I remember several months ago
I met a guard by a waiting shed
As I waited for my dad to pick me up from the pier
His name, I've already forgotten
He was around his 40s, or 50s
Childless, if I remember
Had a tough life
Graduated in International Relations
Came from a well to do Chinese family
Yet all came crashing down so soon
After a few decisions then and there
He spoke to me in English
We talked for awhile
He said, people usually looked down
On guards like him
Thinking they were uneducated
They couldn't possibly have interesting lives
And at that moment I realized
People pass by every single day
Without giving them second glances
Without realizing they're human too
With stories as exciting as those in screens.

My father arrives to pick me up.
I stand up, glance at the guard and my father, and I see -

Life is truly spectacular.

As I sit by the passenger seat and drive  away
The scenery changing before my eyes
I wonder if I was the first person to just sit down
And listen
I wonder how many sat down by that waiting shed before I did
Listening to his story
And I wonder how many have since then and will continue to
Listen
I wonder if I'll ever pass by him again
I wonder where he is right now
Is he still by that waiting shed?
Did he ever get a child?
Does he still remember me?
Was it perhaps all a dream I made up?
Who knows?

I wonder with glee and sadness
Knowing there are billions out there
With stories I will never know.

In my own waiting shed, I shall tell my story too,
Through my own fleeting life
Through the decisions I'll make
Through the people I'll love
Through the people I'll lose
Through these poems -

And I hope somebody listens.

Who said love would be easy?
Who said life would be a smooth ride?
Who said you'd never have to worry?
Who said it would never be painful inside?
Look at that wretched state of you
The flaws you don't seem to accept
The pain you've kept hidden under the blankets
The mistakes you never seem to forget
You think it'll be better when the sun rises tomorrow?
You think you'll eventually laugh it all off someday?
You think you'll never have to get out of your self-made misery?
You think, "maybe not today"?
We're all just trying to get by
And there you go, torturing yourself with cruelty
You wouldn't even want to impose upon your worst enemy

And yet

You blind yourself with blatant stupidity
Of all "I don't deserve"s and "I'll never be happy"s
Of saying "life has no meaning" without realizing
You could've just made meaning all along
All of that have kept you from seeing
How loved you were
How absolutely treasured you are
By those who stayed
And those you could make meaning with,
If you just wanted to

Still

You count the ones who left
The ones who caused you so much pain
The voices that haunt the deep recesses of your brain
Like they're the ones that matter the most

Aren't you a ******* laughable creature? You.

Someone who has so much love wasted inside her,
Thrown into a compost pit of potential joy she never realized
Because she was too caught up in writing the saddest story humanity has ever written.

Boo-hoo. The end. Sad ever after.

Welcome to life, honey
It's never going to be easy
It's never going to be a smooth ride
And it's one you only have a chance of taking once
So at the very least,
pick yourself once more,
and cherish the journey.

she is a wandering wayfarer
running through life
falling every once in a while
along deep and shallow paths
a serene sight, a rigid ride
passing by other wayfarers too
searching for what's been lost
endlessly trudging towards that final
destination
the wind keeps telling her to stop
with tears that have dried long ago
cracks on her skin
mud creeping on her soles
yet she keeps striving
for that certain tomorrow
finding herself in another corner
of the world
she picks herself up,
and runs once more.

We leave parts of us in the words we write
For our present selves to live and believe in
For our future selves to wonder
For our past selves to be remembered

-- Isn't that beautiful?

Writing lines like conversations
That live on as long as they're read
Never washed away from the imprints of history
The greatest things left unsaid

Reading minds from long ago
A place no one else will know
But see, in writing you get to be
Yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever

-- A legacy.

