#186

And I just couldn't let me be
able to write you poetry,
for once I did so,
all the—

I would be hurt again.
I hate getting hurt,
really.

I was too sheltered when I was still young
to fully understand what—

I don't really like the feel of it.

It would be like
watching paint dry
with my life depending on it.

I crave the spark.
I'm alive, and I need that certain motion!—
that certain serendipitous—

I just don't like—

My soul, though still young, has grown too old
for this—
this—
thing.

Popular posts from this blog

The General Who Almost Became Filipino: Rethinking Douglas MacArthur’s Legacy

More Than Just "I Have Returned" We all know the image — a tall figure stepping ashore in Leyte, eyes forward, pipe clenched, and the words: > "I have returned. By the grace of Almighty God, our forces stand again on Philippine soil — soil consecrated in the blood of our two peoples." These words by General Douglas MacArthur have been immortalized in textbooks, war memorials, and patriotic murals across the Philippines. To many, he is the liberator — the American hero who fulfilled his promise. But behind this grand declaration, what truths lie beneath the surface? Was it all honor, or was there hidden agenda? Was MacArthur truly for the Filipino — or only the idea of us? 🎭 Was "I Have Returned" a Hero's Oath — or a King’s Decree? At first glance, MacArthur’s words seem noble. But they also carry the echo of a royal pronouncement, as if he were not just returning, but reclaiming a people. He didn’t say “We have returned” — he said “I.” He styled hi...
Read more

#114

I was told my people would leave me. I was told not to put them before myself. I was told that once all the blessings are gone, and I am the one who has fallen, they would turn their backs on me. Yet, I have this strange feeling that I— for the life of me— can trust them. I can't shake the thought that whispers: I am surrounded by good people. I don't deserve them, yet they're here— playing along with my nonsense, laughing with me at the most trivial things... or maybe they're laughing at me. I don't know. I can't say for certain. But all I know is this: These people came into my life. They were sent to me, so that one day—or perhaps right now, I don't know— their purpose may be one of two things: To teach me trust and faith, and to leave me with good memories. Oh, I thank You, God, for giving me these people who stay with me while the world around me—and my own—crumbles. I thank You, God, for blessing me and surrounding me with good people and beautiful sou...
Read more

#51 Short Story

Oh, how cruel it is for the stars to shine and bask in their own rays, while a blind man wishes to admire their spark. There is no greater irony than a man careless with his own wit, balanced at the edge of himself, trying to find calm in a storm— rugged by adversities, and more so by the trivialities life is both cruel and kind enough to offer. “What do they look like?” the blind man asked the man long dead. “What is?” the dead replied. “Am I not looking at them for the past hour we have been waiting here?” The dead followed the direction of the blind man’s face. He assumed it was how the old man passed the time— staring into nothing, as people like him often did. It would have been awkward to pry into things he didn’t care for, things too private, too personal to be offered so freely to strangers. Instead, he noticed the lamp post. A crack ran along its side, almost invisible unless one searched for it. Small flies hovered quietly around the floodlight, drawn to the false sun meant t...
Read more