11:12 pm

You were shining.

Glistening. 

Surreal beyond the much the word can house..

You were as radiant as the sun, but as luminous as the moon. You were as kaleidoscopic as every rainbow I have witnessed in my whole life.

You were whole, a difference from the fraction that you were the last time I saw you. Your eyes, brighter; your heart, stronger.

It was as if I didn’t break you.

I went back to see the damage I have done. I guess a part of me hoped that you will remain the trainwreck that you were then. I wanted to see how you still struggle to pull the seams I have tugged back in. I wanted to see the hurt in your eyes, the desire in your skin. The longing in your voice as you crack me a hello.

I want you broken, so I can fix you.

But as how every nightfall is deemed to morph into a bursting sunrise, you healed. Your scars of black, now grey. You were a full set, not one piece, gone. You weren’t as effervescent as you were the day that I left.

And as I muster the beauty that you were, an aching thought seeps into my soul.

I shouldn’t have left.

I shouldn’t have pieced you, and brought fragments of you with me.

I shouldn’t have left. Thinking that the pieces I took were still needed, and I, demanded as well.

I shouldn’t have left, left with thinking that I could slip and slide unto your life as I inch your puzzle pieces in and out of your system.

I shouldn’t have left. For you healed, and the pieces were home to none now. And as they wandered, they found a hole in me. A hole drilled as I witnessed your sorry eyes wept. A hole drilled as I muttered the goodbye.

I shouldn’t have left. For the pieces of you I took found home in me. And now each curvature of your face and every memory of you and me are my waking thoughts and evening’s dreams.

I shouldn’t have left, left with thinking that you needed me more than I needed you.

I shouldn’t have left, love - 

I shouldn’t have left.

Of Inks and Tragic Sunsets

Her heart bled of the ink she uses to pen her every ache that flows with, against, her current of a being.

And so she danced. Danced and fondled with the thought of you falling sound asleep to the dream of her face.

And so she wrote. Wrote of the billion moments she knew too well she would not bear witness to.

And so she kissed

     - every inch of you.

Every morning, every night, her lips met the ever so blurry notion of you.

For her heart bled of the ink she uses to pen every thought she homed.

Of the ink she uses to pen every thought that was solely you.

I have a theory that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. That every greatest memory you have lived through springs into context for the very last time. A scent whiffs through your senses; a conversation heard plays again within the confines of your head. And in that moment, you will know that you will be taking your last breath. It is then when your life’s greatest hits play right before your sight.

And I am sure that those concerning yours will fill my afterthoughts. And I am sure, so sure, I fret, that your eyes will fill my skies. And I am sure, so sure, that your voice will drown out the beeping line playing in the background as I take my last inhale. And I am sure, so sure, that no matter how painful or lenient my death shall be, the thought of waking next to you will be the sole thing lingering through me. The first time you said hi; the first time you hugged me tight. The first time the three-letter word slithered out of your system. And I am sure, so sure, that whether my life will end in a grandiose fade away, or will cease in a massive whitewash, your face shall be that last vision I would have. For I have a theory that when you die, your greatest hits play by your eyes. And I know that every corner of my brain will echo every inch of you.

You are my last thought.

You are the best thing that happened to me.

The "A" Word

“Taga-UP ka? ‘Wag ka maging aktibista ha?”

These were my neighbor’s words when I told him I was entering UP. It saddens me, really, how UP is simplified unto being a breeding ground for such but it saddens me even more how being an activist denotes a negative meaning.

In a society where homogeneity is seemingly celebrated, subverting the government seems to be nonsensical. This is not because the bureaucracy is pristine, but because this is not the common trend. Ever so rarely would you encounter “politically and socially aware” persons actually acting and doing something to further their causes. Ever so rarely would you see most of the “politically conscious” rise and let their “opinions” made known. It is ironic how some openly embrace a radical thought with having yet to embody it. Ironic, how many “tweet” and “post” anti-government propagandas without really fighting for them. How a few still basks within the confinements of anonymity. Of how a few is perfectly fine with solely sharing and retweeting, but not with acting. Of how prevalent pseudo-participation seems to be. Of how prevalent pseudo-activism is.

