She was the moon

And he was the sun

Without him, she was lost.


You never tell anyone about thoughts as dark and serious as these because no one will understand.
It’s okay to let go, but not today, miks… not yet.

Ethereal Redemption

The comic books were wrong. Heroes aren’t always costumed crime fighters, and they don’t always have super powers. They aren’t always superhuman, and they don’t always fight off villains.


Heroes, as cliché as it sounds, are around us.

They are in mothers who give everything they can to their children. They are in fathers who work hard, day in and day out to provide for their families. They are on the streets, in the eyes of the people who seek justice in this world. They are on our screens, seen in the field reporters who risk their lives just so they could deliver the dangers of the world as we stay in the safety of our own homes. Heroes are in regular people who strive to be extraordinary because if there’s one thing the comic books got right, it would have to be the thought that heroes make the world a better place.

And that’s what he is to me. A hero.

He made my world a better place. He came unexpected, like a thief in a cold december night. He changed me without meaning to, and he saved me without knowing it.

You see, my world had always been the home of darkness. My mind was always filled with dangerous thoughts and harmful ideas. Outside, I may seem carefree and happy, but my looks are designed to deceive. I wanted to look alive even if death was slowly gnawing on my insides.

I hated myself with a passion, and I was on the mercy of my own blades.

Then he came…

He came and he saw beyond my pretense. He killed the villains living within me. He was beyond ethereal. He was my redemption. He gave me his light as he helped me find my own. My demons were suddenly gone, and it was pure metanoia. He was pure metanoia. I was transformed by his impact, and he didn’t even know it. He put the clouds beneath my feet, and he made me realise that my deception was not merely an act; It was who I was meant to be. With him, happiness became my reality, and for that, I will forever be in debt.

He remains relentless in his rescue, but I know he can’t stay forever. Soon, he would have to fly away. He has his own world, but I hope he knows that for a second, he became mine. He became my world for a brief moment because he gave me what I was about to lose. He gave me life. He became my strength in my moment of weakness. He became my everything when I had none. He became my light when all I knew was dark. He made me hold on when I was convinced to let go.

Even if he takes his graceful exit, away from me and into the world, he will always stay within. He is immortalised in my newfound light, and he is felt in the fire of my toughened spirit that burns brighter than a million suns combined. I won’t fall into darkness anymore, and he will never fall into oblivion. I will always be here to tell the tale of the sanguine hero I have come to know and love. His greatness will never be ignored or forgotten because I will always be here. I will always be here to remind him of how amazing he is whenever he feels neglected. I will always be here to heal his wounds from the evils of this world. I will always be here, ready to defend him against this harsh and betraying world.

Even if the entire universe turns its back on him, I won’t.

Because he never turned his back to me.

Even if they all give up on him, I won’t.

Because he never gave up on me.

I will always be here, waiting for his return, ready to be his hero the moment he finds his kryptonite.

Because he always was my hero, and he will always be my hero.

Now, I’m ready to be his.

Long Overdue


This post, as the title states, is long overdue.

I’ve always had a problem writing about topics given to me because I don’t have a systematic writing style. I’m not the type of writer who thinks of a topic first before deciding on the things I’d include in my written work. I don’t outline my ideas or follow a detailed process.

I just write.

I just let my thoughts flow out until I run dry. I set my ideas free, not minding what direction they take, even if they don’t take direction at all. I write as long as I have something to write. I don’t care if my words are jumbled or if my sentences are a blur, I continue and I still write. I write until my meaningless letters and lost words finally find sense. I write until my fingers ache, and I write even when my fingers ache.

I let my heart take over every time I let words spill out. For this very reason, I absolutely can’t write systematically because systems are rigid. They require much thought, accuracy, and preparation. It works for most people, but it never works for me. In writing, I can’t EVER think because my words are always translated feelings. They are never designed concepts.

It’s funny because this post is the most punctual out of all the late papers I’ve ever done. I’m only one day late!!! (well it’s actually one week and a day if we follow the original deadline, but I was given a one week extension… so the one week’s cancelled and it only leaves a day… right?)

I always had trouble with my timeframes in this type of work because, as I said, I really couldn’t deal with structures, especially in writing. I’d usually turn in my school papers a month late or even more. If I submit early, then it means that I didn’t put much thought or care into it. I’d give it for the sake of giving it.

I’m looking to change this bad habit of mine, and this dare might just be the key.

You see, my cousin dared me to write about topics he’d give as a consequence for the times I become impossible, and this is supposed to be the first post. I got sidetracked and I mostly talked about my passion and style in writing. I was originally tasked to write about the dare. It’s a good thing I came to my senses and found a segue because if I didn’t stop talking about writing, then this post would be about something ENTIRELY different. I would then have to start over again just to write about something as simple as a dare. I barely talked about it in this post, and it only proves how bad I am in structured writing.

