Browse Category by Prose
365, Prose, Writings

On Dreams and Happiness

I find myself lost in between juggling my life, my dreams, and my happiness. And I don’t know what to do. Is this all there is? The things I do that makes me happy are not exactly the things that this world would applaud for, and the things I do to make my life seems worth it are not exactly the the things that makes me happy. And my dreams, I think I have it all wrong. And I think, is this my dream before? Why do I feel stuck now, and why does doing this dream does not make me happy anymore. Is this all there is to it?  At what point can I throw the white towels away and say I quit? At what point can I let go? At what point is it enough to let go? Should I even let go when I haven’t even begun? Is that even called letting go when my heart isn’t even into it anymore?

At what point can I stop chasing my dreams and not regret it one day?

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365, Prose, Writings

Discernment

Have you ever been in a situation when everyone is doing something over and over again that it already becomes the norm, but something deep within you just makes doing that thing feels off? Yet almost everyone is doing it and they make it look like that it’s the right thing to do? Sometimes the difficulty is not doing the right thing but knowing what is the right thing. When face in this situation, ask yourself, “Does doing this thing pleases the world, or does it pleases God?”

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365, Prose, Writings

I can’t remember his face anymore

I can’t remember his face anymore, nor how his voice sounds. I used to wish for this, to forget, to not remember, and now that I finally can’t, I do not know what to make of it, or what to feel. I’m not happy nor sad. I just feel lost. A little bit confused. Like I’m grasping the last piece of memories I have with him but I just couldn’t bring it forth to my mind, and no matter how hard I think of him, or how long I take a look at a picture of him, when I close my eyes, I just… can’t. I can’t remember his face anymore.

//excerpt from a book i’ll never write #29

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365, Prose, Writings

Look closely

It’s easy to admire anything from up above, or when things aren’t within your reach, or when everything is far away, at a distant, especially when it is impossible. It’s easy to fall in love with things that we do not know, with people we cannot reach, with people out of our leagues. But look closely, always look closely, and ask yourself, will you still love her when you see the freckles on her cheeks, and the scars on her wrist? Will you still admire her when she wakes up crying and screaming at the middle of the night, with her dreams impossibly monstrous and cruel? Will you still like her when she stammers as she talks, when her confidence begins to fade, and doubts begin to cloud her eyes? Will you still love her then? Because really, it’s easier to fall in love with our imagination, of what seems to be, than when we are face with reality.

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365, Prose, Writings

Why do you write sad things?

“Why do you write sad things?” is one of the hardest questions I’ve always been asked.

How could I answer that? How could I tell you that all I have is sadness, and all I can share to the world is sadness? How could I tell you that every time I get a little glimpse of happiness, I always just save it for myself, keeping it close to my heart, memorizing every details and feelings, and not writing it down because writing it down feels a lot like giving it away, like I am letting that little happiness go. How could I tell you that I write sad things to purge it out from my system? That it is impossible to write sad things without sadness consuming you to the core to the point that all you can do is to bleed it out on the paper. How could I tell you that? That I write sad things to let it out, hoping that one day it would never come back, that maybe one day, I will finally succeed in writing all my sadness away.

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365, Prose, Writings

We are the girls who kiss wolves

We are the girls who kiss wolves, who train foxes hoping we could tame their hearts, hoping we could train them not to leave us, we are the girls who kiss imperfections that cannot be salvage, hoping that our goodness is enough to shed light to darkest and dirtiest part of a human soul. We are the girls who played with fire, burn our tongues and lungs, hoping that the smoke of our ashes will serve as a sign that even when you turn into dust and ash, your cries and pleas will still rise up to the heavens, a ghost of a smoke rising above the forest, guiding the lost souls in the right direction. We are the girls who sing with the wind and dance to a rhythm no one else could hear, who let dangers swirl on our palm,  seep on our veins, and swim on our bloodstreams.

We are the girls who wouldn’t kiss frogs hoping they would turn into a prince, because we are the girls who make changes to this upside down world.

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365, Prose, Writings

Learnings

Whenever I do things, I always want to do my best, and not just do my best, but to be the best. I’m ambitous, sometimes a little bit egocentric and narcissistic. I remember my kindergarten teacher describing me to my mom as the girl who always wanted to be the best, to be the first in everything, the one who dreams of being known and famous, that little terrible girl who has ambitions flowing through her veins. As I grew up, I learned that the world is hard, difficult, and not everything comes in a wave of a hand. That most of the times, you really have to work and fight for the things that you want, and sometimes, even if you did your best, your best would still not be enough. But the most important thing that I realized is that being famous or being known by everyone does not equate success. Those are just numbers. A sea of people I wouldn’t know firsthand even if it happens. I realized that I only wanted to be famous in the hearts of the people I love, to be known by the inspiration I give to their dreams, and to the strangers I unknowingly help along the way, and to be at least be a temporary relief in any way to the people who have aching pain in their souls.

//excerpt from a book i’ll never write #28

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