Accepting Myself- Coping Mechanism

Every dawn is a new battle, a conflict that has no win. It’s as if I’m in a loop every move is predictable, but not so much with my reaction. Anxiety. The word is easy to flaunt, but the repercussions not so much.

It started a few years ago I am not sure what ticked it off as a teenager, I lived through a series of events – some that are overly private to disclose, but that had impaired me nonetheless. I felt like I was drifting in the atmosphere, nothing could keep me grounded. I couldn’t be like Neil Armstrong, floundering around the moon with its gravity deficit atmosphere.

I suppose I took the word “grounded” way too literally, especially since I had transformed into an emotional eater. I couldn’t control the circumstances around me, but could damn sure regulate what I consumed! That was in my authority. The food felt good. It released endorphins, a drug that I wanted to be as high on for as long as I humanly could.

Unfortunately, that mechanism was flawed, my self-esteem dropped faster than a submarine plunging into the water. My waistline? Oh, boy. I could barely find clothes that would accommodate me. I found solace in wearing men’s clothes. They were comfortable and big, enough to conceal me from the world.

Perhaps the final catalyst was my hormonal acne – something that I didn’t recognize at the time. “Keep your skin clean, your pillowcases fresh!” the articles yelled at me, “Your phones are disgusting, even when compared to a public toilet!” These words echoed in my mind, weakening its components. Forcing me to fight a battle with the unseen.

Vulnerability isn’t my strongest suit. I was nurtured by the strongest woman I know. She’s been a shield, but a sword when she required to be. (Seriously, my mum once threatened the mum of my bully. “If your daughter touches mine, I’ll give her a reason to cry.” Needless to say, my bully and I became best friends. I reckon we both needed a little intimidation the get along anyway, haha.) So, writing this hasn’t exactly been comfortable.

Vulnerability is such a peculiar idea. Let’s feed in our weakness and hope that “they” won’t use it against us. It’s like that crack in the ozone layer, struggling to make its way back, to be whole again, but we all recognize it isn’t possible. That small tear is only the beginning of turning into something a little more jarring. Grievous.

Consequently, began my battle with my demons. A tactile sensation from a stranger felt like a retribution. I am extremely cautious of my personal space, and the perpetual thought of someone infecting me with their sickness keeps dwelling on my mind. It’s a shocker though, I live in a heavily populated city where humans roam in groups like they’re ants, ensuing a trail of honey. And even so, I’ve managed to live a life.

Certainly, there are sentiments that I would much rather not bear. Thoughts that keep me on edge, enough to make a grown woman cry. That grown woman being me. My family has been supportive for which I am indebted. Without them, I would struggle. For when they see me frantically cleaning, they don’t question it. They disregard the number of times I’ve sprayed rubbing alcohol on my clothes, my hands, my phone, my laptop, or even the sofa where I am going to be seated. “If you’re happy, that’s all that matters. Gives you a peace of mind, right?”

And certainly I do experience tranquility. I’m a frantic cleaner. It helps me decompress. Over the past 8 years, I’ve managed to wash my dried skin multiple times and shampoo my brittle hair every day. I am knowledgeable of the consequences of regular shampoo, trust me, my mum tells me every day. Though that is something I cannot manipulate.

Someone’s touch or a graze against something that did not have my consent leaves a jarring sensation. As if something is crawling up my skin, multiplying by reproducing. A chilling sensation is left behind which can merely be cleansed by purifying my skin.

How does it feel to be me? I don’t know, I’ve been unkind to myself for years and years abide. I seek to experience myself through some’s perspective. I am good looking, above average even. Sure, my body is a little tainted. Years of weight gain and weight loss, then leaves a series of stretch mark, loose skin and not very perky breasts. In recognition of all that, I am still good. This might sound vain, but rather is not. Perchance we all need to look at ourselves through the eyes of others. Others who we idealize but we don’t understand that they’ve got many procedures and surgical procedures done. What is the ideal self then? If the raw body, isn’t pretty in it, then where can we derive our stature from? How do we put bodies that have gone through cosmetic makeovers on pedestals while I disrespect my loose skin as being ugly? We have adopted the internet and generated a worse form of ogres. Our Frankensteins.