I am not an activist; I have yet to know where am I to place myself within the scheme of political thought. One thing is certain though: I do not hate the notion of being one. Being one who seemingly sees rallies on a weekly basis, I have so much respect for activists. I look up unto how much they are willing to assert, to fight, to lose their life, even, for the materialization of their causes. Of how willing they are to exceed the comforts of normalcy to achieve communal betterment. Of how electrifying their chants are. Of how magnetizing the fire in their eyes are. Of how beautifully united they are.

And amidst all these beauty, most of today still view them negatively.

Is it that activism is so uncommon that one is ought to look at it negatively? Is it that the notion of sacrifice so rare that we ought to deem one that embodies it as foolish? Is nationalism going extinct for us to ostracize those who still are possessing of the virtue?

Ironic, how all of us can see the ills of this society with having yet to make these imperfections dissipate. Ironic, how we wake up to the same reality with having yet to change it. But who to blame, really?

That I can’t answer for sure. But I have a ‘what if” that oscillates within my mind. What if this degradation persists because we choose not to act against it? What if this regression has yet to cease for we, too, have yet to act towards its annihilation? What if because of choosing normalcy is how we miss out on the comforts of progress and betterment?

"Hindi ba’t mas malaki ang nawawala sa tuwing hindi ka tumataya?”

True enough, it is. Hence I find solace in thinking that a handful of people choose to risk it all. That a handful of people choose to better not solely themselves but society as an aggregate. That a handful of people are courageous enough to act, and not to solely react. That a percentile of our society isn’t passive.

That a fraction of us are activists.

Why shame them? Why view them negatively, when they are fighting our battles for us? Why look at them with disdain, when they are trying to better the era our children will be living in? Them skipping classes, them missing out on what life has to offer – these they do for a cause. A cause that exceeds our ostracizing. A cause that exceeds all of us.

Hence what I am trying to say is to quit viewing the “A” word negatively. Quit equating it with petty subversion. For it is more than just an eight-letter word. It is one that consists hundreds of smiles now gone. It is one that equates with brothers, sisters, parents, and friends that are now gone. It is one that encompasses the dissipation of an ill society. It is a word that springs a promise of a better reality. And this beauty isn’t a subject to our belittling. If you are not an activist, then at least respect them for who they are.

Respect them enough to view them as equals, if not as someone greater. Respect them enough to know that they are disintegrating their lives to sustain ours.

An Open Letter To My Future Love

Prior to anything, you must know that I am writing out of loneliness. Do not get me wrong; I don’t thirst for love. For romantic love, that is. I seldom feel the need for it. Maybe that is why I have yet to feel it. Maybe that is why it dodges me.

Maybe that is why I have yet to meet you.

I am not difficult, know this, love, please. I do not fancy dinner dates that cost a man’s day of work nor do I long for gifts that come with hefty price tags. I do not cling that much nor do I come too loose. I saw the horrors of loving too much so I swear, I won’t, never, love you beyond life.

And maybe this is why I have yet to meet you.

If there is anything, I love myself. Love myself so much that I do not place me on a place of high stakes. I do not expose myself; I am not what you see. I build walls, only to long for them to be torn down. And then build them high once more once they are struck down. I shy away, so as for you to come near. And inch back again once the space between us dissipates.

Though this is so, I am not passive. I am not unfeeling. I am far from being numb. If there is another thing you must know, I feel. So much, I fret. So much that though I confine myself through solitude, every feeling still touches me. Like how joy occasionally dances through my nodes and like how ache often seep unto my veins. But I am a mere speckle to the multitudes of masks that I wear. I am my very own contradiction. I hurt and I do nothing. I’d rather wither within than let someone in.

