Prose, Writing Entries, Writings


I’m memorizing every contours of your face,
Like a blind girl tracing her fingers on a braille,
I’m memorizing how your voice sounds
And how it tinkers when you laugh,
I’m commiting to memory every facet and feature of you
For I know our days won’t last
And I’m just that kind of girl
Who keeps on forgetting
her ex-lovers faces and names
So when that time comes
When our ways will part
I hope I’ll have enough memories of you
Tucked in my mind and my heart,
memories, I will never


Prose, Writings


His lips traces tiny little kisses on her shoulder down to her spine, waking her up in her sleep and making her feel light-headed with bliss, and for a moment she believes that this could be real.

Yet when she falls back into sleep and into her dreams, and as soon as the sun rises and touches the edges of her curtains, all his traces are gone.


Prose, Writings

On In-betweens and Coffee Talks


If we were having coffee, I will you tell how it feels like. I will tell you how I’m constantly torn between two polar opposites of almost everything. Between dreams and reality. Between what my mind wants and what my heart wants. Between light and darkness. Between happiness and sadness. Between exposing my soul and keeping up with this world’s facade. Between hiding myself and being recognized. Between trying to live and wanting to die. Between putting up a brave face, keeping up the fight, or letting it all go down the drain. It’s as if there’s two different people in me with different and separate interest and there are no middle grounds and in-betweens where I could safely put up a white flag for a moment and tell myself, or this two polarity in me, “hey this is where we will rest, this where we will meet in between and discuss things peacefully and make good amends between our conflicting wants and needs.”

If we were having coffee, I will tell you that I’m trying to find the gray areas even though all I see is black and white. That sometimes I’m losing my hope, but I’m still trying to keep afloat. That sometimes the feeling of drowning and not going back to the surface feels better than the chaos of feelings that is constantly happening within me whenever I resurface. But I’m still trying. I’m still trying because as much as there are dark days, I’ve experienced good days, when the sun seems to shine brighter than before, and I forget all about what’s bothering me before.

If we were having coffee, I will tell you that on good days, it’s as if none of the dark days happened, like it never really happened at all. Even if it did, even if I have experienced it first hand and it consumed all my being at that moment. I would not be able to think of it, and I could not even bring it to mind even if I want. That’s how it is. On good days, it’s as if I’m the sun and nothing, not even the clouds, could dim my light. No amount of darkness could touch me. I am invincible. While on dark days, it’s as if I am the moon and I have just this limited light in me to shine on myself, and to you, and to others, and I am surrounded by everything that is dark so all I could think of is dark, and I’ve never even know what a bright day might look like.

And if we were having coffee, I will tell you this. That right at this moment, I’m standing on my gray area. That I found that writing is one of my in-betweens, and reading too, and sleeping. And you have nothing to worry about. 🙂

– – –

Sidenote: I have recently imported my blog from to here. Yey! Unfortunately, all the likes and some of the comments are not captured from my previous blog. 🙁 I tell you, life is so much easier with free wordpress! What have I gotten into. 😀 Anyway, I’m still tweaking things so please bear with me and hang on.

Poetry, Writing Entries, Writings

A Heart Full

I carry within me a heart full
of stories and magic and new beginnings,
a heart full of hope and trust
and of love that never knows how to fade nor end.

So when you’ve grown weary and tired
of this world’s never ending charades
when putting on your daily mask
became too much to bear,

Remember me
For I shall carry yours within mine
and I’ll lend you mine
when yours start to fail.


Poetry, Writing Entries, Writings


When you did your best
but your best is not enough
When you pour your life and blood and insides out
and you sacrifice everything else
and it is still not enough
When every step up is two steps down
and everything you do is an uphill trudge.

Shouldn’t it be something like
Do your best and everything else will turn out okay?
Yet life doesn’t seem to work that way

Suddenly you found life has its own rules
and regulations
that you are not aware of,
and pitstops
and hidden tunnels
and sinking holes
that you never sign up for.

I’m confused, you say.
How did everything turn out like this?
It used to be rainbows and fairs
and cotton candies and laughters that
never seem to end.
When did the rules change?
Now everything else you do
seems to turn into ashes
and dust moats
and a pile of stinking garbage
for the future generations to tread on.

Why did everything change?, you asked
but no answers came,
just the sound of the howling wind passing by
and with every minute
that ticks
and tocks
you are left with a growing anxiety
that never stops.


– – –

In response to Daily Post: Confused and Inspiration Monday: Dust Moat


Love, Lies, and Spies by Cindy Anstey: A Book Review

Love, Lies, and Spies by Cindy Anstey

Love, Lies, and Spies
is a debut novel of Cindy Anstey, a love story set on the nineteenth century London.

Back book cover plot:

Juliana Telford isn’t your ordinary nineteenth-century lady. She’s more interested in publishing her research on ladybugs than in marriage or fashionable dresses.

