Alena's Euphoric Quill

A Crybaby is not always weak, She just feels the world a little louder, Maybe, a little deeper. She hugs with her whole soul, She breaks silently in corners unseen. They say, “Be strong,” as if softness is a sin, But strength wears many faces, Sometimes, it looks like trembling lips Still daring to speak kindness in return. She doesn’t cry for attention,  She cries because she pays attention. To pain, to beauty, to the things others miss, To voices unheard and wounds unkissed. She is not weak for feeling it all, She is powerful, Because she survives it all, And still believes in love. She sometimes bursts out, Out of pain, ending up hurt, But she rises up and learns, Learns from her mistakes. She knows that she is flawed, But she tries.  At the end of the day, She is just a sensitive human after all.

Every handwriting is a confession, A silent unveiling of self. Each one, in its own way, Truely is beautiful.  Not always to the world, but always to someone, To a loved one who knows the story, Between the lines and its flaws. Some scripts are gentle, Pleasing like a soft breeze across calm waters. Others are wild, Chaotic like crashing waves With ink that forgets to follow the rules. I began with neatness, With letters that stood like soldiers in a row. Over time, it crumbled, the lines faltered, the strokes wavered. My words lost their shape. But then, quietly, they found their rhythm again. I never truly had a handwriting, just strokes and sketches, drawings of words that barely knew themselves. Until one day, I traced the lines back to me. And in that steady form, I met my own reflection. Now, I hold it with pride. Imperfect, evolving, but unmistakably mine. It may not be flawless, But it is honest, It is me, My treasure, My fingerprint, My deepest identity. To you, maybe rand...

People say heart is fragile, Easy to crush and easier to rush, To the deepest ocean of lively tears And to the happiest islands of fairy treats, I love it all, I know it all, Says the very heart, It beats with hope and tropes, Maybe it's all an illusion, Maybe it's illiterate with reality, Because all it knows, the poor old heart: Is to sing and be free, To trust and not be rude, Reality strikes and tears rushes down. I call it crispy like the snack, Thin, easy and breakable, Crumbling bits of easy pieces, Just like a shattered glass More like, One broken heart. It is crumbled, crusty and left, After realising it is not full, But just a drop of an ocean.

  Words have the power to brighten someone’s day or completely ruin it. They can uplift a person or leave them in sorrow. That’s why we must be mindful of every word we speak. Unfortunately, I learned this lesson the hard way. One afternoon, my friend and I went to the stalls to grab something to eat. As we arrived, I saw her talking to someone she hadn’t been on good terms with for a while. Without thinking much, I blurted out, “You guys started talking again? Wow!” My voice was louder than I had intended, and the impact was immediate. Both of their smiles faded, and an awkward silence settled between us. It was then that I realized they weren’t exactly friends again; they were merely being polite to each other. Guilt settled in as I watched them exchange glances, clearly uncomfortable. My words had unintentionally exposed a fragile situation, possibly making things worse instead of better. I wanted to take back what I said, to clarify that I didn’t mean any harm, but the damage h...

Pearl+Lena corner vlog link: Vlog interview: Books vs Movies Pages vs. Pictures: Why Are More Young People Choosing the Screen Over the Page? Last semester, I had the chance to interview people from different backgrounds for my CA 2 vlogging assignment. I asked them a simple question: Do you prefer books or movies? To my surprise, most of them chose movies. I expected at least a few more people to side with books, but apart from Megha and Libi, almost everyone leaned toward films. Even Pearlina’s friends had the same response. This made me stop and think. If I had asked this question ten years ago, the answer might have been different. Books were once the go-to escape, the doorway to new worlds, and the source of so many childhood dreams. But today, movies have taken that place for a lot of people. As someone who loves both, I couldn’t help but wonder: What is it about movies that books can’t quite offer? Why Are Movies Winning Over Books? Super Fast Express We live in a world where ev...

It’s not about the roses, not the petals soft as whispers, nor the scent that lingers like a dream fading in the morning light. It’s about the hands that picked them, the quiet pause before the gift, the unspoken hope in trembling fingers, Will this make you smile? It’s not about the grandeur, not moonlit serenades or diamond rings, but the way your name sounds when said with love, the way silence hums between us, full of things we never need to say. It’s not about the roses. It never was. It’s about the love that stays long after the flowers fade.