Posted in A blog, Personal, Story, The nearing end...

how i met him (and how it ended)

According to a book I’ve read, people come and go, forever drifting in and out of our lives. Some would stay but some would just pass by. It hurts that the ones you wanted to stay the most are the ones who leave.
In my case, he didn’t just leave. But he also snatched the little happiness that he brought me and left me sadness instead. I shouldn’t let myself drown in that ocean of happiness and fleeting moments. No. I should have just stayed in the shore and never get in the water in the first place. I forgot. I don’t know how to swim. Now, I am slowly drowning at the bottom of the ocean where sadness lies– where screaming for help would be useless because no one would hear me.
It’s funny how I still wish for him to come back even though I’ve been hurt already. It’s an epic choice to still hope for that guy to come and save me. But how could he? In the first place, he was the one who pushed me to drown. And it’s stupid how willingly I am to still hope and to look like fool for nothing. Because frankly speaking, I thought we’d have that little piece of forever. I had hoped for that. But then I guess we can’t find forever with the wrong guy– with the wrong person.
In the end, this was just a long chapter of a book where he played a significant role then vanished after portraying it. Now, I have to the turn the page and get over it. But how?

They say there’s always a rainbow after the rain. I wish I can hope for that easily, but how can I have that rainbow if it’s always raining whenever I wake up?

* * *

Actually right now, even if I am trying to pick up my pieces and surviving to live, the pain still lingers. It creeps in to my body, trying to destroy me once again. But I am trying to prevent that from happening again because the guy who was supposed to protect me left me already.

I wish it would be easier to move on. Because whenever I think about him, I just break down and cry. I just love him so much that it hurts to think that he’s gone. He left me.

But the funny part is that I will still see him this coming semester. He’s my classmate after all. How can I live with that?

Posted in A blog, blog, Personal, Story

how i met him: update 1

I would be fooling myself if I’ll say that I am so happy right now. Frankly speaking, I’m not. I feel empty.

He said he loves. He said he’d prove it. But nowadays, I am contemplating his feelings towards me, if they were really genuine. I doubt him sometimes. Humans don’t really follow the science of consistency. We change, from good to bad, from bad to worse… Then better and good again. And we’re like that. We are.

Sometimes, he’s sweet. Sometimes, he’s not. He also can’t feel if he offended me with his words or not. I, on the other hand, am scared to tell him that he did. He might think that I am over reacting, that I am sensitive.

He shows less effort than what I expected. I cannot just use his love as my foundation. It won’t be enough. I need to see and feel it. I need him to prove that. I did to build trust because I have some issues on that– trust issues.

“I’ll wait.” That was what he told me. But now, it feels like he’s getting tired of this whole chase. We barely started this unlabeled relationship. Now, it seems like we’re nearing the end.

The end that never had a once upon a time. The end that never had enough magic!

I’m afraid of the conclusion of this story because I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t even want to let him go. But there are also our priorities that we have to consider first as well. This frustrates me more. It seems like nothing can fit into their right places that’s why I have to let go one. But I don’t want to.

So, here I am, silently wishing that he’d just stop loving me and praying at the same time that he won’t. I think I am losing my sanity.

Is this really what love does to you? It makes you insane?

I love him. I’ve grown to love him. That’s why I am so afraid right now– afraid that he might get tired of waiting, afraid that he might not.

I hate myself for being this way.

And I hate him for not being that way.


I only need assurance. I need to be prepared. I have to.

If only he would just wait a little much longer (and I think these adjectives contradict a lot), I would be willing to love him.

Not now. But later.


Please, Chan, wait for me. Wait for us.

Posted in A blog, blog, To the end of life...


Maybe that’s the inevitable part of growing up. You tend to become too emotional– more emotional than when you were a cry baby. As you grow old, every tear that will fall from those eyes will mean something more than a plea for some milk. Maybe the reason’s about a barely failing relationship. Or it can be about a dying family member. No. Maybe, it will be about your own guilt about every bit of mistake that you’ve done and that you can never undo anymore.
I told you. People become more emotional while growing up. But at the end of the entire process, you might not feel anything anymore. You might feel like you accomplished nothing all through out your whole life. But you won’t care because you can’t do anything anymore. That’s the moment when we forgot everything… and we die silently and slowly without feeling anything emotional. We die as our memories in this wrecked world die with us.

