Dearest Maria Ligaya,

I do not know where to start. Maybe because we started close but ended separately like a stranger. I am not one to judge. They do. I am not biased either. I chose to walk away because I do not want a fight, a quarrel between us, to begin with.

When I sensed quarrel is gonna happen, I blocked you. Not because I hate you, but because I wanna avoid hurting you. But I realized, the more I tried protecting you, you were never doing the same for me too. It was like we chose to ride in a boat together, but chose to row it in different directions. We cannot adjust the wind, but we can adjust the sail— which never happened. Because you were too focused on the wind itself and not on its sail.

I chose not to test the waters at first, but clearly, I saw an alligator swimming. Later on, I learned to test the waters, survive through the tides, rising and falling. The calming comes and then storm happens. Just like how the waves rushes to meet the shore, we never met halfway. I was grateful for it. For the bouyancy. For the warning. That even when I almost drown, I stayed afloat.

Maybe you felt like a hero, just because you have a lot of things to say and you did. The unfiltered, raw words you told me directly or towards my family. I will never forgive you for that. But I chose to. Not because I was weak, not because I want to accept defeat. But because I wanted to come clean and act mature.

I did want to say things to you. I chose to protect your feelings. I do not wanna hurt you because I know myself— I can be tacky at times, I may not think first and speak afterwards. But for a fact that even if we are at war, I still chose to not tell it directly.

You did hurt my feelings. My family's feelings. You never even think twice to assess the issue and gather information or data. You easily judged us without proofs, with biased judgments, you chose to believe your son more than us. Of course, he is your son. Your flesh and blood. And who are we? Just your servants, right? No. We are your family, but you treated us like dogs. Spoiled us with your padala, your reject clothes, buy 1 take 1 products. In return, you could easily fool us.

With your ambition to go abroad, who helped you? — my mother. Who sent you there?— my father. You have the utang na loob? None. Nada. You do not need to repay us, okay? That was not out of obligation, not out of responsibility. But because we love you, we sent you to the airport.

Let me take you back to memory lane: she was my aunt. My cousin, her son. My recent enemy, her gold digger girlfriend, pa-papel sa tita kong naka-asawa ng cano, nagfi-feeling mayaman na. When her girlfriend came into the picture, we got chaotic. My cousin and I knitted like siblings since birth separated now because of her.

When her girlfriend arrived, I sensed a bad vibe aura. I interrogated her, she told my cousin. And my cousin told the nanny, that I am like the acting owner of the house, interrogating her. I was not interrogating her, I was getting to know her. If she finds it rude of me to ask her, then why did she show herself in my uncle's house. Yes, technically, the house was under my uncle's name (the eldest brother of my aunt and mom) but my aunt was the one paying for it. All through out my mom's life, she was the one left here in our city, my aunt went abroad, my uncle was in the rural area working as a teacher. I do not wanna complain, but my mom took care of my grandfather, when he died, my mom took care of it all.

Where were they? My relatives asked. Busy, I answered. When my grandma got sick, the fiasco dig in. The chaos caved in. There was no absolute, infinite and clear communication that happened. Before, I was proud enough to say that my family never fought for the land, but now, we do.

When grandma got bedridden, mom took care of things from left to right. At first, I was the one taking care of her, my mom and my back got painful from carrying my heavy grandma. My mom's back got worse. It still hurts and pains up to this day. While you there, sitting pretty in your mortgaged apartment in North Carolina. Edi SANA ALL. For not suffering. Not for being a pessimistic *****.

What is your point here Maria Ligaya? To belittle us? At least, my family is not like yours. My mom married a man so kind and loving, not like yours, a narcissistic ******* (as authored by the psychologist). That later on, your son became one too.

I may forgive you for a lot of things. But I will never forgive you for hurting my mom. Do you not have some conscience? She took care of everything for you. When that happens, just know your son will take care of everything for you.

We chose to walk away. To move to a new place without your ghost following us. We felt like a shadow every time we follow you. You even ruined my relationship with my cousin because of your pagka-engrata. Be grateful, I do not do revenge. Karma will do its vengeance for me. God will do it for me. He saw me when I was low. He saw me when I was helpless.  I hope God will forgive you for you did to us. Inhumane indeed.

That is all.

—Me.

Maybe you like to be my Adonis
But you have no face, to face the crowd
Expose your secrets like ***** linens hang outside the house, in the backyard
Or a dug secret, untold to everyone just like every skeleton in the closet
I highly doubted, many will miss you
I got a pistol and a shovel
Make no mistakes, soldier
One wrong move and you are out.
You may be the one in higher position, but I am still your commander.
Do not mess with me, if you wanna still be alive and breathing...

—Signed by your wife.
(No shovel involved)

imbecile, corrupted minds
who would have thought
my poems are filled with rage
others might thought I had a mood swing
no, actually.

