The Safe Space

We have all heard of the love story of Eros and Psyche. The mortal so beautiful, that the goddess of love sent her son to make her fall in love with a hideous monster. But upon seeing her beauty, he accidentally stabs himself with his own arrow, causing him to fall in love with her.

But, what if he didn’t stab himself accidentally? What if he did it… intentionally?

Eros was always a mother’s boy. A loving son that followed every order his mother gave him. Whenever Aphrodite wished to set hearts alight, Eros was always there, bow in hand, ready to shoot an arrow. And when he did, he never missed.

But the goddess of love delighted not in devotion but also in drama and disruption. A fierce warrior falls in love with a princess from the enemy kingdom. A powerful king falls in love with a priestess and would abandon his throne only to be with her. Entire cities burned to ashes because two hearts that were forbidden from ever being together, would suffer eternal damnation, even if it meant that they would be together just for a moment. Aphrodite believed that love could turn even the wisest sage into a fool, and Eros was the hand that delivered it.

One day, Aphrodite summoned him to her royal chamber. Before a single word was even spoken, Eros felt it— the tension rising in the air, an ominous warning to a coming storm. Roses began to curl inwards, wilting at her presence, their petals browning in shame. The Graces hovered at the edges of the room, pale and trembling, murmuring soft comforts that dared not reach her ears. She was flawless, as always. Beauty radiated from her like sunlight on a warm summer morning. But her eyes— her eyes burned with something much more sinister. Jealousy.

She heard about a mortal woman, a princess named Psyche. The name was spoken like a curse, sour to the tongue. She told him how people travelled from lands afar just to get a glimpse of her. How prayers that were meant for the goddess were laid instead to her mortal feet. How whispers dared to compare flesh to divinity.

Her fury sharpened as she spoke, until the chamber finally stood still.

“You will make her fall in love,” Aphrodite commanded, her voice sweet yet merciless,

“with the most hideous monster of them all. No. Matter. What.”

Eros bowed. He always did.

He had carried out his mother’s will, to the hilt, countless times before—nudging hearts, kindling desire, undoing lives with a single shot of an arrow. Yet he never had an order so bitter, it was born from venom. This was not love she sought to unleash, but punishment.

And as he turned to leave, questions coiled tight within him, like vines from the depths of the most dangerous jungle.

How could a mere mortal rival the very embodiment of beauty herself?

What face could inspire such devotion—such sacrilege?

If even half the rumors were true, he had to see her for himself.

His wings sliced through the cold midnight air as he descended toward Psyche’s palace, the hush of night parting for him alone. He alighted softly at her window, slipping inside as though the darkness itself had invited him.

His gaze was drawn towards the bed. And there she was.

Cradled in sleep, her expression was calm and serene, as if the world was at peace with her. A single candle glimmered on the bedside table, the flame danced gently, and the light painted her features in shades of gold. It traced the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips, the delicate rise and fall of her breath.

Eros stepped closer. His wings folded behind him, reverent now, and he knelt beside her as though observing something sacred. How could a mortal like her, in flesh and in blood, hold a beauty of such divinity? Slowly yet carefully, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against her cheek. His touch was feather-light, a whisper of warmth meant not to stir her dreams. Her skin yielded beneath him, softer than any petal or silk, a softness no flower had ever dared to rival.

Then all of a sudden, her lips curved into the faintest smile.

It was as if the smile bloomed from the comfort and warmth of his touch alone. And in that fragile moment, Eros understood: this was her truest beauty. A beauty artists try to paint, time and time again, but can never truly be captured. A beauty poets sense before they ever find the words, haunting their dreams, inspiring their stories, and living in the lines they dare to write. A beauty that calls to the adventurers across restless seas and uncharted lands, urging them onward through storm and shadow, not for glory, but for the hope of standing once—just once—in its presence. It was her beauty and her beauty alone.

Eros took a step back, the marble floor cool beneath his bare feet, and looked down at the lone golden arrow resting in his palm. It gleamed softly, innocent in its beauty, cruel in its purpose—a reminder of the mission his mother had sent him to fulfill.

