People like me.

Do not fall in love with people like me.
I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments,
and kiss you in every beautiful place,
so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth.
I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible.
And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.

― Caitlyn Siehl

Body of mine.

Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds on which you lay,
but also those desires for you
that glowed plainly in the eyes,
and trembled in the voice — and some
chance obstacle made futile.
Now that all of them belong to the past,
it almost seems as if you had yielded
to those desires — how they glowed,
remember, in the eyes gazing at you;
how they trembled in the voice, for you, remember, body.

― Constantine Cavafy

Is it courage to stay?

Perhaps the only difference between me and other people was that I’ve always demanded more from the sunset; more spectacular colors when the sun hit the horizon. That’s perhaps my only sin.

How do you satisfy an insatiable woman? How do I justify to you, dear lover, that I simply adore you with all my trembling feet and hands, but I have myself, above all else, up on this pedestal I can’t get down from.

I have planned on leaving, leaving to chase dreams that have always been a hair’s width out of reach. Will you wait for me? Will you make me choose?

How do I justify my self-love and not have you see it as conceit? Oh, the ache I feel for the possibility that no man will ever measure up to even half the person that you are. I may never kiss another again the same way I kiss you. Will you grant me respite if I come writhing back with defeat in my eyes, my failure ripe for parody?

I ponder, ponder, ponder: What if I may never want to? There’s a whole world out there, I might just sweep it off its feet – a long shot, but nevertheless a possibility.

If reaching for the stars at the expense of this affair will be the best decision I may ever make, then I shudder with both excitement and dread. The former, I am not too keen on.

I think, I hope, I yearn to land on the moon instead, have stars envy and love me from a distance. From a distance – all they will ever be are specters from afar, grainy and cloudy through spectacles tainted by the color of you.

The idea of you, us, has rendered me blind to the aftermath of settling for comfortable domesticity. For a while, that was okay. For a while, you were enough.

If you so make me choose, then I will favor to leave, leave you for me. I pray to the universe to give me the courage to do so. And this is where my dilemma further thickens: Is it real courage to leave? Or is it courage to stay? Where does the absolute bravery lie?

Tonight, I rest in silence. For all my tomorrows, I shall decree a choice.

At this very moment, I look up at the skies above and see my moon shine brightly.

The new “normal”.

You walk around downtown and spot people’s quirks from a mile away. But can you really call them oddities, peculiarities just because they don’t speak for your brand of norm? When has the human condition been confined to templates? And more importantly, who comes up with them?

Normal, there is no such thing – a mere fallacy created by society to promote uniformity and absolute truths, if there are such things; to abolish anarchy, keeping all of humanity’s ducks in a row; to create a sense of belonging as it is, after all, a human need.


I tell you it is just that.

Long preface short, your kind of normal is utterly okay. No need to see that shrink, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Give the person who called you weird the mighty finger, and then some. As long as you mean no harm to yourself or to others, you’re stellar.


Marvelous day to you!

Ain’t it grand?

Of all the things to do, from catching up on my work load to cleaning my bedroom-slash-office, I write a blog post. Better that than worry about my sell-out job and putting food on the table, I always say.

Since I’m an indoor soul, I ponder what the outside world looks like nowadays. Is the sun still shining? I can’t tell from these thick curtains. Are the flowers still in full bloom? Well, more about that later. Who cares about such petty things when I have Internet connection. Right?

I’m kidding. I do care if the roses are still being roses, wonder if the air still tastes like the sea. But I’m stuck here in this not-so-little bedroom-slash-office, trying to maintain a blog, staring at this screen, typing away, and stealing glances at a sweet little bunch of red and yellow plant genitals that my lover got as trophies from winning a war against a bush in the garden. He is so sweet.

Promoting forgiveness with gummy bears.

The boyfriend has finally had it with me. He feels objectified by being at the receiving end of constant cat calls and winky faces. He is offended by how I, a full-grown woman, am able to act so crudely by sexualizing him to great lengths. I can’t help it if I’m dating such a ripe stud, can I? I’ve resorted to apologize through sugar-free gummy bears… and they are piling up.

Nostalgia in the city.

We walk through old familiar roads and find bits and pieces of ourselves we left behind. Many times you travel a path, the same path every single day, and never really looked. Most of the things we do in life to survive has rendered us numb from feeling, seeing, being. We’ve resigned ourselves to merely existing that we forget how profound the little things we take for granted can be at the end of the day.

You lived in the same city for most of your life but you never really saw how the light on that street post next to your favorite coffee shop flickers three times, stops, and then flickers again, this time with maddening frequency. You never truly tasted how decadent the local street food is since the time Hepatitis A plagued the news. You never fully comprehended how homeless children can laugh their days away, with all the poverty that cursed their existence. You never even looked up as the last of the sun’s rays hit your lover’s face at just the right spot.

The way I see it, what sets humanity apart is that fleeting sense of either contentment or restlessness for the life one has lived, regardless of how one lived it. Maybe we have the answer, maybe we don’t. One thing is certain, life – mine, yours, his, and hers – goes on and ends despite the trivialities. Do yourself the courtesy to make it count.

Confessions of a non-outdoorsy soul.

He swims out into the open sea, carefree and child-like. Here I am – a book on my lap, living vicariously through him.

Before I say goodnight: A letter to my long distance lover.

How do I survive you?

Love — you radiate it so well. You move me like the heavens move above you. You are profound, so profound that I am beside myself. But you’re not here. Do we fight it? Is it worth it? There’s not much to hold on to, is it? So, why am I still waiting?

Maybe it’s your eyes and the way they see me. Maybe it’s your hands and how they touch me. Maybe it’s your lips and how they fit mine just right. Maybe. Maybe.

And I love you. I hope that is enough for you, too.

The female condition: Let me change you with my love.

It hurts. It hurts because you really, really love them and you only want what’s best for them.
But you can’t change them unless they’re ready for the change themselves.
They say they love you, that they love you a lot.
And then they make you wonder, wonder why your love is not enough to catalyze this change.
It hurts because they matter. They matter a lot.