A Love Story

I had a dream about a love story.

The scene was setting in the sunlit hillside overlooking the green pastures, a boy and a girl under an oak tree. She was sitting against the giant oak tree and he was lying on her lap. He was looking at her with his honey brown eyes full of admiration and love. She launched her gaze far far away to the green hills while combing her fingers through his golden curls. They were just talking softly.

This was after they made love throughout the night with unquenchable thirst and fire. She was in awe of how pure and innocent he is. He drank in her mesmerising beauty and gravitated by her inner strength.

There under the oak tree, he expressed his unfailing love for her with his passion and commitment. And yet, she was torn between her uncontrollable falling for his pureness and innocence, and the dimmest remaining logic.

I would have written on and on about how this sweet love developed and she came to her senses that he loves her unconditionally…


The reality goes like this:

It was a warm autumn day in the east coast of Australia.

An American writer had been spending a long overdue holiday in the land down under. His recent book launch was a success which funded this holiday. He always wanted to live in this land for its rich aboriginal culture and diverse landscapes. He suffers spells of blues most of his life. Wearing the sun shine and ocean breeze seemed to be helping to relieve the itchy jumper prickles.

He hadn’t felt this relaxed and free from torment of the past for a long time. He was almost feeling a tinch of lightness in the foreign land of his dream. He felt he could breathe again and he was able to think pass today to what breakfast he would like tomorrow morning.

Being a bald-headed bearded guy with tattoos, he blended in nicely with local Aussies except when he ordered his meals in a northern American accent. She instantly looked up when she heard that familiar accent and she gave him a grin. He is the type of guy who will avoid eye contacts at all cost, not because of shyness but the intensity he feels when souls colliding.

She is an Australia born Arminian recently returned from Tehran. She spent her school years and most adult life in Tehran. She learned to speak English mostly from soap operas she watched when growing up, hence the familiarity of the American accent. All her Aussie friends asked her ‘How was life in the States?’ when they first met her. She left her 22 years of life in Tehran behind with no regrets. The physical violence and mental anguish she escaped from gave her permanent scars. Although she did regain her will and power to live on in her homeland. Beautiful sunshine, warmth of the locals and the uncomplicated layback life style are assurance for her continue recovery and healing.

They hit it off from the American accent and the share benefit of the sun and ocean, to long walks to watch the sunset. There was no doubt that the attraction was instant regardless the constrain portrayed by both. Love was certainly dancing in the salt air, energising, rejuvenating and invigorating, to the souls, the minds and the mortal bodies.

Life takes unexpected turns. Love comes in a mysterious way. He felt he had just started to leave the bag of bones behind while she just started to settle in the freedom she long missed. They applied their logic and both knew love came in such an inconvenient time.

They traveled together to Uluru (Ayers Rock) to walk the same path the traditional land owners of Australia, the Aboriginal people first set foot on over 20000 years ago. They read about the Aboriginal Australian way of living, the waiting. They wait in life with patience, waiting for rain to fill the rivers, waiting for the bush to open to harvest, waiting for the young people to grow up to flourish. They let the nature guide them, never in a hurry. They listen deeply to connect with the inner springs inside them.

They were at the cross-road of their lives. The choices he made against his heart and the bitter past led to fear filled tormented living death. She was a wounded soul trampled and deprived by the one she vowed her life to. They shared the common longing for healing and restoration.

Finally when they were both standing in front of Uluru, all the questions, uncertainty, insecurity, inability, inadequacy started peeling away, fading, vanishing. Their moment of waiting and listening deeply to connect with their inner springs surfaced to a connection and bond between them. The rain drizzled on the land into the dry rivers, and the rivers overflown into one, the season of harvest, the future of flourishing.

When hope is lost is where hope is found. When love is untangible is where love is a reality.

D Day

I opened my eyes to the fiery amber morning glow. First sunrise of winter. The crisp air reminded me of The day.

That year had unusual rainfalls. We spent a day in the mountain. We rose early for a walk in the powdery rain. You started the fire by the last sip of coffee. You came to the rug where I sat, kneeling and plaited my hair. I curled up like a cat on the rug with my shoes half done up. In silence you tied my shoe laces.

We held hands and walked in the rain deep into the bush in silence. When we came back we were both sweating in chills.

I made us coffee and we sat back to back by the file on the fluffy rug. You read to me from local news to poems. Your voice and the crackling of the fire are the most memorable sounds.

The rain got heavier and we could hear the dancing rhythm on the roof. Both of us love the sound of the rain. And we met on a rainy day. I knew when we heard the rain we both thought of the first time we laid eyes on each other. We both turned around with our eyes meeting. My heart was pouncing out of my jumper and your lips landing on mine. The last sentence I heard that day was your whisper in my ear ‘ I want you.’

That day is the most glorious day of my life. I experienced the five most romantic acts in that rainy winter day. You plaited my hair, tied my shoe laces, walked in the rain with me, read to me by the fire and said ‘I want you’. I savoured every moment and every detail.

You can only contain that much happiness in one day, one life with one love. For that, we both knew that day is The day. The day we wandered off from each other knowingly or subconsciously.

