winds of change

the wind tastes good
it's like lemonade
innocence
children planting pine trees
not fighting to be heard
but to keep this world alive

the wind tastes good
it glides with the sea of stars
winter
I should start to make a difference
the seed that was buried
it's its time to grow into something
beyond itself unhurried

the wind tastes like spring
it's coming unseen but never unfelt
run
the words good and faithful
are ones I'd like to hear when
I come face to face with my Maker but
what am I doing while I'm waiting?
purity is the fragrance of love
living in denial
holding on to wrong desires
rots the tree
robs its heart from a beautiful
melody

the wind tastes like July
it will change its course one day
notice
notice it changing

924PM

the days are slowly getting shorter
and the nights colder

fleeting

the greyness of my eyes
are beginning to vanish
as I watch satellites from the night sky

fleeting

nothing is thinner than a piece of white hair
and desires for the uncertain future

fleeting

all the words of knowledge
will fade away

because it is fleeting
the world is fleeting
and all life that is under it

fleeting

in the quietest and most holy night
in the history of the world
as they proclaimed glory to the Highest

I didn't know it yet
but eternity intertwined with
my fleeting little life

freeing

it will be

it's electric
the outer space in his inner ears
the hushing wind contained in each
word he speaks

what is it like to drown and
become someone who lives
underwater
only looking up and
wanting
to leap out of it

I see every type of
blue even green and
sometimes orange
swimming but never finding
it tries to look
with its eyes shut tight

I move back and circle around
the same street I lost my
dignity hoping cause I thought
I lost myself
I tested the water
when I chose to trade my heart
for an inspiration that I kept
to myself
it was not meant for me
so it faded

but I hear you calling me
I can breathe better
stay in the water
believe me when I say
his peace is better than all the
ones I've forced to call mine

cognitive decline

I won't tell you about the moment that I was born
   I will, however, say that I have two problems
        my mother wants me to go with her and watch the
        first moon landing
        two, the first moon landing was in 1969
        last week, we went out to get frozen yogurt
        she remembered her usual order, vanilla bean
        with coconut and blueberries, perfectly

she loved playing classical music
   it's a progressive art to the ears
        build to last
        fragile and unforgettable
        she started to forget counting backwards from 10

it's around this time of the year that I find
   myself observing every everyday folk, the
        troubadours, waitresses, dreamers, and artists
        maybe find out the reason why most
        teenagers color their nails black
        maybe pick a conversation
        with my mother whose brain is
        dipped in Alzheimer's disease

I feed, befriend and
   walk hand in hand with her
        delicate trust in me
        we build a friendship under multiple
        first impressions and various frustrations

people are walking by under the wintry weather
   they all love strolls around the central plaza
        we go sometimes, almost all the time around 4:00
        I'm glad she hasn't forgotten that today
        but she called me lady instead of my name
        I have no name
        but we had a good talk
        it's a tough crossroads kind of situation

foreign faction

how blue, how beautiful
how unrecognizable
what a good line for a poem
the sigh that blew me away
blew me forward
it sang about my tired eyelids
it sang clear about what I had done
and have become
I then finally nestled but with fear
that I am but a fiction

at seventeen, somewhere
where the faint smell of my
mother's perfume followed me
I doused myself with
the sounds of reggaeton
that reminded me of the sweet
good old days, back home
at my favorite spot
freedom used to be free
and I had memorized its bone
structure so perfectly

there is a breath that was passed on
to me, it screamed
"tonight is the night"
but it was only
enough for one gasp
this breath won't last


 gasp.

listening to jazz

Every once 

in a while there is 

a nervous looking black child 

an interesting 

one - with no parent that

reads the magazine

or parleys with

another parent

on what one might

consider well meaning 

about fear, 

about careers, 

about

the local 

daycare 

Naturally, I err closer to the child

and I would greet him 

with an awkward first

hand shake or 

maybe a high five 

if I'm 

feeling it

He got a B in science

and he definitely

earned it

man versus gravity

earth, music

ecology

the ocean it does 

nothing 

but it gets the credit for

being breathtaking

Every Wednesday I go up to the hall

I imagine the child sitting

at the corner 

we listen to jazz

ashamed

frightened 

to be

lonely

I craft him paper 

stars 

they shine with 

the radiance of the sun 

only for him

the way nothing else can

I hear the dry sound of 

skin 

against skin

the bigger story arc

that tries to overtake

the secondary

plot 

that drives

both our stories

I tell him, 

"That is what the jazz is for."