Honestly, I’m so scared because I’m almost ALWAYS impossible, and in this post alone, I pretty much revealed how much I suck at structured writing. ((So far, out of the five or six paragraphs previously written, only one talked about the topic…)) I’m afraid my works would pile up, and I don’t want to drown in the flood of my own mistakes. I especially don’t want to get trapped in a prison I set for myself. This dare expires the moment I do, so I’m just hoping that I stay out of trouble for the next… I don’t know… 100 years?

Kidding aside, this is actually one of the most challenging dares I’ve ever accepted. It may sound simple to most, but it’s my ultimate struggle. With that said, All posts associated to this dare would fall under structured struggles in my menu bar. This post is only the beginning, and even though I want this to also be the end, I know it can’t… I know it won’t be.

This is a dangerous game to play, so may time be always by my side, and may the odds be ever in my favour.

6000 words

He said it was all I had to give in exchange for my freedom. So here’s “6000 words” now please set me free from the prison of my own mind.

More than words

Bakit ganun?

He knows when I’m sad or when I’m faking my okays… He knows me that well. He even cheers me up in a matter of seconds… Pero ako di ko magawa mga ganung bagay para sakanya…

Why can’t I ever be the person he is to me? This entire thing makes me feel so useless. It’s frustrating me because it feels like he always ALWAYS lifts me up, but the only thing I do for him is drag him down.

Lagi ko siyang sinsabihan ng problema ko. Binubuhos ko lahat ng sama ng loob ko. He always takes everything that I throw his way. The thought bothers me because I can’t remember a time this summer when I did the same for him. Never niya kong binigyan ng problema. He always just gives me happiness.

I know it’s wrong to feel this way… Because he always tells me that I should never feel like a burden… Pero hindi nga ba?

He does everything in his power to make me happy. I want to do the same for him… So so much. But sometimes I just can’t, no matter how hard I try.

Sometimes, I just want to keep everything in, just like before, para hindi na siya magalala… Para hindi na siya mahirapan.

I just don’t know what to do anymore, and this is killing me because he means so much to me… More than i can ever show, and more than I can ever say.

Broken details

They say you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. Tama nga naman. How can you give what you don’t have?

The time I met him, i still had so much to give. I was still so young back then, yet I openly welcomed love despite fully knowing that pain is always attached to it. I was prepared to get hurt. Okay lang kasi sabi naman nila time heals all wounds, diba?

I guess that was my only fault… It was a fault to think that I was no longer naive, and honestly, it was my biggest fault. Akala ko kaya ko, pero hindi pa pala.

I lost myself in the process of loving him. I was just way in too deep that I lost all reason. It started with the small excuses I made for the days he wouldn’t text back. Baka wala lang siyang load…. But those little excuses grew bigger, and I found myself saying my sorry everytime he’d treat me like nothing. I allowed myself to believe that it was my fault. By doing that, I singlehandedly gave him the license to drain out everything I could give until I was left with nothing. Di ko alam kung pano ko nagawang ibigay ang lahat kahit wala na palang natira sa akin.


So here i am, years after giving so much more than what I have. Despite everything that has happened, I still continue giving my everything to everyone even when I can’t give anything to myself. I’m unsure of myself. I can no longer find the beauty that my younger self had once seen and had. The only thing I see nowadays when I look at myself are my faults, and most of the time, I blame him. I don’t know why I do, though, eh alam ko namang kasalanan ko rin ‘to. In the process of making excuses for his faults, I made myself believe that i wasn’t good enough. You know… The famous line? “It’s not you. It’s me.” I made myself believe that all his mistakes were truly mine.

I entered the battlefield thinking I was prepared to get hurt, but I was foolish to not know the extent of the possible damage. They always say that time heals all wounds, and I fully believed them. But they left out a very important detail. They never do warn you about the scars that some wounds leave– yung mga hindi mo na maibabalik sa dati kahit gustuhin mo.

I want to bring back the love I once had for myself. Pero sa totoo lang, hindi ko alam kung kaya pa kahit gustuhin ko. Sa totoo lang, hindi ko alam kung paano.

So this is for the brave souls out there who aren’t afraid love: My dears, always remember that you don’t prepare for wounds. You prepare yourselves for scars.

The Venom Of Isolation

I’m scared of losing people. The fear was always there, I guess.

It’s actually quite ironic when in fact, I like to be alone.

I find beauty in the solace of 2am’s and afternoon walks by myself. I find joy in always having space, may it be in between my fingers or in my queen sized bed. I find comfort in having my thoughts all to myself from early morning until late at night.

Alone translates into freedom instead of loneliness– most of the time.

Some nights, the loneliness just sinks in. Some days, I just can’t deny the sadness of it all. The darkness of being alone hits even in the brightest summer days, and it hits you the hardest when you have nothing but a million minutes in your hands. The sands of time bury you alive, and the ticking of the clock will reverberate through your entire being, haunting you even in your sleep. Yes, those are the days when you’re sprawled across your bed, unmoved for hours. Those are the days when you’re aimlessly walking, heading towards the unknown. Those are the days of sitting in your patio, waiting for something or someone to come along, knowing fully well that no one ever does.

