Sunday, April 27, 2014


"What I'm feeling, I think, is joy. And it's been some time since I've felt that blinkered rush of happiness. This might be one of those rare events that lasts, one that'll be remembered and recalled as years wind and ravel. One of those sweet, significant moment that leaves a footprint in your mind. A photograph couldn't ever tell its story. It's like something you have to live to understand. One of those freak collisions of fizzing meteors and looming celestial bodies and floating debris and one single beautiful red ball that bursts into your life and through your body like an enormous firework. Where things shift into focus for a moment, and everything makes sense. And it becomes one of those things inside you, a pearl among sludge, one of those big exaggerated memories you can invoke at any moment to peel away a little layer of how you felt, like a lick of ice cream. The flavor of grace."

Your mum reads my blog.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014


Today is a bad day, really. And here I am, typing, hoping things would get better.

First, the bad dream, the haunting images, the inability to sleep as the fear of dreaming the same dream overtook my exhaustion.

Then, my laptop decided to be an ass, and now something's wrong with the graphics, and it's fucked up because I just got it, and this sucks, and I don't even know what happened to it. It's not like I dropped it or something. *cries*

And less than an hour ago I had a fall out with someone because of trust. Urgh. One thing I hate the most is feeling bad about something that I did wrong, and not being able to do anything about it except apologizing.

And here I am in campus, not going home because it's raining, and I'm supposed to study anyways. Though I'm not studying because I really don't have the mood to.

Can I just sit down in a corner and cry?

I wish I can leave this place, go to a quiet beach somewhere and sit and listen to music while the wind is blowing, the sun is shining and the waves are crashing.

Your mum reads my blog.
Shelter me.


4.19am. She woke up screaming, drenched in sweat and tears from the torment that her mind experienced while she's asleep. Instinctively, she reached out for D, but he wasn't there; he never will be. She knew then, as she exhausted herself from crying, that the demons are back, and this time around, no one will be there to reassure her, to lull her to sleep. There she is, all alone, one wrecked soul haunted by the ghosts of her past.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Date A Girl.

So a few days ago I started a draft titled "Date A Girl Who Wears No Makeup". And as I was writing it I realized how bias I am. There I was, giving a reason for guys to like me for who I am, giving all girls out there who wears no makeup a reason to be proud. And then it occurred to me how stupid it is, this whole date a girl thing.

If I really have to give guys reasons to date me, then there won't just be a list. "Date a girl who sings in the shower." "Date a girl who dances in the rain." "Date a girl who's not afraid to cry." "Date a girl who's independent." "Date a girl who laughs out loud." "Date a girl who tells you you're wrong." "Date a girl who's flirtatious, but loyal." "Date a girl who travels."...

I could write a thousand lists of my own traits and why you should date me. And that won't necessarily make you like me. So, you know what? Here I am, asking you to just date a girl. Go out with her, hang out with her, and see if you like her. And after being around her for quite some time, and you still find yourself wanting to talk to her every night, if you still smile like a retard just looking at her talk, if her quirks don't bother you (maybe, just maybe, you like how she sticks her tongue out and points her middle finger), then maybe you should date date her. Ask her to be your girlfriend. Don't think about if you'd be together forever. Heck, you most probably won't. But at least you know it was nice while it lasted.

Your mum reads my blog.
Because I don't know how to say how I feel.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Don't tell me what to feel.

Don't tell me I shouldn't cry for you.

Because you broke my heart. And you will never understand how much. You left, taking everything with you, and just recently you tell me you thought that made me happier. Is that what you've been telling yourself, so that you'd be able to live with the fact that you ruined someone?

Because you never wanted to know how I feel. I remember that last time you told me to leave you alone, to give you space. You were annoyed. I was pathetic. I begged, I cried, I did everything I could, and the only thing I got from you was an eye-rolling that was enough to make me realize how I lost.

Because I deserve to cry. I don't understand people; how they say it's pathetic to cry over spilled milk. I don't think it is. I think it's stupid. It's stupid how when I cry instead of offering me a shoulder to cry on people would go "don't be stupid." Are people really that incapable of dealing with emotions nowadays?

Because these tears are proof that I'm human. That I have emotions. That I'm not as heartless as some people think I am. That I am willing to let myself be vulnerable. That I will get better.

Because someday, someone will wipe my tears away and make me smile. And that someone will not be you.

So don't tell me what to feel.

