Too wordy. 

I get that remark all the time. What if I would be given the chance to appear unedited, like my written thoughts were a director’s cut of a film? How I wish I would truly have that chance and still not be judged for my syntactic struggles.

Whenever the tip of my pen is about to code overlapping dependence, or attempts to build excessive modification, I know my musings are about to turn into nightmares. Still, like drug to my diction, I allow the manuscript to be heavy on words, because suppressing the “breathings of my soul” might just suffocate me or leave me dry. 

Sometimes, fragments are the riddles I’ve been looking for to stitch together the broken pieces of the entire truth. I find pleasure in using numerous fragments to trigger nerve impulse by every torn tale, ripped reality and fractionated feeling. I know there is a more grammatically acceptable structure than my disintegrated dogma, but sentence fragments are the literary bricks that complete my thoughts. Without them, I might break apart. Literally.

Consider revising.

This is the expert advice I often get, and rarely consider. I have tried resolving this internal conflict I have with the writer who writes and the writer who’s right, trapped inside me. I am not done trying yet though. I still have debate skirmishes inside my head if I wish to be a writer or right-er because trying to be both seems to be an endless struggle. 

And I just want to write. Does it have to be that hard?



Words are all I have, which is why I sometimes do not have enough of them to express substantially my point, so I end up saying “actually” or “technically” over and over. In the same way, at times,  I only have  a word or two to deliver my exact point, like “exactly” or “precisely.” These verbal tics, annoying as they seem, turn out to be the excellent choices for conversation starters and terminators after all. 

What would I ever do without them? 

We have all been in boring and not so boring classes in high school, and the only thing that has kept us entertained is drawing sticks on our notes to tally a word that our teacher would say over and over again. As we grow older, we realize that some old habits die hard, and we continue to build fences on memo pads whenever we are trying to make it out alive of a staff meeting or conference, because the one presiding seems to end each statement with the same word. 

Sometimes, we wonder, there are over a hundred thousand words in the dictionary, but why do people have to keep on repeating but one?

What is more interesting is, to some people this tic manifestation is categorized as a disorder. While parents of children with autism worry over their children’s pathological speech behavior, here I am, merely making a complex deal out of my self-diagnosed palilalia, as my own form of withdrawal from being annoyed with myself, because denial and anxiety get the best of me whenever my mind stalls for a better way to enunciate my thoughts. While it is a disurbing language disorder to some teens and adults, we belong to that portion of the class perhaps who take this disordered speech patterns of our teachers or colleagues as a thing to make fun of. 

Why is that?

Amidst burning issues and challenging situations, we do run out of better words to say and take diction for granted, to a point that we trigger the red light for language check. Still we scald our tongue with words like “crap” and “damn” (I have to filter the real words for these two) over and over again, meant or half-meant. I guess this is the same feeling when we say “okay” or “alright” though we never mean them, because these are all we can comfortably say to avoid having to explain ourselves or telling the truth about our feelings. This is the same as well when we say “I was like” or “you know” when there isn’t really something like it or no one really knows, but we say it repeatedly anyway because we “literally” have nothing else to say. 

Are we better off running out of words to say then? If I do, what do I say?

Non-linear Thoughts

I am starting to believe my brain is a briefcase of graphic organizers.

How I wish I could sort my thoughts in compartments and mentally label them, each time I have to challenge my own reasons behind decisions that I make by every turn of the clock.

 How I wish I could trace back the dots I connect in my mind in a trail of wise guesses and second guesses just the same, each time I demand from myself the validation of my own principles. 

How I wish I could cross over timelines in my brain and relearn or unlearn the tricks and trades of banal existence, each time I look for better options than the ones that I thought were already the best.

How I wish I knew how to declutter my brain, because I am beginning to feel that this mind map I carry with me is not only divine but also deadly. 


Coffee never asks questions. Coffee understands.

There comes a point in your life when silence turns out to be your dearest friend, and coffee keeps you both satisfied, although it can never pour fillings through the holes in your heart.

My love affair with coffee is more than just a fad or fling. Coffee has saved me from a lot of raw truths I could have said in the wrong way. In numerous instances, coffee has kept me from making a big deal out of harsh realities that were better pondered on and left unsaid. If I were just drinking coffee for the heck of it, I would not act like my life were dependent on it, because it truly is. It is not an act. I am truly living with a strong reliance on coffee to fuel me, to sustain me, to resuscitate me, to restore me.

Coffee is both lifeblood and lifeline. 

I am trying to be hopeful that this dependency is not a bad thing, because sometimes, (or most often than not) I credit to caffeine the tiniest drop of confidence I have to face daily mundanities. Living a life measured by coffee spoons is reality for me, even if there may be shades of meaning along with it. I have had my fair share of misfortunes but most of these frustrations have been caffeine-fixed.

