i collect my myriad thoughts at midnight and stash them in my left pocket.

      i am an organized catastrophe in the hours that i lay awake with my eyes open. my mind swirls and ideas beam nonchalantly as if internal destruction is a very shallow thing. i may have felt every bit of sentiment in this confusing carousel ride that we call “life”, but i am not naïve; i am positively aware that i can redeem my way up again and effortlessly lead my strangled self in a maze that i know i can pass through.

      i always thought that i was a puppet of my own maelstrom of emotions. i can hardly believe that i am still surviving despite it all. i see turbulent pathways of incandesence– that’s where i’m headed. i’m going to shine so bright that the sun will take a step back to personally greet me. i have dreams that are buried beneath the molecular composition of stars. i can do this, i have to do this, i will do this. 

      there’s no point in making an explosion that the world can witness, only to refuse lighting the sparks in the middle of the spectacle.

      (seize it. every moment of your life is yours.)


The Drunken Girl Inside

She wasn’t planning on meeting him tonight.
Her plans involved having a cozy Monday afternoon with her friends, catching up and doing the stuff they loved doing together. But life has a creative way of ruining plans. After hours of getting ready, she headed down to the mall and was the last one to arrive; unsurprisingly late. She met her friends at a familiar chicken restaurant and was convinced that she’ll go home early tonight. In the middle of their lengthy and juicy conversations, she was occasionally holding up her white feature phone to check if there was any message from him. There always was. That made her smile. So even though she wasn’t with him, she was all right.


“Now…?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said loudly. The speakers were booming in the background. “They want to meet you.”

“I’ll be there in less than an hour,” he said.

And so he arrived.
On the way home, he was gently holding her wrist the entire time. She was the talker and she talked about everything. He was steadying her when she can’t walk straight, sliding his hand down the arch of her back, guiding her, as they were walking along the pavement.

She couldn’t remember most of what happened (mostly because she got drunk). But what she could remember is him being there for her when she needed someone to take her home, him being the one who bought her favorite popcorn because she was kinda talking about it nonstop and him being the companion that she was lucky enough to have.

They halted in front of a small lilac gate. He looked at her, unappeased, but baffled by the sight of the woman standing in front of her. She was messy, but she was his. He leaned over to kiss her forehead.

“Goodnight,” he told her.

Before she closed the door, she was looking at him leave.
“Damn! I am a lucky bitch,” the drunken girl inside her said.


(image from: https://weheartit.com/entry/133173705)

Stages of Being Jelly

These stages apply to any relationship. They are arranged from calm to explosive. In this, you will be able to distinguish what kind of a jealous person you are based on the examples. Please be true to yourself. It is okay to feel things, you human. We all feel a little jealous sometimes.

STAGE 1 – The Bones That Are Made of Calm

The first stage is like the final stop of jealousy joy ride in a relationship. In here, you have already set everything free. You have feelings, but jealousy isn’t one of them anymore. You are calm. You are free. This stage is marked with the full potential of trust. This stage is also called as, “The Prestigious Stage of Nirvana.” Hallelujah, commitment is the key!

STAGE 2 – Almost There, But Not Quite

You have calmed your tits down. Your tight hold has loosened up now; you are beginning to trust your partner more. If it’s a friend, then he/she is now allowed to hang out with other friends without you feeling bad about it once in a while. This is the start of something new . . . you are slowly becoming aware of the fact that they love you, they really do. They just need some time with other friends, too.

STAGE 3 – The Silent Treatment Is a Façade

Lock the doors.
This is it.
“Hi, I am in no position to be jealous, but I am. Go; marry the person you chose to be with instead of me. Live a happy life, ok? No, I’m not jealous. But I hope you break your neck or something. Yes, I’m sure I’m not jealous. What’s your problem? I’m not jealous, I swear! Huh. Nope. What? Uh-huh. Not really.”

This is stage of denial; the stage where you’re so afraid to lose that person so you just don’t want to listen to the tiny jealous bitch voice inside you. But you are listening. You’re now feeling things. Little things annoy you, and it’s not getting any better.

Prepare for the next one. Cuz it’s fucking inevitable.



Relationships, whether short-term or long-term, go through this stage. This is that shit!!!! The! Shit! That! Makes! You! Go! AGGHHHHGHGHGHHHHH!!!!!!!!! You are a fucking bomb! Why are you a bomb????? What is this feeling??? Jealousy??????
No. Um, maybe.
Well, yes! You’re just really angry and scared and—you don’t know, you just want to punch someone in their fucking face.