I just love to roast the people I hate.
because when I directly tell them what I feel
they might not take it
feeble minded, I was flabbergasted
what an obnoxious foul smell mouth
Intoxicated mind from overthinking over nonsense things
perhaps not.

we transferred houses, I was a missing in action, for the eyesore sight of my enemies
but you, oh honey, is a no permanent address
plastic people, ready to be burned
their bodies walk forward, but their mindset thinks backwards
their souls moonwalk, now you only realize our worth
when we are gone, not out of sight, not out of touch anymore.

because you are like a tin can, empty
like your mind, brain dead
never fool, never idolize
your money may be much, but your time is running out.
not because you are rich, does not mean you can buy manners everywhere
sweetie, manners cannot be bought like expensive things
learn to know the difference.

I am that glimmer of hope
That sunshine in your cloudy days
That still voice in your head when you are quiet
That calm and peaceful happy place when you are messy and chaotic
I could pull you out from the crowd
Draw tattoos on your wounds to make it look beautiful
You have me.
I could walk with you through thick and thin
I am that pop of color— a rainbow in your life.
Because baby, you can be vulnerable with me
No matter how depressing or not it gets
You are my baby underneath that thirty-year-old man
You are my panda till the end.

A quiet magic,
an unexplainable euphoria—
a celebration without end.

It is choosing you,
again and again,
in every sunrise and every storm.
A thousand times over,
in every lifetime,
I choose you.

Through the highs and the hollows,
through every bend of this winding path,
I will hold your hand.

Love is the place I return to—
even when it aches,
even when it asks more than it gives.
Even through tears,
even through trials,
I will find you there.

You are my favorite decision.

And when the world grows loud and uncertain,
when chaos presses in,
I will find my silence in your arms.

Until the end—always—
I will be yours.

Your smile outshines the whole of the world.
It is my compass, my calm, my clarity.

They said love is not always a steady flame—
that it flickers, that it falters.
There will be doubts,
there will be silence,
and some days will feel worn and distant.

But even then—
especially then—
I will choose you.

Not just in the brilliance of love’s bloom,
but in the hush,
in the heavy,
in the ordinary.

Because love is more than a feeling—
it is a vow,
a respect,
a quiet promise that endures.

Even when the heart trembles,
even when the sky darkens—
I will choose you.
Always.

Trained to be insane—
or just desperate to be the same?
Either way, darling,
I don't spar with egos or chase small minds.

Never argue with a fool—
they’ll drag you down,
make your blood boil,
and call it a debate.

But oh, the peace—
when the toxic ones go silent.
Like the trash
took itself out.

Weak souls spread whispers.
Foolish ones believe them.
But your opinion?
That’s not my reality.

This is my life.
My rules.
My terms.
Not yours to rewrite.

I noticed everything.
Every shift, every slight.
But I stayed silent—
because the noise
after my quiet
said more than enough.

A favorite song of mine titled Sa bawat sandali sung by Amiel Sol always left me a last song syndrome impression.
I always remember the moments when my hubby gets tired from work or from anything else. He always wanted to see me. He always wanted to seek for my comfort, and I understood him.

That is why when I always hear this song, it made me reminisce because I am thinking of him. When the world is too chaotic for you to bear, or when you can no longer carry the weight of the burdens you felt, just come to me and I will always welcome you with open hands and hug you right away.

Be the peace and resting place your partner seeks. Be there for him or her. Like the clouds, they cry when it is too heavy for them to not carry their excess baggage anymore.

The chorus went like:

Kapag magulo na ang mundo
(When the world becomes chaotic)

Ikaw ang payapang hinahanap-hanap ko
(You are the peace I long for)

Tumakbo ka rin patungo sa 'kin
(Run toward me as I run to you)

Kapag bumibigat na ang iyong dibdib
(When your heart grows heavy)

Ika'y sasalubungin
(I will be here to welcome you)

I found the one whom my soul loves,
The one that God has sent from above.

Oh, this is love I feel within me.
The one that God has made for me.

We made plans but God made our fate,
Mark said "Therefore, what God has joined together,
let no one separate."

I would love to have and to hold you from this day forward,
No more holding back or walking backwards

I will be with you until the end of time,
Because in your embrace, I have found love in its prime.

Finding you was like coming home,
Just like thinking of the rhymes for this poem

You were the one I prayed for,
For you, a thousand times over.

I found peace the moment I had you.
I want to spend the rest of my sunsets and sunrises with you,
My dusk, dawn, daylight, evening, and midnight with you.

For so long, my relationships began to fail,
As love unfolds in its divine tale,

I met you and I knew that that soul of yours is worth loving.
And it got me thinking, realizing

Finally, I've got my best man now,
You are what God allow

To be the keeper of my soul and the holder of my heart.
The one who will never let me fall apart

That's when I met another me in a male version of you.
God knows my heart needed someone like you.

It took me so long to find you,
Yet you came exactly when I needed you.

The winds may shift,
the seasons bow,
Yet love remains or lifts,
It stays unshaken now.

