Picture of You

What does it mean when I find it difficult to look at a photo of you?
It's that same sensation that I used to feel
Back when things were different

Is it me avoiding the truth?
Was it always there and I was afraid of it?
I always thought it was because something was missing

If it was as it currently is, I should have been wanting to look at your photo
I used to try and I would say 'no'
Was it a 'no, it can't be'?
Can't be because it doesn't make it sense?
Can't be because it's really not?
Can't be because I'm scared?

It still doesn't make sense
I still try to look at your photo
And I do, sometimes, just like I did back then
Now I say 'I can't believe it'
Can't believe because I still can't make sense of it, how?
Can't believe because I still can't understand, why?
Can't believe because I've faced my fears, what is it?


**
Writer's Notes:

Now I don't know how to finish this. I am accustomed to wrapping things up, just like an essay, but this is not an essay. And maybe, more likely, because I haven't figured out how this goes.

What a cheesy title.

Gratitude

Without sounding conceited, I think I'm a pretty nice person. That's not to say that I don't act like a jerk every now and then, because I know how difficult and mean I can be as well. But that's not the point of this entry.

People say to me "You're so nice". Because I'm not used to compliments, I kind of shy away and say "No, I'm not.", "Not really.", or just smile and remain silent.

If someone would ask me why I'm so nice, I'd like to say that it's because of all the other nice people in my life, who teach me how to be nice, give me their time, and shower me with unexpected love, care, and kindness.

One of the things I hope for is to pay that forward. To be that same nice, kind, caring, and loving person to others.

To all the nice people in my life. This is for you. I hope you know who you are. Thank you.

** Would just like to specially mention Clark, Sir Andrew Soh, Sir Carmelo Lopez, Kat, Bridge. **

Keyed

Life is funny. I was having a good walk, inspired to write, but then something happened. It threw me off. This is not how this piece was supposed to start.

Let's try again.

*

Life is funny. When you get caught up in tasks, worries, diversions, it passes you by. You forget where you are, where you've been, how you got here.

Around this time, last year, I was preparing to go to Glasgow. Didn't have an exact date, I just knew that I was going. Now, I'm here. I have a move-out date, but this time, I don't know where I'm going.

It's hard to believe a year has gone by. It is always worthwhile to step back and to take time to absorb everything that has happened. To remember.

You can't step in the same river twice. Nothing is ever the same.

Beginning and ending can be exciting, as well as difficult. But sometimes, it's the in-between that's the hardest. That's the part they skim through in movies. It's where they use the score to replace dialog and to show fast-forwarded events. In reality, you can't fast-forward through everyday life. There is no score that accompanies you. Instead, there is silence, which you must listen to, so that you can hear that inner voice. That child that we once were, and ultimately, still are. The one who is honest and unafraid to admit what he or she truly wants.

I've had several conversations with that child. And that brought me here.

Gradually encouraging that child to come out again.

"Come on buddy, let's go for a walk."

Me

Bakit parang hindi ko kaya nang wala siya?
Ganito ba talaga?
Ang tagal ko na kasing hindi naramdaman ito.
Siguro nga...
Hindi
Alam ko.
Mahal ko siya
kasi kahit masakit,
Nandito ako
Naghihintay

Torn

I want to write something. Something clever. Something profound.

I want to find a metaphor. Something that will express my feelings adequately. Something that can capture the complexity of emotions I am experiencing. But I can’t.

It’s almost three o’clock in the morning. Another late night.

You know it’s rather bad when I opt to write instead of watching my basketball game.

See, I don’t know. I’m at a loss for words.

Or maybe not.

That’s part of the confusion.

I really want to reach out.

But I’m scared.

Of making myself vulnerable…again.

Of getting hurt.

I’m tired.

Yet if I don’t do anything. It feels just as bad.

It feels like this.