Sinta Na Hindi Akin. (Tagalog Poem)

Ang isip ay lumilipad nang madalas,

Nananaginip kahit imposible.

Kahit alam na nating parehas

Nandito lang tayo sa kung saan komportable.

 

Sa lalong pagtanggi sa sarili

Na hindi totoo ang nararamdaman,

Sa ngiti ko’y nananatili

Ang bakas ng kasiyahan.

 

Magkalayo man sa ngayon,

Hindi man alam ang ruta papunta diyan,

Malay mo’y sumang-ayon

Ang tadhanang nakalaan.

 

Sumasagi rin kaya sa isip mo

Ang mga ganitong bagay?

Tinatanong mo ba ang iyong puso,

“Siya na ba pang-habambuhay?”

 

Siguro nga, ganito ang trato mo sa lahat.

O di kaya’y kaibigan lang talaga ako.

Kahit ano man sa dalawa ang angat,

Nagpapasalamat na pinagtagpo.

 

Magulo man at walang kasiguraduhan,

Pero handa akong itaya ang puso ko muli.

Hindi mo man alam sa kasalukuyan

Na gusto kong sayo’y umuwi.

 

Sinta na hindi akin, manatili ka

Rito kung saan tayo lang ang nakakaalam.

Sa lugar na walang humuhusga,

Sa lugar na sana’y walang magiging paalam.

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What Does It Mean To Fall In Love?

It came rushing in like a breezy wind finding its way towards the comfort of your room’s open window. The feeling of being home–in fact, more than that–captures your soul and fills you with bliss that you felt like was stolen, deprived of you for so long. It doesn’t matter whether you expected it to come, or how long you’ve waited, or that it wasn’t part of your plan. You attracted energy that appealed to that one person in particular.

 

Like they always say, it’s crazy that in retrospect, this person wasn’t as significant to you as he is now. It’s surreal that somewhere along the way, you clicked and interacted with each other like it was the natural thing to do. How the power of conversing gives you a cheap (well, not really) thrill of finding out more and more little details about him that you wouldn’t get to discover unless you actually talk with compassion and interest.

 

And you start to question yourself: where had he been all this time? He had always been there, hiding in plain sight, living, existing, breathing; the same way you were. It was privilege, a fact you weren’t aware of the first time. But when you finally acknowledged this truth, it was the moment you know you’ll both treasure and regret (if things turn up ugly). And you know you don’t have to look any further for questions you will never have answers to.

 

But there’s a catch to it somehow…it’s really too good to be true. Here’s the thing: you don’t know if he feels the same way. You haven’t mustered the courage (or never will, who knows?) to ask him directly because it isn’t your business to pry on his feelings. Your feelings are your feelings alone, and this applies to him as well. You hold on to this tiny slivering dash of hope that maybe, just maybe, he looks at you the way you look at him: with admiration, respect, and most of all, love.

 

Love. Huh. It’s a feeling that’s become foreign to you, even though it has been only months since the person you loved for years broke your trust and decided to close his eyes and never open them once again as long as you’re in the picture. The person who made you travel an extensive road with no exit signs or directions to follow. Yet you’re here, getting back up, putting the past behind you, and moving on for yourself.

 

Because of this, it provides you with a great amount of terror. What if this boy you’re talking to isn’t the man you think he is? This has been the scar of the love that left you–a bag of trust issues, constant need of reassurance and consistency, and a slight craving of attention. And you may not admit it yourself, but you are. You are scared. You’re scared to love again and to open your mind and heart to another person that you know is temporary; but you’re also fearless and careless because no matter how much you convince yourself that you don’t want to fall in love, you always do in the end and that excites you. It moves you, even. And that’s what it means to fall in love: to have your heart chewed up and spit out, until you cross paths with this one lovely human being in your lifetime and you know: you’re on your feet again, walking, running, frolicking towards love, towards the person closest next to home; and everything that’s disheartening, and even the walls you absentmindedly surrounded yourself with, will be gone the moment you hear your heart beat.

Birthdays and my unsolicited perception of it.

My viewpoint regarding the celebration that you’re getting a year older hasn’t always been like this. For the most part of my childhood years, birthdays are considered a momentous occasion for me. Your family excitedly plans where your venue is, how it will be designed, who are the invited guests, what gifts should they get you, and many more. As time went on, and due to a series of unfortunate events, parties are disregarded and set aside; or even worse, they won’t acknowledge it’s your birthday at all.

 

It’s not that I’m experiencing the latter part of my statement. I still do get greetings from those people close enough to my social space. And I’m grateful enough that I still receive gifts and paraphernalia. So, what do I see during my birthday? It’s the feeling of being lonely even after all the blowing of candles, the greetings, the hugs and kisses, the gifts. Rather than rejoicing and gaining the feeling of significance and joy, a shallow emptiness you can’t accurately describe embraces you. And this bothers you, as if there’s an itch you couldn’t scratch. And you start to contemplate whether you just feel too entitled or maybe, honestly, people whom you love and consider your friends don’t actually care enough for you. Not just friends, but even your own family.

