Dance through life.

Doesn’t matter what they say–

Why bother?

Play to the audience.

Play for yourself.

The expression’s what counts, so smile.

Show your teeth,

Wide smile, beaming face.

Fall to the ground, roll over,

Oh, anything’s artistic

As long as it means something

To someone,

To anyone,

To you.

Does that count?

Five, six, seven, eight

Of course it counts.

Curl your fingers, pointe your toes,

Own that stage.

You don’t have to look pretty,


When you dance,

No matter what moves you make,

You’re more than pretty.

You’re beautiful.


Had a ballet exam today after four years of no exams. It was exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Also, I’ve neglected this old thing for such a long time. I guess it’s time to get back into it. I have been writing a little, I promise. Just nothing that publishable. Not that this is anything great, but hey, it’s something. Enjoy.

Blown Away: Hamilton Fan Fiction (part IV)

I’ve been restless and fidgety the whole day. I haven’t seen Father at all for days now: he leaves the house before dawn and returns when I am already sleeping. The last time I saw him was when I woke up in the middle of the night and saw him standing over my bed like a spectre, with a ghastly look on his face.

Yet I’ve never been happier. Philip meets me every day with his classic grin and we walk the city together. And although we get stared at everywhere we go, I don’t even care any more. Let the whole of New York gossip. We love each other. There can be no politics in love.

“Would you like to come for tea with my family today?” asks Philip one day.

I start. “With your father?” The elder Mr Hamilton is as opposed to our relationship as my own father.

He shakes his head, smiling. “My father has an engagement outside. By family I mean my mother and some of my siblings.”

“Are you sure this is a wise idea? Will I not spark any schism between you and your mother?”

“She says she will be delighted to meet the young lady who has been fascinating me for so long,” he says, laughing as he presses my hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there, won’t I?”

“If you say so,” I murmur.

“Not sold yet, are you?” He lowers his voice as if about to share a secret. “This is my way of telling you you’re more special than any other girl I’ve ever been with. I’ve never asked this of any other girl.”

Although I try to hide it, my lips curl up into a smile.

“Ah, there’s the Theodosia I know and love.”

An hour later I cross the threshold into the Hamilton front parlour. “Mother,” Philip calls, “I’m home with Miss Burr.”

A woman comes out from further inside the house and I see Eliza Hamilton for the first time. What I see shocks me into speechlessness. Philip has spoken so often of his mother that I had formed my own image of who and what she was, but—

Eliza Hamilton’s face is the face of a woman who has gone through immense suffering. Every feature is frozen and hardened into absolute hauteur and impassiveness; her forehead is creased unnaturally with signs of traumatic stress. She looks at me stiffly and her mouth struggles to form a smile. The effect is ghastly. It’s a twisted, crooked grimace.

“Miss Burr,” she says, the contorted smile still plastered over her face. “Take a seat in the dining room, please. I’m glad to meet you.”

She looks anything but glad. Trying to keep my look of horror minimal, I turn slowly to Philip. He doesn’t seem to think his mother’s appearance and behaviour unusual. He’s even smiling. He has spoken so many times of how wonderful and kind she is; I had surely never expected to see a woman like this.

“Thank you, Mrs Hamilton,” I say at last. She flinches at my words, as if jabbed with a needle. This is a woman who has undergone much pain. This is a woman who is trying desperately to be strong, but is nearly at the end of her tether.

“Philip,” says Eliza Hamilton, “show Miss Burr to the dining room. I will get the tea.” She shuffles slowly away to the kitchen, and as she leaves us I find I have been holding my breath.

Philip takes my arm, and when we are seated, asks, “What’s wrong, Theo? You look spooked.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I tried to hide it. But—oh, never mind, it’s fine.” I don’t want to badmouth his mother, especially if he doesn’t see anything unusual about her.

He knows, nonetheless. “Is it Mother?” As I nod, he sighs. “She has been like this ever since my father published his—his affair. She never cried; she never shed a single tear that I saw. She just—she just froze into this new person, and I don’t know that that’s better or worse than if she had lashed out at Father. But when he came back that day she coolly told him that he would have to sleep in his office now.”