_Misis A

Dear NKRL,
(You know who you are—I won’t name drop.)

This is the last time you’ll see me, hear from me, or even feel like you still have access to me.
By the time you read this, I might already be married. And I hope that thought pierces through your ego.

God knows how low I had fallen when you met me.
You came into my life at the most unexpected time—
but your timing never quite matched mine.
You made a move when I wasn’t even interested.
And I admit, you had charm.
You were great… until you weren’t.

Back then, I didn’t know what “love bombing” or “guilt-tripping” meant.
All I knew was what I felt—confused, manipulated, and small.
Turns out, I was already experiencing it.
I just didn’t have the words for it yet.

I used to be thankful you’d make time for me despite your “busy schedule.”
But then I realized—I was something you just squeezed in between everything else.
You became forceful about things I wasn’t ready for.
Things I didn’t want.
And we had no label.
I asked for one.
You said we had to keep things discreet—because we were neighbors.

When I became single, you turned me into your fling.
And when you ghosted me, I spiraled.
Overthinking.
Questioning.
Hurting.
“What are we?”
“Was I not enough?”
I felt jealous, angry—but I had no right, because there was nothing real to hold on to.

Eventually, I got tired of waiting.
For the label I was begging and asking from you
But all you gave me were reasons,
Just like how thick a Dictionary is,
It was just like you too.
I got tired of it, waiting for nothing
Not knowing when will that happen.
You always tell me that I do not know how to wait. I am impatient.

So, anyways;
I found someone else.
And you… you backed off. Maybe out of respect, or maybe just because it wasn’t convenient anymore.

Our on-and-off, undefined something faded.
I started unsending the messages I had sent—the ones you never even cared to read.
That’s how pitiful I felt, like I was begging for breadcrumbs you had no intention of sharing.

Then came 2022.
I found my soulmate.
And you—you ruined us.

When my partner found out about our past, he was furious.
And I don’t blame him.
I let you in—not because I still had feelings for you,
but because I thought you were still my friend.
But I was wrong.
You weren’t.
You used that friendship to worm your way in and blur lines.
You abused the closeness I once thought was safe.

I felt like a cup of hot coffee—
left unattended.
And when he finally came back,
I had already gone cold.

But the issue was never the coffee.
It was always the one who was supposed to drink it.

I always waited for him—
until one day, I didn’t anymore.
Because time won’t wait for me,
and I can’t keep letting it pass me by
while holding on to someone
who never truly held on to me.

Maybe I’ll never learn to smile the same again.
Maybe the scars will stay a little longer.
But I know this deep in my bones:
I’ll make it through.

And if you ever decide to wait for me—
truly wait—
then maybe, just maybe,
you'll find me
not where you left me,
but somewhere stronger.

By the way,
thank you so much for holding my hand—
I truly thought you were the one pulling me out of the storm.
Somehow, I was wrong.

You were the reason for my drowning,
the weight beneath the waves,
the anchor I mistook for rescue.
You weren’t my light—
you were my darkness.

So here I am now—stronger, wiser, finally done.
No more waiting. No more unsent messages.
No more trying to decode your silence.

This is goodbye.
No closure needed.
Because I’ve already closed that door myself.

—Me.

It is kilig on my part
when I hear TJ Monterde's song entitled Mahika
playing randomly on the radio or thru Spotify.
It catches me off guard in the sweetest way—
like the universe reminding me that love exists
in the quiet, simple moments.

The lyrics goes like:

'Di ka pa man lang kumikibo, ayos na
(Even without you saying a word, everything already feels right)

May mahika ka pang dala-dala
(You carry magic with you)

Sa piling mo
(In your presence)

Bumabagal, humihinto ang mundo
(Time slows down, the world comes to a halt)

Sa piling mo
(In your presence)

Ayaw kong mawala, ayaw kong mawala
(I don’t want to be lost; I don’t want to be lost)


Love is indeed magical—
something that you cannot fully explain with words,
but rather through the unspoken, through actions.
It’s in the way someone holds your hand,
in the silence that feels like home,
in a glance that calms your storm.
It’s the comfort in their presence,
the steady beat of their heart beside yours.
Love is not loud—it’s felt.
Subtle, yet powerful. Mysterious, yet familiar.
It’s mahika—
the kind that lingers long after the music fades.

Healing your inner child can be expensive, both financially and emotionally, but the joy that comes with it is priceless.
That moment when you finally buy clothes that truly express who you are, collect items you've long admired, or visit places you once dreamed of—it's not just about the purchase or the trip.
It's an act of self-love, a way of giving to yourself what you once thought was out of reach.
That's why you should try to gradually reach for your dreams and heal our inner child.

