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Image by Leo Chane
  • Writer's picturejohn


I woke up to see that my skin got worn out, which never worked in my favor and always breaks the ice, tricking my senses. My wristwatch is yelling at me, saying, choose your accessories now, cuz you have to put on a show soon.

Nothing makes sense right, You can ask me, Are you drunk?

I'm not able to choose the perfect skin, which won't lit my soul on fire and put it on top of a hill where everyone can say their prayers to. Should I leave my heart on the table itself? Cuz yesterday's show wasn't my favorite. Anyway, I'm gonna take it with me today.

I get it, you are asking, Are you drunk?

Maybe I should get drunk, cuz it will be easy to wear these skins every day if I'm a little tipsy. I'm trying to bypass this traffic caused by meteors while traveling through the unknown territory of this cosmos. I'm fascinated to see these aliens and the skins they chose to wear.

Wait, don't ask now.

My head is spinning, not able to keep up with their speed. How fast are they changing their skin? How are they allowing their true self to demise when they are hiding in that perfect disguise?

Don't hurry, you still have time to ask.

I learned that love can be a perfect disguise to hate too. You are fooled by the light and persuaded by the dark, boo. It's crazy how fake can easily woo you then cheering woohoo.

Now it's starting to make sense right, wait.

These aliens act as demigods to make people believe in them like Gods. They operate on a mother's womb to get her baby out when that baby is ready to come out by himself, for what? I don't know but they call themselves doctors.

Relax now, (This is for me).

It's complicated. You can act bad to do good. You can be the keeper of justice and still break it to pieces. You can be a public servant and still plague this country telling, it serves them right. You can be a terrorist, fighting for his freedom, a joker who kills people for boredom.

Ask me now.

I can't tell these aliens which skin they should wear. But I can be one who doesn't change his skin to become a curse that ruins this land I live.

Somebody is shouting at me, oh! It's my mom. Was I sleeping? Was that all a dream? But it felt real, wasn't it?

Are you drunk? (It's my mom)

I'm not and I can't act drunk when I'm sober, right?

- John Samuvel