Am I ugly? Are my thighs too big? Am I missing a leg? Do I look like a person cut in fucking half? Is my mere presence not enough? What? WHAT??!?!?!??

That motherfucker. I am a fucking gem.


This is the stage where you realize that you were just too hungry.
And you just needed to eat.
And Eat.
And Eat.


((image source:

78.media.tumblr.com/0f2408030fe15c0ce229fd7b9f50fec5/tumblr_o5ydyoS0sh1v28gj1o 1_1280.png))

The Last Day to Trek

I woke up to the sound of a busy home, hearing footsteps like giant leaps trailing around the wooden floor. I opened up my eyes in peace, then I was greeted with Bas’ booming voice which nearly shook my consciousness.

“Hey! Sleepy Taffyta,” said Bas. “Just because dad said that sleeping is good, it doesn’t mean you have to be asleep all the time.” My seven-year-old brother held my gaze for about two seconds then jumps at me and started to imitate pro wrestlers.

“Go back to bed, Bas.” I groaned.

“Mom, I woke her up!” He said. “Can I have two bananas on my lunchbox today as a reward, please?” He flies out the room, looking for approval.

What is up?

Wait a second . . .
It isn’t the day, is it?

Ah, I get it.

Today must be Friday.

My mom was standing in the corner of the room wearing traditional Filipino clothes. She adjusts and readjusts the garter of her saya on her waist and the hems that touch her shin. The light of the room made her lips look paler. Nevertheless, it was still identical to the same ones that she used to kiss me good night with, even though that was almost two decades ago. She’s still as beautiful, like my dad always said.

“Here, honey,” She hands me her wig. Her serene voice cannot be slashed out as one of her quirks. “Would you mind helping mama with this?”

Mama didn’t have to ask. I already had the wig grip headband in my hand. I traced her hairline gently; or what’s left of it, at least. I placed the grip band directly above her upper forehead and circled it around the head until it reached the nape. Once secured, I smoothed out her wig. I positioned it on her head like the way I’ve done it a million times before: laying it down the scalp and pulling the rest of the wig over her head. She stood up straight looking at the mirror, looking very pleased.

“I thought the doctor kinda forbid you to teach again, ma’am.” A woman’s voice said. I spin around and found my older sister standing in the doorway, her arms were crossed.

“Need some help?” She asked while grinning.

“It’s the last day of class, after all.” My mom replied.

We were like mom’s stylists, my sister and I. Pen took charge of the accessories while I was left with mom’s shoes. A couple of minutes passed and I still haven’t decided. Should she wear sandals? Flip flops? Slip-ons? Flats? Bakya? I was getting frustrated. And hungry.

The tension seemed to be building up . . .

. . . and that’s when she laughed.

“Look at you two,” she said. “You should’ve seen your faces!”

She lit up the whole room.

Tears were falling down her red cheeks. She was laughing so hard that whenever she comes up for air, she gives out a loud gasping noise. My mom’s eyes were twinkling in a slow ecstatic motion, like the first droplets of rain to hit the land. Never have I ever seen my mother this happy, ever. In my entire life.

I wish she was this happy all the time. I wish the stairs weren’t mountains for her. I wish she doesn’t know that it isn’t just only her last day to teach, but her last day as well. I wish she doesn’t know, even though she does. I wish she didn’t have to make that choice. I wish she had more time.

Suddenly, Pen started laughing with her, too.
And so did my papa and Bas, who just arrived.

And in that moment, I just wanted to freeze everything. I want to remember my mama this way. Someday, I will look back in this with a flash and recollect every single emotion that has resonated through me.

If I could just capture this fleeting moment with my family, I would be forever grateful.

For half a second, I was struck. I was afraid that I’m never going to be this happy again. This happiness might be the peak and nothing can surpass it.

And so, time flew.
I guess you could say that I was right.
I never was.

(image found on WeHeartIt from user @ElyceBerlinn)


Magic is her middle name.
And rarely, she plays by the rules of the game.
Rumbles of leaves sing to her everyday.
“Junk is art,” she used to say.
On the fragile phase, she hid.
Repeating “I am not a kid.”
Iridescent lights flash between her eyes above,
Encased by grief is the girl who has never been in love.

((suggested song with this vibe: Georgia by Vance Joy))
(Image from http://www.grafolio.com)