sky full of song

i am drenched by the sky full of song
it fell from there and landed on my tongue
i savor its striking metallic taste, like that
that i garner from my old life
but it won't be regret that i harbour but
the gladness that im a different person
with a different nature
suppose for it to be understood
you have to let go of the vignette of vision
where all things that you should've known by now
must have been hiding.

it isn't like what i expected it to be at all
like i mentioned to my reflection
every little thing about your warm-blooded flesh matters
there's a reason why breathing is involuntary;
you do not have to make the effort
to pull your lungs out
and push it back again to breathe a breath.

one by one
you'd see white speckles of galaxy
appear above your skin crafted by artistry
and history shaped like trees, oak savannah
sycamore, and buckeye, the wind won't
grapple and take it away
sweep it far away, no way it can.

sheets of thin glass
softly attach to the navy blue like,
a curve joining the successive peaks of
a modulated wave; i hope you get a grip of it, too.

one
day
some
day

now
you must be hearing it

dear heart

Here I am struggling to write something and staring at the course of a blinking cursor waiting for words to crawl out my jaded brain. ~

My heart is little anxious. It pursues matters that are too great; complex wonders that I'm not yet ready to understand. It chases after the unknown and argues with each thought that arrives in ones or in twos. I feel defeated. I feel exhausted; no energy left to juice out.

My heart is thirsty. It lacks water. It lacks desparation for God. What does that mean?
My prayers have been repeated and it seems like words that flow out of my mouth fall flat - good chance they mean nothing. What does it mean to say that Jesus is my everything? What does it mean to live for His purpose? I am back at the beginning point not knowing what to do even though it was already established. My eyes drift from a far place; far from home; far from my Father.

My heart is in pain. I struggle every waking moment. Sin does not declare war. It knocks on your door and befriends you. It deceives. The devil laughs throwing his head back stirring fear to who it knows to be faithless. I may be cornered by darkness but I am subdued by the light. He delivered me and will continue to deliver me. By grace through faith, I am saved. He has called me saved. I then, must reject pride to live set apart.

My heart is broken. I try to build and put the shattered pieces back together but it ends up being done in vain. Fruitless. Brokenness is an everyday state. It took a while for me to see that. I resented being broken because I wanted to always look kept together. Choosing Jesus takes a lot of sacrifice. But what is that compared to His ultimate sacrifice? He who had no sin became sin.

Dear heart know this,

"How deep the Father's love for us                          
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the Chosen One
Bring many sons to glory..."

We had our mid-year prayer and fasting in our church and the overall theme was "Beauty in Brokenness". I just like to share that the process of seeing my brokenness wasn't what I expected. Day one to three had me wrestling with words but God remained silent. I couldn't hear Him. I was longing for an encounter but really I wasn't desparate for it. I wasn't desparate for God. I said the same prayers and grew tired. My mind kept running in circles. I let out a breath and spent a few minutes before leaving the house to examine myself. I had to pull back because it just didn't feel right to come to God with a blocked heart and refuse to be honest with Him. God uses the operation of our choices.We must choose to let Him speak to us and then He will. No matter how many times I ask God to fill me, it would be pointless for I am a cracked pot. He needs to empty and make me whole first. And the process is painful. 

As I listened to the last message, my eyes started to well up in tears as God touched my very heart and I felt it. He spoke and I heard it. He broke me right then and there fully and completely. I was overwhelmed and I tried to resist crying in the middle of the theater. I felt a sincere kind of longing. I couldn't wait for the individual prayer time. I was expectant in my waiting. 

Though, I tell you it wasn't easy. 