 

You doubt your own worth on your very own birthday. On the day where you should be looking forward to getting older, but instead, this might be the reason you will end getting older. Perhaps, maybe I make birthdays too much of importance? That birthdays are just like any other day, except, it’s just the day you were born? Having a brain with conflicting ideas is hard enough alone. It’s quite a paradox–I think that birthdays are a milestone. But on the other hand, I also think it’s just an ordinary day that comes with a reminder.

 

So I promised myself that I won’t make such a fuss over a celebration such as my birthday. There’s no reason to overthink such event. That it shouldn’t serve as basis for my worth, importance, and happiness. Life in itself is a precious gift. I don’t hold what people choose to say or do on my special day; it’s their business, not mine. As long as I hold myself together, along with the right company and comrades, my birthday will remain a day with a reminder.

 

 

Leave me alone.

You have no say in what I choose to say and do towards you. You have deeply hurt me, degraded my being, shattered my heart, used me like an object, and disappeared like thin air.

 

You have no say in what I choose to feel. This is the consequence of what you did. You let this happen and you know well this is your fault. You can’t blame me for what I feel after your shitty, selfish act.

 

You have no say in my putting a grudge against you. I am angry, I am disappointed, I am upset, I am frustrated. You have left me in awe and wonder and confusion.

 

My boy, you have no say in anything at all ever. You obliterated your own place in my life and that is something you cannot undo. Go if you must; but always know that you have no say in what I choose to say, do, feel, and my putting a grudge against you. You can merely watch from afar with your own judgment and regret. By your leaving, you also take your baggage with you–memories, paraphernalia, intentions.

Next-in-line.

Maybe behind this wall of torment and fear,

Lies a solemn escape with tremendous ease.

A place of tranquility and contentment,

So close to what you call a utopia.

 

You must conquer mountains and monsters,

To reach the so-called perfect destination.

Experience loss, sacrifice, thirst, and hunger.

Even lose your mind, so to speak.

 

Now, is it truly worth taking?

To tackle the road of uncertainty?

To fight against an invincible army?

To  accept the quest for the future?

 

Thus, the vehement forces come in rallies,

Destined to take one step further.

On the other side are the ones with power,

Cross-legged, sitting inside their privileged offices.

 

They are growing bigger as they eat off from

The efforts of their very own people;

Like a lion munching some lone mammal

In a faraway deserted desert.

 

But this doesn’t cripple the voice

Of the generation with an oncoming success–

That is if they relentlessly strive and promise

To uphold their fight with conviction.

 

As long as the hourglass hasn’t been inverted yet,

Notwithstanding that time runs in a course,

There is still hope that we can reclaim

The future we once dreamed ourselves in.

 

 

A Phantom Hovers.

I still see you in everything I do. Walking in the park, drinking coffee, singing karaoke, swimming in the pool, watching movies at the cinema.

 

“What can we be doing at this very moment?” I ask myself. Will you kiss me? Hold my hand? Hug me out? Make fun of me? Tell me one of your stories? There’s a lot to do. But a lot isn’t enough because you decided to leave.

 

There’s no one to kiss. There’re no hands to hold. There’s no one to hug. There’s no one to make fun of. There’s no one to tell stories to. There’s nothing I can do, except to pretend that your mere shadow is with me.

 

You are not sorry for what you did. And that’s okay. I’m not sorry for writing this either. I am not sorry for holding on while you chose to let go. But as I’m writing this, maybe you let go a long time ago. Maybe you left several times and chose to go back because I love you and it’s just that easy.

 

Indeed, I am pondering over what we could be doing at this moment instead of me writing all of this alone. Your ghost haunts me everyday until I have to close my eyes and dream somewhere else.

 

You are not mine anymore. I cannot kiss you. I cannot hold your hands. I cannot hug you. I cannot make fun of you. I cannot tell you stories. There’s a lot to do, and that is to wake up from my fictitious realm and into the reality that you’re never coming back.

 

I should never again see you in everything I do.

How lucky you are.

How lucky you are
When you find someone
Who also likes the way your coffee is made
Laughs at your jokes even though they aren’t funny
Has fondness for you that is eternal
And how lucky you are also
If you don’t have that someone
You have all the time to improve yourself
Find what you really want in life
And do the things you desire
Just because you’re in love, doesn’t mean you’re always lucky
And just because you aren’t, doesn’t mean you’re hapless
It’s all about perception and your own apprehension
Of what you have and what you don’t have.

— H.L.

Cope.

If you’re a writer: “Write when your heart aches.”

If you’re an artist: “Create if you’re bothered.”

If you’re a singer: “Sing a sad song if you wish.” 

If you’re a dancer: “Let what you feel be what you do with the beat.”

