Apologies for having no post last week and also this week! Due to personal reasons I’ve decided to go on a hiatus. I’m unsure if this will be permanent or temporary but perhaps one day we can meet again on the online plane. 

– Sincerely Pekky

Travelling the Distance

We never know when someone we love will leave us whether permanently or temporarily. All sorts of events could interfere; break-ups, job transfers, or even extremes such as death. Sure, there are ways to cope, mainly, the interweb in the case of temporary separation. But, a lot of times, distance really can make or break a relationship. If you are away from someone long enough, naturally, you begin to forget them. We always hope that someone will travel the distance for us, figuratively or literally.

This piece, called “Travelling the Distance”, is dedicated to overcoming the barriers of distance, or in the least, to commemorate the memories  with those we have been separated from.


The horizon spread across the sky. Night time’s purple consumed the fiery orange of the sun set. I lay in the grass, the blades gently pricking my skin. Footsteps approached me, nature rustling beneath her feet. I gazed upwards to see her beautiful face above me, which leaned over and gave me a sweet kiss. I sat up and pulled her into me, so delicate in my embrace. Our fingers entwined and we began talking, about our past, our present, and most dreadfully, our future.

“Saki”, I began. Her expression was so blissfully unaware of what I was about to tell her, that I almost decided to hold off my confession. But it was because I wanted to preserve this angelic smile that I felt inclined to be completely honest toward her. “This morning”, I continued, “I received a letter in the mail”. She looked at me inquisitively and I sighed. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but I…” I trailed off, unable to finish my sentence. She cocked her head sideways, her eyes anticipant.

“You can tell me, Kouta”, she urged. “It’s just that… It’s just that…I got accepted into a school overseas!” I blurted. Saki froze, staring at me blankly. I looked away, unable to make eye contact. She slowly loosened herself from me, stood up and gazed into the distance. The sun was almost entirely buried by the Moon’s dark blanket, leaving only a small ray of light peaking from the bottom. She returned to me and held her hand out. Though her eyes looked obviously pained, she wore a smile.

Taking me to the edge of the hilltop, she raised our arms. The breeze was cool on my skin and nature wrapped her arms around us. I could no longer read her expression. She seemed so far away. I wanted her closer to me. But upon trying to lower my arms and hold her, her hands clutched mine tightly, refusing to budge from our position. I didn’t know how to break our silence nor was I certain that I should. She finally let go of me. And with a determined expression, she looked me in the eyes and said,

“I want you to remember the feeling of the wind brushing against your skin”. I lifted my fingers to feel the air as though I could hold it, trying to understand what she saw in this nothingness. “Because no matter where you are”, she paused, forcing herself to smile, “you can always reach me through the wind.” She turned around but not quickly enough to conceal her crying face. The tears slide down her cheeks were carried in my direction and I reached my hand up to catch them.

Abandoning our distance, I held her against me. The wind blew through the small gaps between our bodies and moved us closer together. She felt so warm next to me, I never wanted to let go of this girl. Even the wind had its limits but it was my dream to go to overseas and we both understood that this would be the last summer that we could hang out so casually on this hill. At least for a awhile longer, we would stand worriless atop the hill that overlooked the town where we grew up. We would watch the sun set and feel the wind caress our faces. On the hill that joined our past and present, we would look out into our future.


As much as I usually preach about letting go of the past,  there /are/ things that we should never forget. Some time this week is my friend’s birthday and I hope he won’t be angry that I mention this but I want to use this post to thank him for suggesting that I write a blog in the first place. For his sake, I won’t reveal any more information about him.

This poem called “Flashback” is a tribute to precious moments in our pasts- yours, mine, his.



Flashback 18 years: my mother, upon my birth, cried true tears. This was a blur; a memory unclear. Yet, can it still be one that I hold dear?

Flashback 15 years: on the playground,  I met him here. My first real friend. With him I had no fears, I recall the day he moved and disappeared.

Flashback 10 years: I went on vacation in the southern hemisphere. I brought my friends back some souvenirs. Time was mine, nothing could interfere.

Flashback 5 years: my first love was sincere. And though, the breakup was severe, I still remember our last dance under
the chandelier.

