My pencil rolled across the page like a dune. Golden curves, soft and endless. Then—vroom!—a streak of silver sliced through. A race car! Right in the middle of my desert!
The pencil laughed, saying Abu Dhabi loves to surprise. One moment you’re counting grains of sand, the next you’re counting laps at Yas Marina.
I drew the city’s edge— glass towers rising like mirages, a falcon gliding overhead, its wings tracing the shape of speed.
Then came a secret: there’s a hotel here where rooms overlook the Formula 1 track— and when cars race by, the windows tremble with joy.
I signed my name quickly, half afraid my pencil might take off too. The wind outside hummed low, and for once, it sounded like an engine dreaming.
✨ If your pencil could race the wind, where would it stop to rest?
✏️ Day 28 – Golden Quiet (Brunei, Bandar Seri Begawan)
My pencil woke up whispering today— soft, respectful, like it had entered a palace. The page glowed even before I touched it.
It began to sketch domes, golden and round like morning suns. Then came the water, reflecting the Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddien Mosque, so perfectly that I almost didn’t know which was the drawing and which the dream.
The pencil paused to tell me a secret: this mosque stands partly on a lagoon, its bridge made of marble so white that even clouds blush beside it.
I shaded a few ripples below, and the reflection smiled back at me. When I signed my name, the pencil shimmered faintly— as if it too had learned how to bow in light.
✨ If your pencil met its reflection, what truth would it draw first?
My pencil was tapping today, a beat I didn’t recognize at first— until Manila appeared, bursting with church bells and jeepney horns.
It raced across the page, drawing the old stone walls of Intramuros, where every arch seemed to echo a song. Then it curved and leapt— a jeepney appeared, painted with colors the rainbow had forgotten to keep.
The pencil paused and whispered a secret: there’s a bamboo organ here, in Las Piñas— the only one in the world still singing after 200 years. I smiled and drew its pipes as slender stems, each one swaying in invisible wind.
By the time I signed my name, the city was humming. Church bells, jeepneys, and pencil strokes— all keeping time with my heart.
✨ If your pencil could make music, what would it sound like?