Spencer Northam isn’t your ordinary nineteenth-century gentleman. He’s a spy for the War Office on his first mission. But when Spencer’s assignment involves keeping an eye on the lovely Juliana and her friends, their plans for a season without romance are unapologetically foiled.

Continue Reading

Prose, Random Thoughts, Writing Entries, Writings

Explaining sadness

It is the feeling of tiredness that creeps on you even if you haven’t done anything all day long. It is the crying spells that overtakes you when you are finally left all alone after a long day of pretending to be okay. It is the waking up every 2AM with your thoughts all jumbled up and morose. It is the desire to sleep all the time, to stubbornly stay on bed, and be continually lost in dreams that never makes sense. It is wanting to be somewhere that isn’t really here on the here and now. It is the staring contest at the ceiling, when you finally found a temporary peace in finding no thoughts, no chaos, no feelings, just a deep hollowed numbness at the center of your being.

Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Dreams and Coffee Talks

If we were having coffee, I would tell you about my dreams. I would tell you how I used to dream of being in a circus surrounded by lively music and people wearing colorful dresses and tunics, people that work together and bonded as family. I would tell you I dreamed of being a trapeze artist, always up high in the air, flying from loops to loops, light as air, and feet never touching the ground. I would tell you that I love heights. I love the feeling of falling and the feeling of excitement and hope it gives me, the hope that maybe when I jump, this time I would fly.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that maybe I have a gypsy soul in me, the kind that can read palms and sees the future, the kind that is affected by the moon’s waxing and waning, the kind that would kiss a stranger because she has already met him in one of her dreams.

If we were having coffee, I would also tell you that I grew up shy, that I have soft bones, loose joints, and weak heart, and I am affected by loud noises and music. I would also tell you that my dreams are mostly nightmares, that my moods are worsts than the moon, and that I have seen him in my dreams, but when I met him, he’s already kissing someone else.

Prose, Writings

Hearts and Empires

“What are you about?” she asked.
“Conquering empires and lands,” he said proudly. “And you little miss?”
“Nothing much,” she said sighing. “Just conquering hearts.”


The time we went to Sky Ranch and became kids again

My friend Aiko and I are fond of trying Metro Deal vouchers (who doesn’t?). So one fine day, we decided to try the Ride-all-you-can day pass at Sky Ranch Tagaytay priced at P350. Continue Reading


My first take on Solo Traveling: Puerto Galera (Part 2)

Cynthia Goes Online |

You could check the first part of my journey here, if you haven’t read it yet.

Upon arrival on White Beach, the same local who accompanied me to Natividad suggested some activities I could do and places I could visit. Since the beach won’t go anywhere, I decided to try her suggested activities. Continue Reading


My first take on Solo Traveling: Puerto Galera (Part 1)

Cynthia Goes Online |
White Beach, Puerto Galera

I love solitude, but I was never the type of person to travel alone.

Solo traveling seems daunting at first. You have to plan it all by yourself: where to go, how to get there, where to stay, where and what to eat, the itinerary and activities you have to do, and how you can go back again safely at the comforts of your home. Continue Reading

Prose, Random Thoughts, Writing Entries, Writings


“Let me get lost.”

There is a desire that resides deep within her soul to run away. To escape to an unknown future. To wander around eternally, without destination, without home in sight.

It is always there just beneath her skin, humming in her veins, vibrating on her bones, just barely on the back of her mind, always within grasp.

To carve a new path. To start a new adventure, a new life. To change her name, her looks, her identity, and personality. To forget. To go somewhere where no one knows her. To start all over again. To never look back.

To never get back.


Prose, Random Thoughts, Writing Entries, Writings

Breaking the curse: Learning how to write again

Stutter those words.

I could feel the words rising on the tip of my tongue only for it to vanish on the thin air.

Two years ago, I could spin and weave words and write with such an ease that looking back now, I wonder how I did it.

Yet two years ago, I also killed my muse.

Pain and heartbreak can make you do that.

Not knowing then that I am destroying and killing an integral part of me: the part of me that allows me to write, and view the word in colored lens made of words, and images and visions, crafted together by phrases and syllables, and punctuation, and sealed permanent with ink (or sometimes, with hitting that Publish button).

Now, I feel like I am back on being a toddler on its first word, learning again how to talk, and connect words in such a way that it brings harmony to my all too incoherent thoughts.

Stutter those words.

Type it down. Backspace. Type it again.

I could feel the words rising on the tip of my tongue, pressing down on my fingers. I was able to catch two or three words in the air, enough for me to finish this post.

Prose, Random Thoughts, Writings


We, always, always, always have a choice. No matter how much other people or circumstances try to convince you otherwise, do not for a single second believe that you don’t have one.

In reality, I have to remind myself of this truth everyday. That I have a choice. That right at this moment, I am choosing this. And at any moment, I can unchoose this too.

And you can unchoose this too.