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.

10

sad endings
they're gut wrenching
they're uncoventional
they open old wounds
they're real

I like to say that most stories begin
with celebratory songs and fun
opening numbers and a wondrous production
it's enchanting and it's filled with
hands holding and locked eyes

you've never seen me as I lived
the life I aspired to be
I flew and flew so high
but I've heard your jazz playing
all the time
even when I'm asleep
I hear it when I'm walking
it says goodbye

my heart it remembers
my head nods
life moves on

it never stops for me
it never stops for you
for us

I wonder about the what ifs
I have grown so imaginative
you see it, too, don't you?

our ending was sad
but it was perfect
for reasons that we've learned
I learned a lot

six feet under

Desires come in packages. I bought one, out of the blue, while walking down a dark place in which I have never cared to walk upon. On the smooth grey streets from where I live, I took myself walking and had some incredible realizations "fit for a noble prize," I said. I said many things. I don't mean all of them, just some. Walking reminds me of my real goal and that is to move forward internally. I'm quite forgetful and slow to catch up on everything. It's a common pitfall to say that you can't do it when you really can and I meet the sad faces when they realize they missed the opportunity to witness themselves doing what they thought they couldn't. Shame.

I circled back to my usual route. I could feel the sweat on my forehead and the violent churning of my stomach fluids. I met my half sister when she was seven. We fought a lot about clothes and my parents' attention. That goes from day to night. Even during meals. We fight with pride. Our parents never cared whether we're doing fine. All they bothered and went on about was whether we have enough money. They fight about it with pride. Even during meals.

I slowed my pace and took a left. It was natural for me to take that left. Alice was my one friend. We once saw a car parked across a gasoline station and the man that didn't move. We called for help and ended up running towards the forest where we talked for hours and swore to never repeat what we shared to anyone ever again. Alice was a curious girl. She showed me where fairies lived and where oceans go when they're hungry. She brought me a star. It twinkles. It stopped twinkling when I held it. I showed Alice to which she said, "indeed, it did." One thing, I enjoyed was how sentimental she would go. She even kept a picture of their family in her blue jean jacket that she always wore. We would meet down the street during afternoon after school and walk and pass by houses that was never our own. Sometimes, when we feel like it we visit Mrs. Burke, her mom. They have the same face.  She'd give us fresh milk and wheat bread and we'll spend the whole day at their backyard and we'd wait for my star to twinkle once again. Alice was older than me. It was my pleasure to have her around for I've always wanted to be mentored.

One time, when I got home, I saw my father sitting on his chair in the living room. I walked lightly fearing that I might disturb his tranquil. He seemed to have had a long day at work. I noticed that my mother wasn't anywhere to be found so, I thought, maybe she'll be here when I wake up. Tomorrow came and she was still gone. I called out for my sister and father but they, too, seemed to have went somewhere. My heart felt heavy like something was pressing it and it wanted out of my chest but I couldn't understand it. I tried to chase it but it went and it got complicated.

I held my star. My back stayed on the floor. I got it tied down to my neck and I stared at it all day long. I just wanted it to twinkle the way it used to. Why was it that it stopped doing what it was meant to do?

I walked to the trees and I saw Alice behind a pine tree singing a song. Her voice stretched upwards.

"Hey, what are you up to?" I asked. She smiled so wide and told me to sit beside her. She told me about my family and how she met them. "Do you miss them?" I didn't see them all morning, I told her. And I kept trying to recall how she could've gotten to know them. I haven't brought her to our home. Alice lived in a place called a hospital. I remembered the smell. Sometimes, my mind reminds me of things and I'd feel my blood rushing through my body and I wonder what that meant. It's not easy for me to remember what's real and what's not these days. I get it all mixed up terribly. Today, I faced the mirror. One of my self-reflection episodes. It has been 2 months without seeing my family.

I looked far across the town and just like that, I lost the beating of my heart. It's a warm afternoon. Everything felt still and breathing. I could hear it all with just one ear open. I love the chatter and soft cracks whenever I step on dried leaves. I saw a man with a folded newspaper placed under his armpit. He's like a person fresh out of a black and white movie. His face like he was falling from an ivory tower. I see it all the time. Before it was just an alternative sound but it seems like everyone has adapted to it. Motionless, I was. But I remained standing. I haven't heard from Alice. It's quite lonely without her. I've gotten used to not seeing everybody else. I don't think she'll come back.

I turned nineteen. That's when I fell off the pavement. I was held under machines and I drank countless of bitter medicine. I was glad they had pudding. I wailed every night. I had only a few memories to play out. I stared at the ceiling telling myself, "better, I'll get better tomorrow."

I didn't.