jeudi, mars 08, 2018


© ennui  10/2717 oslo


This morning, she decided to wash her hair the old-fashioned way, with warm water running down the faucet and her face slightly caressing the ceramic basin. Instead of fragrant shampoo, she decided to use the bar of soap that smelled of lavender. As she rinsed her hair and gently lathered the hair on her nape, going through to her forehead. She began to recall one of the stories from her childhood.


Her mother had always told her not to wash her hair so frequently. And that she should use a special soap, so that her hair won't fall out. "Nobody loves a bald woman," her mother would scoff. "Nobody loves a woman with short hair."


The soap her mother used to give her was made with herbs that only grew in the town where she grew up. Her mother would rinse her hair and regale her with stories of fairies and wild animals that had long, luscious black hair that would turn a rusty, reddish-brown in the morning sunlight. Of course she didn't believe her mother back then. Nobody in her town had hair in any other color, not even the old ladies and the dead.


There was something odd about tonight. The soap kept slipping from her hands as she tried to apply it on her hair. She tried to tighten her grip on it, but the more she did, the more it slid and fell, once into the basin, twice on the floor. Maybe because the water was warm, or maybe because her hands were too soft. Maybe because the soap had a mind of its own, maybe because her mother kept prying the soap out of her hands, which would be impossible of course, because her mother had long been gone a few years after she decided to run away and be free.


"Nobody loves a woman with short hair," her mother would say. "Nobody loves a woman who looks like a man!"


The sun was already out and painting the walls bright yellow. She lets loose on the soap, her eyebrows and cheeks reeking of lavender tears. She rinses away the soap suds and impurities from her hair and decides to look herself up the mirror. Water was still dripping from her short hair. Too short, she thinks. Short like a boy's haircut. She towels off the wetness on her face, her eyebrows, her neck, her shoulders, her chest. The light had created this illusion for her that her hair is a rusty, reddish-brown color, like those of the fairies and wild animals in her mother's stories.


She had learned to live with this illusion of herself - a woman with short hair that nobody loves, a woman who looks like a man because she is.

vendredi, février 02, 2018

Hello Blog

So this morning at 3AM just a few minutes after I tucked myself in bed, I cried.

It must've been the exhaustion creeping in, or maybe it was the birthday blues creeping in after I kept it suppressed during my birthday. I felt I had to show a smiling face, I felt the need to reply and appear happy.  I felt I compelled to thank all those who remembered my birthday, even if it was because of a facebook reminder, and to reply because after all they took time out of their day to send me a greeting. I felt it was the courteous thing to do. And on a super blue blood moon, I was prepared to just leave the office after work, go home and watch a movie on my computer or something routine like that. However, a good friend invited me to go to a rooftop to celebrate my 39th birthday there. I had to fight all of my inner demons, all of those voices in my head telling me it would be an inconvenience to my schedule, I had to fight all of those to say YES.

But yesterday, after a long day at work, after running a few laps and doing a few sets of weights, after watching the news, and eating a small post-workout meal, after washing my sweaty clothes, and taking bath and downloading a movie I thought would be interesting to watch another day, I just wept. It felt good. It felt good to imagine what it would be like to disappear, it felt good to indulge in self-pity.  It felt numbing to feel so helpless and to not want to disturb anyone.  To feel guilt and ungrateful to the attention I've been given the past few days. To feel panic in the long year ahead and nothing to look forward to.  To imagine the year go by with this deep, excruciating emptiness that I can't seem to get rid of.  To not worry about waking up on time for work since it doesn't seem to matter at all.

And so I just let it pass for now, the way I do whenever these waves of anxiety splash their hurtful waves upon my weaknesses. In my exhaustion, I know I'll eventually fall asleep and wake up again to another day. Late again for work, avoiding staff meeting again like a leper. I will to be sick but it doesn't work. I have no choice but to carry on and work, I have no choice but to continue with the social responsibilities in the workplace, with friends and with family.  There is no point trying to escape this prison.  I am not sick, I do not need medication.  I do not need anyone else to talk to.  I just need to be alone in my urn.

mercredi, juillet 19, 2017

It's so unfair. She did what she could to bring her family overseas, wanting a better life for her children and just like that, her life is taken away. She wasn't even given a chance, they haven't even settled down. It's not fair, she should've given a chance...

Wherever you are now, may you be at peace. May your children and family find solace. You wil be missed.  

mardi, janvier 10, 2017

Twitter-verse Vol. 1 (Jan 2014 - Dec 2016)


Twitter-verse Vol. 1  (2014 - 2016)


I remember cold nights like this when we'd let the phone wires sop our silent intermissions.


At once, automobiles and commuters unite in their rush hour retchings.  Yea noise?  Then I'll be brief.


It is not only children who grow up so fast, adults do as well.  What used to be hard liquor has turned to caffeine.  Veggies shakes now.  And?

