A/N: I was sorting some old doc files when I chanced upon this. Written last 2013. Crude and sick, yes. But I was devoted.



If you ask me what beauty is like,

I’d still tell you that it’s the Sun.


That god of gold

Whose radiance I’m always blinded at.

Whose presence blurs everything

Into nothingness…

I could only see, only feel, only think


Always passing my way

But never stopping, never even coming

To me.


I know that bastard does that on purpose.

Revenge, he claims, is best served cold.

Yet his anger burns at my betrayal.

He’ll probably never forgive me,

Will never even cast again

A caring glance nor longing for my arms.

Even so, I am to atone by remaining here- transfixed

At his magnificence.

Yielding at his will.

Embracing his rage for sustenance.

Maybe for life itself.


Other nymphs tell me that I am getting mad

It’s getting unhealthy- my skin starts to be singed.

It’s best to run first and hide away, they say.

Any more prolonged exposure

Will lead to my eventual burn.

To my ruin.


But they don’t understand that

He has ruined me already-

What is burning compared to dying?

I will wilt without the Sun

And I will surely shrivel

If he forgets, if he forgives

If he grows cold.


He has already caused me to thrive

In the fields of eternal fire.



From the moment that we are born, the world is already telling us, preparing us to be adults.

I once thought that staying inside our rose-colored room would be enough. But you’re the adventurous type. You decided to open our door and the next thing I knew was the feeling of being submerged into a great flood.

Pissed, I reminded you that we were inside a submarine.

But you laughed it off and held out your hand for me. The water was becoming stronger now and both of us were sucked into the unknown.

I remember you swimming. I remember myself grasping your heel. See, I wasn’t strong enough.

You’re the one who led me to the shore- a vast space of brightness, noises and faces. I squinted at the man who held us with both of his hands. I remember seeing our faces in his pupils. Yes, ours.

It was breathtaking.

Back in our world, the only face I knew was yours. I spent time studying its features, hoping that mine isn’t too far off.

But under the glare of light, both of us were found awestruck. I turned to peek at you and you were quiet, still staring at the eyes of this man; marveling at the same thing as I was.

We are so beautiful. I cried.

But you didn’t. You shushed me with your stare and whispered into my mind that this is only just the surface. There is something else. I remembered you telling me. Find it. Don’t miss it.

Where is it? I asked. But you only smiled and closed your eyes.

That’s the last thing I heard from you before the man separated us. I pleaded him not to. But he didn’t understand me. I cried at you to plead with me, but you were silent. There was nothing that I could do but to cry. And to ask

But instead of you, they gave me milk. Milk, as the woman told me, will make my eyes clearer. Will make me stronger.

I needed the strength to find you. So I drank.

Milk tasted good. I thought growing up would be bitter but it was warm. It was comforting.

It painted my eyes white, making me see the world in its gleaming opaqueness.

It hardened the cage that was my bones- made it bigger, made it tougher.

My legs are strong enough to run to you now. My hands are already big enough to hold yours.

But my eyes couldn’t find you. So I drank more.

And more…

I don’t think I can ever live my life now without milk.

Up to this day, milk clouds my cups of coffee. But there are days- days when I wonder what is it like to see the other side of that dark finite ocean. Maybe you are there, staring back at my white eyes.

I wonder what they gave you, sister. Milk tells me that you are only in my mind- a figment of childhood. You’ve never existed.

Before I Get Myself Drunk: Things That 2014 has Taught Me.

In more ways than one, 2014 is one hell of a ride. At times, it made me sober; at other times it made me a slobbering mess. Either ways, I’m raising my glass to the people and experiences that allowed me to become who I am today.

Note: From here on, this post will be written in Taglish. Masyadong emosyonal.

1. Totoo ang Law of Equal Exchange (a.k.a. “action-reaction rule”, “karma”, “two-graves-are-dug” at kung anu-ano pang legendary/mythical/scientific term na nagsasaad na sa bawat bagay na naisin o piliin natin, may kaakibat itong katumbas na kapalit). Gusto mo na bang maka-move on sa lahat ng hs baggage? Okay lang. Basta kaya mo ring putulin ang relasyon with your longtime hs buddies kapag iyon ang hiningi ni Equal Exchange. Medyo malupit sa akin si Equal Exchange sa aspetong ito. Pero hindi ko naman siya masisi. Tama lamang ang hiningi nyang kapalit. Hindi sobrang mabuti pero hindi rin sobrang sama ang resulta. Ganoon talaga.

