Sunday, September 21, 2014

To Blog

It's been months since I have blogged properly. Aside from the occasional snippets of literary bouts, I haven't posted anything. While I don't miss blogging about what I am wearing, I do miss the emotional ecstasy of writing something real at one moment, going live the next. This blog never attracted swarms of readers. My only readers are my friends - bound by loyalty - and the occasional lost souls who managed to stumble upon my blog through links I have strategically spread throughout the world wide web. Still, I like it that this blog is unnoticed. It's where I can be loud, verbose and dramatic without people reacting. It is a release, an open space, an unheard scream, a floating thought. It is my safe place. I know people read, but people never comment. That silence, to me, is enough. My words don't demand to be heard or read. They only need to be spoken, written - uncensored and undecoded.

I, as always, am I mix of anxious feelings, regretful nostalgia and a little bit of hope. I continuously write. I write for a living now. Yes, I actually get paid to put words and more words out on paper, or a notepad software, if we're being precise. I still write for a bunch of other endeavors - a few freelance gigs here and there, pieces for the Church in hope of doing philanthropic deeds, no matter how small they may be, my little brother's projects and endless scraps that never find their way to the blog. I have never stopped writing or talking, but it feels like I've lost the flurry of words that have accompanied me always. More so, I think they're all in conundrum, tied and knotted together in a tangled blob, crazier than an accident along Edsa. It's like there's a part of me that stopped being. Maybe that's why I stopped posting. After all, am I still the same girl who wrote diary entries about her future as a broadcaster?

Sunday, August 3, 2014

This Ain't Love, It's Clear To See

The way you smell has been deeply ingrained in my mind. A gust of wind is enough to make me look around. Is it you? Are you here? It's that distinct mixture of freshly-washed clothes and hard liquor. It hits me and my brain zeroes in to every memory of you that I didn't even notice before.

A guy seated next to me smells like you, and I die a little inside - remembering the last time you were this close to me. It's like I can feel your breath on my neck again, your fingers drawing circles at the back of my hand. It must be your scent that keeps me hostage to your memory, like a magical smoke enchanting me to your toxic presence.

We try our best to ignore each other, to pretend that nothing is wrong, that nothing ever happened. But I pass by you, and your scent consumes my whole being, intensifying every emotion, from safe to scared to confused to lost.

I break down, because I know, there's a part of me you already own.

Yes, that title is from Sam Smith's Stay With Me. No, it doesn't have anything to do with what I wrote above personally, but it adds a nice touch, doesn't it? Let's all pretend this is a love story. It's not.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014


Four years of friendship and we still have limited photos. You always refuse to be photographed, especially without me. But you were always behind my most favorite photos of myself. Not being particularly inclined in photography (but still knowledgeable on the basics), you always amazed me when you take so many good photos of me and Arra.

I have always had a theory about that, a theory I never shared. I think the reason you took so many lovely photos of me and Arra is because you saw the best of us, the best of me. Your talent in taking photos wasn't built on technicalities or style. It's rooted in your eyes, your eyes that always saw what was real in people. You always said you had trust issues, and together we would cry about our individual pain. But in the years I have known you, under all that skepticism, I saw someone who knew how to be a true friend, a dedicated sister and a pure lover.

In the rare moments you told us what you completely think, I would hold on to every word. When you gave your opinion, I listened and nodded because I knew you saw things with a pair of clear eyes. Somehow, those pair of eyes saw something in me.

Thank you, J. For always believing in me. For being a strong rock in a sea of fleeting relationships. For being a source of strength and an incredible esteem-booster. I never tell you how much you mean to me enough but I hope my clingy ways let you know. There are few friends in this lifetime I consider to be irreplaceable in my life. You, J, are one of them. I still remember the day I told you that you reminded me of my old best friend and how you angrily told me you would never treat me the same way. I hope you never ever realize you don't want to be friends with me. I don't know what I would do without you.

This photo of us perfectly captures who we are as friends. While others have thought I control you, it actually is the opposite, you're a bully. Just kidding! Like this photo, I will always keep my arms around you protectively. You can always count on that. But, also I will be holding on to you because you're my rock. You keep me grounded and secure when my head is in the clouds. You keep me up and standing when my heart has sunk beneath the ground. I hope you never lose your copy of this photo. On days I don't get to chat with you through our Microsourcing Skype accounts or Facebook Messenger, on days I start blogging about a life I don't share with you anymore, on days we walk our own paths to our individual dreams, on the days we are separated by oceans, may this photo always remind you that no matter what, you will always be a constant in my life. Happy 21st birthday, J. Subspace soon? Just like the good ol' times?

Finally posting again because it is a special day. ♥ Here's an online letter to one of my favorite people. Excuse any grammatical errors. It is a non-working holiday and I'm giving the writer in me a break (only until noon though) :)

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