Problem: Growing Up

Just like clothes, people change every single day. Just like clothes, we choose what’s comfortable, what’s trendy, what’s cool, what’s fancy—it depends. We wear thick fabric when it’s raining or when it’s cold. We wear the thin ones when it’s hot—it depends. Just like clothes, people are changing based on how the world rotates. It depends on the mood and the weather. But is changing a bad thing?

People are always asking for time and space. It’s okay to sometimes, somehow detach ourselves to others. I understand. There’s nothing wrong if you’d like to focus on yourself, heal your own wounds and such. There’s nothing wrong with that. But when is the right time to adjust the gap and distance?

We overthink. We are all dreamers, after all. The past, the present and the future, we can think of them all in one blink. We don’t care if it’s making any sense but we’re waiting for the clock to strike 11:11. We’re throwing coins if there’s a well or a fountain. When we kneel, we ask for something. When we close our eyes, we’re dreaming for something. There’s a well in every sigh. But are you doing something to make it happen?

Growing up is such a pain in the ass, I know. It sucks. But growing up is not the problem. Mid-life crisis is not the problem. Puberty is not the problem. To be honest, we’re just lost. We’re all  lost. Life is just hard to understand. But since we’re still alive, we need to understand each and every shits the world could give. Unfortunately, to be able to live.

Changing is not a bad thing. That means you’re still growing. You keep on exploring and discovering more of yourself, the people around you and the world. It’s actually scary when you’re not changing at all—because dead people don’t change at all. Well, physically they do. You just have to accept and embrace every changes within.

I don’t know when is the right time to adjust the gap and distance. But the only thing I know is if you keep on building walls, how can you understand what’s up on the other side? I mean, it’s okay to comfort yourself, but don’t close doors to those who wants to be there for you, too. Don’t be afraid to let them in. We only live once. How can you keep up if the time’s already up?

Make it happen. Do it now. If time is running, then people are aging. If now isn’t the right time, then when? If you can’t sleep, if you can’t stop thinking about it, if it is still bothering you, if it’s making you sad, then it hurts. It affects you. You can’t ignore and just let things go. But you know what? It is better to get hurt sometimes, than to regret everything—every single time. Don’t just wish and ask for it. Do something to get it. Do something for it.

Life is annoying. But remember; you’re stronger than you thought. You’re a warrior and you can’t lose your fight. Don’t let anyone or anything to destroy you—even your own emotions. We’re still young. Enjoy life as long as you’re still alive. Sometimes, you just have to pause, take a break and breathe. I’m just 18. What do I know about life? Well, I’m not sure. But I think, that’s how life works.

“Growing up is not the problem, forgetting is.”

The Little Prince, 2015 ✨

“Because that’s what happens in life, you grow up, everyone moves on, you’re just learning, you stay true to yourself. Changing isn’t a bad thing, it never was. But at the end of the day, you know? You’re the same person. And, and where your heart is—-that doesn’t change.”

Shawn Mendes, Understand (Illuminate Album, 2016) 🍁

The Ugly Duckling’s Confession

I was “totally ugly” when I was 8 or 9. I don’t care how my hair looks like; I don’t care even if I look pale. The sun won’t scare me at all. And if you ever ask me if I look messy? Guess what? I don’t really care. I was the same color as wood when I was 12. I was an athlete, believe it or not. I was once a volleyball player and I had my swimming lessons when I stepped in to high school—that’s why I have this dark complexion. Really, I wasn’t born with this color. I have this huge eyebags even until now. And there’s no one to blame but me. I love staying up all night because I honestly find comfort and relaxation in the darkness. I do have real ugly hands. Well, my mom told me that these hands are from my genes. But some told me that it is because of my joint-cracking habit. I have this tadpole-like-figure. And yes, I look like a malnourished child. I am not as sexy as the girls with the same age as mine.

I was never the epitome of Aphrodite. But that’s completely fine with me. Everything I said, that was all of my obvious flaws. But is there someone that could forbid me from dreaming such dream of becoming a model someday? This ugly duckling’s dream is to become a top model? That’s absurd! But what I’m trying to say right now is that, maybe we see things “ugly” because we are also victims of “this is beauty”.