But if there is anything, again, my dear, it is that I write. I do not so much, but I always do so when I can’t carry everything inside.

Like how I write to you now.

If ever I come too hard or too incomprehensible, chances are I could not fathom myself either. But know that my words would know better. Prize these among all, and please-

-never give up on me.

Should you meet me and feel something deep down within, kindly tell me. I am indifferent enough to sustain this love we house, please do not be apathetic, too. I might require so much, and I do not know if I am worth the sacrifices I demand but what I ask of you larger than life is to stay.

And if you do, I could not promise you happiness every single day. Nor could I promise you days without rain. Nor could I promise you that I would even remain.

And maybe that is why I have yet to meet you.

But if there is something, third, my dear, is that I’d let you in.

I'd let you in my two thousand eight hundred of a mask.

I'd let your soul meddle with mine like how I’d let you try my usual cup of tea.

I'd let you in like how I’d show you to the places only myself have I made known.

I'd let you in like how I’d tell you my dreams and like how I’d tell you my every single fear.

I’d let you in like I’d never let you back out.

And these are the petty promises I hold just for you to stay.

And I would be waiting,

waiting for the day I would but for now I sit-

-still, as I type this letter with having no clue whether it reaches you or not.

And I’d enjoy my cup of tea come morning until I get to sip it with you.

And I’d travel to the places I constantly go to until I hop to them with you.

And I’d keep every notion, every dream, every thought to myself until I expel them all to you.

And I’d list every fear within the confines of my mind until I etch them into yours.

And savor my loneliness; I’ll bask within its comforts.

And let every ache within until I let you in.

Para Kay Seatmate

Bakit 'di pa tanungin ang aking ngala't numero at 'di lang ang petsa't anong sinabi ng guro? Bakit 'di pa alamin ang pintig ng puso kong inip na inip nang maghintay sa iyo? Bakit hanggang tingin? Bakit hanggang ngiti? Aking pag-ibig, sinta, batid mo na ba rin? Bakit umiiwas; bakit natatahimik - bakit sa tuwina'y lagi kang walang imik? Para kay seatmate na 'di ako pansin. 'Di mabatid, 'di mabalingan ng tingin. 'Di mo ba alam na sa bawat wanfort na ihinihingi ay naitatangay nang utay-utay ang aking puso't damdamin?

To compensate for my lack of posts recently, I decided to share more about my beyond mundane experiences. Every so often, my bland life is spruced up with happenings that strikingly go in contrast with my greyscale world. Things Lately is a series of compilations of which. A series I shall start with this post.

i. UP Manila Pre-Law Society

Yes, after all the blood, sweat, and tears I have shed, I am officially a member of the aforementioned organization. Prior to my transfer unto UPM, I have heard of Pre-Law Soc and since then, I wanted to join. Amidst the difficulty of getting in, I did. And so far, so good! Loving the people, loving what we stand for greater. Looking forward to what’s in store for me with Pre-Law.

// photo not mine

ii. AIESEC aCamp (or AIESEC, per se)

HOW DO I EVEN START WITH PUTTING INTO WORDS HOW MUCH I HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH THIS ORG? AIESEC has been the evry first org I eyed on joining - even when I was still in UPLB. I just, UGH. I love how it bridges people together, how it bridges like-minded individuals to further social change! I love how it provides an avenue for development - both on the micro and macro scale. I love the people; I love the culture! I love AIESEC, enough said.

// The photo is of low-quality; I nabbed it from Facebook. It sucks, I know :(

iii. Museums

As much as I want to revoke this fact, but yes, it is my first time to wander unto somewhere alone. And I loved it. Admittedly, i solely went to National Museum this week for it was required for a subject. But regardless of that, I enjoyed it - so much so that I bothered not to “study” the collections for my exam but just appreciate them instead. I realized I loved museums! I loved the experience. I also went to UP Manila’s Museum of A History of Ideas. I failed to take photos though - I’ll come back next week, maybe. Should you be reading this, I urge you to visit the museums too! Entry to them are free for the month of October so don’t miss out!