“Oh, Philip,” I say, “I’m so sorry.”

“She bears up wonderfully though. I’m so proud of her but so worried. At the same time I’m so angry with Father but I love him all the same. But that’s why I try to stay out and have fun most of the time.”

He falls silent abruptly as his mother returns, tea tray in her hands. She pours tea for us in the stillness, a strange look of intense concentration on her face as if she will drop the pot if she forgets to concentrate. At last it is over and she sets the pot down, her hands shaking palsy-like.

“Miss Burr.” I start, not having expected her to speak to me. “How is your family?”

Her face is immensely pale, her dark eyes dilating in it to provide a sharp contrast. In it are years of full blossoming beauty that had shrivelled up in only a matter of days.

“My father is well,” I say slowly, wondering if I am lying. But surely Father is fine.

“And your mother?” she says.

“My mother passed away a few years ago.”

At this an unearthly look of bliss passes over her face. “What must it be like to fade away from this world,” she murmurs, suddenly unaware of my presence.

Philip rises from his seat and goes over to his mother. “Mother, I think you should take a break and lie down for a short while.”

A scornful peal of laughter emanates from her mouth. “I told him that, didn’t I, Philip? What am I talking about? How would you know? You were nine! Forgive me, Miss Burr, I don’t know what has come over me. I’m usually not like this. Tell her, Philip.”

I stand up. “I think I should take my leave,” I say slowly.

Philip says, “I’ll come with you; just give me a moment.”

“No,” I say. “Your mother needs you. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

Once I am out of the house I feel as if an evil presence has been lifted from my soul. But all the way home I see Eliza Hamilton’s frozen face hanging in my mind’s eye, and it unsettles me.

I got disgruntled doing this because no one was viewing my posts. But then new encouragement came along so I picked up again.

I’ve wanted to do this scene of Theodosia meeting Eliza since I conceptualised this fan fiction. To me the implication of Philip Hamilton not dying meant that It’s Quiet Uptown would never happen, which means no “forgiveness, can you imagine”, which in turn means that Eliza is still at odds with Ham. This is how I envision a broken Eliza. I hope you enjoyed it!! Please comment and subscribe 🙂

Blown Away: Hamilton Fan Fiction (part III)

“Let’s not go to the play,” says Philip Hamilton, breaking the long silence.

I stare at him, startled. I had forgotten I was walking with him.

“Miss Burr, you’re clearly out of sorts today,” he says. He lets go of my arm. “Please. Let me take you somewhere else.”

“My father does not approve,” I murmur. “So in my opinion we should just stay with the itinerary. When I come back he’ll ask me how the play was. How can I lie to him, sir?”

He bounces on his toes and looks disapprovingly at me. “I should have thought you to have more spunk than that, Miss Burr. But as you wish. We shall head to the theatre.”

We start walking again; this time he does not offer me his arm.

“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry about my father. I don’t know if you heard what he said before you knocked, but—”

“Oh, I heard every word.” He laughs aloud. “From—what was it?—oh, ‘of all people you go see a play with the son of Alexander Hamilton?’ It wasn’t fate’s opportune hand that led me to knock just as your father was forbidding you to go out. Alack, I was eavesdropping.” He feigns a clumsy bow, and I smile faintly.

“I hope you’re not offended, sir.”

“Ha! Why should I be?”

Softly I say, “You were headed to a duel with George Eacker because of what he said about your father? My father was saying things of equal measure, sir. Yet this time you laugh.”

“Oh, but this time I had a lovely lady defending me hotly,” he says, winking slyly at me.

“Jokes aside, Mr Hamilton,” I say quickly.

“I beg your pardon. As I was saying, your father and mine are staunch political enemies. Of course Mr Burr would insult my father so. It’s only when complete strangers like that Eacker say things they know nothing about that I cannot let it slide.”

“Mr Eacker was a tough one to crack,” I say. “He nearly refused to budge.”

He murmurs something. I don’t hear it clearly, but he turns his face as if hiding a smile.

“Did you say something, sir?”

He grins. “Again, lovely lady defending me.” I frown, and he says, “See, I knew you wouldn’t like it. That’s why I said it under my breath.”

