I don’t want to hurt others. People, at least.
But what could be considered as hurt?
Is it just physical violence?
When I know unseen wounds hurt more?

But how could I stop others from hurting, when the pain comes from their unfulfilled expectations of me? Is it my fault to not do or be what they expect?

Should I tell others to not expect anything from me? When I clearly expect something from them to not expect anything from me?


I feel the space closing in.

Not physical space, but the mental space. My mental space to experiment and make mistakes.

I was suffering back then, but yet I was free. I created a space to explore my thoughts and share it, to do what I please with my eyes and hands, and to own it.

Now I am okay, yet I feel trapped. It feels like anything I put out can be my downfall. To reveal a bit too far, to be vulnerable. It feels like now, there's too much on the line.

“The moment that you feel, just possibly, you are walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind, and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself…That is the moment, you might be starting to get it right.”

Neil Gaiman

I hate this feeling. To be vulnerable is being open to be wrong, and to be really right in the ways that is not possible by being right.

Yet now it seems like there is so much to lose.

Is it worth it?


If anything moves anything else, where does one come in?

Our background is not ours, our environment is not fully ours.

Even the our inner force to change what we do and what is around us is a chain reaction from the outside ourselves.

So where does one come in?

When we do the right thing because we've thought about it for long and hard or when we do something regrettable because we acted on a whim, we deem ourselves responsible.

When we influence people to do things, good or bad, we believe they have the power over themselves and choose what's right for them.

Is it true though? How much power do we have over ourselves? How much power do we have over others?

Where does one come in? Over anything else that is not themselves?


Our vision is limited, we can only see what’s here and now.
Our prediction sucks, we can only hope for the best.
Our evaluation is imperfect, we can only assume the worst.

And when all seems bleak, we can only hold on for
one second
one minute
one hour
one day
one week
one month
one year
one decade
one life
at a time.

canting arms

Humans really like stories and sharing them. We, to each other, are just a bundle of stories. The stories we went through together, the stories that make our history, the stories that we share.

It is not too far to say that the fabric of humanity is stories.

Through stories, we’ll get compassion and understanding. But, it needs thinking. Not just hearing the stories. Our conscience to others is to reflect on their stories. To ingest their stories, to deliberately understand the stories and the storytellers. To give compassion to both of them.

The stories can be real, or it might not be. In defining what is and what is not real, I often come to the conclusion that this all is fiction.

But what good is to declare everything is fiction when it’s pretty much all we mean?

Social media has ushered us to another age of stories. We can become a global storyteller with a few strokes of our fingers. And we do. Through our writings, through our pictures, through anything that we post.

The stories became something else. What would be a sincere story of a moment in your life can become so much more. And we make them more. And sometimes we just realise that not everyone (especially ourselves) has that interesting of a story to share. We need to do things, define and determine what is interesting, and craft the delivery to make our story go.

We perceive ourselves, and others, from what we share on social media. It’s one step further, but also one step closer to what stories and sharing really means to us.

Thoughts are not stories. Thoughts are not real. Until it becomes a story. What is real is only what can be shared.

And humans can only hold on to what’s real to them.


“..I think it’s absurd: the idea of seeking “meaning” in the set of circumstances that happens to exist ofter 13.8 billion years worth of unguided events. Leave it to humans to think the universe has a purpose for them.”

Tim Minchin, from his UWA Commencement Address

Life’s meaning is as you want it to be. It could be anything. Is it your faith? Is it your craft? Is it your family, or your friends?

As small this life might seem, one thing you can always make is what are you grateful for. Is it your friends? Is it your home? Is it the way the wind blows on your face?

The value of life can be measured by how many times your soul has been deeply stirred.

Soichiro Honda (?)

The length of your life does not represent the value own life or whether it is enough. Yes, people will see you based on how long have you gotten through life, and it is not a wrong gauge to see who you are. By the virtue of length of life itself, you have more experience in it. But to yourself, it does not matter.

The meaning of your life, depends on you, and how you want to define it. You might have your own belief on what you want to achieve in life, or what you enjoy. And it is nobody’s business to tell you what is worth it, or how long do you have to be here.

It’s your life.

“It is not the years in your life but the life in your years that counts.”

Adlai Stevenson


I read a bit too much, and sometimes I read books, sometimes I read articles on the internet, or discussion threads on reddit or hacker news.

If you're interested in the things that I've read please find the links below.

Hacker News Favorites:
Pocket Recommendation:

If you would like me to write about some of those things, please bother me through any channel you can find me. I will also write about some of them in the future.