Poetry

#15 Who

Who are you?
whom I trusted with my heart,
who I kissed at the back
of the car, whom I cried for
a thousand nights, whom I broke
all the rules for, and loved it.
Who are you when you said it?

I love you.
I do.
I’ll help you.
Love.

Who are you?
who I remember in all these
songs, which I couldn’t believe
anymore. I can’t believe in love
anymore. Who are you
who broke me, but I think of
whenever I am happy, wondering

Are you happy?
Really?
More than when you
were with me?
That’s great.

What is this?
Whom is this for?
I love you, but I don’t
recognize anymore.
I love you, but do I
just love the taste of it
in my mouth whenever
I say it,

I love you.
I do.
I’ll help you.
Love.


Photo taken by vonmedeza.

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On sadness and breaking down

It has been a while since I last posted here. I have a teaching demo to be prepared for, but I think I just needed this. 

The boy I loved once told me out of mild exasperation and with subtle accusation, “Lagi ka na lang nagb-breakdown! (You’re always breaking down!)” to refer to my constant season of overthinking and crying. Hearing my reality in his words, I believed that he meant well, and in fact, he was telling the truth. I was always crying. I would get silent and be lost in my thoughts, and the next  I am typing him long messages consisting my (emotional) qualms. It was difficult to be sad and be in love. I am still sorry for entering the relationship as that. I was hoping I could love out of my sadness, that another person could love me out of my insecurities and fears. I was wrong.

I do believe, however, that no one should make you feel guilty of how you feel. No one should make you feel, either consciously or not, that you are harder to love because of the emotions you experience. I was hoping that the boy I loved understood me better and accepted me more in worse conditions. It was too much of a responsibility, maybe, but love is hard work, isn’t it? Still, I am sorry. I still carry the pain with me today. Whenever I would cry I remember that the person I loved did not love me and left me for it. The reason for breaking down then becomes the very act of breaking down. I need people who won’t take it against me, who are not going to try to fix me with their logic and words, but would patiently wait for me. I need people who can show up and stay. Stay. 


It is hard to live a life at peace when you are in an environment where people tend to fake things. For the past few weeks, I see people both at their best and at their worse. I experience their wonderful and lovable sides and watch from the distance how they pin others down with their whispered voices and malign glances. It was hard to be at peace with yourself when you need to deal with these people. I realized how much I hate hypocrisy because I hate myself for it. If it was hypocrisy that I had said I’m always going to love the boy I loved and went angry at him for not fighting for me in the end, then I have hated myself for it.  


I always hate myself for just waiting for something to happen when I know exactly the things I should do. I hate myself for always praying that I develop a closer relationship with my parents and still doing nothing about it. 

The other day, April 23rd, I came from an organization ceremony that lasted the whole night and day. I got home at 10 a.m on the 24th, and with just an hour of sleep, I had to prepare to attend to my part-time job. I was feeling all the physical and emotional exhaustion from everything that has been happening, and I badly wanted someone to know about it. I was sitting right across my mother in our living room and anxiety was sinking in. I wanted to open up to her but I was afraid of not receiving the reaction I needed. Tears started to draw out, and after some time, I just called, “Ma..”

She looked at me, and was baffled that I was crying. Her voice started to rise another pitch higher, which I know she does when she is worried but still gets my heart skipping a beat, as she asked, “Hindi mo na kaya? (You can’t take it anymore?)” There was relief in me as more tears showed up, and my mother said, “Magsabi ka (Tell me)”.  

It was enough that I cried in front of her, and told her my worries and fears. My speech was nowhere perfect, but I knew she understood me. Before I leave for work, she kissed and embraced me, told me to ask my boss for a leave until I finish the semester. I was still crying on my way to work, partially because I am still stuck in this bubble of loneliness and tighter heart contractions, but mainly because I was relieved with that encounter with my mother. It was a small step, but it meant a lot to me. It adds to the many things that keep me going today. 

To you, you probably saw me or heard about me breaking down these past few days and decided to read this, thank you. Even if not, I still appreciate you being here and sticking through this narrative. I pray you would be brave, true, and kind. 


