Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

alienated from society.

"I am incapable of conceiving infinity, and yet I do not accept finity."

- Simone de Beauvoir.


Walking around the house,
with bright sticky notes pasted everywhere,
it was a life full of reminders,
it was a life full of dictation.

The green sticky notes were a good reminder -
a reminder to keep hydrated and well-fed.

The red sticky notes were a good reminder -
a reminder to get chores and work done.

The orange sticky notes were a good reminder -
a reminder to head to bed and get a good night's sleep.

Almost every corner of the house
was a prominent sticky note,
full of reminders,
full of things to do.

Where was the time for all that?


Note to self: Keep wishing for days to get longer.

One of the sticky notes on the wall right beside the bed said.
For the mere twenty-four hours in a day was never enough.

Everyday, it was a struggle to keep up with multiple identities -
a caregiver, a jobholder, a friend, a companion, a student, a confidante.

With each role held a responsibility,
it was a never-ending task list.

There was always too much to do,
and there was never enough time.


Note to self: Do a crossword.

One of the sticky notes on the living room wall said.
For the mundane routine was not enough of a challenge.

Everyday, a new crossword is done and the end result was always the same -
it could not be done again, and with minimal intrinsic satisfaction.

With each crossword completed,
the emotions remained stagnant.

There was always something else better to do,
there was never an end.


Note to self: Make time.

One of the sticky notes in the home office said.
For something uncertain, for something unknown.

Everyday, a conscientious effort was put in to make time -
making time and room for even more tasks.

With each task crossed off the list,
the list seemed to have new things on it.

There was always time
to make time for more things.


Note to self: Stop writing sticky notes.

One of the sticky notes on the ceiling above the bed said.
For this structured, organised mess of a life.

Everyday, fighting to stop writing sticky notes -
to stop filling up life with everything to do.

With each additional sticky note pasted up,
a brand new baggage accompanied by a sense of security.

There was always a time
to be in control by not being in control.


The days would not get longer,
doing crosswords would lose its novelty,
making time would never be enough,
sticky notes would not grant authority to paving life.

The sticky notes would stick out like a sore thumb,
in comparison with clean walls painted sunflower yellow.
The sticky notes each represented something -
a task, a duty, a role, an identity, an experience.

The sticky notes could simply be the reminders
that was entirely unnecessary in our lives.
Because the sticky notes was an assurance of control,
without it, one could potentially be dysfunctional.

The reliance on sticky notes,
the self-perceived autonomy,
the tunnel vision,
it all added up.


Like an empty sticky notepad, each next page is blank, waiting to be filled up. Not with preset tasks and reminders, but to be written as the moments passed by with new memories encrypted within the remaining memory space that still existed. Perhaps each passing day was to be lived by just having no expectations, and a mindful living experience. Perhaps each passing day was to be lived by standing in the middle of the rain because it was unpredictable, and dancing with an umbrella that was forgotten at the bottom of the knack-sack. Perhaps each passing day was to be lived by having the freedom and free-will to decide what's next. Perhaps each passing day did not require an answer to what's next? Perhaps each passing day did not require self-enforced authoritarian responsibilities. Perhaps each passing day was more of a mission to partake and make possible. Perhaps each day was more of just being accepting of the uncertainties beheld by the anticipating anxious eyes. Perhaps it was about accepting that life can go out of control, and it's all about letting it. Perhaps it was about just being kind, caring, calm, and leaving some emotional space for acceptance.


Note to self: Acceptance (not regression).



all this pressure give me anxiety,
walk slow through the fire.

feeling the world go against us,
so we put the world on our shoulders.


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