Entails a lot of risk
When we love, we hand over our fragile hearts
For others to take care of
And I have to admit
That is a frightful thought
The possibility of losing someone
Of hurting someone
And of being hurt ourselves

Yet at the same time
Love entails a lot of hope
When we love, someone’s name begins
To sound familiar through the years
That they begin to become part of our routines
Yet every “I love you” sounds quite new
And no matter how unclear the path may be
And how broken we were and will be
We still manage to love again and move forward
So we can spend a lifetime
Uncovering the enigma
That is this person
Who may be composed of the same matter
As eight billion specimens
But contains a story
Far more known
Far more beautiful than anyone else’s

They can try, but either science nor philosophy nor literature (I admit) can ever truly explain it.

To understand the incomprehensible
To risk when we never expected to
To take a leap of faith and take the chance
To bring ourselves a warmth
We thought we had already lost long ago
Showing us the way to a
Home we thought we never had
Beautiful, I say
I could get used to this.

“Yo. How’d your day go?”
“So - ”

This, is home.

You are home.

Warm it up while we're apart
With your hands, a sanctuary long overdue
As I hold yours, and protect it through and through
Tonight, we sing the most beautiful song
Written for two, for a world more known
Outside, the storm continues and though that may be
But at this moment, at this point of time, you have found me
And I've found you, and I no longer want to hide
Because when I look the other way, I see you by my side
And it's a place I want to be, to come back to, a place to be happy
To live, to grow, to change, to see
Colours once unbeknownst to my eyes
A love that lasts even outside the goodbyes
So hold my heart, hold it close
Small as it is, it hopes, it loves, it trusts, and it knows

“Aren’t we just like curtains?” I say
“How?” you ask

Well, curtains
We never really appreciate them
Until they’re gone
Not until we feel the bustling heat
Penetrate our skins during summer
Or when we can no longer hide ourselves
From the light and the world around us
When we’re already too tired to deal
With anyone, really
Because we took off
Those **** curtains

We speak of lines that spell diamonds
Majestic cars and palaces
But we fail to realize how this ordinary object
Can make a whole difference whenever
We wake up in morning
Sitting in bed, tiredly remembering what
We were going to do today
A small choice, packed with a lot of meaning
Whether we want to stay inside
Or go out and meet the world


Serving as a doorway
To the possibilities each day brings
These curtains show us the days worth living (and hiding from, if that's what you want)

And if you don’t find that ordinariness beautiful
If you don't find those moments where we stand up and try to survive the long day ahead of us
Often just waiting to see those familiar curtains again amazing
Nor can you see how curtain-like we all actually are
Then try having no curtains for a day
And see what I mean

fleeting, confused
specks of dusts, furthering the stories
of dusts long past
giving names to fickly forms of masses
reaching out to skies undoubtedly
unreachable

We are stories from a
bygone era that will be forgotten one day
And we’ll reach mortality, try as we may
ever expanding, ever exploding
‘til the last word has been said
‘til the last thought has been made

We are all the pieces
and yet we are none
We unravel the mysteries
we’ve created for ourselves
Yet the greatest mystery of all
one we have yet to understand
transcends the dusts,
the stories,
and the pieces
because we have made it so

We truly are small.

My previous school’s canteen had a treat
called Custard Bun, just worth 20 pesos
One of the cheaper snacks, amidst a variety of 25s and 27s
There were times I skipped lunch due to a meeting
But during the five minutes left going up to the fourth floor,
I would dash towards the canteen, just to buy Custard Bun,
and pair it with the classic Calamansi Juice
What makes it special, you ask?
A cheek-like bun, whose only design
was a yellow custard swirl on top
Soft, and
Filled with a pale yellow cream
That isn’t too sweet, unlike its choco-bun rivals
What made it so different?
Perhaps it reminded me of the olden days
Which I sometimes reminisce about, between fits of silence
In this unfamiliar place
I remember, how like its sweetness takes me back to when I was a child
When I loved eating this bread called Graciosa, which was just a loaf of bread topped with
sugar and butter
How simple it always seemed then, how it never needed more
How in times when we get distracted by life’s complexities
Sometimes an ordinary treat is what we need to get by

