Unspoken Feelings

“. . . tranquillity was no more. My world had for

some years been in L-: my experience had been of its

rules and systems; now I remembered that the real world

was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations

and excitements, awaited those who had courage

to go forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of life

amidst its perils.”

Charlotte Bronte



Intently watching, forever beckoning

On the time of my conception you were filled with gladness. The night I was born you shook the heavens in celebration. The moment I made my first few tiny steps you had a sheer smile on your face. When I said my first words, you’re listening. Every time I sleep you are beside me. When I dream, you dream with me. I wake up in the morning seeing your radiant light and glory. In my every breath you are there to breathe back.

You made every second to be with me.

You are the beat of my heart

The air that I breathe

Perfume to my soul

The trail in my journey

The colors of a gloomy weather

The clouds in sunny days

The dew in my morning

You are the beauty in everything

You have filled me with gladness. In every success and achievement I had you were there to celebrate.

Now, I am not just taking few tiny steps. I am starting to take few big steps to my journey. The wings you gave me are beginning to take a few flights to where I should be. The feet you gave me will soon take a leap out of the sand where I used to play. The heart you bestowed me will begin to sweep every fiber in me. The eyes you placed in me will soon shed tears of ambiguity and melancholia. But I will always allow myself to be overwhelmed only  with your affection. And I will always be aware of your eyes; intently watching, forever beckoning.


Untold Story of A Slightly Pathetic Suicidal Storyteller

I’m sitting on the sand looking at the horizon. My eyes are fixed as the sea begins to engulf the sun. Sometimes, it hides on the mountains. But tonight, it was drowned by the sea. The ball of fire once seat afloat far above the clouds is now under the sea, deep into the ocean. Will the fishes burn? What will happen to them? Will the fire flee from the sun?

Silly questions. Crazy imaginations.

Sometimes I feel like drowning myself into the sea or loosing myself under the sun. I have this urge to let go of myself and just disappear. Yes, disappear. I want to feel invisible, become invisible. Like the sun, I wanted to drown in the sea or hide in the mountains. In my heart, the need to lose myself and become invisible is screaming louder. From a gentle whisper to a fierce scream. Annoying yet invigorating. I feel that my soul has emerged from trying to become socially desirable into someone who wanted to be free of everything society has given. I feel like my identity was handed-down, inculcated, and dictated to me. I feel like a second-hand identity. I don’t know who I am and what I am capable of without this freaking and impossibly all-knowing society. The way I think was shaped and still being shaped by the society I live in and by the people around me.  My own spirituality has been from nothing into an extreme  supernatural intertwine of other-worldly events that you cannot or may not understand.

This whirlwind life has taken me afloat. I’m tired and will be severely tired soon. When can I find total satisfaction and pure joy? If I am to choose, I’d rather die today than experience hardship and inevitable pain. It’s not about courage or faith, but a matter of heart. I am restless. I know what will happen soon and even in the far future. If possible,I would gladly die this instant then ascend into heaven. That is what I want. I don’t want to be part of this world anymore. I just want to rest and be relieved from all the bullshit and fake happiness in this mess up world.

I’m still sitting on the same spot but my visions go far beyond what I saw earlier. Now, I am seeing myself standing above the sea. I don’t know how to swim and survive in the sea, but I know how to float. If I am to drown any time, I think I won’t survive long enough to be saved. Then again, I’d rather die.

If there is one thing I truly learned these past months, that is “It is always easy to give up and let go,  but that is not an option.” The thing is, I can do better than simply giving up and crying over the hardship I am in to. To be honest, such realization has not been easy for me. I’ve tried to kill myself. Only in my thoughts of course. I once jumped on a 20 foot bridge, but I find it gross. If I would jump, I would be graciously received by large stones sleeping on the dry river bed. I also planned hanging myself on the ceiling. However, I cannot find any strong knot inside the house. And I dreaded the idea of scaring my roommate once she found me pale, hanging, and lifeless. Thus, I decided not to kill myself.

