You may think you are a dragon but you’re a lizard to me.

You may think you are a dragon but you’re a lizard to me.

Annoys and annoys me.
You’re presence is toxic.
The way you extend out your tongue
Exudes with fumes
And I fuel it until I become fire

Fire fuels me as I fuel the fire
I now am the fire.
Don’t crossover.
I will burn you.
And you will burn.
To the ground with grit;
To pieces. To ashes.
To particles of fuck
Like the fuck you are.

Summer in my eyes

Summer in my eyes

I have not cried in a long while. Countless reasons came by and I can hardly understand why my tear ducks hold back. Has the dam grew dry? My heart yearns to shower upon the external the mourning it holds, the grief.

How can this life be cruel and not let me cry? I’m only human. And I have always known myself to be emotional ergo my heart easily runs with pain and it storms right through my eyes. Two decades of existence and twenty summers of ever wet tear ducks suddenly run dry.

Have I told you that this does not necessarily mean that I feel strong? Do you know that I don’t feel strong? Do you understand how vulnerable I feel? How could I run out of tears to cry?

I have been cruel to myself and to the world. And the most human thing that I could do is the one thing that is brought away from me. To mourn.

I ask a simple question. I ask one thing. Let me cry for the reasons that I have now. I don’t know how else I could let the pain out. I can’t bear to keep feeling the pain. I can’t bear to release the pain in ways I don’t quite understand. In ways I would wound myself more, in ways I would destroy myself.

Fate be less cruel to me, please. Wash the drought off my tear ducks and let me cry again. Let me be the kind of human that I’ve always been… That if I cannot bring what was, let me have that one part of what used to be.

Thus we learn

Thus we learn

I learned to love myself, you said.
That with you, I learned I could be new.

Down to hell the stories went.
Down with the fire all possibilities.

Let us take it really slow, you said.
I wish I made you up inside my head.

That I told you what you are.
That I showed you what you could be.

Apart from the future that I could see.
Apart from the picture of you and me.

I somehow chained you to me, you said.
Perhaps those kisses were not dead.

Perhaps the memories have never fled.
But the now must come to an end.

Like the way I jumped off the train.
That moment hurt you, you said.

Three months would not need be long.
That is if I take arms and I be strong.

No one’s bound stay, at least not today.
At least you learned to love yourself.

Not many learn that lesson this way.
But you might learn to love me back, one day.

Love Cats.

Love Cats.

I’m going to put it this way. First, cats have nine lives. Second, you are what you love. And remember that you love cats. And you are worth more than cats. You’re worth more than your utter love for cats.

Everyday, you watch them wander and sleep around the house. Sometimes, you can’t even help wonder how come they stay so cute and adorable and still have nine lives. And here you are, an idiot who knows so much, does so much and still not get the reprieve you deserve. But you still love cats.

Sometimes, you just want to lay in your bed and wait for them to crawl and find a spot beside you. From there you take the time to relish the moment that you get to cuddle with that little monster. Oblivious from the reality, you share the vibe that your feline possess. And you wake up a “feline” the next day.

But you know, what? You are strong and independent—but still slightly an idiot. Nonetheless, you are smart enough to not be a lazy butt like that cat right there. You know more. You do more. And that is just the beginning of everything. There is so much more that is ahead.

“And you are worth more than cats. You’re worth more than your utter love for cats.”

That being said, no matter how stupid, should at least push you a little further to the limit and break the walls that bar you from your hopes, your dreams. Cats have nine lives. But you have so much more. Be strong. Cats are lazy butts– but cute. But you’re a rockstar– and still cute. Remember that.

Daddy and Other issues

Daddy and Other issues

There’s like a bazillion people in this world and not everyone’s got Fathers who look after their children. Not all children get to experience the joy of having a strong foundation that is manifested by a father by their side. Perhaps I am lucky but a part of me neglects that fact.

Of all people who were lucky to have a dad and of all young girls, I think that I’m more a scullery maid than a princess.

Perhaps it’s really the culture here in the country that I belong to that I am expected to be a wonder woman in keeping the house than a sophisticated young lady. At my age, girls are bound to be a wise housekeeper and cook. Everyday is a war between me and the house that takes a hurricane to manage. (Maybe this is me being a complainy bitch more than a writer). But yeah, it’s a struggle for a highly exposed (to technology, of course) young woman that I am.

Maybe I think this way because I grew up too early knowing all these everyday tasks even though I have yet to perfect them. I guess I did grow up pretty fast that I know I can manage knowing them but still, I find myself yearning for other things that I know I’d surely enjoy doing. Yeah, maybe that’s what’s going on,

I know I am capable of doing my housework. [Yay] BUT— I know I’m too much of an outgoing person to be cooped up in a place where I cannot really extend myself enough to be genuinely productive. If anything, productivity matters to me because I really like getting things done. I also like to think that I have my own system. And by that I mean a “messy system” quite similar to what we call “working mess.” Perchance we can all agree that as we are all different, we all possess various types of sense of organization as well. And I believe in that.

Now what makes this conflicted is that I am actually “weird.” Mind you, I’m not saying this like I’m a mainstream-ish hipster kind of weird but I am my own brand of weird which means I’m quite different from others, especially my exceptionally typical family of different species of humans.