I have had it all covered
Once or twice will do
But I did nothing wrong,
Why mention my name all of the sudden?
I kept my mouth shut
for the longest time
for a hundred or thousands of times
to keep my peace
and gave you peace and respect in return
what do you fvcking need?
an attention or details to ease your mind from overthinking
out of context, from your whimsical story maker of a child?
you are a ******* open book
your personality never fitted from your face
a disgusting *****
corrupting your generation's mind
you are a mundane *******
scandalous, pathetic *****
it was a female dog, not meant to turn into a behavior
you are such an escandalosa
Maria Makiling by face, loudmouth by personality
her name is Maria Ligaya, married a cano
but she changed and became a mata pobre

Mark 10:9, which states: "Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate."

No one will be allowed to destroy what God has brought together.
The union forged by divine hands stands unshaken beneath the weight of time and trial.
Bound not merely by fleeting emotion but by a sacred covenant, it weaves through the fabric of destiny, unyielding to discord and untouched by mortal interference.

What is born of grace remains steadfast, weathering tempests, defying doubt, and rising anew with each dawn.
Though shadows may loom and voices may challenge, the promise endures—an echo of eternity, a vow sealed not by man’s decree but by the whisper of the divine.

No force, no circumstance, no frailty of the world can sever what was breathed into being by love itself.
What God has joined together is not a mere arrangement, but a bond written in the stars—a testament to resilience, to faith, to the unbreakable nature of a union rooted in something far greater than human hands could mold.

My personality is like a deck of cards—each one revealing a different facet of who I am.
The good cards are my victories in life, the ones that draw people to me despite my innocence and naivety.
They are the moments that allow me to forge connections, to befriend others, to navigate the world with hope.

But behind those cards lie the bad ones—the losses in the game, yet paradoxically, the wins in life.
They unveil the raw truths of existence, exposing the genuine intentions of the world and the shadows within my own nature. Perhaps many have never truly known me.
People recognize only the parts I choose to reveal, the carefully presented pieces of my story.
Yet they remain unaware of the silent battles, the unseen struggles I have endured.

How can someone claim to truly know me when all they have seen are the reels, the highlights, the fleeting clips of my life—but never the raw, unfiltered behind-the-scenes?

They witness the carefully curated moments, the victories, the laughter, the beautifully framed snapshots that fit within their expectations. But they don’t see the retakes, the silent battles fought off-camera, the exhaustion, the parts of my story too complex or too painful to compress into a mere clip.

To know me is not just to watch the performance, but to understand the struggles that shaped it.
It is to acknowledge the moments I didn't share—the doubts, the resilience, the quiet growth beyond the spotlight.

True understanding lies not in what is shown, but in what is felt beyond the frame.
What you see of me through social media is not real—the curated moments, the framed exposures, the glimpses tailored for the world to perceive.
The truth lies beyond the filters, beyond the carefully composed narrative.
So let me reshuffle my life however I choose.
Stop assuming you know everything about it when you don’t.
Stop implying that things will unfold a certain way, because they won’t—not like that, not how you expect.

My path is mine alone, shaped by choices only I understand.
The future is not predetermined, and what is “supposed to happen” will never be dictated by anyone but me.
So just let me be—let me exist as I am. I don’t need anyone to shape me, to define me, or to tell me how to move through life. I can get by on my own.

I know my path, my resilience, my own way forward. And that’s enough.

Toodles.

A certain someone said—

"You’re ugly, Unpleasant."

Out of rage, maybe. Out of anger, perhaps.

"I will make your life a living hell." And you swore I was lying.

He told me I was like the devil. I smiled and whispered— "Oh? Only now do you take notice, when I have long been the storm’s whisper— a fire untamed, a shadow unfazed, a reckoning etched in time."

You said I had feelings for you.

Really?

"You’re lucky you know— because I never once realized there was anything to know."

He said he hates me.

Oh?

I was not born to be pleasing, nor crafted for admiration. I was not shaped by fragile hands, nor built to bend beneath expectation.

Let him seethe, let him scorn— what of it? The sun does not dim for those who curse its light.

I exist not to be liked, but to be unwavering.

He said I was crazy. Oh, really?
That’s nothing new—why did it take you this long to realize? What a shame.

Manipulate me all you can
I can gaslight you in return.

To my old little me,

When life weighs you down, stand firm—lift yourself up, plant both feet on the ground, and stay grounded.

We did not defeat them, and we will not reconcile with them.

To those who have hurt you, try to understand them. Maybe they're simply carrying too much, and their frustrations spilled onto you. Or maybe, they were never truly loved by their mother.

Enjoy your life there, old little me, for here, life presses down on me too much. I used to cry out loud, but now, when I am in pain, I weep in silence.

That’s when I realized— how painful it is to release all your sorrows in secret, covering your mouth so no one can hear you.

You end up crying everything out, because you are used to not being heard. And when you do speak up, it is always one-sided— they say you are just complaining. You keep thinking about how exhausted you are, but they compare their exhaustion to yours. And then they tell you that you have never truly suffered, so the moment you struggle even a little, they see you as weak—quick to surrender.

