I cringe with frustration each time my mum speaks of the past. Partially, it's because she always reminisces about the same incidents. That's as far as her memory takes her, and that's as far as my tolerance goes. Truth be told, a large part of me never wants to revisit the past. I know the past teems with good memories that we want to immortalize in our recollection but the danger of swerving into a brick wall of some nasty truth will only shatter into shards of regret, sharp-edged so that it cuts you into pieces and your mentality shambles; cave in


I'm not one to have made a positive impact on many in my past. Impression, yes but famous over infamous, that's always shaky. I am not so unnoticeable in the real world as I am hidden within the depths of my own shame. Some things can be concealed but most of the ugly truth escapes the masquerade party. Facades are only the reflection of one's disbelief but when the sun sets, everything is transparent again.

I guess I like to live in the moment and forget about every bad thing that has passed because life has trained me to behave in such a way. It's very much my second-nature now. In this man-eat-man world, it's better to hide sometimes. They say you can run but you can't hide. You can. Just now from the real world.

But knowing there is an inner haven of peace lingering within my soul is good enough. Half a sanctuary is still a temple of solace.

And in this pagoda, I make my silent prayer. All the time; always.

That is my introversion, the mirrored conscience you never get to see, much less hear. In it's silence, it is deafening.

When I am mute, I am most deadly. Because I am focused. Because I am living in the moment. And that moment is on you.