2. Pansamantala lang si ❤ FOREVER <3. Isa at kalahating academic year lang yan *ahem, ahem*. Nasa sa iyo na iyon kung gusto mong forever mabuhay sa alaala o maniwala sa isang kasinungalingan o tumalon nalang sa riles ng LRT. Kamuntikan ko nang gawin yung panghuli though. Pero on the bright side, maganda din naman na debunked ang konsepto ni ❤ FOREVER <3. Isipin natin, kung totoo ang “eternity” sa ating mga mortal, edi malamang mala-twilight ang lahat ng relasyon natin: Boring. Lahat ng crucial at madadramang events ng isang relasyon ay maaaring ipagpaliban dahil may bukas at kinabukasan pa naman. Walang crisis na, “Hala! Baka huling pagkakataon ko na itong sabihin kay X na… tumblr_lnapzptpiC1qg0io3o1_500 3. You need to toughen up if you want to make it to the adult world. Kasama na dito ang paggising ng madaling araw at pagligo ng nagyeyelong tubig para lang makaabot sa unang klase. Kung dati, nakakatakas pa ako kay (insert prof here), ngayon hindi na talaga. Bawas sahod. Medyo problematic din sa akin itong lesson na ito. For one, di naman talaga ako tough girl. Ako nga yung “bebe girl” sa class eh. Ako yung constant iyakin na medyo suicidal passive-agressive girl. Pero shet, darating pala talaga sa point ng isang tao na marerealize nya na enough is enough. So this goes to all my students who talk dirty in my class: Untitled (5) 4. Hindi parin ako apologetic- at hinding hindi ako magsosorry- sa lahat ng childish whims ko- including my sing-song voice. Sabi sakin dati ng PT prof ko, bakit daw parang kumakanta ako habang nagtuturo. Tigilan ko daw dahil hindi daw proper. Eto lang ang masasabi ko:

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” ― Marilyn Monroe

Eto rin siguro ang dahilan kung bakit hindi titser si Marilyn Monroe. Alam ko na darating din ang araw na ma-ooutgrow ko rin yung mga childish antics ko pero alam ko rin na sa kasalukuyan, buhay na buhay pa yung bata na nasa sa akin (aka “le inner child”). I’m going to enjoy this while it lasts. Kaya tang ina niyong lahat, adults. Mabubuhay ito.

5. Minsan, yung true love nasa sarili mo na pala iyan. To date, 21 years old and still- NLSB (No Ligaw Since Birth). Di ko alam kung matutuwa ba ako dito o medyo malulungkot. Pero isa lang naman ang natutunan ko sa anim na taong ginugol ko kakahabol/pagpapakatanga kay X: Ang state of being complete ay hindi lang pala matatagpuan sa piling ng iba. Tama din si Maleficient, yung true love, nasa sarili mo rin pala yan (akala mo lang wala o nawala na)- at yun ang tatapos sa lahat ng curse. vbyui At hindi ko ba nakita ang solusyon sa mga taong ito? 58205_4219728013851_1433213736_n 250809_10150871706710423_239099804_n 427296_3912460709479_1138232218_n 484811_4219768614866_1086783281_n 1234880_10200117368976485_304988041_n 1609660_10202432548846914_402293004_n - Copy 1661986_10200790499644331_1684587049_n 10006342_10200895259023250_309469349_n Snapshot_20120712 Snapshot_20130118_1 Snapshot_20130118_4 Snapshot_20130312_3 Snapshot_20130325 Snapshot_20130325_9 Snapshot_20130325_14 Snapshot_20140311_1 16672_1001131943246405_3108643713113915558_n 988391_749444088406625_563390318_n 1559629_696598087048745_1695394628_n 1932406_749451161739251_448660531_n 10173564_765168203500880_1509956098_n 10301426_10204873958435449_7556318237462365060_n 10600583_330710747106679_2928650988419728282_n 10606089_327203937457360_7813288612784645902_n   To cap everything, ang life lesson ko lang talaga this 2014 ay isang malaking YOLO. May point ang Renaissance forefathers natin- seize each day as if it’s your last. Happy New Year.


It’s fun to break poetry into little lines

Like this.

I don’t know why, but I guess

It gives one a sense

Of expansion

Or maybe, of growth.

Little sentences, which can barely fill a page

Can now become a WALL

So huge

But lacking in sense and in stability.


