Notes From A Dream Journal- Part 2

  1. I swallowed the night in a single breath. I could taste the darkness on my tongue.
  2. The streetlights suddenly shone bright. The artificial light made me uncomfortable.
  3. I saw houses on my street that I had never seen before. Maybe it was because the light made things look different.


Notes From A Dream Journal

  1. It looks almost exactly the same as the world I live in, really. Only two things are different. First, the waves in the sea move backward. Second, time doesn’t move linearly.
  2. I’m trying to run away. I’m trying to not take pride in knowing exactly how to upset myself.
  3. I can see you. You’re holding a glass of water, spilling it on the grass. Drop by drop. By the time I reach you, the glass is empty.

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The Lightness

(Part 3 of the Single Sentence Series)

When you leave your desk and bed unkempt and all your textbooks and receipts and post-its on the floor and walk out of your room and out of your house and through the gate to the sidewalk you will feel a lightness that cannot be described in similes or aphorisms or metaphors but simply a lightness that will take your thoughts and waft away with them through the cool evening breeze and as you walk around your house and the garden that you used to spend the sunny days of your childhood in you will look at the sky above the geometric abstractions of your existence and as the hues change from pale yellow to orange to dark crimson the people and houses and gardens around you will slowly illuminate in soft rhythms of consonance until the places and spaces around you will almost urge you to radiate in their presence but at this precise moment that you will check your watch and realise that you have errands to run and work to do and the lightness that inhabited you will sink under the boulders of your being.

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The House

(Part 2 of the Single Sentence Series)

You’ve been spending a lot more time in your room, lately, but for some strange reason it feels like your mind has been everywhere because each time you look at your orange walls you’re suddenly transported to arid deserts suffused with mysticism and desolation and each time your eyes wander to the polaroid pictures and postcards hung behind your bed you can visualise the scenes that took place like the day you went to the woods with your best friend and the day you finally learnt that its okay to outgrow people the same way you outgrow woollen jumpers and denim shorts and the time you spend in the confines of your four walls is in fact time spent in the endless corridors, balconies, and attics of your mind because no matter how much furniture or memorabilia you collect your consciousness is a house that has no limitations or boundaries.


The Mirror

(Part 1 of the Single Sentence Series)

When you stare at your face in the mirror long enough to forget the way your eyes gleam in the warm winter sun or the stories behind the scars on your left cheek you realise how much pain is a reminder of who you are that your survival in this world all depends on your conscious or unconscious attempts to avoid this pain that you embrace yet hold distant from you as if it were a filthy creature begging you to take it home with you and as you keep staring at your face you start seeing a different person in the mirror and let out a scream so loud that the windows in your room start vibrating in fear but surely and steadily you start getting used to the new person who greets you every morning through the looking glass and this new person looks at you like a long-lost friend who sat with you at lunch everyday in school like a friend who always knew what you were going to say next but there is something off-putting about this new person’s face that makes you want to shatter the mirror and never look into the glass again but at the same time it draws you in and soon you start memorising the creases of the new face that greets you every morning and night and you almost feel like you’re recreating yourself and losing your sanity in fragments of silver glass and when you stare at your face in the mirror long enough you never know what you might see staring back. 


The Final Destination

Sometimes the spaces between what we feel and think and what we say are too large to span any amount of quantifiable distance. Sometimes, we look for words for things that never even required them in the first place. Sometimes, quite often, we look for acceptance and love in the people that brush aside platitudes with dust and embers. We look for the things that will someday find us. We look for abstractness in microcosmic representations of reality. We look for inklings of life and hope in rootless trees and empty ponds. We spend days and weeks and our whole entire lives in a frantic search for something that will eventually lie at our doorsteps. We spend our moments capturing instead of feeling. We are always racing with life, trying to get past the days of ordinary existence, only to lie in the shadows. Life is not competing with us to reach a final destination. That final destination exists around us every single day. Go and experience it. Live it.

 Anna Pan

Anna Pan


Maybe you aren’t living in the city you always thought you were living in. The trees you see outside your bay window aren’t made of leaves and branches and wood and sap, but instead, of all the times you asked your parents to build you a treehouse while you sat in your room, fantasising. Maybe all those questions and thoughts combined, over the years, and shifted from the realms of intangibility to tactile objects.

Maybe you aren’t living in the city you always thought you were living in. The buildings you see, while you walk down the streets, are measured not in feet or metres, but in hours and minutes and days of frustration, hard work, and panic. These buildings are not just buildings: they never were and they never will be.

Maybe you aren’t living in the city you always thought you were living in. Maybe its always hiding something from you. Maybe it shapes itself as you shape yourself. Maybe you will find your memories hanging like ornaments from the Christmas tree in the park, someday. Maybe you will find your deepest fears in the graffiti in an abandoned subway station. Maybe you live in your own world, and the city is just pure fabrication.tumblr_m7ljtyVoEj1r3ln1bo1_500


I want to go elsewhere. I want to go to the places they all speak about. I want to go there and I want to live there. The places where the rain falls sideways, not in hard sheets, but in clear raindrops. Where the rain takes everything with it but leaves enough behind for me. I want to go elsewhere. I want to go the places I read about. The places I write about. The places where everyone finds their white rabbit and follows it all the way to wonderland. Except I keep wanting
go elsewhere so badly that I keep running into dead-ends. What’s missing stays the same. But I
still want to go elsewhere.


How To Be Happy

One day, you’re standing in your kitchen and making coffee. You open the refrigerator and take out a bowl of fruit. In your mind, you make a mental list of the things you have to do today. Doctor’s appointments and errands and cleaning. You fit in a visit to the bookstore and a movie in there, to make yourself happy. In the distance, you can hear a song playing. Somehow, that song really speaks to you. Gradually, the doctor’s appointments and errands and visits all clear out of your mind, and all you can think of is that song. Where did you hear it last? Why does it mean so much? And suddenly, you’re back in 7th grade, your feet in the water, at your best friend’s pool party. You’re thinking of yesterday’s homework and today’s birthday cake.

Slowly, your feet dry up. The birthday cake gets over. Your coffee is ready, and your bowl of fruit is waiting for you on the kitchen counter. You get up, drink the coffee, and head out to the bookstore- to make yourself happy.


Be Vulnerable

Be vulnerable, sometimes. Imagine scenes in your mind and wait for them to happen. And when they do, be vulnerable. Let life happen to you, sometimes. Let swivels of emotion wreck you. Be vulnerable to the things people tell you, and be vulnerable to yourself. Say things you wish other people would say to you, and feel deeply about incidents that matter to you. Be vulnerable to words and waves and winks. Learn the way people punctuate their text messages, sometimes. Let yourself be immersed in the stark white pool of human consciousness. Swim in the hungry waves of intensity. Bask in the light of lovelorn smiles and soft whispers.

Be vulnerable, sometimes.