outsiders breathing down my neck, urging me to be more social, less shy, more daring, less anxious. I just lounged and let anxiety take its course, knowing that this is all normal.


Last week, I took notice of my anxiety, and I chose to do something in the span of four days instead of two, just to keep my nervousness at bay. I wasted my time, indeed, but I picked my mental and physical health for once. I was aware for once.


In that age as well, I saw myself accepting people back into my life. I’m talking about strangers I’ve blocked or unfollowed who chose to follow me again, and instead of being bitter, I hailed them. I have no hate toward virtual strangers I’ve never met, but I am being exceptionally kinder to them now.


I love skipping around, blushing behind my phone screen, and buying myself fresh flowers once a month. Is that bad?


Today, I got a flashback of when I was younger: I recall when I saw my cousin bleeding from an injury, instead of him crying, I was the one shaking and sobbing. He had to come to my room, with a Band-Aid on his wound, to tell me: “Hey Sophie, look! I am fine! Don’t worry.” He had to console me!?


So I’d say I was always tender, but 24 made me more sensitive. Is that good or bad? Let me know in the comments x

I like men that

I found myself on Thought Catalogue earlier, and while navigating the blog, I scrolled to the search bar and typed: chivalry. I don’t know why I had this urge to read about that topic, and to my surprise, I found manifold posts under this tag.


Skimming through the texts, I felt my mind reverberating and my heart fluttering, and it pulled me to write about it too.



I like gentlemen that actually prove that they deserve the adjective “gentle,” that comes before their noun. When they’re quixotic in their speech or behavior, it’s so admirable and charming.


I like men that are gentle with any woman they encounter, not because dealing with a lady requires gentlemanliness, but because it’s such a precious trait to have.


Any man that exudes any form of gallantry is instantly thought highly of, that he was raised well and probably treats his mother right.


I like men who use refined words with females, those who know exactly what to say without breaching boundaries or coming off as creepy. I like those that can articulate a compliment without sounding shameless or too casual.


I like men that are comfortable to be around, those that treat you as a sister, and who would urge to walk you home even when you’re independent and strong enough to tread those streets alone. It’s a very heart-warming gesture.


I appreciate men that wish you well or offer help before you even utter a word. To be noble and compassionate enough to aid someone that’s too timid to ask is what the world needs more of (regardless of gender.)


I like men that choose to discuss topics instead of people, and when they talk about others, it’s only to praise or lift them up. I love men that still hold on to the old traits, so please hold the door for me. I am pretty capable of doing that myself, but my heart soars to that gesture every time.


I like gentlemen that reply to your “men are trash,” rants with “I know, right?” knowing that this general statement stems from actual frustration, and it was not coined to hurt any man’s ego. And it’s even better when you get a “I’m sorry that that has happened to you,” as if to apologize in men’s behalf, which comes off very noble, it almost washes off your rage and calms you.


I like men that ends off a conversation with “take care,” or “be safe.” It’s highly unlikely that something will happen to you, and you’re almost always in a safe context but that phrase is reassuring sometimes.


I wouldn’t say such righteous manners are gone with the wind, but if a reminder helps rebirthing kindness and compassion in men, then I am here to remind you that these traits are beautiful and vital.