A figure—
short as a tropical day,
with dreams taller than a narra tree,
that she wonders if she could hope
of climbing, one day;
when the sun is a gold she can paint,
in rough and round edges, thick and thin,
surely unsure of what will be,
but sure of how it will be
—follows me.
Her outline—
a similar shape,
wet with ink and scribbled with words,
like a bedtime story meant to haunt—
grows by night and shrinks by day—
noon valor extinguishes, and midnight woes refuel
—sticks to my skin.
And I—
tall as a tropical night,
with regrets etched in the mariana trench,
that i wonder if i could hope
of relieving you, one day;
when the sky is a white we could have owned,
in our own hues and strokes, eccentric but clearly ours,
still unsure of what will be,
yet sure that there is what is meant to be
—feel her graying.
To you/me—
cheeks soft as petals, wilted never withered,
a flaring flair, burnt to ashes,
paint-stained palms, your touch,
pain the paradigm of the present;
yet the seed remains, rooted,
embers live, so does warmth,
the stain reminds, eye to eye,
that my colors are alive
—6 years ago:
your dreams will come to be.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 12:19 PM UTC
the Lord Almighty taught me to carry my cross, joyfully and humbly,
and so i did.
my Father taught me best how to serve others---in shadows and with sinners.
He never asked me to step into the light, as He Himself stayed unseen.
to see is never to believe, but to believe is to see.
He taught me to pray for my "enemies," and so i did.
He taught me to trust in His plans, and so i do.
He taught me to never be glorified, to never bring oneself before others, and so i do.
to be created in His likeness is truly an honor.
to be His hands and knees on earth, when He dwells inside of me,
all of it is truly an honor.
child, why must you grieve me?
for whatever happens, it is His will carried out.
child, why must you have little faith?
for gideon has already defeated the midianites,
God has chosen the unlikely,
for Jesus Christ already overcame the world.
but this is not to provide false hope, as hope should be in Him.
faith in Him, and not in me, never in me.
nevertheless, thank you, child.
for standing with me, standing with Christ.
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 2:35 PM UTC
a year can swiftly pass by
so does words, dreams, and bonds
yet i dream of things far greater than i
of making other girls dream, too,
far greater than the world deems they could
i dream of things far greater than i
of sharpening my wit and expanding my wisdom---
sharing what i have learned and what a disadvantaged lady can
because opportunities do not come easily for people like me,
who grew up knowing i am someone below,
a poor, misguided, and disadvantaged girl
below those easily-fought connections and resources,
for i have learned to only make the most of what i have
and now, i am dreaming of things far greater than i,
of fighting injustice---i demand our rightful spaces in these rooms;
of sharing discoveries---i ought to use these God-given talents to contribute to human progress;
of enduring suffering---i, just like any other, have dreams worth fighting for;
of empowering others to fight for these dreams, too
who dares to say you can't?
who dares to say you will not?
who dares to discourage but yourself?
i, a poor and flawed lady, can dream of things far greater
and you can, too.
and now, i pray to God,
to provide me strength, patience, and wisdom to endure suffering---
to seize the day and forge meaning in every moment,
to joyfully carry my cross,
as i fight for my dreams that are far greater.
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 10:24 AM UTC
your Name---
gracious, merciful, and almighty.
He is my father---
my protector and creator.
the Lord and Savior,
saved me from the darkness---
scars that consumed and consumes me.
yet in His presence, all white and healed.
my Father, my Father.
my Savior, my Savior.
my Lord, my Lord.
the source of my talents,
for which He has called me to create---
to carry my cross joyfully just as He did.
my Father, my Love, my God.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
is it a thought?
a battle long fought?
perhaps it's the afternoon heat or the morning mist
yet it could also be someone,
somewhere, or a place
i see it at the back of my head
and i long for you
so long, my fantasy.
i haven't forgotten about you
you are the warmth on my skin when i walk freely
you are the familiar tricycles honking, the smell of rush hour
and i miss you from the mountains,
caging me from life's true realities
when i am bound by this height's truth
but i could have been you, too
Feb 25
Feb 25, 2026 at 2:59 AM UTC
being a leader means carrying a heavy, heavy cross—one that requires the power of the Almighty.
it is being disrespected, for merely doing the right thing.
paving the way, but having that way questioned because of the struggles along the path.
it is standing up, when everyone else have remained numb.
when everyone deems trying as a habit instead of a leap of faith that things could still change, yet still holding onto that hope.
it is always showing mercy because that is what Christ would have done, yet having that same mercy taken for granted.
it is rewiring the meaning of sacrifices, where "sleepless nights" become an understatement because no one else knows how long you've been sleep-deprived or how your body would ache from constantly running and chasing for that golden hour.
and it is keeping all of these hidden because no safe space becomes itself when its contingents see a crack, even a small one, and you cannot risk to wreak panic when you are credited for the trust they laid upon you.
and yet, who am i to assume perfection? free from flaws and constantly keeping my hair up as to not let a strand of it fall for defeat?
when the weight becomes heavier, it isn't me alone who must carry it but Christ who has already died and proved His love for me.
there then is a question of carrying a heavier cross than this—one that would surely break my limbs and snap my neural nerves.
yet, is it my cross to carry?
