The new normal

Missing the gym because I'll be honest muscles are far from being strong right now. 

Law school and house chores have kept me mentally and psychologically preoccupied in the last few weeks, not to mention the world's restless pursuit against Covid, and all the uncertainties that go with it. It's even harder to watch the news when you actually understand  how the Government is supposed to work. 

But that's ok. 

I've switched my routine from heavy weighlifts to intentional Yoga (mostly Yin Yoga) and the practice of Meditation. These are the things that keep me strong right now. 

That's the thing ain't it? Gotta find our own place in the new "normal". The less you worry about your old life, the more peaceful your new life gets. That's the power of being human, our ability to adapt through the changing times. 

So don't fret yourselves into constant productivity. 

Let yourself adjust. 

And things will get easier.

Read More

How to love her

"How do I love her?"

"Do not." She replied. In return I asked, "Why not?"

"You are young, lad. You have a face of a flower. You are yet to blossom. And the world- the world is untravelled. There are far greater things to reach,  many people to meet."

I was offended by her response, just when I thought she would help. "What does that have to do with anything? I love her. I choose her."

"Yet, you don't know how to love her." She dismissed me.

"And that is why I am here," I said.

She scanned me from head to toe, and I fidget.

"How do you come here?" she inquired.

"I followed her footsteps. She came to you, only to you."

She started at me completely.

"Why?" I asked her, "Why does she come to you?"

"Because I know how to love her," she replied.

"So teach me."

"I need something in return," she bargained. "I want your expectations. And in return, you will be disappointed."

"What? What does that mean?" I stepped back, just in case I need an escape plan.

"That is how you love her. Be disappointed." She said firmly.

"You are not making sense. I am here for your help. I don't need you to discourage me."

"Are you discouraged, lad?"

I blinked twice before I replied. "No."

"Then let me help you indeed-

This is how you love her: You can't."

A long agony of silence were exchanged between us.

"Are you disappointed?" she asked.

Yes I am. I almost said.

"You are, with me. Aren't you?"

Yes.

"Good, you made payment. Thank you for your expectations. Glad I can help."

"Help? You didn't help at all!" I managed to shout on top of my lungs.

She laughed mockingly. "Dear lad, I just taught you how to love her."

"How? We just went around in circles! This is a waste of time."

"Exactly." She said. "When you decide to love her, abandon every thought of her, drop every expectations you have of her. If you find that you can't, you will be disappointed. If you find that you can't, would you also say it's a waste of your time? If not, then that's how to love her. Be disappointed."

Read More

This time last year

Christmas is one of my favorite holidays. There's all sort of sales and giveaways, and you get to do all this on your two-week break from school. When I was a kid there's also this: staying up. That joy of staying awake until 12 midnight to celebrate Christmas and New Years.

I've always spent Christmas with my Mom. I never knew any other way except spending it with my Grandmother: Inang. When my Mom left for Japan when I was 15 years old, I spent the holidays with Inang. Although it was a bit sad because I missed her, everything else was familiar. My cousins coming twice or thrice a day. Me handing out gifts to my aunt and uncles. 

Now, Christmas to me, is just blank. Suddenly a part of me just wanted to get it over with. But the other part of me doesn't want to go back to school. I am saddened by the fact that I will spend my holiday break literally doing the same things I'd do on regular holidays: staying in my bedroom, lounging around until they call me out for dinner, and then it's time to sleep again. 

I miss my Mom and brother, but furthermore, I miss Inang. She's always been there. She's always been around to catch me. And it always felt like home.

What pains me most is that this time last year, I can't even remember her. I have no last memories of her because at the time I was too proud of myself to even bother. I hated coming over for visits and I don't remember holding a conversation with her. The thing is, her last few months were a blur. Looking back, I see she seemed so different. She barely talked. She was bedridden. I never heard her laugh, or see her smile. She would just nod and point. And I just always thought she'd get better, that she'd get over it, and she can return to her usual annoying self. But that's the thing with time, it only goes forward. 

