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.


At the moment, I feel like I have ticked off the things I need to do for the day but at the back of my mind I know I have more checklists to attend to.

At the moment, I feel hungry that I want to splurge on every piece of junk food sold at stalls nearby where there seems to to be a great celebration over suspension of classes because it is sports fest season, but my pocket seems to be unwilling to take that splurge and my weary mood won’t stand a second amidst the festivities.

At the moment, I enjoy the sound of the tapping of the keyboard that I do while writing down this blog as well as the synchronous ticking of the clock telling me to not waste time away over blogging because I have letters to send out and reports to accomplish, but I am pretty much enjoying myself all rambled up in this piece I am writing so the heck with deadlines.

At the moment, I want to grab my bag, put on my earplugs, touch my playlist on shuffle and let the first song decide how I shall feel the moment, but let me unplug all sockets first and turn off all the lights because it is already way past my official duty hours.


[Image not mine]
Photo credit: http://www.so-many-places.com/2014/11/my-writing-desk/

Then what?

We all say things we mean and we don’t mean when we are drenched in pain and hatred. As the pain numbs us and the hatred becomes too familiar, we weave a new thread of hope that things will get better in time and the horror that pain and hatred have made us confront can just be treated as another bad dream. Yet, bad dreams always haunt us no matter the time and distance. I am still haunted by the face of stranger I meet in you whom I thought I have known all my life. I am scared of ever seeing that stranger again. When you finally said you were sorry, I did not intend to accept it, but I did. People might call it cowardice when I did not do what I was supposed to when you ate all your despise of me the moment you said you were sorry. I want to call it a shot for a clean slate. I never want to remember nor be reminded of how awful it had been to amount our feelings to hatred. Neither do I want to fake my true feelings at the moment and make you feel that I have strong regard for you when the truth is, I cannot even bring myself to force a smile feeling threatened of what could trigger again the horror I never want to face once more. The truth is, I cannot afford to be loving at the moment. I just want it to be over and start anew and in starting anew I mean having no feelings at all. No love. No hate. But you will never know that. It is a thread I shall weave for myself not knowing what happens next. You will continue to believe what I offered you was a chance although to me that chance has erased all memories of the past, good and bad. You have turned me into a stranger. I hope it shall be nice to meet you again. I hope we shall find the love we have lost somewhere. But we really do not know…

7 of 366

What is it with 7 and luck?


I’d rather be grateful than lucky.

Yes, I talk to the universe and all, especially when an awful fist of luck knocks me out like a domino falling, hitting me hard one blow after the other…or when nothing seems to be going my way no matter which way I go…or even when everything is dead blank and pitch dark yet and still the stars are too flicker on me…mostly, during the times I have to have something to blame and I could no longer force the blame on myself or to anyone. Yes, I do talk to the universe when I feel that I am the unluckiest earthling alive. It would seem like I am believer of luck. I may seem to be. But luck has never been kind to me. I even doubt if it ever exists.

Maybe when the universe is being less of a bitch and is starting to force a ray of good luck upon me, I am really not lucky at all.

Luck is too random to believe in and the universe is too bitchy to be nice to a random and insignificant earthling like me. But there is a stronger force, greater force behind the universe that makes me feel grateful instead. I am ever grateful, oh yes, I am, that as days fall off, I may falter but I don’t end with them.

Today marks the 7th day of my new year. With or without luck, I am grateful. With or without stars, I am grateful. I am grateful because I am alive to count up to this day that is about to end.

Tomorrow is another shot at winning fist fights with the universe.

Bring it on.


Some people live beautiful lives and they take pleasure in being wanderers. Some people live unfair lives beautifully and they find joy in being loiterers.

The first time I encountered the term ‘loitering’ was when I was a grader. All over the hallways of my school back then were reminders stating “NO LOITERING ALONG THE CORRIDORS” and student leaders took the rule seriously by dragging to the office of the Principal whoever was caught staying along the corridors. I have always thought loitering as illegal, a bad thing to do, a violation. Today, loitering to me is salvation.

To loiter is to stay in a place for no reason at all…to lag behind…to stop idly delaying something…It isn’t a crime at all as I used to think of it when I was a grader. At the moment, loitering is saving me from overthinking, stressing over and worrying about fickle matters.