Still, though a potent stimulant, there are a lot of actualities that coffee can never change, heal or subdue, whichever is necessary. Coffee can only help get past murkiness and sharpen the edges. To me, this is more than enough consolation. 

Give me coffee or give me death. I rest my case.

Time Check

I notice how every second seems to race with my heartbeat. I notice how the clock seems to give me mini panic attacks all the time. I notice how time seems to run out so fast.

What I do not notice is that, every second lasts the same way, the clock works the same way, and time goes by the same way.

I never want to notice how the clock strikes every hour because I know that I have not stricken out enough items on my to-do list. I never want to notice how the clock stays undaunted by pressure while I disintegrate at every turn of the clock. I never want to notice how the clock feels unthreatened when deadlines are undeniably gruesome.

I wish I could trade places with a clock even just for a second. But I can’t help but wonder, will it ever change how I battle against time—time and time again? I guess not.

Of Daily Miracles and Simple Joys

Reason to Believe
Daily miracles. Simple joys. These are my reasons to believe that there will always be something to be grateful for and I must have still done something good to deserve the small things in this unfair but beautiful life that push me to go on and live another day.

I believe in angels in disguise.

They usually appear before us just when we think we can never surface out from being buried too deep by daily circumstances. They may come with a word, a story, a consolation, a solution, an opportunity, a smile, a hug, a chance. Then this gives us reasons to believe that God is stronger than our fears and pains. We are all responsible for everything that happens in our lives and although they happen for a reason, sometimes we do not think and respond correctly and accordingly to the divine plan and we end up lost somewhere. Whenever we are gotten lost, troubled and held down by certain circumstances, it is pure bliss that we are never alone even if we make ourselves believe that we are. Angels are with us always all the time. Daily miracles give me reason to believe that I will get by even if I am split second away from losing it.

I believe joy is cheap and priceless.

Simple joys make a treasure out of desires too huge and complicated to attain and sustain. Simple joys can be a warm cup of instant coffee your daughter or son mixed for you, a long afternoon nap with your toddler after watching a favorite movie, a 5-minute chair massage experience for P10 that you share with your children like it were child’s play, an ice cream sandwich that you take delight on with your kids because it is chocolate after all and it does not have to pricey, a snuggle toy you get from a pick-and-drop game for a singe try…We sometimes think we need all the money in the world to experience joy but sometimes we just have to value the time we get to spend with the ones with love in order to have moments to cherish after all despite have less than what we should enjoy and deserve. Simple joys give me a reason to believe that as long as I have time to give, the opportunities to share joy is infinite.

There is no room for hopelessness and discontent when you have reasons to believe that miracles happen on a daily basis and joy does not have to come with a price.

With daily miracles and simple joys, who am I to demand much from this unfair but beautiful life?


The Enigma of Learning

When we ever learn that learning is best when one is ready to learn?

Year after year, scholar after scholar, theory after theory, research after research, design after design—the transition is endless in the pursuit of learning.

My favorite principle will always be, a learner shall learn whenever the learner is ready, so no amount of extrinsic motivation, proven and tested strategies and profound teaching styles will ever get a learner to learn what he has to learn if the learner is not ready to learn.

Truly, this is a challenge. For one, one can never really figure out if it is the most teachable moment already; second, one can never really tell if learning has transpired despite ready evidences translated by well-though of assessment tools and standards.

Every person has a unique learning style. In a teacher’s perspective, it is sometimes to convenient to put labels on students as to how they learn in order to match the teaching styles the teacher employs. In a learner’s perspective, it is a spontaneous pursuit to learn through ways a learner knows how given the teacher’s role as facilitator of learning. It could be any style at all, but it all boils down to the strongest principle most scholars should pay attention more and that is, getting the learner ready and figuring out if the learner is ready.

As a teacher, I rely on cooperative learning and differentiated instruction in order to accommodate the various learning styles of students. As a learner, in this life in general, I could not entirely rely on learning my life lessons by collaborating with others because despite a little help around the corner being nice, I could rely on no one but myself to realize what I should be doing and doing right. True enough, just as differentiated instruction caters to individual differences, I could never make the life of someone else as a point of reference for the decisions I make. I could be wrong and I could be right about my judgments, but the most important thing is, they are my judgments and I am fully accountable for what they make out of me.

It can never be denied that we learn from lectures,visuals and reading books. It can never be denied that we learn in a group or from one person. However, all these styles may only work if we are ready once and for all to take in what we have come to learn the first place.

Are we ever ready to learn then?
Daily Prompt:
Learning Style
What’s your learning style? Do you prefer learning in a group and in an interactive setting? Or one-on-one? Do you retain information best through lectures, or visuals, or simply by reading books?