Your mum reads my blog.
A chameleon soul.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

The Truth About Me : An Open Letter to My Future Boyfriend/Suitor

I am fucked up. I know, I know, what a great start. But if there’s one thing you have to know about me, it’s that. I truly, really, am fucked up. Heck, saying that I’m fucked up just went to show you how fucked up I am, no?

I am crazy. No, I’m not going to walk around naked talking to the aliens surrounding us (or maybe I will… Hi there extraterrestrial being!) I laugh out loud, I sing out loud, I dance around for no reason, and people just label me as ‘crazy’. So, crazy I am.

I have my expectations. On you. On us. On our future together. Just ask me what it is. Make your life easier, kay?

I am an introvert. Yes, I am. Don’t be surprised. I socialize because that’s what’s expected of me. But not even a crazy drunk escapade where everyone would drink and get high and fuck and just be beats a quiet Saturday night at home watching Dexter and reading my favorite book while eating popcorn and potato chips and chocolate in my pyjamas (and yes, those are the pyjamas I wore on Friday night… problem?).

Speaking of which… I am wild. Yes, I can be wild. But only if I want to. I’ve had nights spent wasted, and I’ve had nights spent looking at the stars and laughing at the unicorns flying past. I’ve had jokes cracked about me on how I look very, very innocent… But trust me , looks can deceive. I’ve been deceiving people with my square boxy glasses for the past, what, two, three years?

I am insecure. My heart is very fragile, and I keep it caged. So much so that it’d be a tough journey for you to get me to even open up for you. I might tell you things, but those things don’t necessarily translate to the deepest, darkest corners of my secrets. Ask my ex, he knows best on how hard it was for him to get me to open up and share my hopes and dreams with him.

I am beautiful. Yes, I am. And if you ever say anything to indicate that I don’t look anywhere near beautiful in your eyes, then I have two words for you : fuck yourself. I look into the mirror and see flaws and scars and cellulite but I still think I’m beautiful, both inside and out *cue people vomiting*.

I am fat. Okay, maybe not fat, chubby, maybe. But that’s how I am. Don’t give me false truths and say I’m skinny. Urgh. And DON’T you dare ask me to lose weight, or to stop eating. Because if there’s one thing that I’d love more than I love you, it’d be food. Or maybe my family. Or maybe money. Sorry. Did I just scare you off with the truth that you won’t be as important as you wish to be?

I am honest. And I expect you to be honest with me too. I expect you to talk to me, to not lie to me, to tell me everything that is in your mind. You can choose not to tell me things, but you can never, ever lie to me. And I will do the exact same thing, except maybe sometimes I will lie and tell you I’m okay when I’m not.

I am half a boy. Don’t expect a girl who grew up with two brothers to sit down with her legs crossed and her back straight and cover her mouth while laughing. No worries, I’m no tomboy. I like dresses, and I certainly don’t think of pants as my holy grail. But I will burp in front of you, I will punch you, I will sit with my legs open wide, I will laugh like a mofo, all because I can.

I am fragile. So much so that I’m a crybaby. I really am. My tear ducts are like a water pipe that turns itself on even at the sight of the smallest thing. One simple thing to do when I cry? Just hug me. Envelope me in your arms and just tell me that everything’s alright and that I can cry. Because the one thing I hate when I’m crying is when people ask me to stop crying. Can’t you see that I’m in emotional distress here?

I read. And write. And sometimes what I write will be directed to you, sometimes it won’t. Sometimes I get all emotional and write weird stuffs (told you I’m fucked up) because I read something that touched me. So don’t jump into conclusions. Ask me. Talk to me.

I play games. I shoot people. I kill people. But one thing about me : I hate multiplayer games. Urgh. I can’t stand it when people don’t understand what it is to play in a TEAM and COVER me. Oh and btw, never, ever, bother me when I’m playing games. Or when I’m reading. Like, seriously. If I don’t answer your text. I might be reading. I might be playing games. I might be sleeping. Don’t freak out.

I reply one worded answers. When I’m pissed off. Or really emotional. Or just am moody. I reply in one word. And you know something’s up. And you’re tempted to ask. And you ask. And I say nothing. Don’t push me. It annoys me, really, when people keep going “I know you’re not okay.” So tempting me to go “FUCK OFFFFF!” Just wait til the next day, and go all "fuck you I know you were emotional yesterday night so tell me and tell me NOW".