Perhaps the last memory I have of her is when I shared her bed one night. I don't even remember when was this. I just know that it was last year, perhaps the last time I saw her alive. At the time all I could think of was how uncomfortable it was. I didn't want to take up all the space because she was the sick one. But in between the night, I felt her hand touch my thigh and pat it. It brought me back to my childhood whenever she'd put me to sleep. I told my Mom this but she shrugged the idea and told me she was probably just reaching for a blanket. I refused to believe this. To me, at least at that moment, I saw a glimpse of her old self, the person I knew so well.

December 24 of 2016 and I am just dreading the midnight. I am a stranger to the customs here, and it just radiates unwelcomeness. Considering the fact that I have to disappear tomorrow, on the actual Christmas day, didn't even help. Yes, I wanted to get away. If I could only spend Christmas alone on a bar, a hotel, or a club would be so much better. At least the loud music would distract my thoughts. But a part of me didn't want to get away. After all, it wasn't the right thing to do. But then M sends me away like this, and although he keeps on saying it's for the best, for me to see Pampanga on holidays and see my cousins and aunts and uncles, I know better. I understand why. I am a writer. I exercise my imagination on a daily basis so there's no need for him to reiterate. Or to even explain why he's doing this. I know why I need to leave on the 25. And I accept it. I have nothing against it. It's just that, I have nowhere else to go. Everybody's just... not here. 

Read More

I had a dream

I don't know why, but I really just want to remember this dream of mine. It's been a long time since I actually dreamt of something I could remember, and as vivid as this one... 

Celebrity crushes come and go. I've encountered a dozen of movies and TV series in my lifetime, all with charismatic lead actors. Here and there, I find myself fangirling (obsessively) over one or the other.

Jamie Campbell Bower used to be my obsession. I would keep track of his every action until a couple months later when the hype died down. He was casted as Jace Wayland, another book character obsession, and played the same role on the big screen.

So let me tell you how the story goes.

I had a dream.

I can't remember who I was with at the time. Perhaps my parents? But whoever they may be, they had dragged me over to the bank. I don't really know which bank it is, but it was a bank established side by side another. In the Philippines, the practice is quite popular. Banks after banks, all next to each other. 

So there I went.

However, a familiar (and somewhat odd) figure made me glance back to the parking lot. Walking along two other men (in blank suits) was Jamie Campbell Bower. I'd recognize him from every angle, from his lean torso, to his petite figure, slightly slouched back, and his (amazing) long blonde locks. I debated whether I confront him right then and there, but the necessity of going to the bank seems more like a priority. He entered the bank next to mine.

(Yes, the setting is in Manila)

Slightly annoyed and distracted, I decided to leave the bank for a second (while my company was doing all the banking stuff), and peek inside the one next to it, where I saw Bower come in a few moments ago. 

I didn't even get inside because right by the (window) door, I already saw him preparing to leave. I freaked out and rushed back to the neighboring bank (where my company was), and must have told my parents? that I'd be gone for a few minutes. 

I hoped Bower was still there when I come back, but he wasn't. Frustrated, I looked around the area hoping he left a trace somewhere. 

Luckily, thanks to my sight, I saw him again by this huge tinted black car. He was talking to his bodyguards? They were preparing to leave already. I didn't lose a moment, and I went for the embarrassing Can I take a photo with you  line. At first, he dismissed my intention. But it wasn't rude or anything, he just waved his hand at me and probably whispered wait. I watched him enter Bank B again. With my worried and confused face, I looked at his bodyguards and asked them if I could still take a picture. 

They said yes, but I needed to wait because Bower still needs to deal with his finances with Bank B. It didn't take long and he exited right away. That's when we properly introduced each other. The first photo was quite nice. I remember looking at my outfit and feeling proud because I actually matched his (forever awesome) style. He reached out for a hug, and his bodyguard took a few shots. 

