In so many ways, I think this poetry collection was born from a different space.
In the past, my poems had always been written at the exact points in time when certain feelings were experienced the most intensely. Fresh and timely were all the words that came within the curiosity, anxiety, and excitement that danced in my head. I would scribble away on packed trains, wake up in the middle of the night and drop everything at work to have my words or ideas recorded, as soon as a wave of emotions hit me.
Over the past year, my approach to writing poetry has evolved to be more inquisitive in a retrospective lens. All past moments or events that were ever replayed in my head get sieved through my current perspectives. To my surprise, I was then able to better decipher the root causes of concern, evaluate the outcomes, and assess my reactions and feelings towards them. Perhaps, I simply had had more time in the wee hours to think about my life, or maybe I had grown to manage my emotions better and not let them affect my day-to-day routines.
There is comfort in learning that I could make proactive decisions to sit back and watch the different events of chaos in my life like an outsider, then process independently and journal, rather than having to let my writing be guided mindlessly by my emotions at their most uncontainable stages. I have also learnt to allow myself sufficient time for my mind to filter out noises before adopting a microscopic view on life events, which provided me with more clarity and peace.
In fact, it felt like they were just scenes in my daydreams or an imaginative world built in a snow globe which I get to examine from outside the glass. And so I wrote from the audience seat what the story characters conveyed to me. From hearing about a friend’s suicide, to watching maze-like relationships ending in flames, to self-doubting or loathing at midnights, to learning the fatalistic nature of life, and to hoping to establish assurance in love... these are merely some of the many important elements that made this compilation. They were chaotic as inspirations, but as poetry, they no longer are.
I still believe in the magic in our quills and ink where stories written never belong to the writers only. They belong to whoever consumes them, the way they see fit. Even when the stories no longer felt like my own, or perhaps they had never been mine, the process of seeing them come to life was thoroughly cathartic. I hope the monologues I collected in my daydreams also speak to you, if you would allow yourself in the characters’ shoes.
Enjoy!
By,
Euan Thum.
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