These aren’t solely those who brought me joy lately. A lot did, and though October is a busy month - endless deadlines and whatnot - this has been my favorite month so far. Thank you to the experiences and the time-spent with friends that came with my persisting workloads. Thank you, self, for giving yourself I chance to foster unto the different spectrum of your existence.

The Age of Junk Information: A Call to Filipino Netizens

I was browsing through my Facebook feed then when I noticed how various “political causes” border ever so often between selfies and #OOTD posts. Posts such as “I’m a pro-Marcos ever since” alongside an infographic (the infographic was beyond horrible - both content and aesthetics wise) comparing Marcos alongside Aquino. It illuminated the “good” the Marcos regime brought and elevated the faults of the Aquino administration. While I have never been a fan of Aquino’s seemingly capitalist-siding reign, I am certain too that the infographic is bereft of adequate information to deem one superior over another. Being too lazy then to further my opinion through sharing the post and adding my take on it, I shrugged the photo off and went on swiping upwards.

Only to find another Facebook friend share an infographic (which was equally horrible as the first, emphasis on how gloom the font choice was) comparing Poe, Roxas, Binay, and Duterte side by side. Though the four were brought beside each other, the photo advocated for Duterte - having wee quotations for the former three and a full-on sentence for the latter. It cited how pragmatic Duterte was - of how he seemed to have “concrete” plans on how to rehabilitate Philippines. Federalism and “stern” legislations were present.

What am I driving at, then? 

I am no political analyst nor am I possessing of a degree just yet but through my lenses, I see various groups - and quite possibly, politicians - taking advantage of social media networking sites to further their political aims. I am in no way against it; admittedly, social networking sites are an incredulous platform to reach a vast audience at little or no cost. I am writing to the masses, to the citizens of the internet. (Yes, you; you who is lurking around Tumblr, reading my post now) We have no control over who posts what on the Internet. Having said so, though we evidently possess easier access to information, we also have so for those that are irrelevant. Junk information, so to speak. 

In an age where taps, likes, and shares dominate, it is impossible for us now to discern which piece of information is useful or not, relevant or not -  true, or not. Thus I write to wish for us to know our sources better. For let’s face it - through these is how we form most of our social and political opinions. Being beings bound to the clock, we ever so rarely possess the luxury of time to read Ileto and Constantino or to even read a freaking newspaper. 

And this is what makes each and everyone of us susceptible into forming opinions out of brittle arguments. 

I’m not saying mine are well-honed. I have yet to fully practice what I preach. I write to remind; I write to raise awareness. I write for our very opinions shape our very actions. And our individual actions shape the nation. And, whether we like it or not, our nation shapes us in return. Let us not take everything for granted. Let us not be apathetic. Let us not succumb to common opinion and even greater so to junk communication. Let us be responsible citizens of the Internet. And more importantly, let us be responsible citizens of our very country.

Rid us off of all our skin, we are all same within So tell me, love, why pick her face over mine when I have loved you for a far longer time?

Freefall

Galileo once told that two bodies that fall at exactly the same time, regardless of whatever, land at identical times, too. That regardless of how heavy or light their loads are or how dim or bright their souls are, when they fall, they fall.

Together. 

And stay grounded, together. 

But he dared not to tell of how two souls could ignite but still fail to heave each other’s flames. 

Of how two bodies fall at the very same time, 

but never for each other.

Perhaps we were alike, so much alike that we dared to repel one another. Dared to distance one from the other for we were nothing but puzzle pieces of the same mold. We were one, yet still two. Two, but somehow, one.

We loved the same things, pronounced similar names. We wrote our poetry having each other as our titles. And yet we had yet to combine.

Was it that we were too alike, that you left me behind?

I guess it is true that those similar repel. After all, even the sky is home to solely one moon.