This is the part it gets weird, and I'm assuming my memory left some details here, because all of a sudden, he was carrying me to his back! Yes, a piggy back ride, people! Gags

And then suddenly it was nighttime, well, almost. That in between night and day. My high school friends also decided to tag along, and weirder as it may get, we appear to be standing at the side street of my present school. They were chatting while I was just worried I was making it hard for him because he still carried me to his back. I remember I whispered to him, "Are you sure you can carry me like this? Aren't I too heavy?" And I remember his reply being, "I'm okay. You're my fan anyway." I think at this point I also asked him if he was preparing for a movie role or something.

In between this, I was only playing with my phone, going over Twitter (I JUST MET JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER!!!!), Instagram (Look who I stumbled across), and Snapchat (insert a million stories here). Eventually, he did let me down though, and we found ourselves surrounded by people who coincidently, I know. Also, he appeared to be able to use Tagalog and Bisaya as a dialect. I remembered being awed, and when I asked him how the hell did he learn it, he said he would often visit and stay in the Philippines.

At nightfall, another change in venue. Some sort of living room with couches and a comfortable ambiance. Whoever's house it was, I didn't get to know. Here we just continuously chatted, like friends to friends. And I remember just feeling content and proud that a simple boost of confidence to ask if I could take a picture with him resulted to this one in a million opportunity.

THE END

It was a nice one.

Read More

Let me save you, again.

"Really? Are you possibly on your right mind right now?"

I didn't understand how I felt, hearing his voice again. "I thought I'd never hear from you again," I said.

"I figured," he replied.

"Then why are you here?" I asked him, the stranger I once shaped.

"To remind you what you seem to have forgotten."

"Which is?" I inquired.

"You're different. You're not like other girls, remember? You don't crumble. You don't share too much."

His dropped his last sentence like a bomb to my conscience.

"Why do you think so?"

"Why are you asking me?" He said.

"Weren't you a reflection of me? Of course you'd know the answer," I reasoned.

"Am I still? Or am I only a memory to you now?"

"A memory of what?"

"Of who you used to be. Someone you once wanted to be," he said flatly.

"I don't know what to do. I don't want this, but I can't seem to stop," I confessed.

"You don't want it. But you like it."

"I regret it."

"And that's why I'm here." He offered his hand to me, and I took it without a second thought. "Let me save you, again."

Read More

The Ultimate Vacation

Okay, here goes.

 

I've been putting this off for so long, because, well, I'm a lazy ass. For some time I've viewed a diary or a journal (to make it sound a bit mature), is well, premature. However, I've come to realize, with so much going on in my life, and all the constant changes, that sometimes, I feel lost. And when I do, I find myself looking back... all the stuff I've written, all the adventures I've taken. I read all of it, and I realize... I am vulnerable. I have doubts, anger, insecurities that makes me one of them. I am ordinary, normal, and human. No matter where I go, what I wear, what I feel, and what I want to become, I will always be this girl... writing down her feelings.

 

And so my dear friends, I didn't create this blog to entertain anyone. I made it so ten years down the road, I can read it all the same... and see where I started. It is the modern photo album passed down from generations to the other.

 

Everytime I start a post over this blog, I always have a distinct feeling. If was angry, I'd write an angry post. If I was sad, I'd write a sad post. But today, I actually feel indifferent, as I've felt everyday for the past months. I don't know if that's okay, or should I be worried, but here lies my indistinct thoughts. After all, it is where I am at the moment. Down in between, down at the bridge, found crossing the wall to the future.

 

A few weeks ago, I travelled to Malaysia, Thailand, and Singapore. I went there with my parents, and of course my little brother. It's been a while since I travelled out of the country. And it's amazing how travelling makes you feel alive. It makes you feel dead before and after too. Also, because it becomes the happiest point of the year, you feel the rest of the days bombed. And so you ask, what is it that I do before and after that makes it all okay going back. Was I excited to go back? No. I wasn't even excited before the sail. I was already stressed out by the amount of work waiting for me when I get back. I was worried that I left something behind, or wasn't able to do something I should have had. My dear friends, I have a great job. I have the greatest workmates. And as I have mentioned before, I am still in search of something missing. One of my friends told me that dreading to go to work everyday is completely normal. All kinds of job makes you hate work itself but you stay regardless because of the people. Now tell me, am I supposed to believe that was normal? And by normal means living the same for the rest of my life? If that is life indeed then wtf: it is no fun. And for someone to accept such thing as normality is absurd. I believe I am at a temporary state. I am still searching for freedom, and happiness.