Thank you to my best friend, von medeza, for the wonderful, original photos, and all the love. 

Poetry

#14 Story

After things fall apart,
people would tend to ask
about how it all went down.
What happened? And
you know that you know
a story. The first time
your eyes saw him differently,
the night he first held
your hand at dinner, when
fourteen days later he said
he already fell so deeply,
every morning text,
every drive to home when
his shoulder is your head’s
safest place, the sweetest
words, the day he started
acting cold, plans not being
showed up anymore, that
Christmas day he said
you should enjoy yourself,
followed by the loudest
silence through the fourteen
days you cried and waited
for that moment he finally said
It is over
All become stories.
That people listen to. Then
people feel for you. But you
did not really mean them to
pity the situation you got into.
You tell them because you have
nothing else. You tell them
because you still can’t believe it.
All you have now are stories.
That people listen to.
People feel for you while
you can’t feel anything.
People have your stories and
to them it’s just stories,
but to you they mean everything.
It is everything
you are trying to salvage
and then they become stories
people listen to…
people feel for you..


Photography by vonmedeza.

Poetry

#13 Memory

I let it wash over me
the words you spoke
when we were free
from misery. I know
why you had to leave.
I think I know, trust me.

I let it wash over me
the feel of your touch,
the way your hands were
clasped with mine. I hear
you breathing beside me
at night. I hear fear.

I hear tears.
I hear hearts breaking.
I hear love. Fearing
for its life.

In silence,
I let it all wash over me.
Your memories that say,
Nothing’s ever going to
be the same. My love.
Nothing but my love.


Photography by vonmedeza.

Poetry

#12 I guess

What do I do every time I miss you?
Where are you? I have been missing
you all my life. I guess I need you, and
this sounds like a cry for help
from all the weeping that
these movies have caused me.
But I guess I want you
to carry this heavy head for me
to stop, to just stop me from hurting
and missing. I am missing you.
Love me, one day, and I am going
to need you to turn a day to forever
even if forever’s doubtful,
even if a single step towards it
is a struggle, I choose to struggle
with you. Just never let me miss you
because I have been missing you
all my life. What do I do my love?

Poetry

#11 Are you?

You don’t know how long
I have waited just to be
able to write happy lines,
to take love songs as mine.
Are you going to stay?
Are you?

Because the sun will not
cease to rise tomorrow.
I learned that pain only
takes time to heal, and
crying every night has
killed nobody. Maybe.

Are you going to stay?
I’m done begging fate, so
it is just a question.
I’ve loved, and this won’t
be the first heartbreak.
Do not pity me. I am
just asking, Are you going to..

Because after tonight is
just another version of me
with another you tattooed
in my brain, who scarred my heart,
an unsuccessful love. Are you?

Writing

Sometime we turned one 

I conceptualized this blog upon the premise that nothing lasts forever. Everything and everyone in this world is temporary. With this, the same thing is true when we say change is the only constant thing in life. We all can’t keep but change, even if we don’t want to, even if we fight so much against it. 

Change is frightening. The thought that nothing and no one can stay the same gets me anxious about the days to come, detrimentally affecting the way I live in the present. Change can scare the shit out of me, but I am fully aware that it is necessary. It is important and it is healthy. 

All the same, I still find myself thinking about things and people the way they are at one point in time. Before they had to leave, before they changed that hairstyle, before they got that award, before they become someone or something else, before they disappeared in the now. Sometimes these people and things were something to me. They might even meant everything to me, and then everything had to change, may it be for the worse or for the better. 

In writing I continuously learn to deal with change. This blog has been helping me process the changes that seem to be constantly happening in my life now more than ever. I am pretty sure that this blog isn’t going to last forever. I will have to move on from this to the next new thing for me. But there will always be comfort in knowing that sometime I had this. Sometime we were here. You read about this, knew something about me, and somehow you and I had connected. This blog aim to celebrate moments like this, and I want to thank you for sharing this Sometimes with me.