I’m a work in progress

Don’t get me wrong, but this is something that is yet to survive. And this writing will be my proof of progression. This will not end, for this too is a work in progress. 

Emotions were peaking recently, dwelling into two, extreme sadness and sadness, no in-between. I don’t know where to pick up my first broken piece, maybe it’s scattered all over the place, torn in a million possible ways. I don’t know. I admit, I’m lost again, I’m feeling stagnant again, no better word would make me believe in life again. Maybe today is just like the other day, I think I want to die again, yet here I am, writing all the lost words I can’t seem to find. 

Bearing all these familiar feelings I can’t seem to explain. But I felt empty. 


For the longest time. 

An open letter to the dandelions

You always told me to write something beautiful, to merit the small happy things around me, and focus on the positive side. To just always be grateful for everything that had happened despite it all. To give significance to a tiny amount of light there is every sundown. Honestly, you’re one of the few people that shows up to my mind whenever I’m happy. You suddenly become a part of it. There may be times that I might be a different and difficult person, but there is no time that I did mean to leave. 

I truly want to be with you anywhere in between, somewhere in the middle of stepping back and stepping ahead.  Somewhere safe, somewhere near you, and somewhere within reach. This walk with you is winding, it’s like growing roses despite of the storm yet I still want to be part of it.

I want to cherish every moment with you, I want to hear you sing every night, your voice is just so magical that it would calm all my worries. Your smile is just too beautiful that it could give me delight.

All the nonsense talk we spent over the internet, interchanging background and effects seem to be coming together to fix all my distress. Sometimes I ask, what did I do in the past to deserve all these including you. I am just thankful for having you, for your understanding and care. You may be my calm and my thunder all at once, my depression and anti-depressant but one thing I’m sure, you will always be that happy part of me I would not dare trade to any kind. 

I’m lucky I met you and I want you to know just how great I think you are. 

And of all TS songs there is, I would gladly dedicate ”Daylight” to you.

The rains on Cornelia Street

How do I start? What word should I say first? I don’t know, everything is just so messed up, no matter how hard you keep your balance, from work and dealing with your issues. One day you’re happy the next morning you can’t seem to wake up. The gravity is just pulling you so hard, you can’t seem to fight back. You just give away yourself and lie in bed the whole day. Doing nothing, just feeling the pain until it’s all gone. 

The clouds started to pour rain on me and I’ve got nothing to protect myself from it. I’ve been soaked by it and neither I am complaining. It is what it is, sadly it happened too soon. 

If only part of my brain could erase a core memory, I would gladly erase every part that you’re in it. Temporarily vanished, perish and just go away. 

You wanted me to be happy again, you gave me breather so I can be me again, and I was so enchanted by that. I really am. I was amazed and surprised for all the good things that you do to me, how can I possibly let go all of those? 

And now, slowly by slowly, the reality is here. Just me, alone. But I am not complaining. It just, my memory pops up a scene every corner of everywhere. 




So tell me, where are these rains coming from? Is it from my memory or my reality? 

I can’t tell apart, everything is surreal right now. The pain, I don’t know, maybe it would heal itself in time. The rain, I know it would stop, but it just kept raining everywhere I go. 

And soon, when all else is fine, I’d still hope that you’d bring an umbrella with you. 

Incognito X Unnamed

She told the stars about you, the winds about you, the seas about you. And then one day, she stopped telling stories about them. She ceased looking at the vague sky counting all the constellations, ended trying to reach the closest star hoping it would give her the answer. Her sky full of stars began to dim, gradually receding into the unknown. 

Into misery. 

Into being left out. 

She then asked, does the moon ever felt tired of all the questions being thrown at him? Or, does he ever cried for all the sad stories he listened?

As she glared above, no matter how bright the twilight, all she see was dark. The once purple pink sky turned into two toned hue. That’s when she knew she was not feeling all right. 

But at least she tried. 

She yearned to give notice to what is important. To be brave and not to simply tag along. To quit dancing along with a song, to oppose the theatrical. To simply end. 

Does she matter? 

Of course she does. But her intentions are just so pure to be the second person playing the tug of war. To be the one pulling the other end is just tiring when she now knew that no matter how hard she would pull, none of this would matter in the end. She’s just worn out in believing into a different version of come what may, she wanted sure. 

Because she didn’t come to play. 