I will never forget the feeling I felt that night. I saw Jesus clearer than the skies. I was lost in His eyes that looked to me so full of grace. How can a holy God treasure someone so useless? Jesus, Himself is the beauty in brokenness. I am pressed and crushed. But forth and forever, I will choose to depend and place my hope in the Lord who will never leave me nor forsake me. 

a tunnel through the rain

even though your mother would not approve of you

speaking to a sea witch who has powers 

you bargain because that little adventure 

seeps through your veins and it oh so tempting. 

is this all a play with people trying to lure you away 

and sell you things that don't make you any

richer or smarter, whatsoever? 

the society always seems to be superior to dead girls

it says that they made the wrong choice 

and tries to open your eyes 

on how they took the wrong path of the wild

it plays on morale. 

it won't stop you until you alter something

but when you're older 

and you believe that the world is there and it's a forest

your story becomes a 

a truth teller and a warning
that literature would dispose off of
and use to serve for other people's narratives. 

florence

it's always the darkest before dawn
the cerulean forest nymph carried on through
with the warm light bulb behind her back
we only know one thing for sure
it looks so free and wild
leaping and flowing seamlessly with nature
so intense with all the radiance that it brings
it isn't safe to ask for anyone's name
around here
so I whisper quietly
it flies around the translucent drapes
they hang on the ceiling
touching and reaching
depicting saints as they extend
their arms to
mortals for healing miracles
each hunger echoes so loudly and yet
though I keep things deep to myself
they hear me too
it stands there first
and motions you to take the leap
though there is nothing
that could stay with it for long

the kiosk means something

as I tell myself, "just start"
my eyes become heavier
and my heart harder to carry
it seems that there isn't anywhere
I can begin

I stroll around
with confetti in my left hand
goals in my right hand
fascination outward
chaos inside

I feel like that newspaper hitting
that tall post that anybody would try and
avoid
but I
I bump into it with conviction
and I let the hard wind hit me
the kiosk is filled with faded words today
things gone and have departed
it's full of old stuff nobody says anymore
but it's still well standing
waiting for a visitor
I hope it's glad that today
it's me

I think about
you and me
we could be mad representations
of geography
we tell ourselves stories and
ignore the media to live in books
sometimes it feels like we're there
but we're really just...here

no, we don't represent geography
we cheat it
we exist in two places
here & there

we're all standing in this world for something
I remember all
but all is only this to me
and that might just be a thought
for a good start

S 'wonderful

First, I want you to know

That I’m changing my life

And second, you’re coming

And hopefully, flying with me

There is something so therapeutic about

Writing down my successes each night

I only have one hundred days

I only have that long to deliberately make

Things happen and stop skipping meals

No, seriously

Change turns usual routines into beautiful
Fireflies dancing around intertwined dark forests

Sometimes I look up and I see only black

But they will come along and I would believe

And I would be proud of myself

It’s exhilarating to imagine

That one day I could light my world
With my collection of change

My beautiful yellow fireflies

So, this week I’ve been trying

To have something

And to experience it every second

It’s working well

S’marvelous

No, seriously

It’s my favorite feeling in the world!

Let's Catch Up | january & screenplays

Today is one of those trying-to-get-back-on-track days. I’m very grateful for this. I’m doing a lot of reorganizing at the moment both in the physical world and my overly forgotten writing documents which remained blank and out of date for obvious reasons. Here I am trying to fill them up. So, how am i doing? Am I great? Of course, I am. There isn’t a moment I’m not. There are just some days that I feel less great. I’m on a roller coaster that only goes up, my friend. Kidding, I’m no Augustus Waters maybe a Miles Halter looking for his great perhaps.  I’ve been pondering deeply on my life choices especially the menial ones. Those you’d think I should be good at but it’s there that I fail at terribly. It’s getting harder to believe that I’m progressing. Maybe I’m not? So, where does this lead me? Where do I begin? How do I begin? I find that I have to blabber on and on so that I’ll visualize how lazy I’ve become. I’m such a slacker. Get me Marty and George Mcfly, we’ll start a club. Bunch of Slackers….help please my plant is dying. But instead of plant it’s my future. And it’s not dying  it’s already dead and I’m doing nothing to revive it. Sigh. Sick of it.

But I’m coming along little by little. It’ll probably take long but I’m writing about it which is my numero uno way of understanding. I’m starting to understand and that’s progress. A bit of a timeline: I was down in the rabbit hole hibernating for about 5 months. I didn’t do completely nothing but definitely didn’t achieve anything out of the things I’ve done which was mainly giving myself pep talks and patting my own back and then it all evolved into me just napping and completely avoiding creating a schedule. I basically have been walking directionless like a hiker who doesn’t glance at his compass, goes on to a great destination but ends up miles off. And I blamed January even more for making me aware of that fact in my life. I figure, I’d tell you about January because the year started off weirdly for me. I didn’t know how to process everything that went on and was continuously going. I’d usually celebrate! I made it to 2018 but so much of me was left in 2017 and I didn’t have a clear plan on how I’d untangle myself with baggages that I was meant to let go. I was unconsciously holding onto I-don’t-even-know-what even though I was already physically in another part of my life because most of me were still pretending to be progressing in another one. I have no idea if that made any sense but I hope I hit a point somehow. It’s pure crisis. So, we’re 7 weeks in and I’ve just begun my year somehow properly. It’s s’ marvelous.