He could not return with it. To do so would be to fan the flames of her fury, already seething and unrelenting. And yet, he could not bring himself to loose it upon the princess. To curse her with love for a monster. No monster—nor mortal—deserved a beauty like hers. Not her kindness. Not her light.

His fingers tightened around the shaft as his gaze drifted back to Psyche. She remained unaware, fragile and radiant, breathing softly as though the world had never once betrayed her. In that moment, eternity pressed down on him. Duty warred with mercy. Obedience with love.

There was only one way out.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he whispered, the words breaking as they left him.

Before doubt could take root, he lifted the arrow and drove it into his own heart.

Warmth exploded through him—ecstatic, blinding, terrifying. It flooded his veins like liquid sunlight, stealing his breath, setting his wings trembling. Pain flared, sharp and consuming, but woven through it was something he had never known before.

Joy.

Not shallow or fleeting, but deep and luminous—an aching, wondrous fullness that made his chest burn and his eyes sting. In that instant, he understood. This was what he had given to gods and mortals alike for ages untold. This unbearable sweetness. This beautiful undoing. Love in its purest, most devastating form.

The arrow shuddered, then dissolved, collapsing into motes of golden dust that shimmered once… and vanished into nothing.

For the first time in his eternal life, Eros missed.

He fled the palace, wings beating hard against the air, disappearing into the night. Guilt came in waves, crashing over him again and again, but beneath it—steady and unyielding—was certainty. He knew deep down, he had done the right thing.

Once long ago, the Sun fell in love with the Moon.

The Sun gave the world light and warmth. The Moon gave it solace and peace.

But alas, the two of them couldn’t meet. Day could not bear a glowing moon and night had no place for a shining sun.

But the moon wasn’t one easily bound by circumstance. On her crescent and gibbous days, she took peeks through the blue sky, stealing glances at her lover in all of his iridescent glory.

No one noticed her… no one except for the Sun. He smiled, faint and wistful, at the sight of her being there but he longed to see her face in its entirety.

At night, the Moon planted seeds of gold into gardens and fields across the world. She tended to them with the same love she had for the Sun. As the plants grew and stood tall, their flowers blossomed with bright golden petals.

Sunflowers.

It was a gift for him. A gift of love. The yellow flowers followed him across the sky, as if they were admiring him, the same way the Moon would have. The Sun felt the love from her flowers, so he had to return it. Then he had an idea.

On a bright day, the Sun took some of his golden rays, and crushed them into dust. He then scattered the gold dust across the sky. The dust disappeared into the bright blue but it was all according to the Sun’s plan.

When night shrouded the world in darkness, the Moon was busy tending to her flowers. When she looked at the night sky, she saw a small warm light in the distance, but it didn’t come a candle or lantern. Then there was another… and another… and another. One light became two. Two became five. Five became ten. Then ten became hundreds strewn across the dark.

The Moon watched in awe, as the lights twinkled and formed constellations that told stories of warriors, poets and kings. She felt the soft warmth coming from them, like a hug that she never wanted to let go. A tear of joy rolled down her cheek, as she realized that this was the Sun’s gift to her. She gave him flowers, he gave her the stars.

The wind was their only help in their everlasting distance. They whispered messages to each other and the wind carried them through the days and nights between them. The Sun told stories, the Moon recited poems. Love letters danced in the air. Promises blanketed them with ease. And secrets made them closer, even if they were worlds apart. They whispered sweet nothings to each other, as lovers do in each other’s ears.

But, even that wasn’t enough. They wished that they were together, truly together, even if it was just for a fleeting instance. Fortunately, their prayers weren’t unanswered.

Time had heard it all. He heard all the stories, all the poems, love letters, promises and secrets they have made for each other. He was fascinated by them, how they fell for each other and how their love persists in the face of circumstance. He took pity on them, so he came up with a plan.