“Please, sir.”

“Will you stop calling me ‘sir’? It’s so unsettling. My name is Philip. Call me that.”

“Oh. If you wish, sir—I mean, Philip.”

His name sounds forced coming from my mouth. But he smiles.

“Theodosia,” he says, smiling again at me. Through his lips my name suddenly takes on different colour. No one has ever said it like that. A warm thrill rushes through me.

Is this called falling in love?

I blush. Then in a very small voice, “I’m afraid that isn’t proper.” I sound like my mother now. Is that good? Is that bad?

He stops walking. “I’m afraid I’ve never been proper, Miss Burr.”

But I want him to say my name again. I do, I do. “Well,” I say slowly, “you may call me by my name if you wish. But only when no one is around. My father may hear of it.”

“There is no one around now, Theodosia,” he says, laughing. “I’m sorry, did I drop your arm? Here, let’s be proper, if only in certain aspects and not others.”

I take his hand. It’s warm and strong and I feel ashamed of myself for succumbing to his charms so easily. I’ve seen him with the girls before. He does this with every girl. I know he does this with every girl.

“You’re different, you know that?” he says, as if reading my mind. “I’ve never seen someone like you before. I’ve known you for so short a time, but every thing you do is different from any other girl. You don’t flirt, but you offer to be a man’s second for a duel. That’s admirable.”

I don’t say anything. I’d rather have him forsake me entirely than flirt like this.

“You don’t like it? See, that’s what I mean. Oh, look, we’re at the theatre already. Shall I get tickets?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I run my fingers through my hair distractedly. “I mean, we could just sit somewhere and talk, right?

He laughs. It’s as if he’s saying: See, I told you we wouldn’t see the play. Instead he says, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Somehow I feel that this has all happened before, in another generation.

I say, “That would be nice.”

Philip grins at me. Before I know what is happening, he strokes his hand down my hair. Then he’s gone, smiling wide as he walks off.

And even though I know that this is probably nothing special to him, I cannot help covering my face to hide the blush that creeps up on me.

Is this called falling in love?

So sorry that this is late. The internet at my house was down for a while and when it got back up again I was having a really packed day. Forgiveness? Can you imagine? Oh well.

Blown Away: Hamilton Fan Fiction (part II)

I’m alone at home dressing for the play the next day when I hear a knock the front door.

It’s Father. “I hadn’t expected you back so early,” I stammer, surreptitiously glancing towards the clock. Philip Hamilton should be arriving very soon.

Father’s face is exceptionally haggard. He has been this way ever since Mother died, but today the creases in his face are deeper.

“Theo, someone told me he saw you George Eacker yesterday,” he says. “What am I supposed to make of that?”

What on earth—I had thought the meeting was private! How could anyone have seen me with Eacker? Despite my shock I smile briefly in remembrance of the successful peacemaking. Father seizes upon it.

“Don’t tell me you’re seeing him,” he warns. “How long has this been going on? I’ll not have it.”

“Oh, Father,” I say as lightly as possible, “it was nothing important. I’m sure whatever you heard was blown up by exaggerations.”

He frowns, unconvinced. Again I glance towards the clock. It’s five till six. If I can leave the house now I might be able to intercept Hamilton before he comes to the door. If Father sees him he might just blow up, especially right after hearing about me and George Eacker.

Just as I think this I see Father’s eye glance down at my dress. He frowns again. “Going out?”

“To see a play,” I say, taking a step towards the door.

Suddenly Father’s face brightens. “I’ll go with you,” he says. “I need some relaxation after all the drama at work.”

In spite of myself I feel my face flush. “Oh…Father, I would love to go with you, but I—I can’t, not today…I’m…I’m going with someone…” I trail off, helpless to avoid the arriving explosion.

It deeply saddens me to see the short-lived joy disappear off his face as quickly as it appeared. “Who’s going with you?” he says.

I murmur, “Philip Hamilton.”

He flares red to his ears. “Theodosia!”


“And I thought George Eacker was bad,” he says, almost to himself. “What will people say? Of all people you go see a play with the son of Alexander Hamilton? Don’t you know how he has disgraced himself? I have the Reynolds pamphlet right here somewhere, Theo, would you like to read it? Maybe then you’ll think twice about seeing his son.”