I’ve ultimately come to terms with myself. I am not perfect, I won’t ever be. My OCPD won’t go away, but I’ll have to live with it. That occurs with age. My younger self would be mortified to accept herself. I take pride. My germaphobia? That’s the consequence of me trying to dominate my surroundings. If I hadn’t done that, I would’ve probably eaten myself to death or seriously harmed myself. Sure, the dead don’t feel any pain once they’re gone. There are no emotions to prevail, no physical pain after passing on, but the vast hole that they leave behind, that. That breaks families down. That brews on for days, memories haunt the living. The dead are just…..dead.

My organization skills do have advantages too. In college, I completed my assignments and projects ages before the deadline. I was always up to date with everything. Today my sister says she won’t leave me for the following ten years! My household is dependent on what I order and plan in terms of meals. I have grown to become their support system. (They would starve. I tested it for two and a half weeks before I had to cave and be responsible again.)

Apart from all this, I’m grateful for my friends, who might be living far away from me but are just a call away. Life doesn’t feel so bad at all if only my younger self had adjusted a little.

For those who know Sima Aunty, this is for her!

[WP] Say “Instagremlin” in front of your mirror and earn 100,000 followers or…..Death!

“Greed and creed left to a simple deed, 100,000 was for whom to seed?”

“Stop it, Kara. This isn’t a joke! All of us could be dead!” He wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or a curse. Nauseated as he was, Michael sat down on the floor wheezing after his little outburst.

“It’s JUST an urban legend. Zuckerberg engineered it.” David whispered; his stomach no longer in knots. He recognized as a stupid idea, but peer pressure was something he was yet to overcome.

“100,000 followers could do me so right! I’m trying to break stereotypes here. ” Jonna intervene wishing he could break into his heels a similar way. “Maybe now Kylie would put me on her PR! OHMYGOD! WHAT IF KIM DID IT TOO! AND THEN KHLOE!” His face lit up at the endless outcomes. He adopted the terms “ride or die” too literally.

“I reckon it is a beneficial thing, if it were true, statistically speaking half of us would be dead, Kara.” David’s lips cracked into a little smile, “I am gratified with my 157 followers, at least they engage with me.”

“So… who is willing to die?” Kara sneered, a wicked smile cracking on her lips. “Maybe that’s the message, sacrifice one, then the other can be famous?” She whispered, her voice lacking of any emotion.

The three turned to her with distrust.

“What are you thinking?” Jonna answered quickly making his case. “I’m too pretty to die. Get rid of these uggos if you have to. Must be one of these nerds, I lay my bets on you, plant boy. No one cares about stupid flowers that you grow in your backyard!”

“Leave David alone!” Michael stepped in, getting right in his face.

“I know, that’s why I’ve been using you nerds. Do you think I would ever pass my time with you lot?” Jonna’s voice as a matter-of-fact.”

What’s wrong with you?!” David whispered defeated, were his friends using him this whole time?

Drip, drip, drip…

Blood trickled down Kara’s knife, the deed was done, two out of the three were dead.

“Any time now..”

And abruptly, all of their phones buzzed with a spine-chilling message. One that neither of them had anticipated.

“Is this it, Kara?” Michael inquired .


“Greed and creed left to a simple deed, 100,000 was for whom to seed? There has been a time lag of an hour for fetching your wishes, may the odds be in your favor. Love, Gremz. HAHAHAHAHAH!

-The End-

Vector credit: Created by yahya012 –

Prompt Credit: Tribus Polaris

Man’s Search For Meaning

“After all, man is that being who invented the gas chambers of Auschwitz; however, he is also that being who entered those gas chambers upright, with the Lord’s Prayer or the Shema Yisrael on his lips.”