Those days are undeniably agonizing because those days are the days you realize that you don’t like being alone.

But, being alone just grows on you. It is like poison in your veins, spreading through every inch without you even noticing. Soon, you’d be used to it, and you’d fool yourself into thinking that the beauty of always being alone outweighs the pain of it.

In my case, the venom of isolation roots from my fear of losing others. Most of the time, I push people away because I’m scared of losing them in the end. No one really stays after all, right? I often build my walls high enough to hide my darkest corners but low enough to show my light. I build these walls because my dark corners are filled with my demons– demons that don’t play well with others.

In a way, I chose to be alone.

I allowed the venom to take over, and eventually…

It poisoned me.

Drops of ink

I haven’t written in so long that it already feels foreign to me.

No, wait. Let me correct that.

I haven’t written about you in so long that it already feels foreign to me. That… or maybe the thought of you is already foreign to me.

I always tell myself to try to forget, and to try to move on.

Keyword? Try.

I said these words a million times before. I’d repeat the sentence over and over again until it all jumbles up in a blur– until I move on from the thought of moving on. Yes, I said the same words a million times before, quite carelessly if I may add. I’d throw them in every paragraph my actions speak until I believe the words to be true and real. I said the same words a million times before, trying to convince people that I truly was moving on. But in truth, I knew I wasn’t, not even close.

For so long, I have said the words without noticing the detail I meticulously emphasized myself. I became careless with the same thing I was so careful about. And for the first time, I actually paused and allowed myself to take in every word of the sentence I always tell myself.

Try to forget and try to move on

keyword? TRY.

It was a word I always pointed out, yet at the same time, it was also the word I unintentionally disregarded in the million times I said the same sentence. Because of this, my words were always empty.

So i said the words again for the million and first time with every word in mind. And for the first time out of a million times, The same words were different altogether. The same syllables rolled out of my tongue with a new stroke. The words I said over and over again finally came out in a different light. My words were no longer empty because for the first time, I allowed myself to immerse in the gravity of the word that could either make or break the statement, and for the first time, I actually tried.

And so, I decided to take a break from writing about you. I told myself I needed to stop concretizing the feelings coursing through every beat of my being whenever I think about you– just about you. I never really planned a hiatus. I didn’t want to stop writing. I just wanted to stop writing about you.

I never meant for the pages to be completely blank after your chapter. But, I was left with a lot of spaces to fill, and not even a single drop of ink tainted the clear sheets screaming for words to be tattooed on them. I tried to make the letters sit on paper, but they refused to be fine print– permanent and final. I couldn’t form a single sentence, not even a single word about the infinite things around me– excluding you of course. But isn’t that the reason why I couldn’t jot down a single letter? As a writer, I was paralyzed because I was limited to an infinity that excluded you. I could not write about anything because “anything” excluded you.

 I have come to realize that the thought of you is still not foreign, not even a little. The thought of you is not foreign at all. After so long, writing about you still feels the same. It still feels natural and easy, as if I never even stopped at all. The drops of ink crawl out effortlessly, and I don’t even have to try.

You are the only words I can write, and the thought scares me so much.

To My Dear Seniors


A semicolon represents a sentence the author could’ve ended but chose not to.


It’s been a while since I first walked through the halls of high school, and back then, I had eight hundred days. I had eight hundred days to walk through the halls of red and gold.I had eight hundred days to draw graphs and dissect frogs. I had eight hundred days to look for x and to keep asking why. I had eight hundred days to learn the difference between parallelisms and parabolas. I had eight hundred days to fix fragments and complete phrases. I had eight hundred days to form sentences and build paragraphs and tell stories.


But, beyond the basics, I had eight hundred days to figure out who I was and who I wanted to be. I had eight hundred days to find my place and to find myself. I had eight hundred days to find people worth keeping. I had eight hundred days to know about four hundred faces, and I had eight hundred days to memorize the feeling I have around each and every one of them.


Eight hundred days seemed so much back then, but now, it seems so little. Now that I have less than a hundred left, I’ve realized that eight hundred is but an only because it’s all we’ll ever have.


They say after 800 comes a goodbye. They say after 800 it would be the end. But, I beg to differ.


We will always come home.


We will always come back to the place that forged our identity. We will always return to the community that once gave its everything just so we could give our everything back. We will always go back to the halls that awakened our restless hearts.

We will always come back under the wings of the eagle that taught us how to unfurl our own, knowing that we’ll always have shelter.


We’ve left parts of our hearts in these halls, and our hearts will always lead us home.


So here’s a semicolon.


Here’s a semicolon to the kids of Neverland. Here’s a semicolon to the steadfast spirits that shine brighter than the golden sun. Here’s a semicolon to the story that will forever be frozen in time. Here’s a semicolon to the hearts that roar and to the fury that will never die.


Here’s a semicolon for the class of 2014 because this is not their end.


This is not our end.




My Last Editorial Piece

Special thanks to Jean Liwag for helping me with this
and credits to marlo, cassie, and tristan (The italicized part is an edited version of your song)