Flashback 1 year: grade 12; the end of high school is near . I still remember it now;  the crowd,  the happy cheer. Saying goodbye to my peers.

Today: another stage has been cleared.  These occurrences will  never reappear. We can only look forward to a coming year. With that, I’ll leave you with: ‘happy birthday, my dear’! (:

Second Chance

There are no two people in this world who are the same. No matter how much someone may resemble someone else, they will never be the same person. You should never assume you know someone without hearing their entire story first. Likewise, you shouldn’t blame someone for trying to understand you because, due to a past experience, you have been hurt and don’t want to be hurt again. The chances that a bad relationship will not repeat itself is not certain, but we can never progress as individuals if we do not open up to others and let others try to know us.

The following story , “Second Chance”, is about a girl who always wore a fake façade.

NOTE: This story is a lot more dialogue-heavy than my previous works, any thoughts?



“You’re not being honest toward me”. He grabbed me from behind, stopping me in my tracks. I turned around to face him.

“Why’s that?”, I asked, slowly removing myself from his grip. He tightened his hold, pulling me closer. His bright blue eyes pierced my own and I instinctively shook my head allowing my bangs to hide my face. He reached up toward my face and revealed it again.

“I can see it in your eyes”. No matter the resistance, he persistently stared me in the eyes, a pained look on his face.

“Do you not like how I am?”, I whispered. His gaze softened.

“I do. Only, I think I would like you even more if you show me how you really are”. His face become serious again as he assessed my reaction. His accusative tone sparked a fire inside my heart and I proceeded to violently jerk myself free.

“This is who I am!”, I yelled.

“It’s who you’ve become”, he retorted, “but I remember seeing that look in your eyes from when I first saw you”. I froze, speechless that he could make such a claim. What did he know about what I’ve been through? Thinking about it only angered me more.

“Who do you think you are to say such things to me?!”

“Am I wrong?!” My eyes filled with tears as the memories filled my mind.

“You have no right to pretend like you know me”, I cried, holding my ground.

“I just want to help”, he pleaded.

“I don’t need it”, I began walking away once again, wiping the tears from my face, determined not to turn around.

“You don’t have to take on the world by yourself!” These words were unfamiliar to me. I didn’t know how to feel.

“But I chose to”, I tried to block out his voice. I didn’t want to deal with it – with him.

“Did you?” He regained his calm tone, despite the look of anxiety on his face.

“Just leave me alone!” I felt bad for being so harsh but I needed to leave. I couldn’t accept his comfort. I didn’t want to rely on him. I picked up my pace.

“I can’t”, I heard him say firmly.

“Why?”, I snapped, frustrated.

“Because I love you!” I froze in my tracks again, my knees giving way to my lack of strength. Tears streamed from my face. It had been so long since I’d heard those words pronounced so sincerely. He crouched down beside me and held me close to him. I felt a warmth separate from the physical warmth of human contact. Different; unheard of, it was one that touched me from deep within. I was reminded of a time long ago when I had trusted people and felt the same. I pulled myself slowly away from he who reluctantly let go. It would be hard to trust again. I looked at the man in front of me. He had never once been so bold. He meant it, what he said, I knew that.

Now, the choice was up to me.

Another Perspective

One of the silliest but most real problems in our lives is trying to understand the opposite gender and the way they think. No matter how well you think you’ve deciphered the opposite gender, they always manage to surprise you once again. Although it may be frustrating, at the same time, the mystery can be amusing.

I decided do some investigation about the ‘male mind’ and wrote this flash fiction from a male’s perspective.
I hope my representation is accurate! Or well, if you’re obstinate about the line between genders and their train of thought, as accurate as a female can get.

This story is  called “Another Perspective”. The main character is an angsty student who desperately wants to leave the goukon his friend forced him to attend.

NOTE: a goukon is a Japanese method of dating. Single men and women would meet up in a group  in hopes of meeting someone they are interested in.



