Posted in To this broken heart...


Right. You’re treating that hobby as a way to escape from your misery, right? You are always sad that’s why when you saw that door and walked in, you were fascinated by the colors or hues that you’ve never seen before. Sure. It’s an escape route from your reality. You are staring at the black and gray shaded life that you’ve been miserably living, then you face the other side and notice that rainbow light coming from that door. It’s as if the rainbow fills up the neutral and boring shade of your life.
All those dancers, singers and artists that make you scream in awe and amazement are the sole reason that help you forget about your own problems even just for a bit. They seem to make you feel alive more than ever. They seem to be your new source of hope to smile and live. All those dramas that you anticipate to watch make you feel like you were one of the characters as well and for a moment, you feel that it does feel good to live like that.
These make you feel like another person, a lot more different from the real one and a lot better than in reality. But heed this as an unsollicited advice, friend. It’s not a crime to open that door and sneak in, but don’t stay there for too long as if it became your life already. Don’t forget that reality is different from fiction. Don’t live your life inside a story that was and will only be an escape route from reality. Don’t make it your reality because there’s a fat chance that the door will be locked and you won’t find any key to open it anymore. Thus, you might not be able to come out. And as the imagination fills up your reality, it devours your soul as well. Never let that happen.

Focus! Remember your reality.

Posted in To the end of life...

Farewell to a Musician

It is really sad to know that you’re already gone. The memory of our last conversation still lingers in my mind. It was the time when my other grandpa died and you were the one who played the piano for him. That was only three months ago. Now, you are the one who’s lying in that wooden box painted with white and gold, surrounded with white flowers– cold and breathless.
Yes. There will be no big and chubby old man who’ll visit us whenever he wanted. There will be no old guy who’ll play the piano for the dead and living as awesome as you. There will be no one as good as you.
I wish we could have had a different reason to talk to each other. I wish it is anything but about someone who died. I could wish for more.

I could wish endlessly but I know I’d still be hopeless because wishes sometimes remain as mere wishes.

They can never be brought to reality. They can never be brought to life… just like you.
Now, as I end this message, I am wishing you a good night and a good rest… forever. I love you, Lolo.


Listen to CHANYEOL, PUNCH (찬열, 펀치) – Stay With Me [Goblin OST Part 1] by L2ShareOST11 #np on #SoundCloud

I am so into this song right now. It makes me feel nostalgic even if I haven’t actually watched the drama (Goblin). I just love how Punch and Chanyeol’s voice blend well at the chorus part. The rap’s really good as well. I was wondering for a monent if I was really listening to an OST or was actually listening to another song of EXO. I don’t why but Chanyeol’s voice just reminds me that he’s a part of EXO and his good rapping skills and vocals add up into that. I think that’s unavoidable. Punch and Chen’s Everytime (Descendants of the Sun OST) is as better as this. I really love it! Great song! ♥♥♥
Stay With Me… please?

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 To the people who love..., To the people who still feel pain...

Cupid’s Target


Yes. Love seems to be killing me.

I was too naive to believe to those fantasy stories we usually hear before going to sleep. I was too innocent to think that I can be a princess, a queen or even a damsel in distress.
Rarely in our life do we realize the reality and more often than not, we rely on illusions.

Love might be some kind of magical spell that conspires anyone to be under its spell. Maybe, the weak ones fall for it so easily.

But I believed that I’m not weak. I believed I’m better. Truthfully, I cannot afford to accept defeat.
I’m not sure if it was my pride or I was just afraid.
Yes. I do love the idea of love but I didn’t like the idea of falling.
Thus, when I found myself under the spell, I realized how weak I was. I realized how powerful love is that it can make someone sane enough go insane. I was almost there.
I felt the slow piercing of arrow on my chest. It went deeper into my skin as it hurt more. Everything around me became nothing but a blur. I was slowly devoured by that pain. It went slowly as if prolonging my agony. I wish I’d go numb.
It surprises me how good Cupid is when it comes to this job. He shoots arrow really well that he doesn’t even think twice who to shoot and when to shoot. I was still under that poisonous spell and I don’t think I’ll be able to break it.
I was trying to contain the agonizing pain, wishing it’ll end. If I’d have a chance next time, I will make sure that Cupid will miss shooting my heart.

Nagmamahal Din Ang Hangin

Hindi na siguro maiiwasan sa ating mundo na minsan makakaligtaan natin ang mga bagay na palagi lang nating nakakasalamuha. Minsan, ang mga bagay na dapat sana ay binibigyang pansin at halaga, ang mga iyon pa ang nakakalimutan nating pahalagahan. Siguro nga likas na sa tao ang mas mahalin ang mga bagay na hindi naman kamahal-mahal. Siguro likas na sa atin na mas mapansin ang mga bagay na nakakapanakit. Naaalala pa ba natin kahit isang beses man lang sa isang araw ang hangin?
Katulad din ng tao, nagmamahal din ang hangin. Ang bawat paghalik nito sa ating pisngi ang nagbibigay hudyat na nangungulila ito ng pansin– nangungulila ng pagpapahalaga na matagal ng kinalimutan ng tao. Ang pagsayaw nito sa pagitan ng mga damo at iba pang halaman ang nagpapakita ng saya na nadarama nya. Pero ngayon, tila napalitan na iyon ng kalungkutan at galit. Napalitan ang galak ng galit, kung kaya’t ang pagaspas lang dati ay isang malakas na hampas na ngayon sa katauhan ng bagyo at buhawi. Wala na nga sigurong pagmamahal ang nadarama ng hangin. Ito siguro ang dahilan kung bakit ang dating rason kung bakit tayo humihinga pa ay isa na rin sa dahilan kung bakit karamihan sa atin ay naghihingalo na.
Panipis na ng panipis ang hangin. Marumi na rin ito. Alam ko at alam ko ring alam nyo rin ito. Kagagawan ng tao ang bagay na ito, pero minsan naisip ko na siguro ito rin ang paraan ng hangin para maghiganti– para maipakitang kailangan din nya ng pansin, para ipakitang kaya rin nyang makapanakit dahil masakit sa pakiramdam na hindi na pinapahalagahan ang halaga nya.
Sa tingin ko, maihahalintulad ang pagmamahal ng hangin sa pagmamahal ng isang taong may lihim na pagtingin sa isang tao. Oo.Masasabi kong matamis magmahal ang hangin dahil sa una ang tanging rason lang ng kanyang pananatili sa mundo ay para mabuhay tayo– tayong mga tao.

Mamahalin ka nya kahit pa hindi mo maalala na nandyan sya o ni hindi mo alam na mahal ka nya.
Mamahalin ka nya kahit wala kapalit.

Nandyan sya dahil kailangan mo sya. Nandyan sya kahit hindi mo sya nakikita.
Ngunit dumating na sa puntong napabayaan mo yung bagay na minamahal ng hangin– ikaw.Napunta na sa puntong napabayaan mo ang sarili mo at ang paligid mo, kaya ang resulta, pati ang hangin nadamay na rin. Hindi ba’t nakakalungkot ding isipin na ang isang nagmamahal ng palihim ay nasasaktan din ng palihim?
Sirang-sira na sya. Habang palalang-palala ang sakit na dinulot mo sa kanya, pati ikaw palalang-pala na rin. Kahit pa malaman mo ang kalagayan nya, tila huling-huli ka na. Tila ba wala ng pag-asa para maibsan manlang ang sakit na dinulot natin sa hangin dahil sa dulo ng lahat ng ito, parang hindi mo pa rin sya kayang mahalin.
*excerpts from Umigib ng Pag-ibig (Journal) 2016

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.