I keep walking.

Damp hair smear my cheeks;

sweat trickle down my eyes;

soles sore and heavy neath a crumbling fantasy;

toes numb, lurching me to trip on scarred tracks;

dirt stain my face.

I wait for an audience to stare down at me, a smirk, stifled laughter,

but there is no one.

I am alone.

And I realize, how inconsequential I am in a world full of blank faces.

That the sun will continue to set and the moon will continue to rise, that the earth will continue to spin and the birds will continue to sing, that storms will continue to surge and flowers will continue to bloom.

And it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me.

What a comfort to know how I am nothing but free.




Living off Insecurities

The familiar whining of I’ve gained weight, can’t fit my clothes, I’m so freaking fat.

The disgusting sight we see in the mirror.

Slave to the scale.

The common phenomenon of airbrushed and edited lifestyles.


I have been on an endless diet since I can’t even remember. It’s been that long.

Society sold us the idea that how you physically look defines you. The more thin, the more fit, the more abs, the more beautiful.

So I see ugly when I look at the extra handles on my waist, the folds on my back, how I’m missing thigh gaps and my bloated face.

Everyone is obsessing on being cover girl pretty.

And it’s frustrating. And it sucks.

Because I love pizza and ice cream and steak and french fries and McDonald’s and being lazy in bed on weekends.

Now, I am not dissuading anyone not to work out or go on a diet and stay fit. Whatever works for you, go ahead. After all, it’s best to keep healthy.

But what I’m trying to say is we are more than just the size on a clothes rack. You are more than what you weigh. Do not let a few extra pounds erase all the good that has happened in your life. Once you see past the opinions you put on yourself based off on how you look, you’d get to grasp a grander picture of what you truly are.

That you could find acceptance and appreciation in so many places other than the unrealistic implicated norms that could cripple your confidence and self worth.

That you are important and incredible just by simply showing up to life.







I get you.

There were so many nights, I’m sure, that you struggled to silence the noise inside your head, but you just can’t.

How you pace back and forth by the front door waiting, counting the hours, the minutes, the seconds until the knob finally turns.

How you stare up the ceiling trying so hard not to panic but instead find yourself heavily breathing beneath the sheets of a cold and empty bed.

How you feel inadequate and not enough to fill his eyes, his thoughts, his lust.

A frantic scream, a restless void that you can’t seem to comprehend.

I get you.

He told me you weren’t okay but I never took a glance at how horribly he painted the woman he vowed to love for the rest of his life.

I know those were all pent up emotions and sometimes we say things we don’t really mean.

Maybe I was wrong to engage him in conversation.

Maybe I was wrong to have felt sorry for you and encouraged him to go home.

Maybe I was wrong.

I don’t know.

Truth is, there’s nothing to be scared of really.

What he and I had was far long forgotten but I understand if you feel the need to hate me. Hate me all you want, if that brings your mind at peace, hate me, that’s okay.

Because I get you.

I’ve been through the same, much worse even.

And I get you.



Infinite Apologies

When apologies fall on deaf ears and reconciliation is overlooked by blind eyes.

A half smile.

I felt the distance in your voice when you asked how I was as I sipped my coffee; it left a bitter and sour aftertaste of pride and anger and hurt.

Quiet dead spaces.

I am sorry.

I keep wishing these three words could restore the fault lines I moved that quaked our existence and paint the cracks I created with gleaming peace.

And I will not stop.

Because I understand my mistake and I am pained just the same.

Because you are invaluable and beautiful and loved.

We live through a multitude of things, from life changing experiences to extraordinary adventures to immense sorrows and uncontrollable laughter.

And moving along, we stumble upon people who shape us and lift us out from the weighted burdens of life.

Some leave an indelible mark and these are the ones who are most fragile to keep.

We are not invincible and our hearts will shatter. Theirs will too.

I am sorry.

And I will not stop.

Because what we had (and I’m hoping we still have) was real, I was as real as you were but I admit I am not infallible and so is everyone else.

I am sorry.

And I will not stop.

Because despite hits and misses, we grew the same roots and bent the same shoulders and broke the same bones and it was okay; our thoughts in place, our intentions clear.

You had me, I had you, and somewhere in between, that was enough.

I am sorry.

And I will not stop.

Because I hold you close to my heart and I will not wait until the dam is full and our waters overflow and will no longer be contained and our heartstrings become tangled and yanked and torn, no I will not wait.

I am sorry.

And I will not stop.