I stared at my watch, tapping my foot impatiently. I could hear them giggling as Shun recounted stories, his charismatic voice filling the entire room. Again, I regretted coming with him to this goukon. I never understood why he enjoyed these sorts of gathering. The girls were usually neither pretty nor smart. I had a hard time imagining myself meeting someone I would be genuinely interested in. I glanced at the clock on the wall as if changing timepieces would magically cause the time to speed forward.

I sighed deeply and was startled to hear a female voice in unison with my own. I looked up to see a tiny, plain girl seemingly just as bored as I was.  She taped her fingers rhythmically on the table. A musician, perhaps?

“Do you play piano?” I asked. She glared at me from behind her glasses and diverted her eyes from my face. “Oy, are you even listening to me?” she continued to ignore me. I hated her type the most, way too reticent. Irritated, I picked up my drink and sipped it leisurely. What is a person like that doing here anyway? Absorbed in my thoughts, I didn’t notice it flying toward me until it was too late. Some moron decided it would a bright idea to use wasabi as a catapult projectile and luckily for me, the target was coincidentally my face.

My eye was burning and was beginning to water, but through the blur I could see someone holding out a handkerchief. Utterly ludicrous, what I needed was water. I hurried to the bathroom and proceeded to repeatedly douse myself with cold water. Still rubbing my eye as I exited the men’s room, I almost collided with the person in front of me.

Removing my hands from my face, I was incredulous to see miniscule hands holding out a handkerchief. I took it from her hesitantly. She stood still waiting for me to finish, her expression blank. Up close, she was more attractive in an unexpected way. Her features were delicate and her hair silken black. I suddenly had an urge to see her smile.

“You…” I started. Her glare was impeccable, cold to the root. “Ah, never mind”, I said returning her handkerchief, “Let’s go back”. We sat in continued silence, listening only to the clock’s ticking. When the goukon finally came to its long awaited end, one of Shun’s girls suggested that we all exchanged numbers and I uninterestedly entered everyone’s numbers. I left the building prepared to head home alone but was greeted by Shun at the door.

“You’re not going to go with one of them?” I inquired suspiciously. We began to walk toward the bus stop.

“Who do you think I am”, he retorted, “So what’s up with you Ren? How could you spend the whole night alone?” I eyeballed him dubiously.

“What are you talking about? I talked to that girl”. Shun was inattentive but there was no way he could have missed that.

“What girl?” he asked, confused, “Akane was with Haru, Mitsuko was with Youta and you pushed the other two toward me”. I was beginning to lose my patience.

“I know short, plain girls aren’t your type, but aren’t you being a little obscene, completely denying her existence?” I snapped.

“You’re the one behaving ridiculously!” he yelled, “You kept talking to yourself the whole night and now you’re making up someone’s existence!” I was dumbfounded at his persistence. I took a breath and explained calmly.

“As I said, she was short and plain. She had jet black hair, front bangs and her gaze was cold – a little uncomfortable. I didn’t even notice her attire but I’m sure it wasn’t anything remarkable. When one of you idiots threw wasabi at my face she offered me a handkerchief”. Shun expression softened.

“You still miss her a lot, don’t you?” he asked.

“Who? What are you talking about?” He really had a knack for getting off track.



“Isn’t that what happened when you first met Hanako, Kouki?” And it all came rushing back, cascading all at once: the memories of her that I worked so hard to suppress. Why did she choose now to appear before me? I pushed Shun aside and ran back toward the sushi bar. Barging through the entrance I ran back to the room where we were. The bartenders tried to kick me out but I persevered past them and entered the room, out of breath.

“Hanako!” I cried, “Don’t leave yet!” I could feel myself being held back and in the distance I heard Shun’s frantic voice.

“Snap out of it Kouki, Hanako’s not here!” I tried to protest but those were the last words I heard before the alcohol won over and I drifted into the darkness.

I Don’t Know

Sometimes, time passes by so quickly that it catches us by surprise. Only when we finally notice that something or someone precious to us has changed drastically, that reality finally hits us. In life, we often only look forward to the future that we forget to live in the present. So when time finally matches up with our pace, we feel that it’s too late to enjoy the simplicities of when we were younger. At the same time, however, we don’t want to focus so much on the present that we’re unprepared for the future.

It can be hard to find a balance between the two.