 

And maybe I've tasted a blink of that for a week. Going in to a cruise, I was warned of getting sea sick. There were all sorts of threats and warnings, making me want to back out of the trip. It's very sad that people expect the worse when it's actually VERY FUN. It wasn't uncomfortable at all. In fact, I didn't feel a thing. It was a very smooth ride, and for a while I was detached from the world. Without WiFi or any sort of signal from the ground, I felt very light, non pressured, and genuinely happy. And the week felt like a year. It feels normal. There was no messages from people, no expectations from anyone. No any type of noise, or pollution. There's no bad news, no loveteams breaking up here and there. No new trailers to watch out for. No obligation to upload anything. It was the ultimate vacation.

 

And I would want to go back.

 

Celebrity Millenium,

Until the next voyage,

I'll follow suit.

 

 

xo

 

PS I know this isn't at all in any detail. I'm still a lazy ass. 

Read More

No one is capable of loving me.

A boy was in love with a girl.

One day, he told the girl how much he loved her.

The girl replied, "You don't love me. I know you're attracted to me, most definitely interested in me, but you are not in love with me."

The boy burrowed his brows and asked the girl, "How would you know?"

"Because no one is capable of loving me. It's hard work. You can't possibly keep up with me," the girl replied.

But the boy was persistent. He told her, "I love you, and that's more than enough. I will never get tired of you. I promise I'll keep up. If you run, I'll run faster. If you fly, I'll fly higher. I will reach you, I will outreach you, and I will never get tired." 

The girl let the boy deal with his feelings. She argued no more. As she warned the boy, she continued to soar, higher and higher, for everyone to admire. The boy learned to fly right away. For two years he kept up with her, draining all his energy to do so. 

But one day.

That day out of the blue.

His wings grew weary.

He can no longer keep up.

Admittedly he told himself, "I'm tired. I will never keep up with her. I am incapable of loving her." 

And so, she told the girl.

The girl smiled and bid him goodbye.

As she flew farther away, tears ran down her face.

For she knew.

She knew from the start.

No one is capable of loving her.

But she is capable of loving them all.

Read More

He asked me if I love him.

"It's been a while," he said to me. 

His image kept changing every time I see him. I almost always can't recognize him. 

"Clean cut suits you better. It brings out your facial features. I didn't notice your intricate jawline until today."

"I didn't have it before I guess," he replied, his tone of voice never changing. Always so calm, like the sound of waves on a mid summer's day. 

"What did he ask you?"

His presence radiates a certain familiarity to me that I feel so at ease. Every little thing I buried deep in my heart, he knew quite well, in some artistic way words cannot express.

"He asked me if I love him."

"What did you say?"

"I said I could."

Momentarily silence.

"You are afraid you said the wrong thing," he said. "Is that it?"

"You know my thoughts so well I don't need to confirm that," I said.

"Perhaps you should have said you love him too," he replied.

An exchange of looks between my friend and I, and at that very moment, I knew...

I should have told him the truth.

Read More

I believe you now.

I didn't believe you when you told me I was a tease. I may not be the hottest girl around, nor do I dress slutty to get guys' attention, but I have my own charm. I remember your exact words that night when I ask you why you stick around regardless of my constant bullying. You said it's because I was a tease. I may not seem approachable in person, but I'm irresistable at conversations.

"You are so good at words, you leave guys hanging, wanting more. You keep me interested. Some girls, they burn to the sky, making them visible to the world. They know exactly when to do it, and how do it. They have fire in them. But you, you're a tease. You're that spark of flame, lost or by luck, that appeal to me so little, so secretive, but so powerful, so much to discover. You carry a wonderful journey. You only need my attention to grow you into a much bigger fire."