Friends are curious creatures.  They change so much and yet remain the same.

Somehow even if accessibility to hard-to-find music is exhilarating, there's a somber enjoyment i used to have cleaning cassette players.

Why do they call fatty, hi-calorie foods "decadent"?  Because it takes a decade off of your lifespan?

I thought my love was enough ... until I had to tweet about it.

Contemplating an offertory boff to keep the karmic coins in circulation before the bank runs out of money.  A coin toss might be in order.

What's the point of having a mobile phone if you need to be plugged in all the time?  Maybe it's time to develop better batteries.

And in the morning, you forget you know each other and try to blend in.  Who wins?  The one that replies out of courtesy.

F*ck.  I find that offensive ... because it's true.

When I feel I'm about to faint, I imagine you catching my fall.  Your scent, my last memory, and a distant thud, the last thing I hear.

I do not favor you over the others for I keep my sights to myself.  The periphery is all I remember, and how much I wanted to reach out.


It only takes a few seconds to send someone a short message, a valentine or even a bday greeting.  I admit, you have taken me for granted.


But this ain't high school and you have your own life there.  Love it well  :-)


It becomes easy for someone to forget when something comes to be of an inconvenience.  The bell curve swoops downward, not in circles. 


It's ironic that when I close my eyes to sleep, my mind starts chattering away without needing to open my mouth.


The reality: What we think of ourselves is none of our business because we can only be happy with the approval of those we care about.

Must remind myself this:  Be brave.

Under the lights we are scrutinized.  In our nervousness we misplace our hands...

I dreamt we were going to the airport wiht your homies.  You subtly held my hand and our rings clash.  I regret not squeezing your hand more.


I envy guys who've found love with their boyfriend.  But I envy more, guys who have a good relationship with their Dads. HFD.

That pic of you and your puppy was cute (and grainy).  But you didn't answer what breed it is.  Maybe it's not your puppy? (Or pic?)

Mr. Paguio of DLSU - sorry I was too shy to make a move.  I never saw the crowded LRT as a place to meet people.  Have a safe ride :)

She:  hollow and shallow and oh so full of sorrow.
Me:  sorrowful sex.
She:  I didn't know such existed
Me:  It used to be sorrowful masturbation.


Oh floating fires like glowing embers, unleash not your burdensome coals on this Martian earth.  The struggle can be won without its dowsers.

That moment when your senses reach hyper-awareness, that suffocating panic-inducing throttle of regret for all your misgivings...

I gaze upon the moon-lit darkness that reminds me of the singularity of stars; though clustered, they are thousands of light years apart.


Sometimes I wonder how many kilometers your fingers have to travel just to swipe to get through those close-door conversations.


Everyday we are reminded that the earth, even in its rotundity, has a shattered face.


I don't understand why anyone would go through great lengths of deception and comment mongering.  What do they get posting faux-tographs?

People say they don't care when in fact they do.  Maybe it's more accurate to say "I dont' mind" to show you care but can't be bothered.


Pag gwapo nagtext, KILIG ka.
Pag panget nagtext, CLINGY siya.

Sometimes peace of mind comes in a small peace of paper. And sometimes being negative can be a positive thing.

Relationships are like cherished relics that hang proudly around your neck.  With no strings attached, you lose them.


You tell age by the crudeness - a cassette to a CD to an mp3; the rough patina.  You breathe it, you live it thru.


There are plenty of fish in the sea, but the seagulls feast only on what's on the surface.  Beware of the seagulls!

I wish I could afford to hire a shrink, someone who can vivisect beyond my purview.


Somewhere there is a vast field where she runs free from the wrongdoings of depraved men.

God lies asleep in the cracks, in the space shared by people and things, in the nothings that turn into somethings.


The first time I felt it I said, "This is it. I"m having a heart attack inside a crowded bus!"
Swallowing saved me.

Celebrating Mother's Day, I scolded my sister for being such a brat.  And then I realized the importance of a father.


Talking dirty in metaphors feels so kindergarten with you.  I need a shotta tequila.


Last night, I saw you and not your age.  "Not yet Rizal, not yet. The land is need of young blood."

"You are who you follow"

The word INTIMACY resounds more to me than "recent".  Of course, wouldn't it be nice to have both?

It's sad when a good guy succumbs to temptation and denies responsibility for his infidelity.  I expressed my disappointment quite frankly.

And took it upon myself to urge him to do the right thing, in thename of fairness and empathy. I hope this stranger rights the situation.

I'm curious to try taking Glutathione.  I wonder what it feels like to be bioluminescent.


[This morning I woke
Sunlight and parted pillows
With WIFI, I smile.]

[I pull the blanket

To reveal my sexy legs
It is all a dream.]

[Humaharurot

Nagsisipag-gitgitan
Transportasyon lang.]