Within darkness there is light.

About the book: This book is about Dr. Viktor’s journey throughout the holocaust. It is divided into two parts, one which he speaks on himself and in that setting and the other is how one should find a purpose in life, to live a happy life. I am speechless. I have the utmost respect for this man, even though he is no longer with us today, he has left a piece of himself that would go on to motivate others. Rest in peace, Dr. Viktor.

My Interpretation: I started off thinking I would write a thorough review on this book, but by the end of it all, I’m in awe. (Seriously though, I’ve got detail notes, page numbers of specific quotes, and all.)

This isn’t a book that requires a review. Honestly, I’m no one to rate such a book. There’s no rating on someone’s journey.

This book is an experience. At first, I was hesitant to read it since it was a “memoir of a holocaust survivor”, (reading is my escape from this chaotic world and I’d rather not put myself in a headspace when 2020 has already been so negative.) but I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.

It took me a while to read this book since I was holding onto every word printed on the script. Just like how people keep saying “glass is half full”, Dr. Viktor proved that in real life. I can’t fathom the misery he went through and still latched onto hope. He lost everyone. His parents. Brother. Wife. Unborn child. And even then, he was hopeful. Kind. Understanding.

I haven’t even endured 0.000000001% of what he has, and I’m bitter. (Slightly exaggeration for effect but you get it.) Maybe this is time I change it around. To constantly remind myself that the world doesn’t revolve around me and my sadness. There’s more to the world than just me. Generosity is nice. Hope is nice. Whatever the world decides to throw at me, I’ll tackle it headfirst. Because I’m my own god damn savior. ✌

Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.


“Mama..? Papa..? What about them..?” I pleaded with tear strained eyes at him. In response, Alex’s clasp tightened around my hand, “It’s going to be okay, Cynthia, I’m here, I’m never leaving..”

The calm in his voice made my whole body shudder, how had such luck befallen on us? It was just this morning, Mama was teaching me how to make flatbread.   

“Use the heel of your hand, Precious. That is the secret to knead the best flatbread.” She had smiled before caressing her hand over my forehead, her motherly love seeped out of her very crooked smile.  “You are going to be of age! Suitors would soon be knocking at our door!”  With a soft chuckle, her arms wrapped around me in a perfect embrace. A lock that would never be broken until…

I missed her so much. Her touch, her fragrance, her love, her…existence. Until now I was oblivious to how much she mattered to me, or even Papa. The reality of never seeing them ever again dawned upon me and all it took was one fire to shatter my world and burn them with it.

I was alone now, all alone.

“Hey..” His voice brought me back, “The fire is getting worse, we must leave..” He said simply before turning over my doll back to me. A sense of safety rushed through me. I hugged my doll and inhaled that familiar scent by burying my nose against it. I want it tattooed in my memory, my last link to my family. 

With the fire roaring alive like a ticking time-bomb, I felt the heat burn my face and char my lungs, each breath getting harder to draw in, but my body refused to move.

What was there to watch? My parents were turning into dust, my house would soon be nonexistent, but I… was frozen in place and cowering, like a panna cotta. 

Remaining firm with my guard, I finally dared to express my horror. “Why..? Why, Alex?”

A smirk cracked on his lips, pouring out all the foulness that he harbored within.“How else would you have acknowledged my love? That I love you!”  

My whole body froze at his confession.

Did he..? No, he couldn’t have…

“What? Are you floored? Shocked? Tongue-tied?” His voice boomed as his hand was back on my wrist, dragging me forward with him. I don’t know if it was his strength that whisked me away from the rubble or my cowardice but I traveled on with him.

“Girls love BIG gestures. How was this?! Now, it’s just you and me against the world!! Forever and always…”

Hello there! I hope you enjoyed this short read, please do tell me of your thoughts! Picture credit goes to the artist, unfortunately, I was unable to find them but if you do! LET ME KNOW SO I CAN TAG THEM, PLEASE! Until next time, take care!