I didn't believe you when you told me I am such a mystery to you. I am well aware that I am not an open book. I don't normally open up to strangers, but to you I feel like I've stripped my soul naked. You literally know everything about me. I've always wondered what remains a mystery to you. You said it's because I often send mixed signals. I am too much of a tease to be completely honest. 

"You're like the moon. You have these cycles you go through. It's not that you're unpredictable, you just have different versions of yourself. You can get really lazy and you ignore me for days. You can get lonely and you open up to me about everything. You can get bored and you're all about games and fun. You can get really nice, and think you can save the world. That is your mystery. That keeps me interested. You're like a riddle I cannot fucking solve."

I didn't believe you when you told me I was contagious. To keep up with me, you constantly read between the lines. And that keeps you distracted from entertaining other girls. 

"You keep me distracted. You're like a video game composed of levels and missions to accomplish before you reach the flag. But like a novice to a master, it takes training. It takes time. It takes a whole lot of risks and challenges. It demands my expertise and experience. And to get that exactly, I have to keep playing the game. As I pass each level, my character grows too, a little bit stronger, a little bit of an expert. You're worked hard for, and once won over, you're like a trophy that stays with me... forever. And it's not just because I can't stop playing the game, I also can't bring myself to play anything else."

I didn't believe you when you said I don't know how to care. Because I do. In fact, I care too much. I didn't realize the reason why is also the reason because.

"You care. You actually care too much. You care too much that you constantly pull a double edged blade towards you so the other party wouldn't get stabbed. You care too much that you put so much effort in it. In the process, you injure your hand. You hurt yourself. That isn't the right way. The right way is to drop the knife. That way, you also save yourself."

I didn't believe you when you said I have a strong personality. I always perceived myself weak because I care too much, and I make a big deal out of everything. But you said that I just justified your point.

"Everyone has their two sides. The good and the bad. Some people focus too much on the good side, they disregard their dark side. But you embrace it, you welcome it. That's why you know how to confrol it. You know shit from fake shit. You understand the balance of everything. You know how to countermeasure. You know how to handle whatever comes your way. You are strong not because all you have are strengths. You are strong because you choose to be good, though you know exactly what you're capable of doing. You know both your sides, so tendency is you can also determine other people's, like mine. I can fuck up and have you not look down on me. You absorb that bad energy. I don't know where it goes, if you exhale it someplace else or your bury it along yours. No matter the case, that's what makes you strong. You inspire the best of me."

And like everything else I didn't believe, I also didn't believe you when you told me you're done with me.

"The problem is, you just don't believe me."

Well I do, I do now.

Read More

SHORT STORY: When My Rain Poured

There was a little girl covered with dirt, from her shoes, to her ragged clothes, up to the angles of her face. Her skin was covered with mud, and her hair tangled with colors of earth. She kept her head low, afraid that people would mock her. She wouldn't play with the other kids because they always made fun of the way she looked.

The girl kept on walking, passing over towns and villages.

"Where are you from little girl?" a kind woman asked the little girl.  "You must have been on a long journey."

The little girl did not reply. She kept her freezing hands on her pockets and remained her gaze on the ground.

"Come," the lady offered, "I run the nearest inn. Let me feed you at least. You can also take a bath while you're there. You must be very tired."

The old woman grabbed her by the wrist and ushered her inside the inn. The customers all looked displeased on the sight of the little girl. Their heads turned away as if a crate of dead fish was being hauled inside.

The little kid tried to loosen the lady's grip, but the lady held on, determined to help the poor little soul. Finally, they reached the second level of the inn, and calmly guided the little girl inside one of the rooms. The lady then prepared the bathtub.

"Here," she said, handing over a dry towel, "Dive in. You'll see food once you're done." And she shut the door of the bathroom, leaving some privacy for the little girl. After getting all cleaned, the little girl wore the clothes that was handed to her, and ate the food that was prepared for her.

When it was time to leave, she thanked the owner of the inn.

"Thank you," she said.

"Good luck on your journey," the woman bid goodbye.

Just as she stepped out in the wilderness to continue her journey, rain poured down the village. People scattered away like ants, all looking for shelter.