I curse. A lot. In case you haven’t noticed. It’s just me. Like, really, you’re such a cibai if you wince every time I curse. Oops. There you have it again. Pungkuk.

Scared you off yet?

Your mum reads my blog.
This is why I'm hot.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Too Many People; Too Little People.

Too many people spend all their time alone.
Too many people never know when to go home.
Too many people died not having lived a life.
Too many people let doors close upon their four walls.
Too many people procrastinate just 'cause.
Too many people are too scared to love.

Too little people just be.
Too little people are thankful.
Too little people have loved.
Too little people dance in the rain.
Too little people laugh today.
Too little people died in contentment.

Your mum reads my blog.
Because I'm something you despise.

Monday, April 14, 2014

An affair.

Seven months ago I embarked on a journey that will change my perception of myself. An affair of sorts. I was interning, and at that time, we were both curious, lonely souls. It was never sexual, the closest we've been to being intimate was me cuddling with him during the time we spent together.

He told me the first time he noticed me was when I was laughing my heart out at a joke my colleague told me. He was just passing by, but at that instance he wanted to get to know me, to be my friend. The first time I noticed him was in a meeting for someone's wedding. I was to be the usher; he was involved in the F&B side. He was sitting right across me, and throughout the whole meeting we kept exchanging weird glances.

Not long after that we talked, exchanged numbers, and that was when things started... developing (?) We don't talk/text often, nor do we see each other much, but there's always something comforting about seeing him walking into the cafeteria when I'm eating alone, and do that silly little gesture to get me to join him, and make those stupid faces when I refused.

The sweetest thing he did for me was on my birthday, I guess. My birthday was on my last day working in club lounge, and I remember him bringing me a box of chocolates (sans fruits because urgh) and forced me to eat each and every one of them in front of him. Along with those chocolates was a single candle to represent how I lit up his life.

At that time, I was still dating Reek. By then our relationship is already in ruins, though it'd take another month or so before we broke up. We were fighting, arguing, bickering almost every day. His relationship was also strained, what with him and his girlfriend having different schedules and being too busy. I think earlier on our 'feelings' towards each other is just a feeling of wanting to be needed, wanting someone to hear us out.

When my relationship ended, I took it really badly. I was so, so heartbroken, and that heartbreak turned into this grief when I realize I lost my fight. He was the first person to find out; I didn't even need to tell him. Everyone was fooled by my smile, my laughter but he wasn't. I remember it clearly, it being a Saturday, me receiving that text from Reek, me crying my hearts out in KLCC's toilet, me walking to work, me crying my hearts out in the locker, me looking into the mirror and forcing a smile... We were busy on that day, and when I finished work he drove me home, and asked me if I'm okay.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday,... and when Wednesday came he asked me during work, forcing me, even, but I still maintained that strong facade and told him nothing is wrong. After work, we walked at the park, and he hugged me. "I know you don't talk about yourself or your feelings much, so I'm not going to ask you anymore, but I just want to let you know I'm always going to be here for you." And that was when I just lost it. There was no longer a need for me to act like I'm worthy of a smile because at that time, I wasn't.

After that we spent so much time together it's perplexing how we even managed to keep our 'relationship' a secret. I never talked about it to anyone, and at work, we're mere colleagues. But we went out almost every night, and me staying near work made things so much easier for us. We went out to places I've never been, crawling through the shadows of the night, laughing at the drunken souls wandering about. We sneaked into the park and cuddled and watched the moon and stars and talked about our hopes and dreams. We went to restaurants and he introduced me to so many wonderful things that I hated before this (think raw beef and salmon). He taught me the art of drinking without getting drunk, though me getting red even after one beer he can never figure out why. Looking back, I wouldn't even say what we had was a relationship, though it seemed so to people around us (a bartender jokingly told us we look like we're meant to be... talk about awkwardness). Truth is, our rendezvous are like two close friends discovering the world, nothing more.

This 'affair' of ours continued even after my internship ended. Though by then it wouldn't even be categorized as an affair. He broke up with his girlfriend right before I went back to campus. And after that he'd meet me at night, after work, and we'd go out for supper, and just sit in his car, him talking about work, me talking about school. We'd ponder about where our lives are heading, always avoiding the question of who we are, what we are... And then that one day happened.