He visited the Sun on a cloudy day and he visited the Moon on a starless night. This is what he told them:

“There will be a moment, of darkness and light. Where night becomes day and day becomes night. You must wait patiently for the majestic eclipse. Then the two lovers finally share an eternal kiss”

This left them bewildered, but Time doesn’t really stay for providing explanations. They wondered: What was the eclipse? Who were the two lovers? When was the moment going to come? Nevertheless they waited… and waited… and waited.

The brightest day had come, and the Sun was shining with all of his power. He took a glance in the Moon’s direction, hoping to see her peek through the bright blue, but this time she wasn’t peeking. She wasn’t a crescent or a gibbous… She was full.

They held each other’s gaze. The Moon took one step closer to him. The Sun took one step closer to her. As they closed the distance between them, the sky darkened, turning from the bright blue to the endless black. The sky became nothing… nothing except for a ring of light.

And there they stood, in the middle of the sky, face-to-face, finally together.

“Is it really you?”, the Moon softly asked.

“Yes, my love.”, the Sun answered, “And my god… you are beautiful.”

Tears fell like rivers from their eyes as the two finally embraced each other and shared a tender kiss. The people of the world watched the spectacle from below. That one small moment that they shared was an eternity to them.

Here, we are a few that come from all corners of the world. Sure, we have come from many different places, upbringings and backgrounds, but if there was one thing that I am most certain that we all share, it is that we all have stories to tell. It was put best when Simon told Zachary, “We are all stardust and stories”.

I can go on and argue that ‘The Starless Sea’ is a perfect metaphor for life, and that Zachary’s experience mirrors our own experience in the face of circumstance. For instance, most of us didn’t even get the book in its heyday, which mirrors Zachary not opening the door when he was 11. But eventually, we got to read it, the same way Zachary found his way. It wasn’t ‘Never’, it was “Not yet.”

Sure, we don’t get to set sail on the golden, honey-coloured waters or rest in an inn at the edge of the world, but we get to experience moments that fill our lives with equal, if not greater, value. We experience joy, sorrow, pride, guilt, betrayal, justice, fear, regret, grief, adventure, loss and love. All of them make us who we are, here and now. We make stories and we are made from stories. Timeless and everlasting.

If there was one thing that this book left me with, it’s hope. In a world filled with artificially-made drivel powered by corruptive capitalism, there are those still out there who seek for the value and find the beauty of it all. Artists and writers. Poets and singers. Musicians and dancers. Storytellers and story lovers. All of them, still seeking what’s out there and finding what we stay alive for.

To those who love telling and enjoying stories, I simply have one thing to say: keep on going. Because in the vast darkness, you are a small flame that helps light up the way. I leave you all with this quote that means all a lot to me:

“No matter where you came from, no matter where you go. We are the stories we tell, and the stories we told.”

Which trope is better? :

Princess x Prince Charming

OR

Princess x Knight in Shining Armor

I was at a coffee shop the other day, trying to keep my mind off a few things. I sat at a table near a bookshelf and ordered a latte. Since I had nothing better to do, I decided to pull a book from the shelf. It was a poetry book titled ‘For The Lost Souls’, but it had no author attributed to it. Intrigued, I started reading. Most of the poems were insightful, creative, and light-hearted, but one stood out from the rest. It was titled ‘The Key to Life’, but it only had two words: "Just Be."

"Just be? Just be what?" I asked myself as I finished my latte. I walked all the way home, still pondering the meaning of those two words. As I reached home, I realized something: We often get stuck, dwelling on regrets about the past, and we work ourselves up, planning for the future. The key is that we should just experience life as it happens. Think about it—kids seem to be happy all the time. They don’t worry about what they’re going to do or dwell on what they did; they just enjoy what they’re doing.

There was a point in my life where the only videos I watched on YouTube was Sanders Sides. They were an integral part of my middle school life and growing up, I still enjoy them to this day. They taught me a lot from dealing with anxiety to understanding why we do what we do, all while giving me a good laugh