Please break my heart.
Break my heart so that I will write about you. Break my heart so that the whole world will know who you are. Break my heart, love me once more, then leave and haunt me again.

Please tell me you love me.
Because I know that you don’t.

Please make me wait.
Make me wait for nothing. Tell me to be patient. Tell me that destiny chooses the best timing, and that one day we will have what we can call “ours”, so that I will have something to hope for.

Please keep me away from the world.
Don’t tell your mom about me. Don’t even mention my name. Hide me in the darkest corner of your mind, so that somehow, I will feel special—only thought of by you.

And one day when you realize how kind of a person you are for doing all of these sincerely, please come to me. I will be waiting for you.

I will be waiting for you to break my heart again.

(image source: WeHeartIt user @Pink_Slippers)

I Will Never

No matter how much the wait stings
or how much you annoy me
or how often you try to kid around just to make me laugh
I will never
tell you
that I love you
because by that time
you would have known it already
or guessed, maybe
you will smile
and wonder what it feels like to be held
by the universe
and I,
I will smile back.
For that will be the moment
that you
will have completely known
that the you you are now and the you you will be
is loved
by me.

(Photographer yet unknown)

I think

On my way home, I was thinking.

It may sound crazy, because we’re always thinking. When you’re about to make a choice, you think. When something really bad or really good happens, you think. You think about everything. You’ve had words in the back of your mind even before any of it comes out of your mouth. In short, thinking is part of being human.

I was in a deep state in thought, and then here it goes again. I don’t know why I keep stumbling upon one of the demons that was assigned to me at birth. Its name was Insecurity. We don’t usually hang out, but I often feed it. I don’t know why. I give in to it when it whispers on my left ear, telling me I’m still not good enough despite of all the things I’ve done and accomplished in my age. “I’m a different kind of insecurity,” it told me one time. “I’m independent.” A little startled, I asked, “What does independent mean?” I knew what it meant. However, in order for me not to question the things I think about, I listened to its answer. “It means I don’t need anyone or anything to make you feel insecure,” it said. “I let you think it all . . . so that you’d wish you had more than just this.

It was months later when I understood what Insecurity meant. Because I was feeling it again. But this time I had not give in, instead I was just thinking, thinking, and thinking. I did not oppose it, but I did not also agree with it. And I think I know why…

Because it’s life.

And life will be life even after we stopped existing. I understand things when I think about them deeply, not harshly. And that was the moment I kissed fate. Screw it. You lose some and you gain some.

It’s like a pair of shorts I found at a mall with my friend. I had money to buy it, but it was too small for me. It was the size of my friend, but she didn’t have the money to buy it. And I thought about how people are linked in that very same situation. You wish you are someone else but another person wishes to be you. And that’s what Insecurity was telling me. “I let you think it all… so that you’d wish you had more than just this.”

It was the moment I knew I wasn’t having a normal affair with words in my head like every time. I was really thinking. Like, genuine thoughts splash in my mind every 5 seconds. I imagine words flowing in and out of the view. I was having a conversation with my soul, and it tasted like hope. Never will I be the most positive thinker I know. Never will I have the most ecstatic mind in all of earth. But just having a nurturing sense of self acceptance, I was limitless. That was one of the rarest moments I felt like I was myself, in this world surrounded by people who think they are better than everyone else. I was thinking that I was not. We posses the same qualities as humans, but as I go further I realize that I’m not better than everyone else, just different, just unique.

I was thinking about the world. I was thinking about me. I was thinking about how we were all so different and yet the same. I was thinking about life. I was thinking about everything I never imagined I could think of. I accepted things as they were. I closed my eyes and felt my surroundings. I was breathing. Still breathing. And once again it felt extraordinary, because I now knew what it’s like to have deep talks with my soul without leaving internal scars. It tasted like freedom.

It tasted like hope.


(artwork by Henn Kim)

An open letter to the guy who doesn’t deserve me

*For all the times you sent me sweet good night texts or attended my plays or watched something I said was good. For all the times you had no one and I cared about you so much I couldn’t leave you alone. For all the times we were actually friends.

Dear Jo,

I have always hated the way you talk to me. I was just too blind to notice since my feelings were “partly cloudy” because of you. I wrote you a poem. Damn. I wrote you a hundred poems. I hate you. Fuck you. Fuck. You. I hope you die and go to hell.

Your haircut sucks. You look like a demented iguana. I want to punch you in the face so bad. I hate you for making me feel like SHIT. Oh yeah, you wanted to feel good about yourself. I was your safety net. But guess what?  FUCK YOU. I am not falling for you. And your sweet moves. Never again.

I am an independent and beautiful young woman. I shouldn’t be crying because of pricks like you. My mind is a complex whirlpool of secrets that you don’t deserve. Because you suck.

I fell for that stupid smile you make when you try to annoy me. Well, fuck your smile. Fuck your witty opinions. Fuck your carefree attitude. Fuck everything about you. I could snatch your eyeballs and sell it. I am so moving on. I’ve actually come up with twenty three ways on how to kill you.

