in the specs stand where echoes of laughter once danced,
where boots struck pavement in perfect unison,
where fridays were more than just days-
i found a family.

week after week, you stood before us,
voices steady, unwavering,
teaching us not just knots and lashings,
but how to hold things together
when everything felt like it was coming undone.

judith ma’am, turning her head to laugh
before saying “semula” with that familiar firmness.
sharmaine ma’am, barely stifling a smile,
regaining composure the moment she faced us again.
lorraine ma’am, grinning, watching,
sometimes giving up and walking away laughing—
because some mistakes were too ridiculous to fix.

rachel ma’am, ever watchful, ever strong,
cancis ma’am, sharp and disciplined, never letting us falter,
zoe ma’am, a quiet strength in the chaos.
you led us through drills and commands,
through the sweat and strain of pt,
through the endless practice of knots and lashings—
each lesson not just a skill, but a mark you left on us.

“semula,” you’d say, again and again,
until every motion became second nature,
until discipline was not just a word, but a part of who we were.
and we grumbled, exhausted, but we obeyed—
because we knew you only wanted the best for us.

and then the camp—
the sleepless night, the aching limbs,
the whispered jokes in the dark,
the last moments before the goodbye
we weren’t ready for.

i still hear your voices in the silence of the parade square,
feel your presence in the knots i tie,
see your footsteps in every drill i command.
but when i turn around, you are not there.

i just want to stand beside you again.
to hear your laughter, your orders, your teasing remarks.
to run one more lap, do one more push-up,
to relive one more friday under your watchful eyes.

but time moves forward, and so must i.
maybe i will never hear you call out my name again,
never have you fix my uniform, never see you in the ranks beside me.

but maybe, just maybe,
i can carry you forward—
not in presence,
but in the strength you left behind.

in the society i live in,
where a size 4 is too big,
where beauty is a box
i must squeeze myself into—
or be cast aside.

i am told i am wrong
for being myself.
so i learn to shrink,
to mold myself into something acceptable,
to erase the edges of who i am
until i blend into the background.

i laugh at jokes i don’t find funny,
like the things they like,
speak only when necessary,
never too loud,
never too much.

i paint my face with foundation,
layer by layer,
hoping someone will see me
and call me beautiful.

i just want to be myself.
but how?
how do i do that when i’ve already lost myself?
i don’t know how to be myself.
who is she?
where is she?
will i ever find her again?

boys will be boys.
they play with me,
toy with my emotions,
then toss me aside
when the thrill of the chase is over.

and yet, i still fall.
for the one everyone warns me about—
the football player,
the *******,
the star quarterback.
the one who will never see me
the way i see him.

i hope, i hope,
maybe one day, he’ll realize i’m the one.
maybe he’ll look at me the way i look at him.
but this isn’t a movie.
there’s no grand confession,
no moment where he chooses me.

true love is rare.
and i am not the exception.

i have spent so long trying to be enough,
trying to fit into their world,
trying to be seen,
to be loved.

but i am done shrinking.
done waiting.
done searching for something
that was never meant to find me.

maybe i will never be the girl in the fairytale.
maybe i will never have the love in the movies.
maybe i will never be the one he chooses.

but maybe, just maybe,
i can learn to choose myself.

I fell in love with him.
Not halfway, not in pieces—
fully, blindly,
with all the hope I had left.

We could’ve worked.
We should’ve.
We had every reason to become something
beautiful,
loud,
and lasting.

But love,
no matter how real,
cannot carry two people alone.

He gave up.
He didn’t want to try.
And all the things that should’ve happened—
they stayed dreams,
never got the chance to breathe.

I still love him.
I always will.
But I will not let that love
become my cage.

I won’t keep breaking my own heart
for someone
who didn’t even reach out to hold it.

Because it doesn’t matter
what we could’ve been—
when he chose not to be.

I love him,
but I won’t let him destroy me.

the uniform fits like habit.
quiet mornings,
the car hums beneath a grey sky.
the roads are familiar,
so is the silence.

there’s something in the way we move—
discipline,
precision,
the sharpness of every step.
we know what’s expected,
and we meet it,
without pause.

but some days,
the world feels like it’s pressing in,
and i wonder what it would be like
to step outside the lines.
just for a moment.
just to breathe.

we laugh like we’re supposed to,
but sometimes the words feel too tight.
the hours slip by,
and i’m not sure where the day goes—
only that it keeps pulling me forward.

there are moments,
flickers of something softer,
when i let go,
if only for a second.
and then i pull myself back—
always back,
into the rhythm,
the expectation,
the silent promise.

maybe i’ll figure it out one day.
maybe not.
but for now,
i’m still here.
holding on,
waiting for the next moment
to let go again.