#PrayForDavao: What’s In It for Us?

(The image used was from one of Rappler.com’s photos on the bombing incident in Davao City, PH.)

The recent bombing in Davao City, PH is a proof that even one of the safest cities in the world is subject to threats and attacks of terrorism. That safety is everyone’s concern, regardless if you are the president running the country or the normal guy in the street giving no fucks about what’s happening around.

My heart goes to those who lost their loved ones to this heartless act. Surely, those innocent lives that were untimely gone because of what happened had families and friends of their own, just like everyone else. And I can’t imagine happening this to my family or to one of the people closest to my heart. Not even to you, stranger.

But do you know what’s sadder than the truth? It’s knowing that many lives had to die innocent and still many other had to give no fucks about it. Instead of realizing that what happened is a wake up call and be one against these global acts of terrorism, the same people are putting the blame on someone and pulling each other down.

Are we really that blind to see that it could happen to anyone? Does the terror of losing lives have to happen before our own eyes before we come to our senses and start to give a little sympathy and care? Does it have to cost that much?

This is not the right time to blame those in authority for failing to see this through ahead of time. This is not the right time to blame the president for leaving the city to become the president of the country. This is not also the right time to blame those people whose safety were compromised and lost their lives. Time and again, this is not a blame game, and this is not a time to be ignorant.

What we need is balls to be more aware about the global threats to our safety. This is high time to learn the lessons of the past and to re-learn in case we’ve already forgotten them. This is high time to stand up against terrorism.

#StayStrongDavao #PrayForDavao #PrayForTheWorld


What’s Killing Me

This distance between us is killing me. There is this element of longing that makes me want you more. Your eyes. Your lips. And your smile. Roll them into one and you are the most precious memory I have within me.

I say memory because I can only go back to when I was holding you close and tight in my arms. Memory, when remembered, is the only air lane that gets me to you each time I miss you.

This distance between us is killing me. And I’d die a thousand times over, trying to relive and remember us in a time when there can only be you, but away from me.


Old Self

Sometimes I wonder where have my old self gone to. That younger version oozing in determination and drive to reach for the stars and climb the success ladder. That lanky fellow whose dream scares him off but doesn’t run away from it.

I lost that self along the way, and my occasional encounter with him makes me look back in retrospect.

Each attempt to bring him back is a slap in the face. Because I no longer see him in me, even in the looking glass.

Be You

There are words that are better left unsaid, actions left undone, and events left as they happened.

You don’t need to explain everything to people. Let your story be told based on the unfolding of your own twists and plots.

And you just have to be YOU. Because in the end, the only person you have to be reconciled with is the self.

A Story of Betrayal

(I claim no credit for the image used on this post.)

This is a story about betrayal. I being the victim, and happiness being the culprit.

They say happiness is the goal. Because as long as you’re happy, everything will be in its rightful place.

Eternal wounds suddenly heal. Tears run dry. And you’re well again.

Only then I realized happiness just makes me settle. With the wrong person and opportunity. At the wrong place, and time.

Eternal wounds don’t heal, because there will always be the legacy of pain. 

Tears don’t run dry; they just make me numb.

I am never really well from the seasons of heartbreaks and pains that the world is doling out so generously. And I live anyway.

I live anyway, because the truth is: happiness isn’t all that there is.

I Made Up My Mind

(I claim no credit for the image used on this post.)

I made up my mind.

Our long conversations have already become mundane and boring; I no longer want to listen to your stories.

Your smile no longer brightens my day. You no longer make me happy.

And I’m no longer drawn to the smell of success in life, in love, and in the possibilities tucked under my sleeve. I’m tired.

Whatever it was that kept me awake on our last night, for whatever reason, I’m okay alone, and I’m taking things slowly.

Lost and (not) Found

(I claim no credit for the image used on this post.)

I sport a blank and empty stare to the endless and infinite nowhere across my sight.

I let out a long sigh, not of relief but of disarray, and a breathe that clogs up my throat and doesn’t want any release.

I say a word, but all it mumbles are the meaningless, non-existent characters from the alphabet. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.

Sometimes I think I’m a stranger to myself, alone in the desert of my own world, not even close to an oasis. Do I even exist with a purpose?

Then what’s my purpose?

Is it to be lost and be lost and be lost in the maze of life and never to be found? Not by choice. Nor by chance. Nor by any means, even that single raindrop has to the drying sand of the earth?

Then who am I? Or what am I, rather, that even the wind doesn’t want a whisper trouble me ? Even if it does bother me. A riot without an end.

I am now deaf to the thunders of the world and the world beyond it.

I am beyond it.

I am lost from the world, which is your world, too, all of you.

I am lost. And I am nowhere to be found.


People use passwords to protect whatever that thing is from being accessed or hacked by unauthorized persons. Whatever that is: a name, a random combination of letters and numbers and special characters. Birthdates. And whatnot.

In my case, I use my crushes’ names, one after another.

I use their names to etch them on my ephemeral memory of them. I use their names because that’s the closest thing I can do with them. 

I use their names, because it’s impersonal of some sorts, even if I get them to my nerves and feelings, which is very personal by the way, as time goes by. And I use their names, because in a month or two, I’ll have to change them, again. 

That’s how fast they can go, passwords or feelings.

You just gotta change them, right? That’s a requisite! Even when you’re yet prepared to let them go.

I gotta change them. Even when I’m yet prepared to let YOU go.

Only When It Rains

(I claim no credit for the photo used on this post.)

A friend once asked me why I suddenly become so emotive when it rains.

And here’s what I said:

Because the rain is home. To childhood memories. To bedtime stories. To growing up years. To heartbreaks. To inevitable goodbyes and recollections. To the getting-to-know moments with someone. And to the long list of possibilities and dreams that suddenly come true when it rains.

Because the rain is hope. The hope of being a child again, of reconciliation and second chances, of being with the person I want to be with, and of succeeding. For one moment, they are all real.

This won’t probably be the most intelligent answer to the question, but I live with a treasure trove of everything when it rains.

Isn’t it what life is all about?