Because I will not let this pass only to be buried and ignored. I will take my chances.

Your presence resonates a rare comfort that lulls a restless soul and I kind of miss that.

I am sorry.

And I will not stop.

Even if you feel agitated and this becomes a vicious cycle of me stepping in, voicing out, just so you could hear and see that I am truly sincere.

I am sorry.

And I will not stop.

Not until you grace me with a full smile that will revive an ebbing fire.

What we shared was the rasp that carved me into this odd sculpture, imperfect but beautiful nonetheless.

I would not have been whole if not for you, that is how much you mean to me.

I am sorry.

And I will not stop.




It’s Okay to Freak Out

You think you’ve got it all figured out until it all blows up in your face.

My world paused for a moment there.

Mind, blank.

Everything around me started to fade in the background and I was left staring at myself sitting perfectly still.

When the only reason you stay put in such a repugnant and uninteresting place, unselfish enough to not pack and leave a whole world behind, is the one thing that could utterly break you.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m some sort of hypocrite, preaching one liberated thought, even expending unsolicited advice but totally freaking out when it gets thrown to my face.

Thirteen. Only thirteen.

A shitload of what ifs running through my head.

What if I did better? Am I any better?

As confused as I am, I keep wondering what they might be thinking, what he may be thinking knowing that he is scared and confused as well, more confused even.

Do not add any more scars, I say.

There’s a constant inexplicable pain throbbing in my chest as if my heart is about to burst only to be filled by an unmatched emptiness that is almost too much.

Am I pushing you away?

I can’t.

I can’t lose you.

You are my breathing existence.

You make sense and I’m not sure how I’d go about if you decide to shut me out, reclusive, unavailable.

But I am here.

I will never leave your side, I will not look at you any less for what you truly are.

Because I know you.

Because I love you.

And I will fight for you through slammed doors and ugly bruises, through raised voices and muted conversations, through awkward puberty and drunken night outs, through an ocean of tears and countless bear hugs because I remember one morning, 13 years ago, when the sun rose over a sugarcane field, piercing the jalousie windows of a small bungalow with the rusted blue gate, soaking a slumbering infant with heavenly light, I found myself staring at the most peaceful face, your chest rising and falling in the morning glow, little gurgling coos in between snuggles, your tiny hand closing on my thumb, safe, secured, and I thought to myself, there is nothing I would never do for you.

And I meant it, I mean it.





Dearcember 8: Just another Coincidence

While scrolling through one of my social media sites, I came across your profile shoving me with happy faces of you and her. Funny, how you both made it official on the exact date we met over a year ago.

To be honest I felt a weight in my chest but only for a bit, then I found myself letting out a loud sigh.

A friend of mine started this challenge called #dearcember where you write an open letter for 30 people for 30 days. I don’t have 30 letters for 30 people for 30 days but I have today in particular and just one letter to write for just one person in mind.

So if ever you stumble upon this and feel like maybe it’s for you…well, here it goes:

You were a happy coincidence.

It was so random but we matched in so many ways.

I’m not sure why the universe allowed our paths to cross, even until now that question remains unanswered; will remain unanswered. They say everything happens for a reason but you turned out to be some kind of bullish confusion and it has always left me wondering.

Maybe it was because you needed to give me something I did not know I needed.

Momentary attention, appreciation, a push to quiet my emerging insecurities.

Soulmate. Whatever that is.

We were the same but different. You were my deja vu. I saw myself in you but I guess you found me too complicated.

I thought we were okay.

I would never know if you were a hint of hope or something misleading.

You added more pieces to my shattered ones but I’ve always felt numb anyway so it didn’t really hurt.

Despite having left with the door wide open when you suddenly decided you cannot stay, leaving the cold memories and what could have beens to linger in my head a little longer, I’m thankful for you.

You unearthed a part of me I did not know still existed.

You gave new meaning to emotions.

You forged color into my words and taught me that pain make such beautiful unconventional art.

For the most part of it, you showed me that I am after all, still human.

That I could be vulnerable and it’s okay to feel sad that we ended way before we even had the chance to begin, that you left me hanging and have me the impression that I am not enough to deserve some sort of closure.

So I guess this is how I end things, to finally put a dot to your unfinished sentence and close a book I haven’t even started to read.

I wish she complements your passions and understand your wit and give you the happiness you’ve so long been looking for, we all deserve it some way or another.

By now, you have become my so long ago, a fading thought and finally — I’m done.



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