Days have been passing me by and each passing day I seem to lose a part of me to frustrations when I am fully aware that there is a great deal of joy I am putting away just so I can bleed over the wrong decisions I have made in the past. I carry the weight of the past around allowing it to slow me down to where joy truly is and weighing me down instead of being strong enough to afford a simple smile. Short or long, the days have left me depleted, drained and devastated. Until one day, I decided to walk aimlessly. Then I decided to keep still. That was then I knew what I have been missing.

Walking aimlessly may sound like I have gone nuts or something. But the real score is, I have been walking around, sometimes chasing, running and leaping for things I would never have the power to control, and I have never given myself the opportunity to see myself in the very things that I just allow to pass me by, like the days that were supposed to have been spent with a better purpose than just having to get it over and done with. As the passing days consume me, I do not even recognize myself anymore. I have lost me.

So I have stopped and stared at familiar and unfamiliar places alike, hoping to find myself again. There are pieces of me everywhere and I have been too busy brooding to notice that even broken pieces show a beautiful story. I am everywhere, and I have to be a loiterer to be able to attract back to me the wondrous pieces I have thrown out because I do not want to be reminded of how unfair life is (truth is, life is really unfair, but someone told me that life is unfair but is still beautiful, and I believe him). In stopping by without purpose, stepping back a bit, staring while in senseless stops, I have seen once more how beautiful this life can be.

Even though I cannot promise myself that I will never have to lose my way again, I know that I can never be completely lost. Even though I cannot promise myself that I will never have to slice pieces of myself up, I know that I am not beyond repair; I can be fixed. That is the salvation from being a loiterer.


Some people live beautiful lives and they take pleasure in being wanderers. Some people live unfair lives beautifully and they find joy in being loiterers.


So just let me stop and stare.


Two Love Letters


I intend to hide them away, but my muse won’t let me sleep. My muse has been haunting me with sweet nightmares. So though I am not sending these letters at all, I am letting them out of me and maybe I can look forward to a healing.

To my one great love,

I should have sent all the letters I have written for you. But would it have changed how I feel right now?

You were never mine. Ever. Because I never took the chance to make you mine. Because I was waiting for you to take that chance for us. But maybe there was really no ‘us’.

I could only think of one person who can send me to the clouds by just one smile, by just one look, by just one touch. You. You always took my breath away. You always made it difficult for me to catch my breath. Even without saying a word. And I think that was always our problem. We never spoke a word. Particularly, we never told each other how we felt. And that leaves me wondering always if I did mean to you like you meant the skies to me.

There are a lot of things I wanted to say to you, but I never had the courage to. Maybe I was afraid then. I was afraid that if I tell you how I feel about you, heaven would end. I would not have endured it—it was always heaven with you. I could not take that chance of having to fall off the clouds and not feel the way you make me feel. So I never took the chance. And so did you. But I never have the slightest idea why nor if it is true that there is even an idea of you taking a chance on me the first place. We were both scared I guess. Or maybe it was just I…How should I ever know?

And that leaves me with nothing but questions I was hoping you’d answer now that I have taken the courage to write them all down for you: Did you mean to send me to the clouds whenever you’d say Hi or simply smile even if you were in the middle of something and I pretended to be just passing by? Did you mean to leave me breathless when you’d walk me home, go to church with me, watch movie with me, even if we did not plan on doing all these things together each time? Did you mean to tell me how you really feel, to take the chance with me, in those times that we both failed to show up? What did your smile, your touch, your concern, your wit, actually mean that they never failed to blow me away? What did the moments with you actually mean that even if we never planned on them it felt like we actually intended to be together? What did those unspoken thoughts and feelings actually mean for you and me? Did you mean them like I illusioned them to be? Or is this really just me alone in this empty fantasy? On this strange cloud?

What I am trying to say is, I should have taken the chance when I had the chance. I should have told you. I should have asked you. I should have not been afraid of losing heaven with you because eventually I would lose that sky high feeling anyway, and I actually did. Because chances ran out. And when I failed to take those chances, it was tantamount to giving up the heaven with you.

But they were chances un-taken but un-regretted. Because when I convinced myself that you were just some heaven I could not reach, I found another way to fly. And I was glad perhaps. Because having to see clouds on uncertainties in my heaven with you, I found another universe. My one true love.

