On Record

What’s protection?

πŸ˜πŸ“„β˜•βž‘οΈπŸ“₯

It was a blurring of boundaries in the worst way. A report adjusted this time, and no more. 

If it escalated, the job turnover in the department would rise – with immediate effect. I had to stop it.

To save my own. It wasn’t about getting anyone into trouble. 

So I crafted the email. 

That email. It raised the issue, in apparent confidence. I kept my superiors in the BCC loop – it warranted guidance. 

Not action. 

Written in the hopeful belief that it would preempt and correct – quietly.

I  clicked on the send button and went on a mid-morning coffee break. 

It was Procedure. That’s all. 

Nothing unusual, just a log of a routine slip. 

But HE accessed the inbox,through a shared terminal. One which he had delegated access to. 

A misdirected forward loop. 

And the reaction. 

The cardboard box. The desk, cleared. 

Him, walking past, giving me that lowered, sideways glance. 

It accused. “So this is what you really think of me. You never even asked me anything.”

I would have fixed it. But it’s already on the company’s records. 

I only meant to protect. 

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The Practice of Brightness

We celebrate International Optimists Day today.

False positivity can be grating, sometimes even harmful…but we do need hope when it counts.

Little nuggets of positivity do that.

Optimism is hope – when it matters.

🌱

Paula traversed her little block

Offering kindness, hope dealt small;

Not everybody’s solid rock

Just gentle tidings, peace for all.

✍️ 🌱

She waters the neighbours’ sun-parched plants;

Returns a wallet, thoughtless lost;

She leaves a note, of deeds unsung

Of their goodness, does not boast. 

✍️ 🌱

I watch her good deeds, unstated cheer,

And then start to cringe;

Her constant brightness, hope for peers,

Discomfort some,  unhinge

✍️ 🌱

I then learn, a tad too late,

That Paula kept a log;

Of past loss borne,  that her deeds rebate

And brought light through the fog. 

✍️ 🌱

Paula passed, but her notes stay, 

Their kindnesses remain;

To lift the pain, the hurt that frays

To take away Life’s stains. 

🌱 ✍️

Original poem written by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

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What Holds

Nothing returns whole.

πŸ’”πŸ€²πŸ©Ήβš οΈ

Trust. 

Given freely.

Given without thought.

Given with safety.

Trust. 

πŸ’”πŸ€²πŸ©Ήβš οΈ

Trust.

Holding someone with care. 

Holding someone securely.

Holding someone so they will not –

Fall.

Trust. 

πŸ’”πŸ€²πŸ©Ήβš οΈ

Trust.

Guarding the heart with care.

Guarding the soul with knowledge

Guarding the person with –

Failure

To hold. 

πŸ’”πŸ€²πŸ©Ήβš οΈ

Trust.

The heart that does not reform.

The soul that stays –

Incom-

Plete.

The mind that becomes-

Weary.

Mistrust.

πŸ’”πŸ€²πŸ©Ήβš οΈ

Trust.

Rebuilt with care.

Rebuilt with shattered pieces.

Rebuilt with scars –

Not-

Whole.

πŸ’”πŸ€²πŸ©Ήβš οΈ

Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

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Where No One Looked

Wisdom is in the little details.

🌹🧠🩸

It started with a small rose-like patch on his skin. Reddish-brown, almost like a little tattoo that had etched itself on Barry Leong’s right wrist. He glanced at it, barely, then paid it no mind. It itched, very slightly. Nothing worth discussing at the dinner table. Too unnoticeable to interrupt the day. 

Barry decided that it could wait – he was simply too busy for rose tattoo patches. Putting food on his hungry family’s table was far more sensible – his wife had just received the dreaded “R” letter in the mail. He was now the sole tender of the family’s financial garden.

Life couldn’t come to a standstill. Barry’s rose tattoo took up more space on his shoulder, very quietly. Just heat-induced expansion.  Enlargement too small for his already overwrought mind.

Barry passed. The rose tattoo patch hadn’t overgrown on his skin; in fact, it had shrunk to almost oblivion. But the thorns from the roses had pricked.

Subtly.

Yet cruelly. 

Mentally.

In ways Barry had not realized himself. The danger hadn’t been where anyone looked.

The patch had begun small enough to overlook.

To prick and bleed.

To erase. 

🌹🧠🩸

Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

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Wide-Eyed

Innocence, for just a moment.

πŸ‘οΈπŸ‘οΈβ€ƒβ€ƒπŸšΆβ€β™‚οΈ

Young child now wide-eyed

Watching all with young intent

Old man at a turn

πŸ‘οΈπŸ‘οΈβ€ƒβ€ƒπŸšΆβ€β™‚οΈ

For Vocal’s the Haiku of Now Challenge

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The Way He Stays

Husband Appreciation Day is when we ladies pay tribute to our better halves – when we all can’t always be better.

He may watch sports permanently. Hog the newspaper. Or seem to sleep at all hours…

But shows up when it’s time.

Not perfect. Just present. And that counts.

πŸ₯‚

He mentions that he’s just resting his eyes and wakes up three hours later.

He can’t find the food you cooked on the table, yet locates the chocolates you hid.

He does not do the dishes, but has time for the remote.

He suggests solutions when you asked for empathy, and sympathy when you needed silence.

But when life becomes chaotic, unjust, hair-tearing or plain unbearable, he stays quietly (or not) by you.

Dependable. Knowing. Frustratingly stoic.

So today we pay tribute to a guy who can’t remember when your birthday is, but somehow shows up with the wrong present.

πŸ₯‚

Original reflective drabble by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. The drabble after the first wine glass set is 100 words.