Sometimes, it feels disheartening to live in a world where pain seems endless. God has witnessed everything— the struggles, the weight of it all. The pressure I feel while searching for a job has made me realize how tough it truly is. It is no joke— at times, it is deeply frustrating.

So, old little me, wipe your tears. If you stumble on your journey, rise again—every time. Carry with you the proverb "Nanakorobi yaoki— "Fall down seven times, stand up eight."

22 Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd.
23 After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone,
24 and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it.

25 Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake.
26 When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.

27 But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

28 “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”

29 “Come,” he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus.
30 But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

31 Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”

32 And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down.
33 Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

Matthew 14:22-33

Sometimes, when a storm enters our lives, we become consumed by its turbulence—
searching for solutions,
struggling against the waves—
forgetting to turn our hearts toward God.

When I was young,
I realized that the challenges we face,
the so-called "storms" of life,
are not meant to break us but to draw us closer to Him.
They are reminders that God is truly in control,
that His wisdom surpasses our understanding,
and that we need not carry the weight of worry alone.

To focus on God rather than the storm is to trust in His power and love through every trial.
But that trust should not be reserved only for difficult times—
it should become a habit,
woven into the rhythm of our daily lives.
Let our faith be steadfast,
not just in adversity,
but in every moment,
we are given.

To my little panda,
healing his inner child.

Look how far you've come
Look how big you've grown now
Immaturity was still there
In a mature tall man, you are

When I look into your eyes,
I once saw fear.
The fear of being unloved.
of being judged.
of being unaccepted.

But when you knew my story,
You saw gladness in my eyes
looking back at you.

I stood beside you for many years,
witnessed every tantrum,
every episode,
every anxiety you may feel,
I held your hand out from the crowd
snatched you away, hugged you
and kept you safe.

I never went with you
in these bodies of water
where we might drown

but sometimes,
I want you to experience
the things you never experienced before
I want you to be loved and feel loved
without pain,

where is the fun in that?
when I maybe chose to take away the happiness in your life
but rather, we bargain, leave the happiness behind as is
and remove the negativities in your life

Little panda, you are an old fragile man with a broken inner child.
You were once a child too, but they took it away from you.

Little panda, I know you're sad—
Bruised by cruelty,
discarded like broken bamboo,
Ignored by those who should have cared,
Left to weather a storm not of your making.

Little panda, let the tears fall,
The storm will pass,
the sky will clear.
Run where no one follows,
Hide where warmth still lingers.
Was comfort ever real, or just a blur?
A pigment of imagination,
Fading as quickly as it came.

Little panda, I know what you are—
Wounded, weary, stripped of trust.
But little panda, I’ll be here now,
Don’t turn away, don’t cry.

Little panda, my love, Mommy’s got you now.
No more shadows, no more fear—
Only love, only light.

But little panda never truly knew love.
Misunderstood, unloved, cast aside,
Mistreated by a father who never saw him,
Discarded by a mother who only spoke in wounds.
Their hands never held, only harmed.

Little panda would often ask—
Why was he born into chaos?
Unplanned, unwanted, left to drift.
He found solace in solitude,
Knowing no one would stay,
No one would choose him.

Did he deserve this?
Every whip of his father’s drunken rage,
Every word sharpened into cruelty—
He was told it was love,
But love was never pain.

No suffering should be measured,
No wounds compared—
For Little Panda carried a weight
No one else could define.

Little panda, I feel your pain.
Your brothers may bully you,
your mother may downgrade you,
your father may abuse you,
your sister may be their favorite,
But I will always be here
to pick you up when you're down,
wipe every tear from your eyes.

Hindi ako ang taong hinahanap mo, at siguro, hindi rin ikaw ang taong akala ko noon na kailangan ko.

Oo, nagbago ako— at alam kong iyon ang hindi mo matanggap. Pero kailan ba naging kasalanan ang pagbabago? Bakit kailangang may masisi? Bakit kailangang isa sa atin ang may sala?

Ang "tayo" noon ay tila isang kwento na sinimulan natin nang may galak, ngunit natapos nang walang malinaw na wakas. At kahit gusto **** isipin na isa lamang itong kwento ng paglimot, alam **** hindi lang iyon ang nangyari.

Alam **** may mga sandali na kahit magkasama tayo, ang isip ko ay lumulutang, naghahanap ng ibang daan, ibang kapiling. At alam **** kahit anong sakit ang maramdaman mo ngayon, walang balikan, walang paliwanag na sapat para burahin ang katotohanang iyon.

Kung ang paglayo ko ang naging dahilan ng pagguho mo, hindi ko na iyon mababawi. Pero huwag **** isipin na ginawa ko ito upang sirain ka. Dahil hindi ko kailanman hinangad ang bumitaw sa bagay na minsan kong pinahalagahan.

Pero minsan, ang isang tao ay hindi talaga itinadhana upang manatili. At minsan, ang pagmamahal ay hindi sapat upang hindi hanapin ang iba.