And my one true love is not you. Even if you meant the heaven to me.

But if I did take the chances to say what I needed to say to you, that you meant the skies to me, then maybe I am not the one left here with questions to ask, or even just one question to ask: Did I also mean the skies to you? For whatever your answer would have been, I think, would change the way I feel right now that I no longer have another chance to actually hear what your answer is…

If you have said yes, then maybe I could have shared sweet memories with you I could proudly claim as genuinely mine, and not that the were visions of a broken dream. That even if heaven would have eventually run out for the two of us and still I would end with a new-found universe I consider now as my one true love, the important thing is my sweet memories with you is truly about us, and not an us that never was.

If you have said no, then maybe I would have charged it all to bitter memories that the idea of heaven sometimes just did not work for some lame dreamers like me. Maybe the clarity I would have gotten about the disillusion had made me more willing to love without the promise of being loved in return. Maybe I would have had the better courage to part from you as the special person you would always be to me but I happened to force into oblivion because I did not take the chance to ask and hear your answer after all. And so we ended up as strangers with memories.

Maybe, I could have moved on more peacefully having at least a yes or a no to hold on to.

Maybe, you would not be looking down on me right now, sending still vague messages you had no power to explain to me. I am writing to tell you how you still mean the skies to me because you have taught me how to treasure a love like this. Yes, love. I never said that I love you. I never had the courage to say it nor feel it that it is actually love. That it is indeed love. And although I no longer long for you to love me back, as up to now I still do not know if you do, if you did, moreso, if you ever will, I want to thank you for making me feel that I love you. Loving you was having a taste of heaven, that bliss that comes with being among the clouds or maybe even above the sky. For one moment I actually believed that it was possible to feel bliss without having to have enough reasons to be happy except that there was you. Loving you was a great feeling I intend to cherish its memory until the world is no more. Yes, a memory—that is all you are left of me but still I am so grateful for. A memory of that one great love. I want to thank you too for making it clearer now that loving you is never wrong because I am inlove with my one true love. Because you are special and the love I feel for you is special. You are my one great love. And even if I should accept now that goodbye is on its way to be finally faced with, you will always be in my heart. Yes, this is really goodbye I guess. I will no longer send you the letters I wanted to send. You will never get them anyway. But I am sending this one to you through the wind after reducing it to ashes, sealed with a kiss I never took the chance with you, hoping this will be first and last letter I will be sending to heaven. I love you.

Until I could be with you in heaven, I guess this is truly goodbye for now.


To my one true love,

I love you. I say that without reservations.

I have chosen you like you have chosen me in some random and crazy whirlwind we decided to take a chance with .

I am glad I took a chance on you, and you took a chance on me. If we did not, we would not have learned how capable we are of loving not because it feels like heaven but because it sure feels like hell when it hurts, but the true heaven rises once the hurt subsides and the pain and scars are nothing but marks of strength of one true love.

You are not my idea of heaven. It is because you are something else.

You are my universe. You mean the heaven and earth and everything between them to me. I don’t know if you feel the same way about me, but having to take chances everyday that a love like ours is a battlefield worthy to be battled on for whatever reasons there are to stay, is enough for me to continue living with this vast space that is either empty or exciting called true love.

Ours is a love story that can never be written, for words won’t be enough to narrate the weight of emotions that come with truly loving someone like you, someone like me.

When you truly love someone, you cut the crap of fantasy and still feel like it is the greatest dream cloud ever. You face life and all its harsh realities knowing tests of time render true love and great love as two separate entities not meant to be compared. Your one great love shows you the heaven and the illusion of flying over the promises of bliss. Your one true love shows you heaven and earth as one place where you can be true to yourself and you get to feel what you allow yourself to feel by taking chances both on bliss and sorrow. And that is why you are my one true love.

My great love taught me to fly to the heavens. You, my true love, taught me to rise above everything else even if I fall and hurt myself, because I would have you to fly and fall with me again and again and again and again…

You have shown me the idea of pain by breaking my heart for countless times and yet I am still here.

You have shown me the truth about the illusion of being in love, that it can never be perfect except if you love an imperfect person perfectly well, and so I know that there is nowhere else for me but with you.

