Evha’s Passing

She had not the right clothes for the trip,

but in the communal spirit of sharing,

borrowed clothes from her friends to proceed

with her gift of the day: an Adventure trip;

11 year-old Evha died at Drayton Manor Theme Park this Tuesday afternoon.

Standing up to change seats at the very moment her boat hit the rock,

she fell into the water,

and the rapid currents carried her away,

away from our fingertips.

‘And this is fate,’ said my friend.

‘Who destined for this to happen?’ I ask.

‘If God’s help was with her, the chances for this to happen would be unlikely. That is why we need prayers,’ she continued.

I remained silent for I did not want to argue,

or rant at God with my lack of knowledge.

My Reflection on the possible Presence of God

If Fate is the development of events outside a person’s control,

and if praying to God can help to change one’s Fate,

God does not predetermine our Fates, though he has it in his power to alter them.

I would like to believe that:

Our efforts are seen.

Our pleas are heard.

Our triumphs over our weaknesses are taken into account.

As to why terrible things befall us – perhaps all of it is a butterfly effect of the past and all that surrounds us before, at and after birth.

Just this morning, I read of a 11 month old being raped by her uncle. God did not predetermine it and will for it to happen, though he did not directly come down to stop it. Humanity allowed, and made way for this terrible atrocity- little by little, unknowingly, over time.

Why did God not directly intervene? I don’t know. If we would have prayed as a community, hard enough for the protection of this girl, might her rape not have happened? I believe it might have been possible but our lack of awareness of the future, possibly might not have made way for our communal prayer gathering before the rape. (P.s. Unlike Minority Report)

Do I believe if prayers can stop atrocities? Yes, I do.

What does God choose to listen to? I don’t know.

For a long time, I have been mad at the barbarity that God has allowed into this world. Today, I have realised that WE are liable for our own actions.

Why should I be mad at God for not stepping in whenever I think he should? He’s given me/us the freedom of choice after all, to explore and to seek him on my/our own account. If I expect him to step in at the ‘right’ times, I should not expect to be given the freedom to act.

Who is God? I still haven’t figured out who God is and what his rules are, with the confusing existence of so many religions, and an even more confusing spiritual world I have seen manifesting in many parts of the world.

Nevertheless, I strongly believe in a presence around us that watches, listens, and feels. Is that enough to make me pray? No.

What attracts me to God? Love and Humility. Not just power.

As much as I want to deny Christianity, I cannot help but be attracted to the Christian aspect of a God. However, with regards to what the Christian faith teaches and with regards to the practises of other religions, I’m still observing, respecting, forming personal opinions on them and learning.

I pray that I/you will be led closer to an Objective Truth about a possible God and understand, why I/you have an innate need to pray, ultimately using prayer as a weapon against the injustices of this world.

The Blueman

The Blueman

My Mum sold her soul to the Blueman,

on a midnight.


Some say he was the only man from the town strong enough to hold death away,

his heart still pounding beneath rotting human flesh.


Another tale tells of him suffering skin discolouration

from a deadly and poisonous snake that bit him,

but in return, spared the lives of 500 children

held captive by a Demon.


Propping himself against a gravestone which had been pulled out from the soil

to form a seat for him,

he welcomed his customers with a branch as blue as his skin,

which he instructed them to lightly kiss.

He called it the kiss of a promise but everyone knew

that their gestures permanently sealed their entrapment,

for it was the countless weeping souls within the branch that had transformed its form to a melancholic Blue.


Did he really unshackle the lives of a 500 or had it

all been the telling of a fable

to save the pride of a town sheltering

a repugnant murderer?


Still, my mum obediently knelt before the grave stone and

planted a kiss on the Blueman’s branch as he

claimed to have entrapped the demon inside her daughter within

a Curacao liquor bottle.


As he rose with the full bottle,

the engraved wordings on the gravestone came to sight,

under a Full moonlight;


My name was carved on the stone he sat on,

and behind me,

lived the tombs of 500 young, bleeding girls

jungle raped by a creature the colour of




I wrote this poem after feeling aggravated by the news of a man raping a 11-months-old baby.