 

I am not an artist, a singer, a dancer; I am only a writer. And this is me, writing while my heart aches out of disappointment.

 

It isn’t surprising that my heart has once again been shattered by the same boy. The VERY same boy. Still, why am I disappointed, if it’s the selfsame boy? Because, if that was the case, I shouldn’t be shocked, right? For a span of few months, he made me live in this world where we were together. A world I would gladly choose back then without skipping a beat. A world where I thought this time, this could be it. He is my future.

 

But the record scratches and the frames fall and shatter, and that future was again taken away from me. You, yes you, the very same boy I fall for every goddamn time, had let words slip out of your mouth and meaning not a single word. I know you’ve said that I’ve always doubted you, and that it’s mostly my fault why we fell apart now, but, can you blame me? I won’t put out my reasoning.

 

So tell me, why is it that I always fall for you? Why do you keep coming back and I keep letting you in? Is this a curse? A spell? No, it’s goddamn reality, and that’s sad.

There is no plot twist.

This year has been a crazy, wild ride. I was gifted with family, friends, and that special someone who makes my heart happier than it was before.

I’ve been blessed with the people who surround my personal space, with the talents God has given me, and for the adventures and lessons that this year has brought me. But, as much as I would want to give light to the positive things that I’ve encountered this year, I have been weighed more with each awaking moment in which I wished I was dead instead.

“Oh, but why? You’ve got everything! You ungrateful bastard!” You would say. Well, no. Even with the amount of joy that may have been granted upon me, the catch is that I will ALWAYS face its downside; that is, being lonely than I already am. You have all these people around you, people who support and yearn for your success, and yet, you feel so alone when the clock hits 3 AM. There’s no one you can count on, no one to lean on, no one you can call to talk about your demons with.

Not even the person you’re in love with. Sometimes, it’s that very person that triggers all of your emotions at once. And sometimes, you screw things up because these demons play tricks to the one you love. They’ll break your relationship, make you realize you’re actually better off on your own. The fact that you should be fighting off your own demons than to drag someone with you is already disappointing you. What a dependent, shitty person I am. Do I even deserve this person in front of my cellphone screen? Do I deserve his reply, even when he has none?

There is no plot twist. God knows I’ve been hysterically asking Him to make my 2017 a year I won’t forget. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist. There is no plot twist.

Still, you try to subside all these thoughts and feelings away, for the sake of the ones you love and care most about. Who cares, right? Put a mask. Suppress everything. It’s what I do best anyway. There’s more to my story, but it’s a surface I can’t break. It’s too deep that even I can’t fathom what lies underneath. What stories are yet to be told. No one’s willing to listen. So, I’ll keep them to myself until I die.

 

I wish I was dead. Or maybe I’ve always been dead with every passing minute. Or you know, maybe I’m dead now, after you’ve read this.

 

There is still no plot twist.

I finally swallow the truth.

An open letter to the boy I like but I was too late. 


Hello. You know that this is about you. Everything was goddamn about you. We were very close, though we started being friends through social media. An internet friend is a real friend, too.

I don’t know why it happened all of a sudden. I was fine before. Was it because, I finally met you in person? And it felt so good to talk to you in real life than through a screen? Well, yes. It is.

It wasn’t your intention to break my heart. The timing was just very wrong—even though I was the first one to break yours. Yes, I broke yours first. I hated you for liking me in such a short span of time, for asking me silly things and admitting that, in fact, you liked me. What was I supposed to do then? Tell you I love you? No. It doesn’t work that way, prince charming. I didn’t know you very well, and you can say the same about me at that time being. We were still strangers then. So, no, I didn’t reciprocate the love you gave. I threw it, because I was so unsure. I mean, who THE HELL were you?

But that all changed now. Years later, we finally met in an unexpecting way. Who knew? I though I’d never see you. It was good we remained friends, though. Close friends, to be honest. But, something in my heart clenched and my stomach swirled. What? What was it? I shrugged it off.

But, even when I jumped on my bed and laid there, you messaged me—”nice seeing you”—and I said the same. Wow, it really was SO NICE to see you. Because you are the boy whose heart I broke a few years back. I never did admit to you that I liked you, too, then. But it was just crazy; it felt like we were going too fast. So, yet again, I restrained myself at that time.

I’m really sorry if I didn’t give you a chance. And now I regret it. What if, somewhere at some point, I told you that I liked you too? Where would we be then? What ifs. They’ll torment you for the rest of your life.

So now, I accept my defeat. And my mistake. You have someone special in your life now, and I don’t want to interfere and ruin such connection. You deserve it after all the heartbreaks you experienced after me. I know I broke your heart intentionally, but you are breaking mine, too, right now, without knowing. And not because you wanted that.

It’s my fault I let you go. And I’m sorry. I’m glad we remain friends though and that means the world to me. You aren’t aware that I really like you now, but it’s better off that way. You deserve a peaceful and happy relationship. Until then, I wish you luck.