Jo dear, I know you always loved to kid around but I am not a joke. I am not a kid. I don’t like jokes. And I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. And I hate you for making me hate you.

You suck.

(Artist yet unknown)

You are afraid.

“You are afraid to be beaten, to show up unprepared, and to lose in the only game you were winning in. You hate it. You suffer from a creative constipation and you don’t know how to get rid of it. It carries an unwanted feeling that itches inside, and the ticking of the clock reminds you that it can fly right between your eyes. You don’t want to give up. You don’t want to settle for less. Because you know you can do this. You know that when you stumble, you can rise up again. You don’t want to pressure yourself, so don’t. Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody learns the hard way. You need to set it all free. Remember the days when everything around you inspires you. Remember every little detail of your favourite song, or movie, or book. Remember everything that once inspired you. Because I’m telling you, if you don’t show your ass up tomorrow, or if you show your ass up tomorrow with an unfinished or not memorized speech, I can guarantee that you will regret it your whole life. Do things your future self will thank you for. Isn’t that what you used to tell yourself when you were feeling so lost? So go and do it. You cannot just sit there and wait for the perfect moment to happen to you. Go ahead and make it. Be resilient. Be confident. There’s no one else I know that can do this but you.”

Shizama Utami, “A letter I wrote to myself”

The emerald circle

I examine the minuscule emerald circle that hangs slightly beside his portrait.
My fingers try to move around it and above it.
But they fail to click.
I don’t know how many seconds have passed.
Has it been minutes? Hours?
This staring contest with the emerald circle gets tougher. My hands shiver at the thought of his name popping out of my chat box. I try to get some air to free myself. My feet seem to know my signals because I noticed that I’m already standing up. One foot in front of the other, I tell myself.  Don’t let a green dot take over your feelings. Keep your shit together.
I let out a squeal. I fail to notice my excitement until I find myself in front of my screen again. Is he the one who sent me a message? What would I do if it’s him? Would he say hi? Would I greet him back if he does?
A name pops out of the bottom right corner. My heartbeat goes faster and my throat becomes dry. I remember one time I saw him walking in my direction. His eyes were so focused, always calculating. When he passed me by, I froze. It’s not every day the hem of our shirts brush against each other.
That was on the same level of my feelings now.
I glance at the name.
I feel like I’ve been ripped apart to many pieces. I shake my head. I suddenly become nauseous. I touch my left palm to make sure I’m still alive. I’m OK, am I not? I’m not empty, but I do feel like something’s missing.
It’s not his name.
I remember I shouldn’t have had feelings for him in the first place. This is an odd mixture, after all. I’m just going to continue my ephemeral catastrophe. That’s the only thing I’m capable of when it comes to him; to look at his name on my screen and hope that he’ll say something to me. But obviously, he never does. I’m so disturbingly pathetic.
The emerald circle fades beside his name.
I realize I’ve been observing for too long, and now is the time to stop. I feel a twinge in my pulmonary muscles as his name vanishes. He logged out without saying anything to me. I guess I’m just not that important to him.
Never was, never will.

(artwork by Andrej Mashkovtsev)

A scientific explanation of my feelings

No, I’m not a friend who overthinks a lot
No, I’m not exaggeratingly sensitive
I just care about my friends in a way that’s too obvious
because I can’t afford to lose one again
when I already lost a dozen.

The clash of a tornado and an earthquake can bid you goodbye. Rift valleys are present. Our diverging friendship creates tsunamis that consume our never ending arguments. I’m going to express myself in my own language, so let me say this in Tagalog:

“Hindi ako OA na kaibigan, manhid lang kayo.”

I’m traveling around my own yellow brick road which still has a touch of immaturity, but I’m not going to lie about me experiencing too much. My body becomes torpid whenever I hear somebody complain about my concerned deeds. Especially if it’s one of the closest human beings I treat like family. It sucks. It’s like being slapped in your cheek, except it’s an emotional pain. When I try to touch it, the affected part spreads like wildfire in my body. It goes red. My whole body goes red. I taste sour blood on my lips and sweet despair in my soul.

I’m tired of being treated like I don’t matter. One time we had an argument, and I was the only one who cried. The pain felt like my insides are being squished by a cactus. It was an oceanic-to-oceanic plate boundary. Insecurity wakes me up in the middle of the night and they know that. I’m also a professional jumper. I jump to conclusions. So when everyone has told their sides, I was petrified. I didn’t expect truth to be so derogatory. I guess I just have to live with that.

I don’t exactly know how to live with pain. I just do. And even though I have ridges in my ocean of tears, I still forgive. My friends are my epicenters, they are sources of my earthquakes. And somehow, I think we were once the Pangaea. But now we’re divided into 7 continental plates.

(picture from Baptiste, “Stunning Satellite Photos of Earth From Outer Space”)