I think I appear to be overly descriptive and exaggerated for wording that out. But I guess I could save myself from that judgment since I can justify that it’s true. We’re a whole bunch of different and I’m unfortunately fortunate to be a mish-mash of all those different in one human skeleton. [Hi!]

Here comes the real issue: I feel like I am misunderstood by the people I live with. It appears that my working mess does not seem to compliment my very own environment. And it is concerning to see how I don’t seem to feel satisfied because the people that I do these daily tasks for don’t appear happy with the work that I do. It does not feel adequately satisfying either. Everything just seems to be tolerable but never genuinely good enough; especially when I start to hear my father’s comments about exactly every little thing that he does and does not see about the work that I contribute in this household.

Perhaps you might find this issue being repeatedly posted in this blog. I can fairly declare that it actually is a daily struggle among other upbringings that I do have. Nevertheless, I think I’ll not shut up nor stop crying about this until I finally find answers why such events do occur in my extraordinarily odd life.

The Downsides of Knowing

The Downsides of Knowing

PRIMETIME FAVORITE “FOREVERMORE” VS. “STATE OF THE NATION WITH JESSICA SOHO.” Well, guess what? I would side on “Forevermore,” of course. I have justifiable reasons, trust me. I’d probably even sound like an activist upon stating my concerns. But at this moment, my points don’t seem to matter after my father just snatched the remote control from me. “Go buy your own tv,” he said.

Maybe he did have the right to talk like that given that he is the elder of this household and  that he bought the god damned tv. But that is not the point. Everyday, I watch him complain a lot whilst watching tv or eating dinner or doing both… Whatever. Now what do I want to say? Simple. What is the point of knowing details from A-Z about every little thing that goes on in this planet; let alone every single Filipino in the universe? Whatever happened to NOT beating around the bush? Whatever happened to avoiding excessive repitition? How is that responsible journalism? Or if the first few questions are irrelevant, then what is the point of people having to keep tuned in so much (stupid question, I know but let me finish) when most of the time, everyone just KNOWS. Nobody acts. In the end, you’d only give a few fucks for a moment and next thing you know, it’s like it didn’t even happen.

This is negative Filipino ethnocentrism. This is false nationalism. This is abusive patriotism. Bottomline: It’s stupidity.

Granted. Issues such as human trafficking, drug trafficking, corruption, deceit and all that shit is real and relevant. They happen every single day. I can never describe enough the pain, the anguish and all the hurt that victims experience in my every waking moment. For all I know it’s tormenting. It’s torture beyond imagination. And I can never directly do anything about it other than pray. I don’t know about anyone else but I pray. I pray because I care.

I do because even though I don’t know as much as everyone else does, I just genuinely care. But I know I’d still get questioned about why I’d still choose a product of pop culture over… well, news. I’d still choose it because it’s so relatable I know I’d act on it. Perhaps it’s just another rip-off love story but I relate to it and I get entertained so much I’m prompted to act on my amusement of it.

Either way I can act on my getting to be informed by both media. But I would rather go for one that I would garner me more concrete results while I show my remorse for this God forsaken country no matter how hopeless it seems.

Now. I dare you. Whichever you tune in, make it worth while. Be productive and make something out of what you learn everyday. Because otherwise you become the side effect of just knowing.

“Ang Yesterday ay hindi Tomorrow”

“Ang Yesterday ay hindi Tomorrow”

Time heals all wounds as per the old legend/proverb/saying/myth says and I am reduced to say, “Hell yeah. Sayonara, sucker!”

It’s been a year since my break-up. [You heard it right. Break-up. And I think I can state it clear here that I used to be one biter-ass-bitch because years after writing with wishful thinking and blind imagination about love and the pains that comes with it, I can finally write with real experiences in check. ] If you had been reading all my entries here, it would not be so hard to surmise how lovesick and heartbroken I was. The world was a difficult prick to me. Everything nice became everything dull and all things awesome became… Huh. I don’t know.

“All forces of the universe connived to make me the saddest little college girl in the world.” At least, that’s how things were in my head. I hardly hung out with my best buddies for a semester due to schedule differences. The first three months of the fall was all about “me, my ex and my ex’s new girl trying to be friends.” I spent my birthday wallowing in misery with my bestfriends; I didn’t even know I was actually depressed. And there went a month of two-way commute with “The Last Five Years” on loop.

Until I finally learned to keep my priorities in check. Until I decided to devote my time in the arts. Until I found myself determined to move on and make new memories so much awesomer than how I first wanted things to be.

Young adults like us when trapped in sudden realizations in the middle of college, would just hit us and go, “Damn. This is so not how I pictured things to be.” And then one by one, we’d find ourselves rehashing every single hope and dream we’ve carved in our very hearts. In time, as we get over the fact that we have lost time in trying too hard to have fun and be reckless and be young, wild and free… we rebuild our hearts. We find new dreams. Dreams that are sure to come true. Dreams with game-plans, instructions and all that is in between.

By then, we just notice that we’re flying again. Slowly but surely, we get to touch and feel the clouds drifting against our cheeks and everything would just feel unreal. All the while we feel uneasy and insecure for anything that might cut off our wings and lead to another letdown.

But this makes us strong and invincible at the end of the day: all the battle scars and broken bones. But you know what? It’s been a year and I’m in a much better place now. I guess, that’s all that matters.