However, the thought of killing myself lingered on my mind for weeks. Sometimes, I would be able to fight against it but there were moments that the urge becomes so strong and I would give in to it. But I won. I’m still alive and breathing.  Still, “I am half agony, half hope”.


The Random Post

Yesterday I set my foot on my hometown – Coron, Palawan. I was born here. It’s a rare mixed-up beauty of beaches, mountains, rivers, blanketed  by the sun rays and bathed by occasional rain showers. Being back for good doesn’t make me feel good in every way. I guess there’s this lingering unsolved something in me which holds me back to fully spread my wings and say, “FREEDOM!”

Well, it’s just again one of my pathetic moments.

Now, I’m here in the office. After hours of making a second exam for my students I am thinking (more than 50 times already) if I was able to do it right and half-imagining their reactions once they got it tomorrow. Haha! I am pretty nervous.

I don’t feel comfortable these days. Someone asked me, “Are you happy?” I waited for a few moments to pass before answering. That was the moment when I’ve assessed my heart. I felt that I am not totally happy. BUT I am fulfilled.

I’ve learned that I should get over my emotions. There are moments when our emotions would be overrated and would get in the way (whatever that is). I may not be “happy” in the truest sense right now, that doesn’t mean I am devoid of all the enjoyment Life can bring.

I am half agony, half hope. -Jane Austen


Soliloquy in Solace

Here I am in the middle of the city, under sky-ways, drenched, filthy, and alone.

The rain stopped, but its waters lingered on the streets I call home.

Tis be one of the many nights that I shall sleep in the cold, damp, and bustling air of the metro.

I have neither decent roof nor a mobile house.

This large city has been my home, for over a year now.

I am quite accustomed at going from place to place to find a spot to lay my head.

I don’t mind walking and sleeping on stranger’s properties.

I don’t mind about scavenging just to fill my groaning stomach.

Never did I detest begging for money.

But, I’ve always loathed other people’s stare.

The look in their eyes may be different, but they inflict the all too familiar pain.

Since I’ve sunk into the lowliest human status,

If you may call it as such, my heart never stopped aching.

Strangers look at me with disgust, fear, shame, and pity.

All too different, yet all too familiar feelings.

There were times that I would not mind them.

Among the four, I detest mostly the look of fear.

I never dreamed to be someone people would fear.

I haven’t done anything to cause them to fear me.

Ah! It may be  of my filthy clothes, lice-infested hair, yellow-black teeth,

and an altogether hideous appearance.

Nonetheless, I see nothing wrong with what I’m doing.

I feel totally comfortable at begging people for a few pennies.

At least, I am not stealing from others.


Days like sitting near a train station has been tiresome,

but it suits me.

I feel like a landlord waiting for my peasant farmers to come

and grant their harvest.

It may be a little different, but still I liked the idea.

I am thankful for those who give me food,

For that means I won’t be searching

For nearest garbage bin to find my dinner waiting.


But who am I, by the way?

I am nobody.

No one truly cares for me.

I reckon, nobody remembers me.

The woman who gave birth to me, the man who donated his genes,

Nor the nearest kin have long forgotten me.

I am nobody and no one cares for me.

You may think that those who give a dime care for me;

They do not.

They give because their conscience tells them to,

Without it, I would probably be dead by now.

People give for various reasons,

Some for love, out of genuine concern,

and others to show that they too

have a heart for the needy.

But for a beggar like me,

The poorest of the poor,

Who would truly care?

No one.

Not even you, reader.

And why do you even bother reading this?

Have you anything else to do that you

Made up to this point hearing my prideful woes?


Ah… I think I have exhausted myself from so much talking.

I haven’t told my entire story yet.

You heard of my petty perils,

But not of my deep sorrows.

Let my feet take me out of this damp road,

I am now to find my hidden nook.

Pray that I will see tomorrow,

So I may speak of the complete truth.