I remember writing articles for a sports event —
it was night at school
And someone offered us a big box of abandoned swirl-topped buns
Still in their plastics
Untouched by the athletes they were meant to serve
I thought, how lonely they must be in the night
So I took one, and another, which turned to five,
Brought some home, ate some along the way
It felt like I finally found consolation, eating the bun,
Whose taste I could never put my finger to
And afterwards, whenever I passed the canteen
I always looked for it, for the bun that felt like home
And often see one hidden amongst others, just waiting to be
Found
The bun which I discovered,
Was named Custard
And I realized, even if I never tasted Custard in my whole life
It was like a forgotten friend, who came back from a long journey
And I just remembered its name

So if you ask me,
Why I love Custard Bun so much,
If you ever had that feeling of remembering something
Seemingly long lost, from eons ago
And you find it in the most unexpected of places
Bringing with it the most precious of memories
You’d understand so

In a new place, I hope to find it once again.

Apple orchards run through mellow forests
Yellow nightingales chirp new tunes
Leaves glisten warmly in the silence
Sweet unending rivers solemnly reflect the light of the moon

But at the heart of this alluring forest
An abandoned woodshed stands frayed
Uninhabited, still, lifeless
Lost and broken amidst countless days

Yet every now and then
The creaking of a door can be heard
The sound of a lost traveller looking for sanctuary
Deaf to the calls of the absurd

Wandering inside the once forgotten cage
Slowly warming its fading hearth
Painting the abandoned woodshed with unfamiliar colors
Piecing all its prickly pieces in the dark

Giving light to the once unsightly place
Footsteps now beginning to make their way
Towards the heart of the forest
Where nothing will ever be the same

is a peculiar thing
  Someone who listens
     and has the patience
        to bear with all your
          pains and frustrations
             in this funny thing called
            

                             “life”


                           In a place so unfamiliar
                   a familiar voice brings you
             back to reality just by saying
         “you mean so much to me”
  enough to make you believe
and try and live and hope

                        
                           again

Love,

things won’t always go your way
skies will sometimes come in gray
and maybe you can’t even change anything about these days

It’ll take awhile for the drizzling to stop
and the colors to come again
A little bit of time for the smile to come
for these doubts to end

but I promise you, love

I’ll be here like the sun that hides beneath the clouds
I’ll be here like a punchline waiting at the end of a joke
I’ll be here like the comma you write whenever you need to take a break,
I’ll be here like the bookmarks you randomly used to make
I’ll be here like a song waiting to be sung
I’ll be here like a rhyme waiting to be rung
and you won’t be seeing me every now and then
but I’ll be there with you in the dark places you’ve made for yourself
in between the lies, in between the sighs, in between the “I don’t want to try”s , in between the

“I don’t need any help”

cause you do

you know that

and it’s okay

So please remember, love, from where you are now, someone right here is telling you she loves you, and she will continue to

So hang on

;

love,
You


p.s. take a break too

Is not written by the victors
History is being written by
The ones who rule
The ones who follow
The ones who shout
The ones who choose to become hollow
The ones who live each day with dying breaths
The ones who bear themselves in gold
The ones who fight, the ones who fought
The ones who try, the ones who don’t
The ones who share
One flag of blue, white, and red
Three stars around a sun
rise from the shadows of the dead

Who do you call when the police murders?
Who do you call when the murderers rule?
Who do you call for justice and protection
in a den of power-hungry fools?

Remember the woman who sold
her body at a checkpoint just to make the bend?
Remember the war veteran who was shot twice unarmed,
even with a mind unable to comprehend?

Remember the young boy who went outside,
only to get killed by four officers, for a crime no one really knew
Remember the countless “casualties”, unfortunate "accidents"
which never really made it through?