And then one day, when everything will fall into place again, she will definitely starts talking with the stars, talks with the wind, talks with the seas, that’s when she knew she starts anew and is brave to begin again. 

Something that is to be continued, something that is more like us

Never have I ever imagined that I would be writing something to someone except you. All my life, I thought you are the only person worthy of my words, the only person whom I’d write about. 

Until distance happened and a familiar feeling from the past became obsolete. 

I asked myself, what did I do? 

Ours was restricted yet so special that we can’t let go of each other despite the unknowns and the bends over. 


I find myself looking for more, more of some kind that you cannot afford to give. The distance between us is screaming at me, so loud that I cannot bear not to listen. I tried to keep and defend what was left, but I didn’t see you doing the same. And then I realized I became the person I did not imagine I’d become. 

I stopped looking for you and started glaring for someone near, able to be fondled in. I paused wishing that one day we will be spending our days again. I halted yearning for better days with you. 

I simply just quit.

Not because of me, not because of you, not because of someone else.


Alam mo yung sa dami ng gusto mong isulat wala ka ng masimulan.

Sa dami ng nangyari hindi mo alam kung san ka magsisimula

Kung uumpisahan mo ba sa mga unang halik, sa mga unang yakap at unang pagtitiwala

O kung magsisimula ka sa mga panahong una mong naramdaman yung sakit

Una mong pagluha o doon sa una mong pagtanggap muli sa kanya.

Ang hirap, alam mo yung mahirap? 

Yung andun ka pa rin

Na sa dami ng nangyari andun ka parin, nakatunganga, nag-aabang kung kelan ka yayakapin muli. 

Pero ang sabi mo sa mga tala, sumusuko ka na. 

Pero nakailang suko ka na ba?

At sa bawat pagsuko naka-ilang balik ka? 

Pero marahil ngayong gabi ang pinaka matapang na ikaw, 

Na kahit alam mong bukas ay aalis na siya hindi ka parin gumagalaw. 

Na sa bawat gabi na siya ang katabi

At sa bawat araw na nasisilayan mo ang bawat niyang mga ngiti

Alam mong siya pa din, kahit ganon siya, alam mong siya padin.

Pero matapang ka na. 

Sapat na sayo ang apat na taon na pagyakap sa kanya, 

Lasing man o hindi

Tulog man o gising,

Nagkakape man o kumakain, 

Pasahero mo man o pasahero ka niya, 

Nakapambahay man o naka uniporme

Tumatawa man o umiiyak, 

Sumasayaw man o kumakanta, 

Lahat lahat ng nga bagay na yun gusto mong kalimutan pero hindi mo pa kaya. 

Hindi mo pa kaya kasi mahal mo pa. Mahal mo pa kasi mahal mo na. 

Untitled X Unfinished

I wanted to write something about you, something that would somehow depicts the story of us but I always ran out of phrases. I always end up writing so many first paragraphs with no endings, so many emotions that I cannot write. 

Maybe, our story is not really meant to be written and told. A tale that no one is supposed to know. 

But as I slowly closed my eyes your soft snore deliberately became my lullaby. 

Your warm caress suddenly became my dwelling. 

Most of the time my mind wanders, thinking about so many little things that are just so pure and moments that are just so priceless that I would not dare trade for any kind.

And when I lay my eyes on you, it became so shy that it could not find the courage to keep on. 

Sometimes I asked, where do all those pretty words go? Why is it so hard for me to be putting all those figures of speech? 

Why can I not write about you when all that there is for me to write is you? 

Maybe, my heart is just shy telling me that you matter, that no circumstance from the past would change how I feel about you. 

Certainly, our story is not for everyone to know and ours will always be a secret I’d rather not tell to preserve its magic.

Perhaps the reason why can’t I write, is because beautiful words are hard to find and beautiful stories are hard to tell. 

And ours is just like that, untitled and unfinished. 

And so she left

Why do we give up on people we thought we can not afford to lose? Why do we stop loving someone whom we thought we can not unloved? Why do we avoid a person with whom we thought we’d be spending our lives forever? 

The fact is, we are hurting. 

The kind of hurt that even love can not confront. 

But the cuts are profound suffering long-buried before pain became inevitable. Maybe the skies just want us to wake up from daydreaming that one day this person will return all the love that we gave. Or maybe the stars just want to put an extra shine for us to see what the real score is. But we were blinded, blinded by our soft hearts believing in countless chances. Wishing that this person will see us the way we see them, but after so many years, we were still not worthy of the risk. 