Posted in A blog, Personal, PERSONALity

Course Cost


If I won’t succeed in this field, I don’t know anymore.

I love writing.

Well, maybe writing to you this now gives you a more realistic proof. Pero minsan, kahit anong passionate mo sa isang bagay, may instances talaga na hindi mapupunta sa’yo yung hinahangad mo… even though you’ve given everything that you could possibly offer just to attain that dream… that goal. Did I lack something? Didn’t they like what they got? I don’t know. I don’t know anymore… was the questions that you’re constantly asking to yourself. The questions that seem to give you that depressing feeling.

Yung mga sinagot ko sa mga tanong nila… they contained true feelings. When I was finished, sabi ko worth it yun. Worth it yung pagiging honest mo at pagsabi kung gaano ka ka-dedicated mag-sulat. Pero ngayon? I can’t feel it anymore.

Just like what A said in Every Day, the universe doesn’t care about us… that’s why we have to care for each other. I didn’t know that this reality hurts much more than I expected.

I can’t stop this feeling. I am anxiously thinking about my course application. I got interviewed the other day already and they said that I met the basic requirements and the such. But I still worry about passing it or not. I mean, we have to receive a message confirming that we have passed the interview, but then I haven’t received any, given that my fellow applicants who were interviewed received one already.


Alam mo yung feeling?

Yung chapter one ka pa lang sa nobelang binabasa mo eh melodramatic na yung scenes. It’s sad, right? You are still at the beginning of our story and you’re already facing such struggle.

I know. I am being pessimistic right now. With all honesty, I can’t help it. When I was interviewed, I was given that hope of passing it. That hope was presented in front of me and I grabbed it without any hesitation. I grabbed it without even thinking about the aftermath of that decision. Sabi sa’kin na okay naman yung grades ko. I was so proud to tell them that I am a blogger and a writer… hoping that it will help in my application. I was hoping deep inside. I was hoping na sana kuhanin nila ako… na maisip nila na may potential ako. Alam ko namang malaking yung risk kapag umasa ka. Malaki yung pwede mong makuha, pero malaki rin ang pwedeng mawala sa’yo. Ang sakit pala talaga. Ang sakit. Sobra.

Hindi ba sapat na sabihin mong gusto mong magsulat at gusto mong mag-improve? Hindi ba sapat na eager kang matuto pa?


Feeling ko para akong lapis eh… matulis nga pero madaling maputol at nabubura na lang ng ganun kadali. Madaling masaktan… madaling kalimutan. Ang drama.

But I haven’t failed yet, right? Well, the confirmation that I did haven’t arrived yet. Will I still hope then?


A Student


Turning your thoughts into words is like making a perfect coffee.

You have to make it less bitter and less sweet. The bitterness might ruin the mood and meaning… and the sweetness might overlap the emotions. It has to be balanced. The warmth feeling is a must as well… it gives a comfy feel.

Posted in A blog

Tangling Words

When I was a kid, I had thought a lot of things that I might be going to be when I grow up. I imagined myself becoming a doctor, having to cure the sick. I imagined myself become a teacher, teaching kids how to read and write. I imagined myself cooking in a high-class restaurant or hotel, serving a lot of guests as the main chef. I had imagined a lot of things back when I was still too innocent. Then suddenly, I found myself realizing that these where just figments of my imagination that was only attainable by physical labor. I ended up writing them for now.


            Along the way, I have met a lot of people, there were few who stayed and there were many who just passed by. It’s enticing how people make choices and choose the wrong ones. There’s some who wants to become a teacher but ended up as a caregiver. There were others who want to become a stewardess and ended up a tourist guide. This world is practically round, and figuratively, confusing. It has the ability to give us wounds and leave scars in us. It’s just a matter of how we’re going to cure ourselves because no one will do that for us. It can play with your life, and all you have to do is to accept the misfortunes that it’ll give you. Well, I wish I won’t end up like this people—ending up with the choice that they never really wanted and regretted. I want to follow that path that I know I won’t doubt nor regret. I want to see what’s coming and believe that it’ll going to take me to somewhere I’d love to stay for a long time. I’d want to take the people who stayed with me as well, because honestly, they’ve been a great part of my journey.

