Where do you leave your heart
if not on your sleeve?
Do you leave it by the waves,
on the rocks, and just leave?
Or should i try old bookshops
with dusty pages in every corner?
Could it find a home there
Would it stay there forever?
How about old churches
where my faith has long been gone?
Should my sins be forgiven
if my heart’s as open as dawn?
Where do i leave my heart
if my sleeve doesn’t seem to be a good place?
Where do people put their hearts
and how do i find any trace?
He Likes Flowers
Personally, I don’t understand the point of flowers after it has been plucked. I know they’re pretty, i just don’t see why we have to kill them for temporary appreciation.
But he said he likes flowers. I don’t know the big deal about it, but the happiness he had after i gave them a bouquet—his smile, his reactions . . . gods, it was worth it.
To My First Crush
Can i tell you a secret?
I’ve never liked anyone like this before
And it actually scares me
How now there’s beleaguerment to my being independent to my own happiness, unlike before
Then, i used to be able to go by my day
Then, there was no particular person that would determine whether i would feel okay the whole day
But now there’s you
And all you did was glance
And all you did was smile
And all you did was hold a stare that had me feel like flying a hundred miles
Up in the air
Up to cloud nine
And now all i want is for you to be mine
And now . . . i don’t even know.
I can’t even have the courage to say hello
There Was A Time
There was a time
When the wind used to laugh with me
Billowing through the trees
As it carried me free
There was a time
When the moon used to sing songs
Humming luminous melodies
Serenading how i belong
There was a time
When the sea used to come over
Washing me with caress
Wishing me to stay forever
There was a time
When the moments felt so slow
As if the universe was telling me to savor everything
But before i know
The wind stopped laughing
And started lashing tempests
The moon stopped singing
And alone was endless
The sea started crashing
Against the rocks, against my bones
There was a time
But the time has flown
Good Morning, February!!
Damn, January was so heavy it felt like a whole year.
Here’s to a better month, to better decisions, and to a better unity amongst the people.
Tuesday Notes
Enjoying a Week at Risk of Getting the Zombie Virus
Oh, man. I was gone for too long I can’t even remember when I last posted on this blog. I’m sorry, guys >n<
Anyway, the reason why i was gone for so long was because i attended this national psychological convention in Manila where we had like quiz bees, contests, talks, workshops, and others, and i couldn’t write without my precious solitude.
Despite the ever present risk of getting coronavirus–the virus that i like to think is a plausible origin of a zombie apocalypse–the whole week was fun. Although my social battery drains pretty quick, i had a lot of time having fun with my friends and sleeping (Oh, SLEEPING) in a comfortably cold room, and wrapping myself in pillows and blankets like a human burrito.
Bus Rides and Sunsets
Sometimes it feels better not to talk. At all. About anything. To anyone.
And whenever that happens, it’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt.
My jeepney ride to Iloilo City made me think about clown cars. You know that clown trope where an unreasonable number of clowns enter a small four-seater and everyone thinks it’s magic? The jeep i was in was like that, except it was originally a 20-seater, and almost twice the number of passengers were in it.
It was my first time going to the City on my own, and i wasn’t even 100% sure where to drop and ride another vehicle to get to places. Good news: I safely and successfully got to the places i wanted to go. Bad news: I didn’t know how to go back anymore lmao. So i just hired a taxi to the bus terminal.
The ride back to Miagao was better than the jeepney ride, since buses had a designated seat-per-person count. I sat in the seat right behind the driver, who kept singing whatever he was doing (like Marshall from How I Met Your Mother) but in a language i didn’t understand. To remedy the discomfort, i put on my earphones and listened to a mythology podcast.
Two hours later, the sun was setting. The sky showed a sunset that silenced my inner thoughts, and it was the best feeling for someone like me whose thoughts just never shut up.
The First Curse
The silence was eerie. The darkness seemed to have swallowed all that had life, for the only thing Sammael could hear was his own breaths. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean nobody else was there . . .or that nobody would be there.
Bringing up the hand that was not holding a sword, Sammael conjured a little ball of light that made his pale skin glitter. He knelt down at the bank and shot a wave of light just below the surface of the murky cave waters until it reached the other end. There didn’t seem to be anything lurking beneath.
He closed his eyes, and felt the soil. It was Darker and heavier here, but the shadows didn’t refuse his request for a path.
He didn’t need to reach the end of his shadow bridge for him to find what he was looking for. Or in this matter, who.
Chained in the darkest part of the cave where o moonlight could touch her was a woman. Her long, platinum hair that was once in glorious braids and crowned with silver leaves was now undone, here and there muddy. Her once glamorous dress of silk and gems now hung torn and tattered on her bruised and sickly body.
“Amaia!” Sammael ran to her and freed her from her chains with a swing of his blade. “We’re going home,” he said, as he gathered her weak form from the ground. He paused. Something wasn’t right.
Her face had a few twinkles from his light orb but after once or twice, her face barely glittered at all. Sammael gasped softly as he could see Amaia’s face closely. Her lips, as well as some parts of the skin on her face was cracked, like webbings on porcelain. Her long white lashes seemed to be heavier as she struggled to keep her eyes open.
“No,” he breathed.
Amaia rested her weak hand on his neck, as he placed his forehead on hers. With the last amount of strength she had, she smiled. And the last of her light faded.
Before Sammael could grieve properly, a growl rumbled from behind him. He lifted his tearful face. A chalk-white hand manifested from the Dark shadows. Bloodshot eyes glared at him from its pasty face, shark teeth gnashing.
The cave reverberated from the snarls. The creatures slowly crawled towards him–from the banks, the walls, even from above him.
Standing up, with her corpse at his feet, the creatures lunged. And Sammael’s purple eyes turned red.
I’m So Sick of Rape Culture
I’m so fucking sick of rape culture and what frustrates me is that most people don’t get it.
If it was about the “sluttiness” of the clothes,there wouldn’t be victims wearing casual jeans and shirt, pajamas, or uniforms. But there are.
If it was about the length of the clothes, rape crimes would skyrocket during the summer, and would’ve been nonexistent during the earlier times when women only wore floor-length dresses with wrist-length sleeves. But they don’t, and it wasn’t.
If it was about staying out late and walking in suspicious areas, there wouldn’t be victims raped in their own homes. But there are.
If it was being “drunk and wild”, then there wouldn’t be victims who are sober and kept to themselves. But there are.
If it was being a woman, then there wouldn’t be male rape victims. But there are.
If it was doing and being all these things combined, then why the fuck are there victims who are CHILDREN, TODDLERS, and INFANTS?
It’s not about adding more and more precautions to avoid the “urges” of rapists.
It’s not about how much they fought. If you know how to fight and defend yourself, that’s good. But It shouldn’t be a necessity.
Lives should be lived without fear. I don’t want my life to be a fight, I want it to feel like living. Not a constant struggle to survive.
The answer is not piling up restrictions and taking away a person’s sense of security.
The answer is teaching people how to be decent human beings, and making them understand that you are in control of your own actions and decisions.
And don’t you even give me that “Well, men are biologically more sexual beings than women” or “Well, it’s so hard to fight your urges, it’s so much easier for girls to just do the above” bullshit.
Because if you blame your hormones and fucking urges to harassment and/or assault, don’t you dare blame me if i ever kill someone on my period.
Zee Ro 