That'd be our last night together. We sneaked into KLCC park, again, and I was talking about how my favorite love song would be ruined because of the memories I have with Reek. And all of a sudden he played that song, pulled me in and started dancing with me to it. "I love you." At that moment, I felt my heart sunk, and it wasn't because of happiness, or sadness; it was because of that sudden realization that I've done the inevitable : I've made someone else fall for me.

"You shouldn't." He was confused, and the worst feeling was telling him that I love him, but as a really close friend. I think that hit him very badly, and the whole way back to my place after that was just torture. I was stupid, scared, and was determined to not let anyone fall for me. I didn't want to fall for anyone too, not when my previous falling led to bleeding wounds.

I'm not incapable of loving, I'm just incapable of being loved. I remember my friends telling me that, and we pondered about how funny it is that I shy away from love, that one day that'd be the death of me. I've never really understood what they meant, but seeing him, all frustrated and angry, I finally understood their meaning. I understand, then, why my relationship ended the way it did. Why I needed the release.

When we arrived back at my place, he looked at me, with pleading eyes, and that girl who was scared for her life because she feels like she doesn't deserve being loved looked at him and said "I'm sorry." And that was the end.

Your mum reads my blog.
I don't love you; but I always will.

Saturday, April 12, 2014


"It took her months. Months of crying, hoping, praying. Months of searching for 'happiness'. Months of hoping time would turn back to that part of her life where she's happy and contented and satisfied. Months of hoping time would pass so that that pain in her heart will disappear. Months of hairdrying her tear-soaked pillow to refluff it.

Months of stinging headaches from inevitable hangovers. Months of money wasted on cigarettes and weed that helped alleviate the pain, though just a bit. Months of stringing along the wrong guy just so she'd have someone. Months of pretending to be happy in front of everyone else because she knew the moment she stop pretending she'd lose the will to keep on going.

That few months caused her a lot of scars. Physically. She cuts herself at places where people wouldn't spot it. Her hip, her ribs. She placed her cuts strategically, just so no one would question her about them, even when she's strutting around, in a false confidence, around her bikini. She sees the cuts bleeding and she yearns for her body to feel something. A sadness, at least. And those moments, like the drugs she took, provided her a momentary relief, a momentary high.

For months she was spiraling out of control. Until that one day.

She went for a run by the sea to get away from everything. Her life, her pain, her friends, that guy she's stringing along. And then that clumsy side of hers came in, she tripped, and she fell. And there she was with her knees stinging from all the seashells cutting her and she started wailing.

And for the first time after months of acting like the strong, happy person that she is not she finally let go of all the pain bottled up inside and she cried. She cried and cried and cried. She cried until the point where only dry, coughy sobs are emanating from her. She cried all her pain away.

And then it struck her. She has to let go. She has to let go of that broken part of her and allow it to mend itself. She was crushing all the broken pieces, making it worst day by day, and it's time for her to let herself heal. She realized that those months of her suffering was her way to punish herself for losing his love. And she has done enough. The hurt is no longer bearable, but there's no longer a reason for her to bear it. He's moved on, and so should she.

It took her months. But it was worth it. The day she let go, she became herself, all over again, slowly picking up the broken pieces. She did this stupid dance in front of everyone. She laughed and screamed and cussed and punched random people. She let go of that guy who was stringing her along. She developed a crush on this cute guy (and maybe she let him kiss her. A bit. Or a lot. Who cares.)

It was when she looked out from the bus on the way home and smiled at the weird cloud formation that she knew. She is no longer defeated. She is now a victor."

Your mum reads my blog.
Burning desire.

Friday, April 11, 2014


"That first time her heart was broken is the worst, because it might have been the only time she'd ever really, truly fallen in love. When he broke her heart, she knew he'd broken more that just that. He'd broken her.

She spent day after day alternating between refusing to leave her bed and crying her eyes out or pathological attempts to pretend that she was okay by partying like crazy until the sun came up.

A lot of nights were spent on the front porch, staring up at the stars with tears falling endlessly, wishing desperately that she would be okay soon with her sixth cigarette dangling between her fingers.

She wished with all her heart. She hoped. She prayed. For time to turn back. For time to move forward. For time to give her that simple desire : to just be happy.

Wrong decisions and countless mistakes led her to this : a shell of a person who felt empty and scarred, knees scratched from falling too often and eyes eternally puffy from an overload of tears. She was broken, beaten and defeated - not to mention lonely, hopeless and lost.

All she wanted was to be happy. Was that too much to ask?"

Your mum reads my blog.
Because we're back to being strangers.