Even still, I know there are a handful of people, like I, who are also constantly stuck in the past.  During the past year, I kept trying to rejuvenate a friendship that had ended. In fact, when my attempts failed, I actually tried to find a replacement for that friend. But, as time passed, I’ve come to realize that we’ve both become different people. There was a point in time when we could no longer go back to where we once were. Presently, we could, in theory, move forward and create a new friendship, but with the amount of people in this world and the amount of effort both parties are willing to put forward, I know that now is the time to let go.

This is a poem called “I Don’t Know” meant to be both a tribute and a farewell to my friend and to anyone else who has lost a friend they care deeply about.

EDIT: I wrote this intending for it to be lyrics for a song and I was lucky enough to have tPenguinLTG  compose a score for it! This is my first collaborative effort and hopefully there will be more to come. Please have a listen and also visit tPenguinLTG on MuseScore.com.



I don’t know who you are.
I don’t know. Have we met?
I don’t know. Were we friends?
I don’t know. What’s your name?

We look across the broken glass at each other,
And sometimes we wonder,
What happened to the sand inside?

Did time shatter when we didn’t pay attention to things that made us who we are?

I grip your hand, are we saying hello or goodbye?
I just don’t understand,
How the time we shared was just a lie.

Could you forget who I am if you just abandon all the things that made you who you are?

I don’t know who you are.
I don’t know. Have we met?
I don’t know. Were we friends?
I don’t know. What’s your name?

I take a step into the future as I look behind,
Your shadow lingers,
But we are no longer aligned.

I can’t accept that I must forget the times and things that made me who I am.

I don’t know who you are.
I don’t know. Have we met?
I don’t know. Were we friends?
I don’t know. What’s your name?


Lately, I’ve met a lot new and interesting people and as with how everyone behaves around strangers, I’m not always entirely myself. Frankly, sometimes I feel like my persona is a little forced, since upon meeting new people, one doesn’t want to offend them or be judged. Only after a little time do you begin to open up more toward those individuals that you get along with best. It’s not always easy to tell who are your true friends and who is just friending you for convenience and I think sometimes we often take those who /are/ our true friends for granted.

This brings me to the question of how friends, family and lovers shape who we are and the degree to which we should acknowledge them for it. Our identities are comprised of two components: how people view themselves and how others view them. However, the question arises whether both of these or neither of them are consistent in representing who we actually are. Is the persona that we often assume around others, the person we truly are inside? Is it possible to have someone understand us better than ourselves? What do you think?

The story below is called “Worth”. The protagonist struggles through an inner conflict as she tries to determine her place in this world.

Edit: Gauging by my work load and the fact that I figured out how to schedule posts on WordPress, I think it’s feasible to do weekly posts at  8:00 p.m. ET every Friday, instead of biweekly posts.



You can be whoever you want to be. My mother’s voice echoed in my mind as I rested in arm chair in front of our fireplace. I fidgeted as I tried to position myself more comfortably. Sighing, I untangled my hair from the ridges of the worn out leather. I was becoming too big for this chair.

Mother and daughter we had shared this spot and mother and daughter we would share it again, only my mother was no longer with me. The fire blazed gently and I imagined myself being enveloped in her warmth, but I shivered, for, inside felt cold. The embers which I had once imagined were tiny dancing faeries amongst the forest of flames now seemed like piercing glares from deep within the depths of hell.

Judging eyes and hurtful speech, the world I was surrounded by had made me lose faith in my mother’s words. Could there ever be a connection between two people as affectionate as that between those who are akin? A parent, a friend, a lover are all supposed to be equal in our hearts but friends and lovers have no obligation to you since they’re separate, unique entities.

Friends and lovers are funny.

Or, at least, my friends and lover were. And not funny in that comedic kind of way.

When I was younger, I was told I was beautiful and  smart, so naturally, people flocked to my side. My life was the image of perfection. But, beneath the shiny surface was a superficial world with people who never really knew me for who I was. Every time I expressed these feelings, my mother would laugh and tell me, “Stop worrying needlessly, you should be as you are with me, when you’re with true friends and a lover. Just be whoever you want to be”.