We did it in silence. No formal conversation, no tears, no embrace, no good byes. We walked away in the middle of climax, in triumph, in perfection. We both knew there was never going to be another we, us and what we shared. We preserved our love and upheld its prestige.

” True love may only come once in a lifetime. But it can come once and once is more than enough.” – Fawn Weaver

Equal measure

There has always been silence between us.

Your refusal to share and my restrain to express.

There has alway been space between us.

Your fear in repeating the history and
my patience in seeing things through.

There has always been harmony between us.

Your hesitation in baring your soul and the fortress I built for my failing heart.

We can continue like this to the end numbed and lost.

We may pierce the bubble with equal measure.

Both you and I know there is no safer place than here for our long gone, burntout, wayward souls.

My last good bye

When I go,

I wish my friends and love ones sit in a circle by the ocean.

I want you all to share your fondest memory of me.

You must share good food and celery sticks. I know this will be a hard ask.

You will listen to this playlist and let ‘We Are Loved’ sink into your hearts.

Que Sera Sera – Doris Day
Beautiful Ones – Suede
This Used to be My Playground – Madonna
China Blue – Julia Fordham
Sugar Hiccup – Cocteau Twins
What a Wonderful World – Louise Armstrong
Blessed be Your Name – Matt Redman
Mermaid – Sade


You made me blush

You made me laugh

For most, you made me feel alive.

With you, I lost time

With you, I lost myself

With you, I lost my reasons to refuse.

We are soulmates, twin flames, out of space.

We are the tale that never ends.

Love Tragedy

I see you

I know you

If I were not broken in powdery pieces

I would have raced across

the river in heavens

to feel you


I am standing still

in awe of your fragile beauty

living out the ancient tale of

Niu Lang and Zhi Nu



It is you
the sweet aromatic wine I am drunk on

It is you
the alluring painting I stand admiring

It is your smile
like the willows in the breeze
brushing over my inner chamber
moving me to brace your fragile physique
longing to store this moment forever

It is you…but surely it isn’t you
wandered off with the same smile
lingering around my lost soul

I cannot behold my desire
How I wish you would
return with the same smile
squeeze in my arms once again

It is you…but surely it isn’t you
kin to an icy heart

I stand catatonically
in the storm
let the raging wind and rain
slash and break this
once in a life time

是你 绝对不是你
希望还是一笑 你能
你 绝对不是你
让我 醉倒 让我 茫然而不知所措
张开的怀抱 只好
偷偷垂下交抱胸前 在
雨下 被敲打


Its ‘believe for Sally’ Day! Sally is a local hero and a young mother who is fighting late stage of cancer.

I didn’t have tattoos nor piercings. I didn’t believe punching holes in my body, period.

Many years ago, Sally’s sister Rachel and I went to the same church and we love Jesus.

A month ago, an Instagram post struck my eye. It’s an invitation to the Inked Fish Salon to have ‘believe’ tattooed to support Sally.

I am not a person who makes hasty decisions for things with permanency. After a week’s contemplation, I decided to participate ‘believe for Sally’.

I lost people whom I love to cancer is not a piece of news. It happened, happening and will continue to happen. The word ‘believe’ for me, it is beyond believing for miracle healing of cancer, it is believing that we are not allowing cancer to rob us of joy in this life.

When I was 18, my cousin 思丹 was 13. She was a happy, simple and beautiful village girl. We lost her to leukemia shortly after she turned 14.

I clearly remembered that last time I visited her in the hospital. 思丹 loved mangos. I took her a juicy and meaty mango when I visited her. She was as pale as a porcelain doll. They stopped all treatment already. We took turns to brush her forearms, the only thing she found pleasurable in her last days.

I offered her the mango. I saw her eyelashes fluttering like the butterfly emerging from the cocoon. Then she curved her fingers signalling welcome to my offer. I was about to stand up to cut up the mango for 思丹. My uncle rushed off his seat and stopped me doing that. He told me mango is not good for her daughter’s diet. I was a compliant person. I honoured my uncle’s request. So 思丹 died 2 days after deprived from her favourite fruit.

By the village’s tradition, it is a taboo to bury a young person along the ancestors in the family graveyard. So 思丹 was buried somewhere in the forest. To me, that somewhere is a wasteland of nowhere.

I had been angry at myself for a long time, for not fighting for 思丹’s last pleasure of tasting a mango, for not being able to stand up to my uncle’s authority. More over, I hated the fear cancer instilled in my love ones’ hearts. It robbed them blind of simple pleasure and joy in life.

#believe4Sally and beyond, it is my pledge to believe miracle healing and be joyful in tribulations.

“Rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfast in prayer.” (Romans 12:12)

Mental Health First Aid

I was a bit down


I stuck in that melancholy rug

I even took a walk

to the bluest sky

and bathed in the most

striking sunshine

I restrained myself from

looking at the shadow patch

where no grass would grow

I turned off the sad tunes

of agony moans

I even played aeroplane

when dining alone

So one spoon full after the next

I conducted self care

By the nightfall is

when the vampires roar

I wrote myself a cheeky poem

to dig myself out of the

depressive hole

We are cute

I write, you read

side by side

I bite on your arm

signal for a kiss

you turn to me


meteor streaking across

the sky

thousands kisses fall