I don’t want to be like these empty lines.

I don’t want to leave my words


When they cannot stand on their own just yet.

I don’t want to break pieces of me,

Highlighting the only special parts

And tucking the rest of the mundane into dark long alleys,


I don’t want to lose the beauty of relationships

By leaving so many gaps

Between words and worlds.

I don’t want to build a wall for the sake of building a huge one

But I will build

To safe-keep and to cherish

What I have in my hands.

Throwback Saturdays: The Coin

I made this poem a year ago- back when I had so many questions that needed answering. Some of those questions have never been answered. But it is alright. Time has a way of compensating for what one has lost. 

The Coin

The coin thought

That he’s old enough

Circa 1993

Forged by sweat and fire

Once a shiny, spotless piece

But now

Already a dull silver gray

Already grimy at the edges

Already passed through many hands

(Some soft and squeaky clean

Some rough, almost hardened

Some glistening with blood and sweat

Some covered with dry gloves or mittens)

The coin thought

That he’s old enough

Until one day,

A man plucked him from the pocket of his jeans

And threw him into the sea

And down, down, down

He sank

As the sea creatures swam

Totally oblivious to his demise

The coin thought

That he’s old enough

Until he fell into the sea floor

And felt the dusty embrace of the earth.

Until he got covered with its thick softness

And tasted it salty-sweet.

Until he smelled the loamy musk

Which the oceans stole when they were born.

And finally, the coin knew.


“What is that you desire?” she asked.

The bowl said nothing. Instead, it allowed the light to hit its surface- glinting at its beholder; allowing her to see her porcelain reflection on its cracked and already broken skin.


What is that you desire?

She sighed. Her eyes looked through the bowl’s chalky glaze, lost in its ancient patterns. “I already find it futile to dream of changing the past.”


I also find it impossible to put back the pieces that have been chipped away from me, the bowl replied.


“Even as hard as one may search and try, there will still be empty cavities that have already been eaten by time.” she nodded.

So are memories.


“True. They say fate has been cruel to us.” She gave a hoarse laugh.

No. The bowl reminded. It has been kind enough to take away from us our parts which are of lesser value.


“And it has been generous enough to join us into new parts, making us of greater significance.” She smiled, pouring the mixture of gold resin onto the bowl’s cracks.

also known as 'Kintsugi'

also known as ‘Kintsugi’



Cat collar

 Photo credit: @Doug88888

I could never be your cat.

I once thought that I could be one. That I could replace those Persians that you lost when you were young. Or even those Siameses that you prefer now. But I realize that I can’t. I’m not a cat.

I can’t purr like your cats used to do. Nor can I claw you off with my perfectly filed sharpies. Heck, I don’t even want to do that to you. But a part of me longs to stretch at your lap and cuddle in your arms. A part of me longs to be stroked with your fingers and to be called yours.

A part of me longs for your attention.

And as much as I would try and wear felted cat ears, I know that I’m no match with the real deal. I know that I’m just fooling myself- imitating something impossible for me to grasp; cosplaying someone impossible for me to become.

I could never be she- you know, your cat- who sleeps at the corner of your room. That side where you adorn her with all kinds of toys and plushies. You know that I get awful excited when I’m in your room. And that I can never be your cat who nonchalantly goes to her little pedestal as you croon while watching her lick her shiny fur.

You know that I’m the type who runs straight to your bed and claims half of it as mine. And for that reason, you ousted me out of your apartment.

I’m not holding a grudge though. I know my place. I know that your cat is more important than I am. You feed her Friskies while I’m content with your leftovers. I also know that I’m not the trophy pet that you brag to your colleagues. That I’m nothing more than an insurance- a security. A default when sometimes your cat is cranky and is peeing at your underwear.

I’m not holding these things against you, boss. But please do remember that I was the one who waited for you during those off hours when you beer ponged. I was the one who covered up for all your nasty stuff and I even came to your defense when the neighbors told you how much of a jerk you were.

All I’m asking in return is not to compare me with your cat.

Not because we are genetically different- heck, you should know that by now- but because we are two distinct entities sharing your space of a heart. Though I know that in that aspect I’m your literal underdog, it hurts when you lash at me asking, “Why can’t you be like her?”

I can’t be like her because I am not her.

And I need to reiterate this for so many times because the question pops out even without you asking.

Not only for your sake but for mine as well.