Some as young as six
Some as young as two
Some elderly, some misguided delinquents
while some, well, they never do

Dictators and human rights violators
“too old”or “too frail” to be punished
While Jeepney drivers aged 70 and more
take the whole brunt of the "fair" mallet

As thousands pushed into already cramped prison cells
are unable to eat more than once a day
While those rich enough to buy the law
can still throw mañanitas and “meetings” every single day

Yet these blue shirted and barong-laden fools
sometimes come together in TV

to bumble about civil service with mouths still smelling of
beer and of yesterday’s lechon kawali

Because remember, compassion is only
for those who can sit in a palace-worthy chair
Justice is only for the dead or for those
whose pockets are already filled with blood of the bare

And now who's suffering for the lies?
Who’s already taking the blame?
Who will listen to the cries of the forgotten
When our voices are no longer ours to claim?

As their guns point to our heads
with the smiles of “para sa'yo itong serbisyo”
Take off your blindfolds, your change is never coming
Only hell is here, in disguise of a fiasco

I once wrote a poem
About how the world ripped off my wings at birth
And made it theirs
How it always felt like I had to be
Someone for somebody
Anyone but me, and not to care

But that's not right

Cause I was never a bird
Flying is a mere illusion
And I'm gladly standing on the ground
With everything and everybody
And though it may not be as pretty
Reality is still reality

They may have taken my wings
But I can still run
They may have taken my wings
But I can still climb the highest peak
They may have taken my wings
But I can still feel the gush of wind flowing through all the windows
As I fall, and I cry, and I stand up once again
And I wouldn't trade this for anything else
Not even the skies

I can hear the birds calling me outside
But I've finally found one more reason to stay
Inside

I wake up everyday to the sight of the New Normal
Open my ears to the sounds of the news
A black man killed before he could breathe
A child bombed before he could eat
And I think
What is normal?
What is rest?
What is hope?

Normalcy doesn’t sound normal these days
Rest doesn’t sound restful these days
Hope doesn’t sound hopeful these days
And I wish they did anyway

I wish writing, making art, cooking,
playing games, short naps, or social media
Were enough to make us forget about
Restless civilizations
These days
Heartless politicians
These days
Senseless discrimination
These days
The failures of the system
These days

I sit with my heart on my hand
Comprehending nothing at all
These days
While chaos all around us ensues
These days
And months seem to go by as quickly as they can
Yet nothing seems to change
Racism is still racism
War is still war
Hate is still hate
These days

And yet we’ve just realized
These days
How much we valued other days
And there’s no longer any returning to
Those days
Cause if it took us a pandemic to realize
How much we’ve failed those who needed us the most
On days
We’ve looked past reality
Just to see what we wanted to see
And believe what we wanted to believe in
That we chose right
That we’d never be able to fear going out
Since we’ve kept ourselves inside our social bubbles
That kept us from seeing
That everyone else had always been suffering
Before these days
I’d rather have
These days

So what is normalcy?
What is rest?
What is hope
To those who couldn’t afford to have those in the first place?

But I’d like to think that we haven’t completely forgotten
Those days
I’d like to think there will be better days
Where we’ll finally be able to settle down all our differences
That we won’t differentiate black from white
That we’ll finally know wrong from right
And we’ll see that days
Are not just days
But everyday struggles for many to live
In a world that hates living so much

So don't just wish these days
Instead help these days
So that others may be able to live their days too
And not just you
Today.

Today is a story
Of doubt
Of self-pity
Of wondering when I'll ever learn
To love the person staring at me
Through the mirror

Today is like any other day

But today
I will pick the pen up
And I will try to end this somber story
differently

I'll yank the smallest thread
Of hope
tugging her heart
And remind her
That she is real
She is loved
She is beautiful
She is the blistering heat
in summer that makes the world
Or of those whom she considers the world
Brighter
Lovelier

And she will get through today
again




again

Wrinkled blue leather
Laying on my fingers
A solemn sight
Such words it bears
Waiting to be unravelled
Waiting to be understood

Amidst the trickle of questions
I press it to my heart

Far, yet so near
Blurry, but so clear

I want to see it all.