This year, I wanted to write more about things that interest me such as disfigurements and how it’s represented in media. I started dwelling on this because I follow this author, Jen Campbell, on youtube and she personally made a couple of videos on it and that sparked my appeal to it. I watched The Greatest Showman recently and I have some thoughts on it. I apologize because quite like the film’s narrative, this would probably be all over the place. I knew P.T Barnum because he was one of my object lessons in school and I was fascinated by freakshows and odd exhibits. It’s safe to say, that he started all of that. The film has its redeeming points. It has a great soundtrack (I especially loved Never Enough) and cinematography that were rather warming. But let’s not alter history. Here is a fact: P.T Barnum exploited all those who were under his “care”. All for profit. He was a natural salesman, in fact, a master of it. In 1935, he paid $1,000 for an elderly African-American slave,  Joice Heth, whom he claimed to be 161 years old and George Washington’s erstwhile nurse. All which, of course, was a lie. He advertised Heth as “The Greatest Natural And National Curiosity In The World” being one of the last few living links to George Washington. People would listen to her recount her experience being a nursemaid and she’d sing hymns and all. Barnum fabricated stories depending on what would sell more tickets. She was frail and feeble and died in 1936 just months after joining Barnum’s show. He even sold tickets during her autopsy wherein the surgeon disclosed that she couldn’t have been more than 80!

His dubious collection eventually expanded to an exceptional amount of exhibits. Charles Sherwood Stratton, was 22 years old in the movie. Barnum met him when he was only 4 in real life. He proved to be his most profitable exhibit. There was also the famous, infamous really,  Feejee Mermaid which was supposedly a mythical creature captured in the Pacific Ocean that was actually the head and torso of a young monkey stitched to a fishtail. Oh and the poor, poor Jumbo the Elephant! All these people (and animals!) that he took under his care lived lives that were far from wonderful. Barnum and his friends memorialized ethnic stereotypes and enclosed a part of humanity as “different”.  

We all have to accept that showbiz does airbrush and conceal truths. For a film like this, the question remains… is it worth considering that for a moment, just for a moment, we forget about the astounding abuse & cruelty and the dark side of P.T Barnum that were conveniently ignored? I really really really would like to stop ranting about this but there won’t be a time that I wouldn’t. I know this for sure. I just wish that they didn’t create a film on Barnum like he was so inspirational, legendary and a man to be looked upon. It would’ve been so much better if they just l made it about human marvels and oddities. Or perhaps, if they didn’t sugar coat his life. It was a great movie after all! If only P.T Barnum cared about his human and animal stars and empowered them the way they portrayed him. Please don’t hate the film though it’s historically inaccurate. I entered the cinema with an open mind and I was able to embrace it. And we all love Hugh Jackman. End of rant.

To close, what am I doing? I’m currently reading screenplays because this year’s writing club, in collaboration with the documentation club, project is to make short films! So, I’m familiarizing myself with the terms and maybe I’ll write my own in the future. We only have concepts at the moment. Not really solid still need substance, but they’re pretty interesting ideas. Our next meetup we’ll be making moodboards and discuss each one’s roles. I’m excited to start writing and share some thoughts and see how it will all go! I’ll update you all on that.

Couple of other ’ Currently ‘

Reading The Storied Life Of A.J Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin

Studying Physics (da death of me please po h...elp)

On the last season of Gilmore Girls

Planning for my eighteenth birthday (also da death of me)

Sleeping 10 hours a day but still waking up tired and I know why

Understanding what it means to be joyful in every situation

Realizing how much catching I need to get done

And future planning, panahon na

Encouraging myself to engage in godly conversations

Bible studying Romans with Janine

Missing my friends because they’re at Sportsfest and I’m not

About to get water ‘cause I’m parched

Bye now! Stay rad.