And when the rain stopped, all that found shelter were kept dry. All that rushed home, were wet. And all that didn't have a place to go, were muddy. And so was the little girl.

Read More

You Shot Me

"What are you doing here?" I asked him. Quite logical question really. "You shot me."

"It was just a dash," he replied.

"You still shot me."

"I did."

Neither of us spoke another. I was there, and he was there, both standing across each other. I was still in my hospital gown but he was dressed quite fancy.

After a severe case of awkwardness...

"But you're alive. I'm grateful," he said. "You dodged the bullet quite well."

"Oh the bullet got through me."

"There is no bullet wound. What do you mean?"

I always find myself heartbroken for the least of reasons.
Hurt by a dash of a gun shot.
An invisible bullet, making its way through my heart.
That's what I thought.
Defying gravity, it was reaching for my mind.
Smart, smart bullet.
It's after my weak spot.
My thoughts.
I shouldn't be thinking of you.
But I am.
I have fallen in love with a murderer.

"It means you shot me. Your aim was truly remarkable."

Read More

The captain as the passenger

The captain of the ship is unhappy.
The captain is sad because it's his last cruise.
And as he say goodbye to the stirring wheel, to the view he had watched for years, the occasional uneasiness of the ride, and his responsibility to his passengers...
A tear fell on his cheeks.
He wiped it off quickly before anyone sees it.
"What's wrong, captain?" a ship crew asked him. "Ÿou look unhappy."
"Well, I am," he replied.
"Ït must be difficult to leave this ship and not be captain anymore."
"No, son," the captain said, "Ït's more difficult to be in a ship and be its passenger."
Bewildered, the young boy said, "Ï don't understand, captain. You are this ship's captain still."
"You said it yourself, boy. When this ship lands, I am no captain no more. But that's fine. That's acceptable. That's inevitable. But what's more difficult to accept is that the next time I take a cruise, I'd be its passenger. And that hurts more."

Read More

When A Stranger Asks

I met a stranger.

No.

Scratch that.

I created a stranger.

In my mind he was perfect.

Exactly how I pictured him.

Beautiful.

Dignified.

Smart.

We had a conversation.

No.

Scratch that.

I made up the conversation.

He asked me,

"Do you know yourself?"

I winked, reminding myself he wasn't real.

"I do," I replied.

"Then who are you?" he asked.

He kept his gaze on me, not once blinking.

"Do you ask of my name?"

"No, I ask of your nature."

Then he asked another,

"Have you been a good girl?"

I nodded quite hesitantly.

"How do you know?

"How do you know you've been a good girl?"

I shrugged.

He didn't like it.

I saw him roll his eyes.

"You created me," he stated the obvious.

"I did."

"Did you make me a good boy?"

"What?"

"I am a product of your mind, aren't I? In your head I'm just another character you made up. You directed my personality, crafted my face and body, and made sure I be taller than you. You made my eyes blue because it pleases you. You hesitated with the length of my hair, because you weren't sure. You wanted me to be blunt because no one around you is. You want me to ask you questions because no one ever did. You want me to understand you because nobody does."

"So?"

"So are you a good girl?"

"I suppose so."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know - "

My words stopped midsentence.

My word bank was empty.

"Let me ask you one more question."

"Please."

"How do you act around people? Do you act good because it's you, so naturally you want to? Or do you act good because it's the right thing to do, that you have to? When people say to you, 'Be yourself', do you actually do? In the end you only create another version of me to be you, don't you? Someone capable to handle your situation? Life is so much about writing, isn't it? And everyone is an actor."

"What's your point?"

"Have I answered your question yet?"

"What question? You were asking the questions."

"Remember, you created me. I am a reflection of your thoughts. I feel your curiosity. I sense your interest. I know. And I do because you do too. The difference between deciding from your heart from your brain. You, my darling, have always just depended on your brain. You act because you know it's how you should have acted. And that is why your heart feels empty right now; why in the first place, you have created me. Because you're actually very lonely."

Read More