            The problem is that I still don’t have any fixed dream. Yes. I once wanted to become a doctor, but ended up disliking it because blood is part of the job. I wanted to become a teacher but hated it in the end because I saw how my former teachers tend to get mad every now and then. I mean, who would want to become a grumpy woman—an old maid at that. I am not so selfless to dedicate myself to children. I am not fond of kids anyway, and they do hate me. I felt empty then. It felt like I had no goal. I am walking. Yes. Or running rather, but I didn’t have any flag to reach or finish line to finish. It was all pointless—all those sleepless nights of reviewing to maintain my rank; all those lonely moments that I had to feel without any real friends just so I could be different from them. I didn’t want to, but I had taught that it was good to be. The funny part was that I ended up hating it. I hated the times when I couldn’t even share my thoughts as a kid to my classmates because I thought they won’t understand—that my way of thinking was way too different from them. It felt difficult to breathe in. Yes. I was too full of myself. I was a selfish brat.

            In my six years in elementary, reality struck me like a lightning bolt at last! I remember that I was a fourth grader that time. I had this crazy but witty teacher. She always talked a lot. I tried to admire her—I swear I did. But then I just couldn’t make myself like someone whom my guts dislike in the first place. I didn’t hate her nor cursed her. I just dislike her. Well, she taught a lot of things to me—to us—which I think were definitely useful unlike the boring and stuffy things other teacher always tell. You know their life stories that weren’t even a part of the lesson. No one could stop them. They were teachers anyway. What could a barely ten-year-old kid do to stop them blubbering about their unsolicited story life? We were too young to know about our rights as kids of this nation. I am getting way too far from the main point, am I not? Well, okay, she became my teacher for a year or a couple? Honestly, I really don’t remember how long, but then I do remember this one moment when she talked to me. It was almost a sermon. I was there listening to her remarks about me in need to love Math so it would love me back—I guarantee you, I tried this method but it didn’t really work—but Math didn’t. I think I wasn’t really lovable, or that Math just lacks emotions. I prefer the latter. Back to the topic, I was sitting there—all ears, what a lucky woman! —almost looking like I was waiting for her to say the punch line. And then the punch line did really come. It came to me like a real punch leaving me bruises and scars after the entire torture. She told me that I wasn’t really smart. No, the word was a little bit harsher than that. She told me that I was dumb—stupid. I was the smartest among the most stupid. It does ring a bell, right? I was silently listening to her, only to hear her mockery. I got upset that time, but later on—after some years—I found out she was right. I was stupid, indeed.

            I entered high school and found myself sinking below the ground. No perfect scores in quizzes or exams. The bad news was that I had my first failed grade, in my entire life, in my first year. The punch line was true after all. I should have known better. I wasn’t different or smart. I acknowledged that.

            Stupid or smart, I still kept on moving—walking towards my no goal goal. Then, I found myself writing. I poured my thoughts into writing. I had my diary, scribbled my day into it and drew some sketches about the small things that made my day. It was like I was sharing a part of me into something and that something assured me that it can protect that piece of me. I felt secured then. I found comfort in writing. I ended up loving the simple utterance of words—whether they were simple or deep. I was so into it that I love discovering a new word through reading a novel or dictionary. It was like I was taking up a journey without facing the rough road or deep ocean—just sitting on my bed or in a corner; containing every word that story I was reading would throw at me and searching for an answer of what it really means. It was exciting! I thought I found a new dream.

            I admire writers. I started to dream to become one. No. I definitely want to become one. I started with scratch. A few one shots here and some unfinished stories there. I had typos, misspelled words and incorrect grammars. I totally became a trash. My works were trashes—at least, for me. Even though I really couldn’t come up with a good one, I still tried—hoping I’d make a better plot. I was determined to improve. I believe that I will.

            I saw reading as my good resort. It was like my cohort, where I could get some ideas or advice whenever I am in trouble.

Well, I was in trouble writing a good story. So, I ended up relying on experiences through the perspectives of those fictional characters. I sorted things out and then found myself creating a new character and a world where that character can only live. My dream became bigger. I was bewitched by that possibility that I choose that good choice—the right one. I hope and pray that I did.

            I want to tangle each word into a knot and hope other people would try to untangle it by themselves like how I did with mine—solving the pieces that I let them see. I wish I did the good part.