#Journal: November 11, 2017

Why do people call me stupid when I tell them I cling on to, so far, unrequited feelings? Why do people say I’m a fool when I fall in love? Have they lost hope in the love they can give and can receive? Why am I stupid for hoping I could receive a love that I think I deserve?

Why am I stupid to fall in love? When did love become a bad thing?


#Journal: November 11, 2017

There are two kinds of happiness: one that remains with you for life, and the other, that temporarily stays with you. I’m writing for the second, for one man’s goal is to gain happiness, but what if that kind only stays with you for the meantime? What’s worse is when you are currently experiencing that kind of happiness, but as early as now you already realize that it’s for a meantime. How can happiness be as good, and at the same time, as cruel as man?

I ride or die, but the difference right now is I’m more of a head over heart than heart over head nowadays. Right now, I’m slowing down. Right now, I guess this city, this person, this person’s heart, could not be a home for me. I’m talking about a possible love affair. I have a feeling this happiness I have with this person would be. I have wished the impossible.

I see green lights, but right now it would sting. “This is temporary,” I tell myself. I wish I could make it last, make it true. I wish I could make it real, and make it mine, ours.

What could be the reason why we have temporary happiness? Is this why people say good things don’t last? I wish for this to last. I still wish the tables to turn and for a miracle to happen. Although this is too good to be true, what would be the possibilities of this becoming a reality?

Ideas can be materialized easily. But feelings and temporary happiness? Relative. I’ll just keep asking why.

Lord, give me this chance.

#Journal: November 8, 2017

The problem with being a ride or die girl is I don’t know any limits. I see yellow lights, I still floor it. I sit on red lights, revving my head like I’m a roaring machine. Well, as expected, I get frustrated when I reach dead ends. Foggy roads excite me, as the uncertainty makes me want to gamble what I have, which is nothing.

People tell me I take too many risks. They tell me I put my life on the line always, or most of the time, but I shut them out of my head and go on with my journey, wandering the streets of his/her city called his/her heart, knocking on every door, hoping he/she will let me in and let me find a home within. And that’s the kind of adventure I get myself into. whether it’s literal or figurative, whether if it’s just in love or in life, generally.

These foggy roads. I don’t know where it leads me. Will it lead me to a final home or will it lead me to another dead end? I trust my heart as I trust these foggy roads and the asphalt I’m riding on.

#Journal: November 7, 2017

I hope I’m not just any other pit stop on your journey. Since you came, I let you in, treated you like an old friend finally coming home for good after wandering the world. Yes, you were a visitor. Everyone is. But so am I in your comfort zone.

I hope you would find solace in these arms. I can hold you here. Cradle you if I must while you’re feeling blue. Allow me to take care of you, as we’re both weary of taking care of others. Your presence was care enough for me, allow me to do the same for you.

You seem to like it here. I hope you would find a home in me. A home to rest your soul and your heart. I would treasure you as you would do the same to me, if ever. I’m slowly and surely finding peace with you. I hope you’ll also see the same.

#Journal: May 1, 2016

Writer’s note: this was inspired by the movie Ruby Sparks.

He was a young adult romance reader. He loved typical skinny girls with long, messy hair, a cigarette on their lips, and a pad of antidepressants somewhere in their medicine cabinet. He had the urge of loving them, taking out the misery from them. He grooms himself to be her savior.


Until I came.

At one point I was this literal young adult fiction character. I was depressed. I was abusing caffeine, an element that I am neurologically allergic to. I drank alcohol way too much than the normal. I had a pack of menthol 20s in my bag, placed near my black or purple lighter. I was a train wreck, just like Alaska. I was this quirky, miserable girl who has problems to make her look endearing. I had antidepressants and some pills to calm me down when I have panic attacks. I panic when I am in a crowded area. I was not good at handling myself.



When I met him, it was all roses and butterflies – you know how girls fall in love. Even at day one, a girl could think about how it feels like to kiss him or what would be the theme of their wedding, if ever it comes to that. I looked beyond the flaws and, of course, focused on the things that made me want him. It was a reconstruction of his being. But I carried on.



Letters after letters and mix disks after mix disks, things went haywire as it should be. We needed conflict, and they delivered. It was literally a young adult romance novel, though this time it involved real people with raw emotions. It was too perfect, well plotted, that I’m already thinking if I was living a movie or a novel. We had that conflict, and that glitch made me say the most young adult romance novel decision ever – “That’s it. I’m staying away from you. For your own good.”


The guidance counselor told me that I was a bit impulsive. Yes, I was. She asked me if I had plans of going back to him, hell nah. I ain’t doing that stupid thing where the girl goes back to the boy, and I am not allowing him to chase me back. Cut this game, I am out. I am not going back. To hell with him.