[Our glands awake with

The smell of fresh petrichor
Kissing morning breath.]

[It is you not me

My sheets smell like lavender
It is you that farts.]

[My hunger flies off

To seek mushrooms and cumin
Meadow of your pubes.]

[With skirt up he said

"You have a beautiful cunt."
You reply, "Don't stop."]

That feeling when you talk to someone for the 1st time and it lasts 3 hours but there's still more to talk about.

All the love in the world won't matter to someone who isn't ready to receive it.  Let life take its course once you've done your part.


I find dating now gives me the same giddy feeling only, with less sense of urgency to couple.

I wish I could care less about you, give you up now and then take you up again.  But I don't see any other way.


Is there a 3-D printer that can print hype?


Kung pagpipilian ay isang not ready o sa bago't responsive, dun ka na sa bago.  Sayang oras maghintay sa undecided.


You played with my thoughts, but i think i can replace you soon.


There are 2 types of people: Those that like spreadsheets and those that prefer a blank page.  #xls #docx


Just let me do the creepy stuff I do and eventually I will get tired and lose interest.


[If only I can stop chasing you.
If only I could accept the truth..
.. that I am your salve for boredom.]


[I nibble on this:
Our bright future together.

But you don't get hard.]

There are things in life you have to work for, and some things that just come to you at the right place at the right time.


I don't want to be #MrRight. I just want to be #MrYours.

[It's recording babe...

You look up, smile, and brush your
Fingers through my pubes.]

[murmurs and breath mints,

your oral pond welcomes me.
degust my warm cells.]

[drowning, i see you.

my hands dive into the seas
to fish out your ass.]

[So I held myself

scrolling, lingering, leaking...
fearing I would burst.]

[sleepy traffic cars

parks, runners and parking lots
watching you swallow]

The only ghosts I fear are the regrets I've had in the past that continue to haunt me to this day.


Gravity be still.  It is not the earth
that ripples in vulnerability.
The sky will clear as you wake,
the tremor is but minor.

[We are kindred souls.
Looking for love and closure.

But you are fucked up.]

the truth is that i already like you. but nobody really falls for the good guy.
we like people who make an impact, even if it is hurtful.

[I charm broken bones
Of low-flying birds and snakes

In wellness, they bite.]

[Reluctantly, I

Pick their feathers, twist their necks
And skin them alive.]



dimanche, janvier 08, 2017

The poem inspired by a screencap



(Screencap from BuzzFeed video "Coming Out")


I am prisoner to my own bath. My hands holding up
against the will of water, my mouth speaking out
the volumes of truth.

I close my eyes and think
inside the box, ideas wallow
in the strands of drenched hair. The air
trapped in my nostrils escape,
but I remain calm and deny myself of fate.

I am prisoner to my own making. The moans bubble up
amidst the rippling of the surface, the secret I hold
engendered in the slippery space.

I am betrayed but I am baptised.

mercredi, décembre 28, 2016

Fantastic beasts and where to find me


Saving Sally and Die Beautiful
(photo searched on Google)

It is no secret that I undress myself through words.  I would never reveal my blog to anyone I am not comfortable being naked with, in that manner.  My cellphone can snap ugly photos of me, and on some occasions, maybe a photo with a good angle that is good enough to post on social media.  That is my public face -- the guy with the nice smile and no problems, the guy who has wonderful friends and family and nice travel photos but without him in them.  And then you come across this blog and another dimension is revealed to you, the inner turmoil always nagging at every opportunity, the struggles articulated in a diary; the insecure, suicidal guy who can't quite measure up to life's expectations.  The guy with the ADHD (minus the H), who can't keep his focus.

The past few months have been rough, being knee-deep in work, doing overtime almost everyday, working on holidays and weekends.  It would've been easier to be physically exhausted doing clerical stuff, but this job is mentally-taxing, exacerbated by the fact that I don't have the educational background for it.  I just keep going forward trying to finish the work nonetheless.  I always aim to finish what I start.

I have been on a few dates.  In reverse chronological order, there was one in December with the visual artist, two in November with the banker and the call center agent at Waltermart, and with the professor/businessman in October. Mostly just dinner and then home.  Such is the plight of single people in their mid-30's, deeply entrenched in work with the spontaneity almost non-existent.  Lately, I've been forcing myself to watch movies, in hopes that I would rekindle my love for them.  One time while I was watching Fantastic Beasts alone, this guy sat beside me and started to fondle me.  I stood up and walked away.

vendredi, septembre 23, 2016

The ghost and the building

"I am the ghost.  I am the structure.
From the soil, I am built.  By hands borne of silt.
I have no voice, the people speak for me.
I am the ghost, and I scare people away.
Every morning, the workers dread their stay."


I have no ounce of creativity left.  LOL  I need a vacation, or a supportive relationship to bring me back to life.