Hindi kita pinagkaisahan, hindi kita ginamit, hindi kita iniwan nang walang dahilan. Nagbago ako, nagbago rin ang nararamdaman ko. At hindi kita ginawang laruan— pero hindi ko rin kayang ipilit ang isang bagay na nawala na.

Ikaw ang naglingon pabalik, habang ako naman, tuluyan nang lumakad palayo. Hindi dahil gusto kong makalimutan, kundi dahil alam kong wala nang dapat pang balikan.

Hindi ko na hihilingin na intindihin mo ako. Hindi ko na pipilitin ang sarili kong magpaliwanag pa sa iyo, dahil sa dulo, hindi naman kailangang lahat ng bagay ay may paliwanag.

Matagal ko nang alam ang nararamdaman mo, matagal ko nang alam ang hinanakit na hindi mo kayang bitawan. Pero kung ako ang nagpasyang lumayo, ikaw rin naman ang matagal nang hindi nagawang manatili.

Kung ang huli nating usapan ay isang paghuhusga, isang pagsisi, isang hanapan ng dahilan— siguro, ito na ang huling sagot ko sa iyo.

Hindi ko na kailangang lumingon pa. Hindi ko na kailangang ipaliwanag pa kung paano ako nakahanap ng iba, kung paano ako tuluyang nawala kahit sa harapan mo pa lang.

Wala na rin naman kahit na balikan, wala na ang tamis nung ika’y nahagkan, at sa huling paalam, naintindihan na sa ating dalawa, may ibang nakalaan.

Wala na tayong “tayo.” At kung iyon ang katotohanan, matagal ko nang natanggap iyon.

Sa pagkakataong ito, hindi ko na kailangang lumingon pa. Paalam.

"We cannot become what we want by remaining what we are"
-Max Depree

Leaving your job was never the loss.
The real loss would have been you—the slow unraveling of your spirit,
the exhaustion that blurred the edges of who you are,
the way the weight of work stole pieces of yourself until you barely recognized what was left.

You were never the loss. They were.

They lost someone who followed every order,
took on responsibilities beyond his role,
endured underpayment, delays, and mistreatment just to make a living.
But at what cost?
Respect was never part of the bargain.

You did everything.
You swallowed your pride despite having a degree,
despite knowing you deserved more.
But they?
They stripped you down, reduced you to a worker who must obey,
who must endure,
who must accept disrespect as part of the job.

Just because my partner made a mistake in cooking—
one that resulted from your lack of proper instructions—
you thought it was justified to punish him by making him stand for four hours?
What kind of person are you?

Don’t wait until life turns the tables on you.
The world is round.
you won’t always be on top.
Remember that.

I won’t waste my time engaging with you.
I will never stoop so low as to match your level.
You may be educated, but your behavior is anything but dignified.

They demanded without explanation,
expected without clarity, berated without reason.
And when they insulted you—called you stupid, incompetent—who was truly ignorant?
The employer who couldn’t give proper instructions?
The one who expected you to memorize recipes instantly?
The one who assumed you should move with the speed of a machine?

If they wanted a robot, they should have installed batteries in their kitchen.
They should have used a remote control instead of expecting you to function without rest,
without thought, without dignity.

But you? You are not a machine. And they? They are the ones who have lost.

Leaving that job does not mean failure. Staying in a place that destroys your sense of self—that would have been failure.

And the truth is, you are not alone. Many have walked away before you, many have endured the same abuse. And yet, no one stays.

Because respect is not found there.

Because dignity is worth more than a paycheck.

Because real loss is when you forget that you deserve better.

So, you walked away. And that? That was power.

Nice try, you can't hurt me
With a single blow, once or twice
I've done that, experienced that
A couple of hundred times
I ain't coming from the wake & bake family
I need no cannabis to smoke,
I breathe the smoke they puff in
I breathe it in like an air freshener
I breathe it out like a toxic waste
You know me don't you?
Only by my name, not the real me.

I always wonder why
Over time, my poems changed its tune
And why the ways of writing
Has somehow led me on a different direction;

Was it because I always tried my best
To rhyme my poem
Or to write in free verse
Or to write my feelings like a prose
Or to converse in narrative poems?
Or was it because I used to be young.

I was filled with so much hatred and anger
That I chose to fight my battles in secret
And let people see the results of my victory
Or maybe because I chose to keep silent
Even if I was given the chance to speak up

Maybe I chose to never tell them the truth
And told it to Hello Poetry instead
I was filled with so much forgiveness and sympathy instead
That I needed to be selfless
In order not to be labeled as selfish.

Or was it because I used to be young,
Innocent, immature and naive
Foolish, for a fact
That I thought when one cares about me
They needed something in return from me
I mistook and misunderstood plasticity from concern
Time told me then again, you revealed your true colors
And I was right, with your color of rainbow was somehow monochromatic to be exact

My guts told me about it all along
But I was tricked by my eyesight,
Even, by my heart and mind, deceived me.
At last, I was freed from their corrupted mind and treacherous heart.