Honestly, I think, I can make my flaws beautiful. I can make my flaws awesome. The moment that I embraced every single thing about me; whether it’s ugly or pretty, I’m sure I’ll be proud of myself. Confidence is all I need. I have no plans of dressing myself on how the society tells me that “this is the standards of beauty”. I don’t care if I’m this one sassy trash in your eyes but I will never give up on my dream.

I won't let anyone define me.
Only I can define me.

Let’s say, many girls out there are beautiful. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t.

All girls are beautiful!

 

Dance All Night

Coachella Party • CAL NIGHT 2017

[ Photo blogs & some of the tiring but fun experience with my friends last night! ]

  

Held at Valencia Hall, Bulacan State University, Ph. • April 21, 2017.

And we danced all night to the best song ever!

Honestly, ’twas my first time to join them as they party all night. Last year, I was just watching them while I’m sitting at the bleachers. (Tanders mode) Last night was kinda wild, but fun.

Bachelor of Arts in Malikhaing Pagsulat 2-A performed again! 

Poetry reading × dance performance × song performance. It was actually stressful because we only had 2 days of practice. But the performance was not as disappointing as I thought. Hehe.

How about bonding with friends?

Yaaaas. It was actually weird that someone is throwing fruit salad instead of color powders or water. “Guys, it’s raining pineapple chunks & different fruits plus milk & all!” That’s a bit ew but the experience was fun.

And lastly, I love the theme! Coachella. ❤💯

Who Do You Think You Are?

I am a woman.

I don’t need attention. I need respect.

I deserve respect.

I can’t remember if there was a day without a walking piece of shit calling out my attention while walking along the streets. I mean, I’m not sexy or even pretty (and I’m not saying that those sexy and pretty girls deserve this treatment) in my own personal opinion, but still, I experience catcalling almost everyday. They thought, what they’re doing is some sort of compliment but just so they know, I find it so disturbing. I’m pissed and insulted.

Calling you ‘miss’, ‘babe’, ‘baby’, ‘honey’, ‘sweetie’, etc. Asking you “where are you going?”, “are you alone?”, “should I join you” following you until they get bored. Whistling party here and there. Watching your legs as if they’re watching a movie. As if they actually want to throw their freaking eye balls and let them roll on someone’s cleavage. They seemed so hungry. And that’s the scariest part of it. It’s like they’re going to eat you and after they enjoyed you, they’ll spare your life.  Because you’re nonsense if not because of your body. Because you’re a woman. Just a woman.

Actually, they’re telling us to wear decent clothes for us to gain their respect. Like? Who are you? And why do I need to beg just for you to respect me? They’re complaining about how we dress up—when they were actually satisfied scanning the girl’s whole body. Now, they’re acting like a victim when they’re actually the suspect. Nice game. I’ll wear whatever I want. Control your lustful hormones and let’s respect each other. Simple.

No one deserves to be harassed.

No one deserves to feel dirty.

Equality. If a woman has no right to abuse a man, then a man has no right to abuse a woman either. But if a man can’t respect a woman, then women fight for their rights. Simple logic.

It’s actually scary. Whatever you wear, you’ll experience that kind of harassment. It’s difficult to feel at ease. And sometimes, it’s like they’re asking for it secretly, but the moment they saw it, a woman is a hoe.

It’s not like I’m pertaining to all the boys. I’m not generalizing. I mean, I respect them as a human. In fact, I got a father, cousins and some friends, but some boys triggers me so much. So now, if you’re one of them, let me ask you one thing: Before doing all your dirty shits, why can’t you ask yourself first: who the heck do you think you are?

Why She Talks About Him Like He Put All The Stars In Her Universe

“Thank you for making my dead pieces..

Beautiful.”

I met you at my darkest point wherein, all the bright things in me are scattered all around. You saw me. I’m dead and over a million light years away from everyone. I’m a walking catastrophe. I felt like a corpse that is trying to act like I’m still alive. I felt like everything was wrong with me. I’m paralyzed with my own negative thoughts. And I felt like I can’t shine the way I used to. Not until you decided to enter my world—my universe. You came not just to light up the darkness, but to pick up all the dead pieces and to remind me the thing that I almost forgot. You reminded me how beautiful a star is.