17 Reminders for my 17-year-old Self

One. Never hinge your happiness unto anyone, anywhere, or anything. Regardless of whatever, you are in command of your own joy. Create it, and never barter it for anything superficial.

Two. Never compare yourself unto others. It is nonsensical, and trivial, to liken each and every ounce of you unto someone else’s. You are a unique concoction of every ill, tragic, but ever beautiful, matter. You are you.

Three. Never be disheartened if someone is objectively better than you. Objectively for no one is truly greater than anyone. Someone may be smarter; someone may be prettier, but never would they be you.

Four. Be content. Never be envious of who someone is or what someone has. No, I would not tell you to be happy with what you have for someone may secretly wish for what you possess. What I am telling you though is to be content simply because you have them.

Five. But always aspire to better yourself. Aspire to be greater in a field of your own choosing. Want to sing better? Practice. Want to write better? Practice. But never wish to do so out of exceeding someone else. Better you for you; better you because you want to.

Six. Be kind. The world is filled with so much atrocity already - why contribute? Harness a kindred spirit; have hands that are ever-ready to help. Speak no evil; oust words of goodness. Be a person who illuminates kindness.

Seven. Work. Never stray away from your aims. Never give up, as cliche as it may seem, do so, still. You control your own fate; construct one that is in accord with what you truly want.

Eight. But rest. Never compensate your wellness. Put yourself paramount to all. 

Nine. Appreciate everyone and everything. Send a text; make a call. Leave a note; hug someone. We can never say for sure who would fleet when, thus, take every moment as an opportunity to express gratitude; tell whoever you love them.

Ten. Anyone is not, and never will be, a terminal point. Someone will break your heart; others may break you wholly. Never look at them as endpoints, but as fresh starts. After all, every tragedy is an introduction that has yet to spring.

Eleven. Prior to loving any person or anything, love yourself. Know that one can only expel what he or she houses within. Before you give love away, store some for your own consumption. Before you let any slither out, let yourself bask within its confinements.

Twelve. Always be open to new experiences. Whether it is a book unread, or an album unheard, be forever willing to try them. After all, each and everything that we love now are nothing but foreign to us once. 

Thirteen. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to stop for a while. To expound your grief. To lavish on your melancholy. To release all ounce of anger within. We can only hold so much inside. So cry if you must, cry for as long as you need to. But never let it consume you; recoil back.

Fourteen. Say yes more often. It is easier to feel iffy about the things we have done than to feel regretful of those we still have yet to. 

Fifteen. But say no, too, at times. Know your cans and cannots. Your limits and whatnots. Your priorities and must-dos. It’s okay to turn down a few opportunities in the pursuit of those of greater importance.

Sixteen. Never be hesitant to give second chances. Be it a person who wronged you or this very world itself - know that no one makes no mistakes. Be forgiving.

Seventeen. Learn from the past, but never dwell in it. Try not to commit the errs done but it’s fine to make some mistakes twice. Look forward, look towards tomorrow. But above all, appreciate today. Appreciate every second that fleets before your eyes. Cheers to making it this far; cheers for the years to come.

Coffee Breaks

She learned to love coffee breaks for the same reason why most people do. It provided her a sense of sanity, a break from the harsh reality. She loved her coffee anyhow. She liked it when her mug reeked of bitter aftertaste; she liked it when hers resembled the hazel of your eyes. She loved the scent that prevailed; oh how it would stride through her senses and slowly cling into her! But she loved her coffee especially because it reminded her of you. 

Of how you used to bring her hers as soon as the sun bled. 

Of how you used to fondle with your stirrer, of you used to hold her hand while you did. 

Of how you used to take a sip exactly after you look at her. 

Of how she used to have her breaks with no one else but you.

But darling you have to put yourself first.

Above all.

Above others.

Above him.

For Earth ever so rarely stops for you to mend your heart nor would the night elongate for your tears to run out dry.