“Father, it’s just a play! And why should a son have to suffer the disgrace of his father?”

“Forget it, Theo. You won’t understand these political matters. I forbid you to go out tonight—”

Three knocks sound on the door, and I catch my breath. With a furtive look back at Father, I reach for the doorknob and open the door.

“Oh,” says Philip Hamilton, as he meets Father’s stony gaze. I take a breath to speak, but the silence between is an eternity.

“Father, this is Mr Philip Hamilton.” I keep my voice as calm and steady as possible. “Mr Hamilton, my father, Senator Aaron Burr.”

Mother would be proud.

I’m impressed at how quickly the young Hamilton recovers from his surprise. He proffers his hand to Father, as he does so cordially saying, “Mr Burr, sir.”

Almost grudgingly Father takes his hand.

“Sir,” says Hamilton, “I’ll have your daughter back before nine.”

I watch him with bated breath.

At last he grunts, but it is at least assent. Elated, I grasp his hands and beam at him. “Thank you, Father!” In a way I have the psychological advantage: I figured out long ago that when I smile a certain way I remind him of Mother.

I may have chosen a wrong moment: a tear appears in Father’s eye and he turns away, clearly embarrassed in front of the both of us. Realising the gravity of the situation I turn to Hamilton and whisper, “Shall we?”

He nods, and we exit the house. But as I shut the door behind me I see Father sink wearily into his armchair, head in his hands as if it hurts. For a moment I remain staring listlessly at the closed door.

“Miss Burr,” says Philip Hamilton, softly.

I snap out of my reverie and look distractedly into his face. Again I’m struck by the vividness of his expression. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “My father…”

“I understand.” He offers me his arm; I take it and for a moment we walk in silence.

Today’s selection is a bit short because if I added the next bit it’d be abnormally long. I guess you people will just have to wait for next week. I wanted to delve into the relationship between Burr and Theodosia, so here’s my take. There’ll be more OTP moments in the next one, all you fangirls/boys.




Quick Update and Apologies :(

Hey to all my six followers who have probably forgotten all about this corner of the Internet…sorry for the long break.

(I know that probably no one realised that I was gone. But now I’m back.)

So in the past seven or so months a lot has been happening. Not that I’ve been too busy to blog. Just that I shifted this little space to my lowest priorities. I was even thinking about shutting the whole thing down.

But one day someone messaged me telling me that I “needed to write a fan fiction about Philip Hamilton and Theodosia”, and that I should post in on my blog. This dying blog.

I was game. Why not? For the past month and a half I have been drowning in love for all things Hamilton. (It’s my first current ‘fandom’. But I wouldn’t call myself a fangirl, per se.) And I hadn’t been writing anything for a terribly long while, so fan fiction would be better than blank pages.

So I whacked a mediocre little thing onto the computer and posted it. Apparently people like it. Thank you for the encouragement.

Over the next few weeks I’ll release the next few parts. I have no idea how many parts there will be. I have a vague idea of what’s going to happen but I might change my mind as I go.

I’m currently on break from school till November. So you might expect a tiny increase in the number of posts (well, anything is more than zero, so). I’ll try to prioritise more, but I can’t promise.

To all those random Internet people who came just to read fan fiction, please subscribe? I will post other stuff too. If you scroll down after the fiction piece you’ll see samples. Anything is much appreciated.

Till the next post,


Blown Away: Hamilton Fan Fiction (part I)

A young man rushes into the theatre as the lights fade in. At first I think he’s late for the show time, but then he starts to shout. 

“George Eacker!” His voice is filled with fury, mad accusation. “Eacker!”

Out of the corner of my eye I notice a man lean forward and look around. He smiles. It’s a derisive, mocking smile. Almost a sneer. “Oh, if it isn’t Philip Hamilton?” he says, laughing out of the side of his mouth. “What are you up to, barging in on civilised society like this? Didn’t your father teach you anything?”

Now that he has found Eacker, the young man rushes closer into view. I notice how bold and bright his eyes are. They’re filled with anger.