He was not the perfect guy I had an idea about. When you’re in love you are clouded by the pleasure and the utopian vision that makes you ignore the bad parts that needed to be seen. He was not as brave as I thought he could be. He was not ready to be someone he thinks he could be. Why would I rush?

I’m on to a new start. Again. Each chapter closes with a suicide, the kind of suicide that makes you clean your soul and kill the demons that you had to deal with – catharsis included. I killed the toxin-induced me and I dragged him down the drain with it.

We were not ready for each other. Moments went by so fast that it seems everything slowed down. It wasn’t as good as it is in the paper. Life is life. It’s unwritten, candid, spontaneous, unpredictable. We only live in the moments we’re in.

We cannot imitate fairy tales. We write our own fairy tales.


#Journal: April 3, 2016

I never take my feelings lightly. It’s either love or hate. Desire or passion. As is or a combination of two or more emotional force that controls my soul. I am a person who is deeply aware of her emotions. When I love, I love with all my heart. When I hate, well, you already know.

Right now, I am in the stage of my life where I am trying to untie my emotions from a guy. A guy whom I, unfortunately, manage to fall in love with. Unfortunately, and as it happens most of the time, it was just me. I have loved him with all my words and my songs. But when things went haywire and some unfortunate event happened, it led me to question whether he was the person that I was looking for. Whether he was the anchor that I can tie myself to so I won’t get caught in the wild currents of time and life. Turned out he wasn’t. I impulsively detached myself from him. I did so because he was not that person I was looking for.

At that point, I knew I could not trust him like I trusted him in the first month of knowing him. Trusting him was a hasty move. I should have observed more. I stopped everything, since “I was the reason why at that point his life went shit”, then ok, I’ll step away, whether he likes it or not. I stopped talking to him anywhere, everywhere.

At that point, I also tried stopping my love for him. I realized it was not worth it. I tried unloving him but it seemed impossible. And as I try hard, the love I had for him turned to the dark side. I started hating him.

I hated how he looks. I hated how he dresses up so nicely. I hated how he’s so good at almost everything. I hated the fact that he’s so smart and so balanced. I hated to see him laughing and smiling at the company he currently has. I hated how he made me nothing but a useless speck of dust.

It was toxic. I was drowning in hate at one point. All I wanted was to crumble him.

Until I had an epiphany. I was not hating him. I was hating on me hating him. Or in other words, I hated myself. I was too engrossed in planning to crumble him that I was already lost and confused. I realized I could be as good as him. I could be as smart as he is. The only thing holding me back was me being not too inspired to change myself. Because, at that point, I was thinking, “for what will I change for? I’ve got nothing.”


Nothing. There was nothing. I was alone in this fight. No one knows how or what I was feeling. He does not know the internal struggle I had. (Maybe now he does because he’s reading this. Or maybe not, because he scrolled past through this link.)  He never asks. But when he does, he says nothing, as usual. He does not understand. Nobody does. There is nothing for me.

Now, do I really love or hate him? What really is he for me? To be quite honest I am still confused. Maybe he was an inspiration in the weirdest way because I have to hate something before realizing that I actually love something. In this case, I still have to love and then hate him in order to realize in the end that I still have a little bit of love or care for him. Is it that much as before? No.


He broke my trust. There never was closure. He didn’t know that I do not trust him anymore. Am I being unfair to him? Yes, of course. But he was unfair too. Let him taste his own medicine.

Will I still fight for my love for him?

May I ask something: Is it still worth it? I’m tired.


#Journal: April 7, 2016


Failure. Everything I do leads to failure. I am a failure.

I can’t finish things. I can’t start things, like painting, sketching or playing my instruments. Because it turns out bad. Because even if I keep on practicing, it still turns out bad. I am a failure.

I’ve failed a lot of subjects ever since I got that huge failing mark from my high school math. I am a failure.

I can’t think straight. I keep on having negative thoughts. I doubt myself. I always make wrong decisions. My foresight couldn’t be trusted. I can’t trust myself enough. I am a failure.

I get sick easily. I am a failure.

I failed a major subject twice. First because of the teacher. Second, because I am a failure.

I transferred universities. I am a failure.

I managed to be in college for 5-6 years instead of the initial plan of doing college for 4 years. I am surely a failure.

I am irresponsible. I am negligent at times. I am a failure.

I have no bankable talent. I am not a musician. I am not a painter. I am not a writer. I am not an actress. I am not a singer. I am a failure.

A friend starts a new chapter of her life out of this country to study. While at it, she’s gonna take up a part-time job. Of course, it does highlight how much of a failure I am.

I am 20+ overweight. I burn calories slow. I am a failure.

I am socially awkward. At one point I have social anxiety. I am a failure.

Failure. My whole existence is a failure. I am a failure. Everything about me screams failure. Every door is closed, every wrong step made, every spill reminds me how much of a failure I am.

If this is the definition of my life then how am I still alive? No one needs failures. No one needs people who are failures.