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The Space Between Wings

It’s International Hugging Day today…and time to make loved ones feel wanted with a hug.

But some hugs are better felt than given. Especially with someone who needs space to hug themselves.

Let’s hug the right way.

πŸ¦‹β€ƒβ€ƒπŸ¦‹

Flutters

Wings wrap around

An elderly comrade

Who pushes them back with new force

And shields

It  sees its old friend with clear eyes

Folds back its too-large wings

Flutters,no fold

Wings lost

πŸ¦‹β€ƒβ€ƒπŸ¦‹

It lands

Near its frail comrade

Waits, flutters by his side

For him to unfurl his hurt wings

Himself.

Then, steps backwards and dances off

With wings open, waiting

To hold its friend

With space.

πŸ¦‹β€ƒβ€ƒπŸ¦‹

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The White Field

It’s Penguin Awareness Day, and being the cute junkie that I am, I’d like to pay tribute to these wobbly fellows.
They are cute. They are also firm and stand by those in the colony who need them. Even when forgotten.
But the day isn’t just theirs. It belongs to anyone who has stood stoically by others in the face of any adversity.
Not all guardians are remembered. All are necessary.
🐧 ❄️ ❄️ 🐧 ❄️
The snowstorm had created an unending white sea – one that Buzz and his family navigated year after year. White waves swam from an omnipresent sky, covering the colony not with protection, but with threat.
The sea was rogue this year – the waves splashed forward without warning. A snow wave had almost drowned Buzz – not that the rest of the colony paid heed. Not even his parents.
He waddled painfully past the wave and looked ahead. No other penguin. 
But one. A little chick.
He positioned himself beside it, nudging it forward with his beak, relieved when it finally trudged a few steps forward.
Snow continued falling; white curtains shrouded the Antartic landscape as Buzz forged ahead, a non-present adult in his colony.
The South Pole wind howled her discontent. Resilience reigned over her as the penguins made do, rotating their positions to keep the young intact.
The outer edges of the colony bore the cold. Buzz and his adult comrades slipped, uninstructed and observed, into different parts of it to shield the little ones. Like Buzz, the other birds guarded them with stoic silence.
They could have moved within the brood – duty bade them not to, and they acquiesced, without a chirp.
The snowstorm ended as suddenly as it started, leaving massive white hills in her wake. The sun peeked behind soft pillowy clouds, indicating safety to the birds as they ploughed on without pause.
The little ones, their soft grey fur and blubber offering warmth, no longer needed Buzz for protection. They plodded just as relentlessly as the elders, paying him no heed as they forged ahead.
They arrived safely at the next snow hill, their footfalls unheard and unseen. Like Buzz, they would grow and guard, unnoticed and unrecorded in a white field.
🐧 ❄️ ❄️ 🐧 ❄️
Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

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A Room Made Quiet

Today is the day Winnie the Pooh’s creator, A.A. Miller, was born.

Like Pooh. teddy bears can be a cute source of comfort – or conflict.

Some things are meant to be contained

πŸ§ΈπŸ”’πŸ•ŠοΈ

That bear. Tousled brown hair that reeked of alcohol, scattered over the floor. The source of intermittent, needless angst in the Lee family for decades. SIbling rivalry. Accusations of bias.

It had been discussed forever, and divided a home it shouldn’t have. It was never just a toy. 

A brown polar bear.

Ben Lee finally had enough of drama, petty trifles, and discomfiting sarcasm.

Without anyone’s consent or reopening arguments, Ben carried the bear with the care needed to handle a pipe bomb. He placed it in the storeroom, under lock and key. 

Without explanation or thought for any nuclear fallout.

The home responded at once, with a peace that arrived almost too quickly.

But Peace became a permanent resident in the Lee family. Old tensions faded, blending into the white walls of the home. And the Lee family welcomed Him.

Silence doused the Lee dinner table. But it wasn’t the silence of tension or dissent.

It was ordered quiet, one not fused with family drama. 

Cecila, Ben’s sister, nudged him quietly. “Those two – ” she tipped her head surreptitiously to their parents – “would have split if that grizzly wasn’t in storage.”

The brown teddy had been the vessel of conflict and chaos. It bore the words that were blades and power it never should have wielded.

Ben nodded, watching his parents exchange huge servings of chicken and prawns. 

The bear’s angst remained contained, its symbolism undeserving of space.

Removal wasn’t disposal – it was care. Peace hadn’t come from complete understanding – perhaps it never would.

But distance had ended debate. Choice had invited its presence.

πŸ§ΈπŸ”’πŸ•ŠοΈ

Original story of Michelle Liew-Kwek Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

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Envy may linger, but it does not decide what enters.

πŸŒ‘πŸšͺ

Before Envy comes –

πŸŒ‘πŸšͺ

Your chest stretches, 

A little taut.

You start to watch someone’s hundreds –

And his naughts –

Against your own. 

Little signs, not failures,

To note. 

πŸŒ‘πŸšͺ

Then pause. 

Your life

Needs no ruler

Against his length. 

His shadow does not close

Your door.

πŸŒ‘πŸšͺ

Call his name. 

Note the length 

Of your own shadow-

Long enough.

No need

To compete.

πŸŒ‘πŸšͺ

His shadow

Does not rise

To conquer.

Does not grab

Your gain.

Give thanks. 

πŸŒ‘πŸšͺ

Envy’s shadow

Persists.

But your door

Can close

And lock.

Your shadow –

Not perfectly aligned-

But formed. 

πŸŒ‘πŸšͺ

Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee β€” it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.