“Watch your mouth when you talk about my father,” he says. “He’s a man of honour. You know nothing, Eacker!”

“Ha! What I do know is all true, and that’s what I said.” He’s still smiling the same queer smile. “Your father’s a scoundrel, and so it seems are you.”

I wish they would stop. I want to see the play.

Hamilton flinches, visibly wounded by the insult. Around him the audience waits with bated breath as to what will come next.

“So it’s like that?” he says. He’s obviously lost his footing for a bit. 

“I tell the truth, Hamilton,” says Eacker. “I’m not your little schoolboy friends. A kid like you shouldn’t try to mess with—”

“Well, I’ll see you on the duelling ground!”

No, not duels. The vague image of men shooting at each other rises unbidden to my mind, and I shudder.

“Ooh, like I’m scared,” says Eacker. “Yeah, see you there too. Now, if you’ll let me watch this in peace…?”

Philip Hamilton lifts his chin, bright blue eyes flashing with challenge and determination. He turns on his heel and walks out.

Eacker scowls round at the rest of the audience and adjusts himself into a more comfortable position. I cannot enjoy the play anymore. I cannot think of that young man going so readily to a chance of death.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, and make my way out of my box.

When I exit I can still see Philip Hamilton stalking away, head erect and determined. Something compels me to run after him. I get this unshakable feeling that what I’m about to do may save his life.

“Mr Hamilton,” I call. He turns, clearly still sore, in his mind running through what he should do next.


I open my mouth and realise I don’t actually have anything to say. I just want to stop the duel. “Sir, I was at the theatre just now…”

“Oh.” He bites the bottom of his lip. “I’m sorry for ruining the show for you. But I must get going. You understand I have a duel to prepare for. Good day.”

 “Wait, sir!” He’s just about to rush off, but stays.

 “Yes?” he says again.

“Please don’t duel, sir,” I say, shaking my head helplessly. “How could you bring yourself so near to death? All for a matter of your own honour? Isn’t that…selfish to your family?” 

“It is not just my own honour,” he says quietly. “My father’s honour is at stake as well. Eacker has to pay.”

“With his life? He’s just a brash person, why does it really matter?” 

“Look, why are you defending him?” The irritation shows plainly on his face. “Are you a relative of his, or what?”

“I had never seen him till today, sir. I promise. But please don’t duel, sir. I will go to Mr Eacker and make a peace with him.”

 He starts to laugh. “So you’ll be my second, then? And in the event that you don’t reach a peace?”

“I will, sir. Lives depend on it.”

“Well! You’re a rare bird.” He chuckles some more to himself. “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Theodosia Burr, sir.”

“Burr?” He’s taken aback for an instant.

“I believe our fathers are acquainted,” I say softly.

“I see.” He has withdrawn back into a reclusive state. There is no more laughter in his eyes. “Your father took my grandfather’s seat in the Senate, I understand?”

 “Mr Philip Schuyler? Oh no, sir, he won it fairly. And I had nothing to do with it.”

For a moment I sense that he is appraising not only my appearance, but my brain.

 “I will go find Mr Eacker now,” I say, but I linger for an instant. For some reason I want to hold his gaze for as long as he will hold mine. Then I shake the silly feeling and turn away again. 

 “Miss Burr?”

When I turn back Philip Hamilton is smiling again. For the first time I see his eyes soften into gentle kindness. “If you don’t mind I’d like to take you to see the play that I disturbed. Would tomorrow be fine?”

I feel a smile creeping into my face despite myself.

I say yes.


image sourced from google
image sourced from google

Keep praying, because He will come through.

Keep singing, because the melody of your voice is audible poetry.

Keep writing, because your words whisper meanings yet unspoken.

Keep dancing, because clumsy movements can release your burdens.

Keep working, because in all faithful work there is profit.

Keep laughing, because joy feeds the weary soul.

Keep crying, because sorrow can sometimes mend the deepest fissures.

Keep hoping, because your treasured hopes will blossom into reality.

Keep dreaming, because life is dreary without crazy dreams.

Keep loving, because your love has power you cannot know.

Keep trying, because you will reach the summit, and it will be glorious.

Keep doing what you’re doing, because it’s beautiful.