That was because I used to be young.

Now that I am old,
Wise enough not to be told foolishly,
I learned my lessons
Gave up my sinful life and turned to God
I worry nothing more because I was freed.

Life’s plans don’t always unfold the way we expect, but God’s timing is far greater than our own.

In 2023, I was diagnosed with Conn’s syndrome and arrhythmia—a tormenting discovery. But I placed my worries in God alone, praying for a miracle.
When my doctor told me my left adrenal gland needed to be removed, I faced it with faith. Through laparoscopic surgery in August 2024, I underwent the procedure.

By late October, I enrolled in an online review center for my major in English while self-studying Professional Education and General Education at home.
For five months, I listened to myself—allowing rest when I wasn’t in the mood to study, watching TV when I needed a break.
I did not overwork my mind.
I slept when I was tired, ate when I was hungry, read when I was bored.

Instead of memorizing concepts, I familiarized myself with them. When my exam came on March 23, 2025, some mnemonics I had memorized appeared, but many questions were unfamiliar.
Afterward, I was drained, so I went to see my partner, and we shared a meal.
My thoughts were exhausted, my body weary—but the experience was strangely fulfilling.

On Monday evening, a friend visited, and we spoke about everything—the exam, life, the future.
I took time to rest before preparing to find a job, whether online or in person.
Adulthood has been overwhelming, but also incredibly joyful.

Seasons of waiting teach us far more than we realize. Opportunities come and go, but taking the risk never leaves you empty-handed. If you win, wonderful—but if you lose, you walk away enriched with experience. You may begin without skill, but you end with wisdom.

God’s seasons are always beautiful if you have the patience to wait. We often lose hope when life feels stagnant, when our efforts seem insufficient. Waiting is never easy—many falters, stumble, and fail because of impatience. Rushing only leads to mistakes, while taking the time to grow brings lasting beauty.

The secret to making life beautiful isn’t in haste; it’s in the process. Growth requires patience, like a baby learning to walk—it doesn’t happen overnight. No child is born today and walking tomorrow. Every milestone takes time; every lesson is earned through practice.

Seasons of waiting test our endurance, and yes, they can feel frustrating—even overwhelming. But remember, the best things come to those who wait. In patience, we find wisdom. In slowing down, we find meaning. And in trusting the process, we discover that life unfolds exactly as it should.

To my partner during sunny days,
We will always be happy together.
But when storms may come, waves may rise and the sunny day may hide behind the stormy clouds
We never understood each other based on the noisy banters we throw at each other.
You gaslight me of things I never said, manipulate me of things I never did
Worse of all, I never understood myself during the anxieties of the weather
Life was too short to come by,
time too limited to be wasted
I never noticed the tears that fell from my eyes
When my heart was too heavy to carry the hurt and burden I felt deep within me
My mind bursts into chaos
Too stressed to overthink of things in life we have no control of
Promises are only inside our palms, curled empty-handed
Color me intrigue of the stuffs I used to do
And cutting my hair has become a habit of mine
To relieve stress...

"Did you know someone told me?
A friend of mine said... Do you know about so-and-so?"

You know what? I don’t care.

Before you assume I’m the person they talk about, ask me first. Confirm it with me— whether it’s true or not.

Girl, if you don’t want people thinking your character’s cheap, don’t be a backstabber. Don’t be a gossip. Stop spreading lies that aren’t even true.


If you think you gained something from my life, then sana all. Should I start handing out study guides and questionnaires? You seem to know so much—almost tempting enough to knock you down a peg.

And for those still clueless about their own lives, just ask your neighborhood gossip. They always know more than you do.

It’s not exactly flattering,
but this song always plays in my mind
whenever you resurface:

Say hello to the girl you can't let go.
Does she know when you're home,
it's me you're trying to call on your phone?
I'm holding back everything I wanna say—
consider yourself lucky
that I'm choosing to behave.

Does she know?
That you have a dummy account?
That through your dump account,
you still try to message me?
You have a girlfriend now, boy.
So why do you keep insisting on reaching out?

We never got closure, and honestly—
there’s nothing left to say.
It’s over.

What was the point of reaching out to me?
To check in?
You should have done that back when we were still together.
What changed now?
When you chose to break us apart,
did you think about it then,
or is it only crossing your mind now
that you’ve found happiness with someone else?

Every time I hear our theme song,
I no longer think of you.
I no longer remember our memories.
The only thing that comes to mind is the moment you left me.

You should’ve realized that back when we were together.
So sorry, boy—
your loss, not mine.

There was a scene from a series I once saw while scrolling—a moment between a mother, her son, and his wife. It lingered with me, not just because of the dialogue, but because it unveiled something I hadn’t quite put into words before.