We got tired of deeming for the unknown, our faith undermined by the truth that is there already. The truth that after everything that we have done we are still no-good of that long shot. 

We got tired of waiting for them to love us back, tired of fixing all those broken pieces by someone they loved and so they came running towards us, only making us their haven after being crumpled like a piece of a scratch. 

We got tired of believing that one day this person will make us believe that there is joy in waiting. That this person will see us differently. 

We got tired of accepting them over and over again, hoping that they’d accept us too. 

We got tired of all those memories we held, of all those shared moments that only the twilight can justify. 

We got tired of those morning breaths that puffs our ears that could magically adds energy to our mornings. 

We got tired of those tight hugs that were so astonishing that could erase our somnolence. 

We got tired of listening to those empty words uttered while being alone with that person under the midnight sky.

We got off all the false hopes and dreams and expectations and everything in between. We eventually woke up and finally see the big picture of reality that somehow we are just part of their waiting game. 

We are waiting for them while they are waiting for someone, not us. 

And waiting for this person to make us happy and reciprocate the love that we gave is the best way to be sad. 

And we don’t want to be sad, but we want them to be happy. 

And so we leave.

If you are doubting yourself, don’t

I am at my weakest, all that there is in me is giving up. I cannot bear the weight in my shoulder. I cannot live a life that is heavy, I cannot live a day that is dark.

This is not me. I may have panic attacks but this is not me.

I seldom see myself alone with my deep thoughts. I was a happy person I used to be like that.

But life happened and adulthood hit me hard, knees started to tremble, I fear the winds that I cannot surpass. Chaotic things kept on reappearing and aiming at me, whispering that no matter what I do, I will forever be a failure because I was born that way.

I worked harder, planned smarter and implemented better. I did all my best. But a big voice shouts at me, yelling and pointing a finger at me, “You cannot do that because you’re weak”

Was I?
I asked myself.

Often times, we tend to forget that no one is allowed to devalue us, to engrave negative words inside us. That no matter who they are we should not let them destroy us.

Let us all go back to the person that we wanted to become. Harsh words can be everywhere, but also kindness.

Imagine throwing a dream just because someone says you toss it away. And that you need to let it go because no matter how hard you work for it you can never achieve it because you were born a loser.

Imagine redefining a life you thought you already had just because someone says you are not destined to live that life.

Imagine resetting your sail, hoping that your ship could outdo big winds amidst someone who says you can never sail a boat.

Imagine a world full of bright colors but is slowly turning into two toned hue just because someone says you are not deserving of the beautiful shades.

Imagine leaving a delightful place just because someone says it was a mistake that took you there.

Imagine a woman who fears to quit but is already a quitter because someone says that she should.

I hope I didn’t disappoint you. I hope you don’t get mad, just because I didn’t stand my ground doesn’t mean I had to stop. I can always start from somewhere; I can always take a step even if it means that I had to crawl.

In this phase of conquest I have realized, losing can also mean you win at something.

You win at greater things in life.

You start to dream bigger, slowly by slowly you gain your self-confidence again.

One thing or another, a tap in the back can really mean a lot.

Of kiss, love and tequila

In a society that encourages young men and women to find an instant lover, dating has become less intimate. Kissing has gained a little less of its meaning, holding hands can easily be falsified and sex has become nothing but a throwaway.

In the rise of Tinder and Facebook Dating, more and more people had changed their status into an open relationship where both parties can always chose whether to add another inside the relationship or to continue being loyal and faithful.

As far as my age would go, being able to consider myself as a millennial, I have seen a lot of changes that are surfacing in front of me, friends can certainly find a partner in a split second and being able to replace an ex-lover has become easy while finding true love has turn into a tight spot.

In this phase of change, cuddling has grown its gist.
It became the new intimate, the newfangled variation of love, respect and admiration.
Its meaning has upsurge its power over a fake love making, over an imitation of love.

Cuddling has become the new home for those who are dearly in love with each other; it also has become the new face of true love, of tenderness and an act of dependability and trust.

While this one is being commended, the act of love making must continue to be one of the most valuables a woman can give to her man and a man to her woman.

No amount of cuddles could replace the weight of a love making, only when the act is honest and faithful.

But as of this writing, I prefer a shot of tequila over a warm cuddle and a fake love making.