God, is this cross meant for me? should i carry it for Your Glory? or do you have others lined up for me? is this in accordance with Your perfect plan?
i plead, oh Lord, that Your will be done.
if it's my cross to carry, then so be it.
if i shall bleed and break, then so be it.
if You have destined me for another cross, then so be it.
Father, in this time of great uncertainty, i trust that You will put me into my rightful place—to a cross that You have perfectly prepared for me that i shall be then prepared for.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 6:17 AM UTC
If there is one thing I learned from the past 16 years,
it would be that grief doesn't leave; it lives.
Grief is a familiar friend and a shadow.
You see her occasionally, but whenever she waves, it's as if she has always been there.
She sits by the counter and asks for coffee. I surmise it's an excuse to start a conversation, but I still give her one anyway.
I brew my newly bought coffee beans, and she asks where I store my sachets.
I say, "It's been a long time since those expired. This tastes way better, so why not give it a try?"
I see her perplexed expression because the last time I saw her, the only drink we enjoyed was a half-empty glass of water.
She stands up and looks for the sachets.
I follow her along the walls.
A faint scent of coffee stimulates my senses.
She looks up with a familiar plastic on her hand and tells me, "It took a while to find this, but here we have it."
I couldn't help but wonder why it was still there.
The house crumbled, and she disappeared once more.
Hello, Grief. It's been a while.
People, things, and pretty much everything come and go.
I still hear their voices at the back of my head, and it feels as though I were still in the same place years ago—
with the same people, the same trees, and the same conversations.
Traces, although clues and riddles left by those who have gone, sometimes act as the persons they once were.
Within and around, Grief follows from childhood homes to mountainous climbs.
Grief taught me that it could be as eager as life, eager enough to remind you of the things that could and should have been—
where the cup should have been placed when no one was home.
And yet, not once did I ever wave back to her desperate attempts at seeking attention.
"Grief is supposed to be overcome," is what I'd normally say.
But it has evolved into something I, or rather, we should learn to live with, as Grief is a companion.
It is Love's complement, where it comes before and after.
It never goes away. It never will, and though I still try to grapple with its very essence, now, I could say that it will still visit you from time to time.
Grief doesn’t end so long as Love exists.
Even if you dine on wider tables, you’d still think of the time when food was easier to pass from one person to another.
Even if you learn to fill the spaces left by those who have gone, you’d still piece a part of them somewhere.
It stays, and so does Love.
Nov 29, 2025
Nov 29, 2025 at 8:44 AM UTC
unfortunately, that wasn’t the last
and i fear that this may be the first
in many more —
poems to write and sketches to crumple
and i fear you’ll know
how much this pen yearns to splatter —
its ink o’er the counter
of what can pass through and what cannot
i simply know this is as far as i can go
too near, too far
perhaps these letters ought to be unreadable —
that no one else may see what words ought to say
i deem you imperfectly good
a great subject to sculpt,
for these short fingers of mine —
can barely replicate from my memory of you
your edges dulled —
the light reflects of what is left of you
all your scars, all your stars
they make you humanely lovable
and with this, i end —
in haste and hesitation,
_this longing for you._
Oct 14, 2025
Oct 14, 2025 at 11:17 AM UTC
to our ignorance, it wasn’t here
every laugh, smile, and tear
filled every breath i took
hence, no breath was enough for me to look
under the dirt where the spoken words rest
or up the sky where the birds quest
all the sunlit smiles that i can breathe
fill the ennui hidden beneath
with you far away and somewhere
every place i visit overflows with air
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 11:24 AM UTC
A perfect man died on the cross for our sins.
He who was God.
He who was human.
He who was most merciful.
He who was kindest.
He who was most patient.
He who loved us most.
My Father, my Father, our Father.
Oh, what beautiful love You have.
I am undeserving of Your grace and mercy, yet you call me by my name, as I crawl my way into Your Kingdom.
You carried my sins as Your own, and all You ask from me is to walk by Your side.
To find solace in Your never-ending love and to become more like You.
How come You are kind to me?
How come You love me?
I am just an untalented artist, too slow to understand, yet too quick to speak.
I am just another student. Too busy to even bother, yet too free to care excessively.
I am just another human. Bound to sin, yet shame encapsulates me like the Earth's atmosphere.
God, I am scarred and flawed.
I am anxious and tired.
I am impatient.
I am ungrateful.
I am weak. I am weak.
I am Your prodigal child.
Prideful. Full of wrath.
Words, too quiet.
Actions, too small!
All these do not reflect Your Name!
Father….
Yet you’ve shown the same grace and mercy to me.
To this ambitious body.
To this deceitful heart.
To my incomplete soul.
To me, oh Lord, You have loved me just the same.
I am undeserving. I am truly undeserving.
When a love this great was given to me, these wounds turned into scars, healed and saved.
For You have lifted my soul.
Lead the way. Carve the path.
Strengthen me with Your grace!
Take my heart. Take my heart, it is Yours.
This flawed being—once a sinner, scarred then healed, and fearful turned brave—may you become more like our Father.
For you have given me a love that is unconditional, I pray I become more like You, dear Lord.
For what pleases my Father.
For Your will be done.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:36 PM UTC