Trumpsters need to take a course in epistemology.

You went to buy a new desk, and you needed the desk to be six feet wide in order for it to fit in your room. You went to a furniture shop and saw a desk that was to your liking. You asked the salesperson to measure the desk for you, and he agreed. He pulled out a ruler tape from his jeans pocket and measured the width of the desk.

“It’s seven feet wide,” he said.

“No, that’s not possible. It has to be six feet wide, it looks and feels…

A sonnet

by Peter Y. Chuang

They used to say: “you dream of what you think.”
So I thought about you to dream of you,
I poured a glass of bitter wine to drink
Myself to sleep the sleep and dream of you.

But then I looked and searched and found you not,
Instead I heard her voice and saw her face.
She said her love for me had yet to rot,
But in truth, it’s long gone to outer space.

I woke up, my little hope dashed, I wept —
“Where can I find you once again, my dear?”
If I’d known, would I have rather not slept?
For all I got were tears and not one cheer.

Or I should perish the want for your heart,
For the furthest distance sets us apart.

Originally published at

A sonnet

by Peter Y. Chuang

I watched my phone and waited for your call
But never heard from you nor seen your trace.
The endless waiting made my anguish tall,
My heart was pumping fast like running race.

The wine had not my poor nerve calmed the least,
The music roused my soul with bitter rage.
I closed my eyes and wished my pain decreased,
But the storm in me was trapped in a cage.

My tears were falling through the stale sad air,
Your face appeared inside my drunken mind:
A face which meant beyond just sweet and fair,
But a heart more than just gentle and kind.

I love your face your heart your mind your soul,
A love unceased until the earth grows old.

Originally published at

In the memory of the neighbour I barely knew

Living in a big city sometimes means you don’t get to know your neighbours and your community as good as you would in a small town, which may or may not be a bad thing. I once lived in a place on the 40th floor of a forty-something-storey building where there were 8 flats on each floor. Having a soul-sucking office job at the time that required long hours, I was at home for so little that I had never met my neighbours even once.

The place I now live has 4 flats on one single floor, and although I…

A short story

by Peter Y. Chuang

Photo by Tecio Leal / CC-BY-2.0

“By some account, he was the richest person in the country.” That was a line from the obituary of Super Man (Man was his last name), the gang leader who once terrorised the populace of the Republic of Slofland, and later ripped money off the same populace. Yet towards the end of his life, he became wealthy and, as a result of his wealth, respectable.

When his mother read that line, she smiled with pride, as if the mere fact that her son was rich were more than enough to compensate for the fact that her…

Random thoughts while reading “In Search of Lost Time”

by Peter Y. Chuang

The fault I find with our journalism is that it forces us to take an interest in some fresh triviality or other every day, whereas only three or four books in a lifetime give us anything that is of real importance.

One of the writers who influences me a great deal is Marcel Proust. His never-ending In Search of Lost Time is such a monstrosity that there are places when even a great admirer like myself would wonder why did you write this? and doubt the possibility of ever finishing the whole series (I am about…

A little poem

by Peter Y. Chuang

I gave you my love, you gave me poison,
The only antidote of which was you.

You left me alone, my heart was frozen,
My eyes shed blood as I died without you.

Visit my website: Peter Y. Chuang — Novelist.

A sonnet

by Peter Y. Chuang

Alone on a quiet, frozen train, I rode
With no one but the sound of speeding wheels.
Approaching the next station, the train slowed.
There, she announced her entrance with her heels.

I turned towards the new presence, who sat
With her face towards me. She was alone.
She smiled at me. My heart shuddered at that,
For she was both a known and an unknown —

She had to be a twin sister of yours
Whom you had never known. Her mere shadow
Had me shaken, as it opened the doors
For outburst of hot tears and great sorrow.

She left the train without any farewell;
Remembering you, I returned to hell.

Flat-Plat-Blue Theme is a Gnome Shell/GTK Theme forked from Flat-Plat Theme with the following refinements:

  • All coloured elements (e.g. check boxes, sliders, switches, etc) are changed into blue to provide a more consistent and comfortable visual experience;
  • The top bar is now transparent;
  • Open Sans is now the default font of the theme; and
  • Other minor changes and fixes.

(Scroll down for screenshots)

I forked and modified the Flat-Plat Theme for personal use, but I reckoned there were people out there who wanted a colour scheme that was more comfortable to look at, so I decided to put together the…

From Windows to Linux

by Peter Y. Chuang

My current daily driver: XPS 13 with Arch Linux, Gnome Desktop

I think it was 2009 when I tried GNU/Linux for the first time. It was on a ThinkPad, and the distribution (or distro) I tried was Ubuntu. I didn’t know anything about GNU/Linux back then, and I might or might not have been wondering where C:\ was, but I was amazed by the amount of customisations I could do with the operating system. Coming from Windows XP, something as pointless but amazing as Compiz blew my mind, and the existence of Workspaces was a revelation.

The only problem was that getting every piece of the hardware…

Peter Y. Chuang

I write. My soul wanders about London and Berlin, but my body stays elsewhere. Fiction, Short Stories, Novels, Writing, and Linux.

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