Fresh Ideas

Daily Prompts has become a place to which I come when inspiration runs dry and it has been dry since the beginning of this year. It’s sad to see that no more new word published on the website to set me back on writing course.

What they said on the website is true. You can always find inspirational word from the archive. it must have been huge to have catalogued prompts for so long. While it’s true that archive has contained a lot of word, life should have even more. While routine provide a canvas for you to draw, interaction gives you color with which you can color your canvas, make patterns, and realize that how peculiar your life is.

Maybe, the absence of Daily Prompt could, at least, force me to go around the road again; to encourage myself to get better gear, better reading list, and thus produce better writings. Be it imaginary or non-fiction, life is a realization between the two.

So long, partner. Thank you for having provided me fresh idea to write all this time.


Ruinous Atmosphere

Just like shattered mirror would show it’s cracks, broken self would also bear scars. Shattered mirror, even after you put the pieces together, won’t give you single perfect reflection but smaller images instead. Broken self might never be as same as the original but it has richer experience than before.

While ruinous atmosphere brings about discomfort and changes. But it has the eye on which you can sit and watch the whole thing from different perspective. That’s why the best spot of watching the storm is on the center, on the eye. To sit and watch how different gentle, harmless winds form a single chaotic current and brings about destruction, will there any better experience?

Instead of cursing the pieces, why not try forming them into single puzzle and see if it becomes something new. Not all broken things is broken. They might just begin to evolve into something more.

An attempt to respond to Broken.


When a book uses the word old, it might refer to something of the past we might still recognize from our memory. Be it from your grandparents, old memento of some honorable figures, or architecture at which you look and feel amazed by their age.

When a book uses the word ancient, it might refer to something even older, something of the past we know only from the remnants such as ruins, potteries, unrecognized languages without any speaker left, or some drawings on some distant caves.

But then when you said archaic, I always know that you refer to something in existence but have no proof as base to explain. I would love to define the word as it is written in our latest edition of dictionary. But somehow we picture it different.

I guess for us archaic refers to a certain time span in which civilization existed and thrived but now it is no longer here and we are clueless about its existence. Not because it has neither remnants nor ruins but because we are unable to tell it.

In response to Archaic.


Assuming that our time frame is correct then we might proceed with our plan. Resource we required might have been, or should have been provided by third party. If the slots are limited, we might ask said party to inform us the available resource and ask them if we can regulate such resource to meet our needs. We might get a reasonable result.

We make our plan based on condition we are today and, sometimes, without consent of other people’s situation. It could be averted if we make a proper chitchat with proper listening and responding. Such harmony, however, can only be a dream if one decides to veto when one shouldn’t have to.

Hard-headed people are sometimes fun to argue because usually they have solid background study on their arguments. Sometimes they can also be pain in the a**e because they want everything their way without considering other’s consents.

Assumption sometimes doesn’t simplify things. It often makes things even more complex than they are supposed to be.

In response to Assumption.


Things here in this world are bound to end at their each own timing. While we know that for sure, we rarely realize that we are also bound to leave this plane. Things are easy for us when we hold nothing against them thus letting them go is easy. The problem comes when we have our share of struggle for something. When things, that we have worked for, that we have understood of their limited lifespan, are about to vanish, we somehow make our grip even stronger and make everything even harder for us to let go.

Things that hurt are always of our blood and sweat, of our mind and soul; While we can desire everything in this world, why don’t we stay in moderation? Being in moderation will ease us our pain of losing, won’t it?

In response to Disappear.


When someone says genie, I instantly remember this.

Who would refuse this song?

Well, another also comes to mind. Remember big-blue genie from the lamp appearing on desert of some kind? If there are really three wishes, I always wonder what I would ask. At some point on my life, I have been pretty sure that I’ve known my desire, my long lasting ambition. But it also always changes. Sometimes I wanted to have everlasting wealth but then I also cherish everlasting health. Once I thought it would be nice if I had great intelligence but then I realized world is already messed up without me giving “contributing” trigger and impact. Then came another wish only to be countered with another one. Human is a personification of greed, lust, and pride. Three wishes won’t ever be enough. Or will they ever be? 

Where are you, Gene? I would love to have a word or two or three with you. How would you tell me about my wishes?

In response to Genie.

Enjoy the Silence

The song still remains. Between lyrics, one’s mind would wander through daily noise and look for a piece, a sequence that would bring contentment. Nightfall didn’t stop the iteration and at times it became even faster.

As one climbed the roof while holding a coffee, one unconsciously began to question things to which one had already known the answer. It’s crazy how one would expect the different answer by asking the same questions. Eyes gazed upon the moon and somehow the mind started to tone down. It came to conclusion.

It had been nice while silence was the synonym of serenity. And then, what if the same thing didn’t work anymore? What if quiet night wasn’t the calming factors anymore? What if the sounds of reality was the source of comfort?

In response to late Silent.