What should I do,
when your laughter is my regret,
when your peace is my agitation,
when your love is my destruction?
You asked me one time what do I need. And I almost said it to you right there and then. That what I need most is the power not to break, the power not to break under pressure, under love, under your heated gaze. The power not to break whenever you walk away from me, or whenever you’re near me, or whenever you hurt me with your words and with your stupid actions and inactions. The power to walk away from you and never look back. The power to never fall in your arms again every time you came back.
The power to still this treasonous, treacherous heart of mine.
To say I don’t love you anymore and mean it this time.
//excerpts from a book i’ll never write #30
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?
I scream to the walls that binds me up,
I claw at its surface until my fingernails snap,
I cover it with blood, my only lifeline,
Then I realize it is me who’s been keeping it up.
So I dig below until I get out,
Out of the walls that keep me out,
Of peoples lives and peoples buzz,
And I see the sunlight for the first time.
I breathe the air that suffocates me before,
It didn’t change apart from how I view things now,
The air that used to kill me, now brings me life,
I’m glad I tear the walls down.
//an old post of mine 😊
Why is it whenever you walk out of the door,
my heart breaks into tiny little pieces,
my energy dipping way colder
than the antarctic ocean,
and I get this gnawing feeling,
at the pit of my stomach,
telling me that it is really me,
and my life,
that you’re walking out of.
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?”
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
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.
“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.
Saan nga ba tayo patutungo
Mula pag gising sa umaga,
hanggang sumapit ang takip silim,
Tila baga ang buhay ay isang lamang mahabang paglalakbay
Lakad dito, lakad doon
Sakay dito, sakay doon
Paulit ulit na gawi sa inaraw araw na ginawa ng Diyos,
Hindi ka ba napapagod?
Kasi ako napapagod na.
Isang mukha, ikaw, ako, sa milyong milyong tao na narito sa mundo,
Tila ba isang lamang tayong patak ng tubig sa gitna ng karagatan,
Or isang buhangin sa kalawakan ng kalupaan
Mukha na maaring nakasalubong mo na ngunit hindi matandaan,
Isang mukha na madaling makalimutan,
O kaya naman, sinadyang kalimutan.
Saan nga ba tayo patutungo?
Ang buhay ba natin ay masusukat sa distansya ng ating nalakbay?
Or sa bawat taon na tinatakbo ng ating buhay?
Ikaw? Saan ka patutungo?
Hindi ka ba napapagod?
Kasi ako, napapagod na.
*my first tagalog and spoken word poetry! check out the vlog i made.
I’ll try to do english next time. 😊
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.
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
If it’s true that we photograph the things that we are afraid to lose, then it’s saddening to think that maybe this generation, the so-called selfie generation, aren’t really just a bunch of narcissitic fools and attention seeking people, but rather a bunch of individuals afraid to lose themselves. Isn’t it disheartening? That in this age of technology and fast communication gateways, there are more and more individuals that capture their own photos to preserve and have memories of who they are.