There are three kinds of people.
People who build a brick fort,
People who build a wooden cabin,
And people who build a glass building.

People who build a brick fort.

Strong and stern from the outside.
You think it will be cold and there will be nothing inside.
You need a special key to unlock the door,
Or they have to let you in.

But once you step in, it feels like home.
There is warmth.
There is love.
You feel safe and secured from the dangers outside the fort.

People who build a wooden cabin.

Solid, yet looks comfortable and homey.
There are small windows to peek inside.
There are front doors and back doors.
Sometimes, they share their keys with you if they want to let you in.

Once you step in, it feels familiar.
Everything is as you would expect from a wooden cabin.
There are little surprises here and there, like an early Christmas morning,
But no plot twists, no threats.

People who build a glass building.

Beautiful, open, and observable from the outside.
With exquisite and enticing display.
They lure you in with their openness.
Their sliding doors constantly opens and closes, easily giving you access in.

Once you step in, there are more doors, more displays, more mirrors.
You could only see reflections of yourself along with their display.
Like a store, as seasons change, the display changes.
You think you know them, but you don’t.

So…which one are you?


Colpo di Scena

Starring multi-faceted characters.
Seemingly predictable.

Scenes were to unfold innocently.
Developments were not to be complicated.

The plot was supposedly predictable.
Any audience would have guessed the ending.

Nothing is ever what they seem.

The past was supposed to stay in the past.
It came and clashed with the present.

The past was impossible, we knew that.
Hence the past was given up and no longer a part of the present.

The present is not what it seems.
It is the biggest plot twist in the story.

Colpo di Scena.

Innocence is an illusion.
Vision could only reach the visage.
Serenity is only a semblance.
Fear is hidden behind the façade.

Colpo di Scena

Being Women

Gentle, elegant, graceful.
Long, soft brown mane, fluttered by the breath of nature.
Milky skin brighter than pearls.
A white carnation peeking out on top of her left ear.

Long, ivory dress she wears.
Gliding lightly on a garden of flowers.
Soft, pink tints creep up her cheeks.
And an earnest smile escapes her lips.

She’s a princess all princes want to make a queen of.
She’s everyone’s dreams come true.
She’s a definition of beauty.

Everyone takes a pleasure from just a glimpse of her presence.
Everyone wants to be her, or to be hers.
Everyone starts to feel jealous.
Every time she walks past, every man drools.

She takes my hand,
People turn their heads towards me,
And they snicker.

I take a look at myself.
Short, messy red hair.
Tanned olive skin.
Even nature refuses to enhance my description.

Spectacles framing my face.
Boyish shirt and pants.
Honest, strong, reckless.
Even if we run on the same garden of flowers, we are not the same.

People look at me like I’m her handmaiden.
That elegant girl is my best friend.
My boyish self is her best friend.
But still, people look at me like I’m her handmaiden.

Even if we have the same abilities, we are not the same.

We are both grown women, but we are not the same.

Because she’s the universal definition of beauty,
and I’m just me.

Being Women