To which I would smile at and hug her tighter. Even though I knew I could never feel as comfortable with anyone as I did  with her, the soft tone of her words made me feel better.

That’s why, when my mother died, I lost it.

I succumbed to the pressures of society. No one could keep me sane. My life tumbled before me and as I showed my inner distress, my ‘friends’ and ‘lover’ also revealed their true colours. In the end, it would seem that they have won. I ran away,  with nowhere to go and no one to go to.

But, alas, I was not alone. Inside of me, another life was growing, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to expose it to this cruel world…

Nonetheless, here I am, mother and daughter, once again.

And I want her to come save me, but pretty soon, I realize, I must be the saviour.

Gateway to the Future: Walking Down Memory Lane

Hello All!

My name is Pekky and I’m an aspiring author! (:

Everyone is always looking forward to the future, anticipant of what will or might come to happen in a few hours, days, or even years. But the time is now, and now is the time for you and I to start doing what we want and love to do – that is, if /you/ haven’t already done so.

Through writing, I can sincerely express myself, hence the blog title, and share with you, whether you are someone I’m acquainted with or a stranger, a little bit more about me. I’m going to primarily focus on flash fiction and other short works (I apologize in advance if you have to read any uncouth rants in the future).

As for the title of this post, “Gateway to the Future: Walking Down Memory Lane”, this is my obligatory introduction post or the “gateway” to our future, and the piece below is titled “Walking Down Memory Lane”.

On a final note, ideally, updates will be biweekly on Friday nights but you never know when inspiration strikes, so I expect the number of posts may fluctuate as time passes. I hope you enjoy & please feel free to leave comments below. (:

Edit: Gauging by my work load and the fact that I figured out how to schedule posts on WordPress, I think it’s feasible to do weekly posts at  8:00 p.m. ET every Friday, instead of biweekly posts.



Every spring I am reminded of her as life peeks through winter’s ice blanket, breaking the cold, lonely atmosphere. She was no one special, but in that way she shared nature’s simplistic charms. She hated how average she was, but deep down, I always believed that one day she would prevail over her own insecurities. Yet she was young, and she was ignorant, so no one could reach her – not even I.

It pained me to know that, unlike the cherry blossoms which bloomed every year, illuminating the path to our school, she would never set foot affront these grounds in that careless manner that she once had. When the flowers perished, new ones would replace them in a year’s time. Though no two flowers share the same shape, pattern or arrangement, another one could provide the eye of its beholder the same joy and pleasure as the original. But once she has lost a piece of her, in no way can the feelings associated with what she once had be recreated.

Pitiable as it was to miss someone who was gone from this world, I still heard her laugh amidst the chirping of the birds. Her smile radiated with the sun’s rays, her warmth enveloped me and occasionally she would shower me with her tears when rain fell as it often did during this season. I didn’t love her; her flaws were apparent and it is untrue to say that she didn’t need to change. But, if God would let her return to me, I would erase all those thoughts.

This spring was no different. I walked slowly up the hill toward the school, our memories strewn across my path; reflections of our past were permanently etched in my mind. The shadows of her friendships were before me, the seeds of her romances sprouting in all directions, and most nostalgic of all, the image of her innocence, which she painted with the colours of the wind, surrounded me.

I almost reached the top and crossed the line where I promised myself I would leave her behind. I couldn’t bring her back from the dead. I had to move forward toward the unknown future that had once awaited us. It wouldn’t be so hard if I hadn’t lost her so soon; if she didn’t leave me in the way that she did. But she escaped before I could get ahold of her, my grasp was too weak.

I lost her to the night; she vanished, disappeared. Before I could reason why, it was too late. I wish I had taken that step. She trusted me and maybe I could have saved her, but she was gone before I knew it. It’s surprising that I can still feel, despite this regret that tore at me from inside. I desperately wanted to turn back the time to before it had begun, but now, I look forward as I finally stand atop the hill we once shared.

Looking at the horizon, a new day was beginning. As much as her memory pained my heart, I let the thought of her go for another year. I stepped forward, smiling to myself, maybe I’ll never forget her, but I suppose there must be a reason. After all, it’s always hardest to let go of your own self.

© Sincerely Pekky