Memories are bittersweet, and maybe I am just glad that the ones I have with you may be bittersweet but they are real. Bittersweet memories with you, just like a bad medicine, are hard to swallow, too painful to endure, but make me well and whole. Thank you for being a part of me that is never complete without you. Thank you for making ‘us’ feel and sound the same as ‘I’—selfless but strong.

What I am trying to say is that:

I love you not because you love me, but you made me love you.

I love you not because you are here with me, but you are enough reason to stay.

I love you, and I have no better explanation for that except I love you.

And I thank God everyday for giving me the courage to make this felt.

I am writing you this letter because you deserve to know, that despite what we have gone through and will be going through, despite the things we would rather not do or say, despite what lies ahead, beneath and within, that I love you and I will never love anyone this much as I love you. You are my true love. Deal with it.

I love you.

My heaven is with you.



ER Diaries

“A hospital alone shows what war is.” -Erich Maria Remarque
Five hours. I was bored. I was impatient. But I certainly felt an inch luckier I was not the one bleeding, crying, and barely-breathing.

I was the watcher. I was supposed to watch over my patient. But I did more than that. Actually, my patient did not need much of my ‘watching’ because he slept through the entire waiting time. So what I did was quite a retaliation on my part because I did not want to be there. I did not put on a fancy black dress to pace back and forth on the tiled floors of the emergency room. All I wanted was to have a peaceful Sunday morning, have a quiet breakfast, hear mass and sleep through the entire afternoon. But I was there. I had too. I did not have a choice. That was my choice though. To be there. And so I had to make myself productive. I watched then. I watched every single drama in the emergency room. I was bored, but I was being moved by the things I was seeing out of watching.


I could not imagine to be in that mother’s shoe: being blamed by her husband and her mother-in-law for missing a wink of watching over her son, and just like that, her son got hit by a tricycle and bled on the ground. She was trembling as she was trying to explain how everything that fast could happen, convincing her family, but more so herself, that she did not mean for the accident to happen. Of course, it was an accident. I saw the blood on the poor boy’s forehead. It was a sight that would have had me unconscious if that boy were my son. What a torture it is indeed to feel blameful for something you did not intend to happen. I mean the last thing you wanted to do is to hurt the one you love, but it happens and it breaks your heart why it should happen. Is it really beyond your control? You begin to question yourself. That is the thing about accidents I guess. My heart goes out to that poor mother.


I saw half a dozen sick babies at the Paediatrics today. They were just babies, and yet they were there, crying, but not entirely understood what was causing their pain. Many times we want other’s attention for the pain we feel and yet they don’t seem to understand, and really, all we can do is cry. Like babies, we cry. And these mothers? They kept on explaining to every doctor, every nurse, every random staff attending to them, what had started the pain their babies were enduring, and yet, no one could really pinpoint what was wrong. They could only guess. Yes, guess. This pain guessing game is really complicated, right? Why can’t we just admit where and why and how we are hurt. It is not like we are babies who could not speak for ourselves. But then we are all like babies sometimes. We let other people second guess our pains, and all we receive are second-rate antidotes for our pains. Babies continued to cry. One stared back at me for a moment, stopped crying, and then started crying again. The crying might never stop.


She looked like one of my teachers before. I smiled at her, waiting for a recognition, but maybe she just resembled her because she smiled back without the recognition I was waiting for. She was out of breath while seated on her wheel chair. She did not have anyone with her. It might have been terrible to catch your breath, alone, without a hand to hold as you try to fill your lungs with air. When we are out of breath sometimes, we yearn for somebody to breathe with us, to remind us that life goes on. But sometimes we are too busy worrying where else we can get a breath of new air and fail to notice that we have been on life-support all along by another person’s breath of air. Why do we worry so much? A sigh itself is a waste of breath, but we let go of it in despair, and complain of being out of breath. I did not know much of the lady’s case. I did not have time to talk to her. She barely had enough air to spare for herself than to engage herself with a casual conversation with a bored stranger like me.

Three stories. I have more actually. But I am too overwhelmed by all these realizations and yet, for a moment there, I thought I would really break down.

I was bleeding, crying and barely-breathing. But I must be lucky I was not on a hospital bed.

I guess I would last another day.