Welcome to my universe.

Look at the stars, they’re all mine.They are the tiny pieces of me that each star you see, has it’s own story. They shimmer. They blink. Some of them don’t even make a single movement like it’s frozen. Some of them shines too bright. And some of them, are too hidden that they don’t want to be seen.
But why am I talking like you put them all into my universe?

You didn’t see my flaws as flaws. You’re making me feel like I’m the brightest light. You made me stop thinking that I’m dead and you made me feel so alive. You brought me back to life. Now, I’m talking like only you made sense of me. I’m talking like, every time you look up at night, it’s me you see. I’m talking like every time you look at me, I hear your voice wishing that it’s me who’s falling.

And since the day that I met you, you’ve been picking up the bright things in me that were scattered around. I’m still lost over a million light years away from the earth, but you’ve been finding me. I’m walking but not anymore a catastrophe. I’m not trying to act like I’m still alive. I’m living. I finally felt like everything is right.. Especially when you’re with me. I’m hypnotized with the positive thoughts you caused me. And I feel like I’m shining more than the way I used to. It’s until you decided to enter my world—my universe. You came not just to light up the darkness, but to pick up all the dead pieces and to remind me the thing that I almost forgot. You’re always reminding me how beautiful I am.

Why I talk about you like you put all the stars in my universe is because, you’re inspiring me everyday that I want to do the same things for you. I’ve been wanting to be your light if there’s darkness. Just exactly how you made my imperfections look perfect. Just exactly how you’re making me feel blessed and thankful every time I breathe. Just exactly how you love me. How you’re doing all those for me.

” I told you that I want you to be my universe. But the thing here is, you do not demand to be the center of my universe. You told me not to give my all. And all you want to do is to share your world with me. You want to be with me in the same universe. “

The star you’ve been wishing to fall, is falling. Close your eyes and make a wish.

The Saddest Word

You’re her favorite book. Your life is her favorite story. She’s learning a lot from you. Because she keeps on re-reading you. Turning back every pages of you. Highlighting all those important details in you. It’s okay with her to sleep late just because she wanted to know more about you. She’s in love with the title, and that’s your name. She’s in love with the cover and the whole story inside the book in her hand.

You’re her favorite poem. She wants to “show don’t tell” her feelings for you. Her love for you is as deep and as mysterious as her poem.

You’re her masterpiece. Heaven knows how proud she is with her work of art. Every hand stroke tells a story and the color shows how beautiful life is. She’s your artist and you’re her art. She wants to show you to the world with her name and her signature to tell them you’re hers.

Your voice is her favorite music. She never gets tired of listening to your happiest down to the saddest part of your story. Your laughter is one of the reasons why her heart flutters. And every song you sing is the song she’ll never forget.

But her favorite book is lost. Her favorite poem is forgotten. Her favorite painting is already sold. She’s not hearing again her favorite music. And her favorite word became the saddest word that makes her bleed every time she hears it—

Your name.

A simple name can flash thousands of stories. Stories that she should forget, but she still can’t.

A Poetic Way of Crying

The tears itself is poetic. We can tell just by looking at the tears streaming down someone’s face. How their eyes can tell you what happend—when their lips are numb from the pain. It felt like a heavy water containing all of my emotions. Just like rain, when our eyes can’t carry the pressure anymore, whether we like it or not, it will fall.

They say: “if you cry, you’re weak.”But for me, if you get to show your emotions and finally freed yourself from pain and affliction, that’s being strong.

There are many reasons why we cry. Some tears are results of pain, or regrets, or sometimes—joy. 

We cry whenever we won. We cry when we lost. We cry when we’re together. We cry when we separate. A tear will appear when a baby is born. A tear will also appear when someone died. Our eyes are just like fountains that never run dry. Whatever happens, we bleed water. It’s crazy how tears appear whether we’re happy or sad.

But there is one thing you can do on how memories will be remembered. Write it. The poetic way of crying is making art—through pain.