Monday Made Me Do It

Author: MMMDI

  • The Magenta Sharpie

    The Magenta Sharpie

    There are people who carry umbrellas because it might rain.

    There are people who carry power banks because their phones might die.

    And then there are people like me.

    I carry a magenta Sharpie because of Verona.

    Magenta Sharpie on a cat pen holder
    Permanent marker, magenta. Acquired following an operational failure in Verona, Italy. Retained for future contingencies involving historically significant walls.

    A couple of years ago, my daughters an I stood in Juliet’s courtyard among thousands of visitors.

    Like everyone else, we wanted to leave our mark.

    Not a declaration of eternal love.

    Not a profound quotation.

    Just our initials.

    Unfortunately, the only writing instrument available at the time was a felt-tip pen with a fine nib.

    It worked…

    …in the same way whispering works at a rock concert.

    Wall of graffiti in Juliet's courtyard, Verona.
    Juliet’s Courtyard, Verona, Italy
    Graffiti on wall
    Our tiny initials among a sea of initials.

    Our tiny initials disappeared into a wall already covered with decades of names, hearts, and promises.

    Somewhere on that wall is evidence that we were there.

    I just couldn’t tell you where.

    I remember thinking:

    “If only I had a proper marker.”

    That thought followed me all the way back to Malaysia.

    So I bought one.

    Not black.

    Magenta.

    Because if one is going to commit a minor act of tourist sentimentality, one may as well do it in a colour that refuses to blend politely into the background.

    Ever since then, this Sharpie has travelled with me…

    …although it has never been asked to write on another famous wall.

    Which, if we’re being honest, is probably for the best.

    And yet, every time I see it, I am reminded of Verona.

    Not because our initials were particularly memorable.

    But because not all souvenirs are things you buy.

    Sometimes they’re habits you acquire after missing a moment.

  • A Regency Invocation for Modern Dating

    A Regency Invocation for Modern Dating

    May those who court you

    return as promised,

    speak as intended,

    and arrive as announced.

    May your correspondence never be left unanswered,

    your invitations never neglected,

    and your peace never be made contingent upon another’s manners.

    Anything less is poor breeding.

    One need not entertain it.

    Recorded for posterity.

  • Elegy of Queens II: The Crown Grew Roots

    Elegy of Queens II: The Crown Grew Roots

    The strongest crowns are rarely given. They are grown.

    What part of yourself have you finally chosen?

  • I Wasn’t a Child Prodigy

    I Wasn’t a Child Prodigy

    I started playing chess late in life. I won’t say exactly how late. Let’s just say I wasn’t a child prodigy…

    While other children were sacrificing queens in brilliant combinations before they lost their baby teeth, I was… doing considerably less impressive things.

    I only discovered chess later… much later.

    Which, as it turns out, is still early enough to make spectacular blunders.

    Recently, I stumbled across something called Solo Chess in the Chess.com app. And there are three modes in Solo Chess: Challenge Mode, Practice Mode, and Crazy Mode.

    After dabbling in the Challenge and Practice modes for a couple of weeks, my ego became so inflated it apparently affected my brain. Because my brain whispered “I think we’re ready for the Crazy Mode“.

    Screenshot from Chess.com App

    The description for the Crazy Mode was reassuringly modest, as you can see from the screenshot above.

    Naturally, I tapped it.

    For the uninitiated, Solo Chess isn’t about checkmate.

    Every move must be a capture.

    Every piece may only move twice.

    Your objective is to eliminate every piece except one (if there is a king on the board, the king must be the last piece standing).

    It sounds perfectly reasonable until your rook quietly turns black because you’ve forgotten it has already moved twice, and your entire strategy collapses around you.

    If you solved the puzzle on the first attempt, you get a green tick. If it took several attempts to solve it, the tick is red.

    My early attempts followed a familiar pattern.

    I would spend several minutes constructing what I believed was an ingenious sequence of captures, only to discover I’d trapped myself with two lonely black pieces staring at each other across the board.

    Before long, I developed a policy.

    The bishops had to go.

    Bishops are snipers.

    Leave one alive for too long and it quietly ruins your plans from the opposite side of the board.

    I wasn’t about to negotiate with that.

    Needless to say, the first few ticks were red.

    But because I was still delusional, I challenged myself to get a green tick. Preferably before the year is out.

    Cue 16 hours later.

    After several red ticks and more resets than I care to admit, something unexpected happened.

    I solved a Crazy Mode puzzle.

    On the first attempt.

    A green tick appeared.

    Screenshot from Chess.com App

    I did it.

    In under 24 hours.

    Looking back, the green tick wasn’t the interesting part.

    The interesting part was realising that somewhere between “I have to trace the knight’s L-shaped moves with my finger” and “Experts Only“, my brain had quietly rewired itself.

    Apparently that’s how progress works.

    It doesn’t arrive with a fanfare.

    It arrives disguised as a small green square with a tick.

  • A Curse (Lightly) Upon Men Who Ghost

    A Curse (Lightly) Upon Men Who Ghost

    May every biscuit break off and fall into his tea.

    Every. Single. Time.

    Recorded for posterity.

  • The Pen That Thought It Was a Fighter Plane

    The Pen That Thought It Was a Fighter Plane

    Retro 51 Limited Edition Fountain Pen P-51 Mustang
    Retro 51’s P-51 Mustang fountain pen captures the look and spirit of one of history’s most iconic fighter aircraft.

    I bought a fountain pen from a pen retailer in the United States even though it came with exorbitant shipping because it looked like a P-51 Mustang.

    This is not the strangest sentence I have ever written, but it is certainly in the running.

    The pen is a limited-edition Retro 51 Tornado fountain pen inspired by the legendary WWII fighter aircraft. It is covered in rivets, military markings, weathered aluminium, and enough aviation detail to make any history enthusiast smile.