My mother believes she knows me. She sees me as her daughter, shaped by the experiences she’s witnessed. But that isn’t knowing me—not fully. She knows the version of me I allow her to see, the echoes of moments she has observed. Yet, she does not know the thoughts that have weighed on my mind, the struggles that have unraveled in silence. She does not know the battles I have fought when no one was looking.

She thinks she knows me. But she knows only the reflection of who I’ve been in front of her—not the depths of what has been.

The moment she spoke, the words came without hesitation—an assertion that I had never known hardship the way they did back then. But what was her point? Was I supposed to experience the same struggles to justify seeking work, to endure a job that drains me?

I believe in the seasons of life, in the ebb and flow that shapes each journey. Not everything you wish for will always fall into place. The tide does not rush to meet you at every shore. No—like the dock, like the shore, everything has its own timeframe. There is a rhythm to when things arrive, when they retreat.

Sometimes, the wisest choice is not to charge forward blindly but to pause—to listen to the tide when it rises, to recognize when the storm makes waiting the better path.

To my father, who sees me only through the lens of my mistakes. Tricky, isn’t it?

I was never the favorite—it was never something I felt. And in the moments when I tried to speak my mind, I was seen as rude. You let your wounded pride dictate your reaction, resorting to physical abuse when my words unsettled you.

I wonder why it was always acceptable for you to speak harshly to us, to offend, to joke with a half-meant sting. And when we hurt, when silence became our response, it was dismissed—just as we were. We let it go, swallowed it whole, because if we spoke, we were the ones in the wrong. We were the ones without respect for you.

Respect, it seems, was only expected when it was convenient for you!

But to my partner—the one who sees beyond both my silence and my noise. Beyond my laughter and my tears, my vulnerabilities and my strength. The one who notices even when I am invisible, and who does not need to chase me when I seek attention.

He sees me.

I have never needed to pretend.

With him, I am raw. Unfiltered. Whole.

He knows me from deep within and from outside. He understood the assignment once I kept silent for a while.

He knows me from all of me.

Tagalog version:
ang multo ko
ay
hindi isang tao
kundi, ito ay
isang alala ng pangarap kong
hindi natupad.
mga oportunidad na dumaan lang,
mga panahon na lumipas
at mga oras na nasayang
at napunta sa wala
mga pera na naigastos
sa walang kabuluhang bagay.
multo kung makapanakot, wagas
dito mo masusukat ang totoo
na minsan hindi multo ng kaluluwa
ang makakapag-nginig sa'yo
kundi multo ng kahapon.

English version:
My ghost is not a person, but a memory— a dream that never came true.
Opportunities that passed by; time that slipped away, hours wasted, spent on nothingness, money lost on meaningless things.
Ghosts can haunt with cruelty, and here, you see the truth— sometimes, it is not the spirit of the dead that shakes you to the core, but the ghost of yesterday.

Match your energy
with someone that has the same energy as you.

Never force it. You will get tired.
Just let the vibe flow.
If you click, it will.

Hypocritical hearsays & homilies of the humble & ***
Tricking temptress, ticking time-bomb.
Slithering silver sly snake,
Red-troubled lipstick—
A well-mannered, educated *****.
Oops, I forgot— You never even finished college.

I only spoke to you once or twice,
Yet your mother-in-law bit back,
Told me to back off,
To never insult you.

Tch. A side-eye and a smirk are all I ever needed.
I never touched you, never harmed you.
Your boyfriend assumes too much,
Exaggerates just enough
To make his story plausible,
To pull them all to his side.

Degraded attitude
wasted personality.
Who are we to be hypothetical?
Hypocritical? Pretentious—you are.

Never be humble yet *** at the same time—
It is a tool for gardening,
hence, never an act of immorality.

You flaunted your old, secondhand, silver, ruined car,
Trying to impress,
Trying to boast.

But I was never swayed,
Never struck by how you hustled
To put wealth on display—
All the while, Spending money that was never yours in private.

He found comfort in expensive wine.
She found comfort in cheap hands.
I wasted a lot of years for a molded bread
for an expired milk, butter and cocoa powder
I wasted a lot of time cooking
for your meals—
let it be known— hotdog, sausage, bacon, pork and chicken.
egg and noodles on the side.
fries as appetizers, chocolates as desserts.

You're so good at fabricating stories
to make your mom believe you.
Whenever we're at grandma's house,
you complain to your mom,
acting like you're the victim,
but we never even laid a hand on you.
Excuse me—you should be ashamed of yourself.
Has your brain caught a cough for you to think like that?
Or maybe your mouth has been strained—feed it properly.
Stop indulging in vices like drinking and smoking.
Eat proper food so your strained mouth can regain some health.

Insult me all you want—I don't care.
Fabricate stories all you want
that's what makes you happy, right?
That's what you're good at, right?
To make your mom believe you
and make her think we're the bad ones who lack compassion.

I could knock both of your heads together.
Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the pear tree, right?
Ironically, you're both the same—brains full of mucus.
It really has an effect on you, huh?
You keep ranting, but your words are empty, like a hollow can.