Cease to find a love,  so foreign and profound. And make your self a priority every once in a while

It is never selfish  - it is necessary.

She

She is never pretty to both eyes and skin; her kind of beauty is far from what’s mostly seen. Her eyes, too brown; Her teeth, uneven. Her skin, too speckled; her skin, too pale.

But there is something in her that makes your insides turn -   something in her crooked smile that makes you wish you’ll have your everyday waking up to the same toothy grin.

She is halestorms and sunsets, and everything in between.

She is fire, and ice, or a mix of each.

She is not her imperfections; she is not what she lacks. She is what she is, she is what she loves - she is her art, her music, and her writing. She is her thoughts and her convictions, her principles and aspirations. She is the places where she went, and the ones she has yet to set foot on. She is not her name, but the soul that in her is housed.

She is the kind you do never love oh so easily. She is not the kind whom you do so out of the twinkle in her eyes or out of the luster in her smile but because of everything you have yet to know about her in plain sight.

She is not the type you love at first sight, but the one you never  forget. She will be your waking thought, and evening prayer. Her face would linger in every book you read or in each coffee you sip. Her voice would resonate as each thought enters your brain; every part of you would remind you of her and that is when you would know that you lost her. 

That you lost her for the world. That you let the supernova that she is drift away from your grasp to obtain what Earth has to offer. That you dared not to reach for her hand, That you let her slip away and settled instead for something you already own. That you thought she was never worth the mountains, walls, you’re bound to climb.

But she was sapphires, rubies, and diamonds, and gold. And alas, of all circumstances, jewels you can never hold. She was too much for you -  far too much that you yearned someone less. She exceeds you by a multitude, and so you wanted someone else.

On school, stress, and harnessing perfect work-life balance.

I came across an article by Forbes a couple minutes prior to writing this.  “The Work-Life Balance Fallacy”, ‘twas titled. Being a junkie for “life hacks” posts and the likes, I unsurprisingly felt the need to read on. The post talks about how the common concept of “work-life balance” is awfully simplistic - that we mostly think of the various multitudes of our lives as individual concepts rather than looking at them at an interconnected manner. 

The article, though short, is indeed sweet. It opened my “stress-driven” self’s eyes unto something they had yet to see ‘til I came across reading the said piece. I was always the kind of person who sacrificed late-night hangouts for school works. I felt compelled to give one hundred and one percent of my time and effort unto studying, to such extent where my personal life is compromised. I always thought that everything has its own time; I ought to study today, and enjoy living tomorrow.

This type of thinking ruined a ton load of opportunities for me - from the potential circumstances of meeting new friends to the various encounters of possibly meeting the love of my life. All these because I looked at life’s components individually. Blue is blue, red is red, and indigo isn’t green. But life is nothing but a rainbow, a kaleidoscopic embodiment of our existence.

So I tell myself, and whoever is reading this, now to breach the walls that separate what from what in your life. To stop quantifying each every aspect’s gains and limiting them to a certain degree. To stop putting off once in a lifetime moments for the comforts of normality. To measure success not by how many medals you’ve earned nor by how may zeroes does your paycheck possess. To look at happiness as a choice and never as a chance. 

You cannot tell her she is unworthy of the love she has yet to find. Do not tell her she is not worth the walls you are bound to grind.

For she is not one of whom who deem love as blind and she is witness to each romance that had turn to grey. She knows no happy ending: only bliss in finite time and she had seen each type of love weaken then slowly fade.

She knew how love is fated to bring out the best in all and how, shortly, afterwards would it craft all’s own fall.

She saw the horrors that came with the promise of romance: that though no love is the same -  all is but a trance. One would break the other inevitably and if not, fate would run its course on breaking them absolutely.

So never tell her that she is but a coward to simply fall for she knew better and she knew that love would break her all. But to say such does not imply that she is ought to be alone. So love her still, and love her wholly – from her skin to each her bones.