    And yes, the rivets are real. Someone at Retro 51 was meticulous enough to think of physically indenting the rivets into the barrel. As a result, owners of the pen were able to run their fingers over the barrel and feel the aircraft skin beneath their fingers.

    Close-up of the barrel of the Retro 51 Tornado P-51 Mustang
    One of my favourite details: the rivets are actually raised, giving the pen the feel of a miniature aircraft fuselage.

    I have always been drawn to objects with stories attached to them. Beautiful objects are nice. Beautiful objects that carry history are irresistible.

    The P-51 Mustang was not just another fighter aircraft. Introduced during World War II, it became one of the most important aircraft of the war. Equipped with the Rolls-Royce Merlin engine and long-range fuel tanks, it could escort American bombers deep into Germany and bring them safely home.

    Before the Mustang, bomber crews often found themselves unprotected once they flew beyond the range of escort fighters. German aircraft would attack the bombers, inflicting devastating losses. The Mustang changed that. It could accompany bombers all the way to their targets and back again while engaging enemy fighters along the way.

    Historians generally regard it as one of the aircraft that helped the Allies gain air superiority over Europe. It was fast, dependable, heavily armed, and beloved by the pilots who flew it.

    In other words, it earned its reputation.

    Which is probably why I find it so appealing.

    The pen itself looks as though it was assembled from salvaged aircraft parts. It has a weathered metal finish, rivet details, squadron-style markings, and even a bright checkerboard nose pattern reminiscent of those seen on wartime aircraft.

    It is quite possibly, the only fountain pen I own that appears capable of escorting a formation of bombers over occupied Europe.

    Unfortunately, my particular fighter plane spent several months grounded. The nib wrote poorly enough that I rarely used it, despite loving everything else about the pen. Recently, I had the nib adjusted by a nibmeister. The result was transformative.

    Retro 51 Tornado P-51 Mustang fountain pen
    Thankfully, it writes with ink rather than .50 calibre machine guns.

    My Mustang can now fly.

    I inked it with Platinum Carbon Blue, a permanent blue-black ink that seems perfectly suited to a pen inspired by military aviation.

    Perhaps that is the real reason I love fountain pens. They are not merely tools. They are tiny vessels for stories.

    Some tell stories about literature. Some tell stories about art. Some tell stories about travel.

    And some tell stories about a fighter aircraft that helped change the course of history.

    Not bad for a pen.

  • The Persistence of Peace

    The Persistence of Peace

    Graffiti on a Sarajevo street building
    Of all the things competing for attention on this wall, one word refused to be ignored.

    I found this on a street in Sarajevo.

    A single word, repeated three times: MIR.

    In Bosnian, Serbian, and Croatian, mir means both peace and quiet. The word appeared not on a pristine monument or carefully curated mural, but on a wall crowded with torn advertisements, graffiti, and the accumulated marks of a city that has lived through more than its share of history.

    That felt appropriate.

    Peace rarely arrives as a clean slate. More often, it exists alongside noise, scars, interruptions, and unfinished stories. It persists beneath layers of what came before and what continues to happen around it.

    What drew me to this scene was not the perfection of the message, but its persistence. The blue paint was weathered. The surrounding wall was chaotic. Yet the word remained visible.

    Perhaps this is what peace looks like in the real world – not untouched by conflict, but surviving it.

    Imperfect Light is a collection of photographs that remind me that beauty does not require perfection, only presence.

  • Elegy of Queens I: The Silence I Outgrew

    Elegy of Queens I: The Silence I Outgrew

    Some silences teach us how to endure.

    Others teach us when to leave.

    What silence have you outgrown?

  • Be Careful What You Wish For

    Be Careful What You Wish For

  • How Many Queens Is Too Many Queens?

    How Many Queens Is Too Many Queens?

    Screenshot

    The answer, apparently, is still not enough.

    I was playing a game against Dr. Wolf when something extraordinary happened. One pawn promoted. Then another. And another. Before long, my side of the board looked less like a chess game and more like a constitutional crisis in a matriarchal kingdom.

    At one point I had five queens on the board.

    Five.

    The black king sat on e2, contemplating his life choices while surrounded by enough royal women to form a small government.

    What aggravated me most was that despite commanding what was essentially an entire dynasty, I still had to be careful. Anyone who has ever played chess knows that having overwhelming material – especially overwhelming material of the most powerful piece – doesn’t automatically mean victory. In fact, it’s surprisingly easy to blunder into stalemate when your army consists of multiple queens all trying to help at the same time.

    The saying “too many cooks spoil the broth” has never been more appropriate. The game ended in stalemate nine times before I finally managed to checkmate the king.

    The screenshot above captures the aftermath. The game is effectively over. The black king has nowhere meaningful to go, while my queens occupy strategic squares across the board like overenthusiastic wedding planners coordinating the same event.

    And yet, looking at the position made me think about something beyond chess.

    Sometimes in life we spend so much time worrying about what we’re missing that we fail to notice how much we’ve already accumulated. We focus on the piece that was captured, the opportunity that disappeared, or the plan that went wrong. Meanwhile, there may already be four queens on our side of the board.

    Experience.

    Wisdom.

    Resilience.

    Skills we didn’t have a year ago.

    Proof that we survived every position life has thrown at us so far.

    The goal isn’t necessarily to collect queens, of course. But every now and then, it’s worth pausing to appreciate just how far your pawns have travelled.

    After all, every queen on that board started life as a humble pawn.

    And if you’re wondering whether five queens is too many queens, the answer is simple:

    When your opponent’s king is still standing, the correct number of queens is always one more.

    Preferably before accidentally stalemating the opponent’s king again.