Turn around. Continue reading
There are two kinds of loneliness; three, if you include the discipline of writing.
An empty house. A solitary stroll. Working on a project by one’s self. There’s a sense of loneliness in them, but not all the time. More often a longing for companionship, a teasing reminder that it sucks to be alone. Continue reading
It’s been barely a day since the rebel group, now considered as terrorists, have brought horror on Marawi City in Mindanao, Philippines. Yet, instead of empathizing, we Filipinos find ourselves back into our old selves: in-fighting, back-biting, pointless and shameless criticisms and blames hurled towards one another.
Every now and then, a dissenting voice calling for prayers squeaks on social media. Every now and then, a misdirected angry voice stirs trouble again, reviving the old ugly cycle.
There’s so much we can accomplish if we stop antagonizing each other and focus on working together. Our bickering won’t help our fellow Filipinos in Marawi. Continue reading
Just because I’m a hopeless romantic doesn’t mean I love weddings. I hate the fact that I’m forced to buy new clothes and shoes. I hate the fact that I’ve pressured myself to lose weight, not just to fit into the formal wear, but to look decently good for the photos. I hate the times when I have to switch into temporary-extrovert mode as I’m coerced into joining the games during reception.
And I hate that bittersweet melancholy as the celebration ends, as guests trickle away and empty the place, as the lovely couple finally leave with each other — to finally, truly live with each other — and all that’s left are the memory and inspiration of the moment, and a hopefulness brewing, stirring inside.
And I can’t help but sigh because, as much as my rational mind refutes it, I find myself at the end of each wedding believing in magic. Continue reading
My personal humble tribute to all the struggling street peddlers of romantic gestures during Valentines Day. Continue reading
I stared at the ceiling. I like looking at the little holes— a corkboard sky of inverted starlights, office dust for phosphenes; and on rare occasions, wayward ceiling debris fall like shooting stars.
But what I really like about staring at the ceiling is how everyone becomes a bit more hesitant to approach me. This illusion of thinking, of introspection, of go-away-I-need-some-space not-so-universal gesture we make when we tilt our heads up and get lost, making them wonder what on Earth are we looking at up there. Or maybe not.
Clickety-clackety-cluck, goes the dulled rhythm of several keyboards being tapped, dissonant melodies of a clockwork office routine. Sometimes, an officemate murmurs to someone else; at times, they talk loudly. Too loudly. Cubicle discussions turning into impromptu conferences; but on good days, it does turn into a welcome flash mob of gags and jokes and random angst-turned-into-humor sessions.
On bad days, there’s just silence. No, not peace; just impassive, stoic silence. Continue reading