Because I can't afford a psychiatrist


those who are not as refined as we are

we live in distrust of each other

trappings of tradition in their ivory towers



Cervell de Soroll had a bad day.


I don’t know much.

Honestly, I envy those people who know so much. The ones who can pepper a normal, everyday conversation with literary terms, who can endlessly quote ideas of archaic philosophers and make it seem like they read Kant, Heidegger or Foucault over coffee in the morning — right after browsing the news. I stare at them, wide-eyed and enthralled. I secretly revel in the snippets of information I gather from their animated discussions with peers, thinking, at the back of my head, will I ever be as clever as they are? And so,  like an amateur bracelet-maker, I wade through a lake of a million beautiful beads, with just a wrist’s worth of thread, trying my best to piece borrowed thoughts and ideas together.

I usually end up with a plain-looking bracelet though. Maybe I need a longer piece of thread. Or my own lake.

Of Augusts and Feelings

Dear You,

As we continue to get to know each other more, and become increasingly comfortable around one another, our idiosyncrasies have started to surface, and I must say, we seem to be taking everything in stride. That “…then I need time to think,”  incident is, again, like something lifted off the silver screens, as are most of our dramatic encounters, but more than that, as you said, it was an expression of how we would act in the face of problems, petty or fundamental. It turns out, we both are willing to do things we’ve never done before, just to keep each other — you not walking out, and me, actually waiting, albeit still with a hint of impatience.

For half an hour I’ve been thinking of what to write to you this time. I haven’t told you, but August is usually my least favorite month of the year, even though its my birthday month. For one, difficult times seem to cluster around this period, and for some unknown reason, my optimism seems to have gone on an unannounced vacation, indefinitely. This is certainly the time when I least deserve your love. I’m irritable and irrational most of the time, and sometimes I behave like an ingrate to you. There may be times when I try to make things difficult for you just to see where your limits lie. I rant a lot, I feel like everyone’s screwing with me and making my life difficult. Oh, how I love to victimize myself. I don’t know how you put up with my constant victimization and obstinacy. If I were you, I would’ve already snapped at me for being such a crybaby.

I’m sorry for all the times I made you feel inadequate — something that you’ve never been, and never will be.

The Lack Thereof

I wake up, stare at the ceiling and let my mind wander aimlessly about in the darkness. I hear the faint ticking of a clock in the distance. Lonely shadows.  I have never been enough, and I fear, I will never be. Sadly, those I supposedly hold dear to my heart are the fist ones to suffer my inadequacies. It’s always the same story, the same plot, the same ending.

No Failure of Expectations

I wonder what it would be like to be courted.

Specifically, to be courted by my boyfriend.

Our love story is far from traditional (but I would not have it any other way). It isn’t like the love stories that your parents would probably tell you with a far-away look in their eyes, clearly reminiscing their Halcyon days, where your father had more hair and when your mother was probably 3 sizes smaller than she is right now. Theirs is the love story that may involve the following staples: the harana, the love letters, the awkward asking out, the many dates, the classic putting-your-best-foot-forward stance of the boys, the default hard-to-get setting of the girls, the random small sweet gifts, the chocolates and flowers and all the sweet nothings Hallmark can  manufacture.  Our love story on the other hand, is more, thought out, decisive, no nonsense, almost to the point of being logical, even practical. Don’t get me wrong, our love story has its share of dramatics and kilig, in fact, even more than your average. Modesty aside, it has the makings of a blockbuster Filipino romantic comedy movie. But for all its worth, I can’t help but imagine how it must be like to be courted by my boyfriend. That’s probably the small, girly girl part of my brain being irrational and hopeless romantic. I guess, what they say is true. No matter how boyish, logical and seemingly guy-brained a girl might be, she ultimately still wants to be treated like the princess, the damsel in distress, the almost unreachable dream being chased.

And so here I am wondering how it would be like, and how it would feel like being courted by him. I vaguely remember him telling me if he courts someone, he would be all out, giving his 100%.

First and foremost, he would probably ask permission to court me, from the one who took care of me since I was a kid, from my parents and family, from my close friends and from God.

Maybe he is probably be the type who would regularly text me good morning, good noon kumain ka na ba?, good night and sweet dreams almost everyday, especially during the first quarter or so of our relationship under the guise of courtship.

He would probably give me something during monthsaries, or take me out to a pretty place with both of us wearing pretty clothes, trying to create a mature conversation out of the little that we know of each other.

He may even give me flowers and chocolates on random days.

Maybe he would surprise me every now and then at the office, with a packed lunch, and we would have a conversation over coffee, just going through each of our days, probably with him having the time of his life dishing out details of his activities, while I fumble with words in trying to break down the one word answer I’ve prepared hours before.

Maybe he would set-up a romantic getaway, with help and permission of course from the rightful officers, and take me somewhere less chaotic for a while, where we could focus on getting to know each other better.

He would probably bring food every time he visits my place, for my mother figure and me.

I am quite sure he would be the type to compose a song and sing it to me during a birthday surprise that he prepared especially for me (he did tell me he would’ve done this if he had more time and more funds, that was back when he was in law school).

He’d probably bring me to somewhere faith-related and talk to me about God and I would too.

I would eventually warm-up to him and share to him my deepest darkest secrets. I would probably tear down my walls and let him in my heart, with caution, but with complete trust that he won’t be the same as the others.

I would probably say yes,when he pops the question in a roof deck of a school, and we would probably hug, with the wind blowing our hair, and a faint romantic song would be heard in the background.

And at that moment, we would be the happiest couple in the world.

Then he probably wouldn’t be as consistent in saying good morning and good night. Maybe I would probably text him first almost all the time. And he would reply, he always will.

Then the little gifts would slowly die down, as it is not sustainable, and because he would have different priorities now, than spending on small useless knickknacks to give me on days with no occasion.

The flowers, chocolates and bears would be scarce and seldom.

We would still talk of course, this time about serious things, personal things, but also including fun things. We’d probably talk about anything under the sun.

He would inevitably treat me as his best friend and companion for life, rather than his girlfriend.

And those romantic moves would stop or be minimal, or be something else because we would have to be more practical now, and those are usually only reserved for courtship. Now we are in a relationship. It is now different.

And I would probably be happy and content, because I know how lucky I am to have someone like him, but be disappointed at the same time, because, boys will be boys: little consistency, and once they get what they want, it’s all downhill from there — and he, however perfect, may be no different.

And I will be stuck, with the same far-away look as your parents, reminiscing the Halcyon days, when I was the princess, the damsel in distress — the almost unreachable dream being chased.




Thank God we never went through that abhorrent courtship stage.

Finished 05.30.2012


The Perks of Being a Wallflower – Stephen Chbosky

Finished 07.28.2012


The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath

Mirror, mirror.

I thought I would have time to blog about my Saturday outing with the Bolipata brothers, sans their eldest, but there are more pressing things to write about than that. There have been countless moments during the past months that I felt very down in the dumps, to the point of cutting myself again. Empty. That’s what i felt most of the time then. Empty and indulgent in my weaknesses. I loved the feeling of depression so much, I almost decided to live within it. I guess, I need to fix myself. I think I should start writing letters to God. 🙂 It is going to be like a staple thing here in my blog, other than my random thoughts and rants. Oh well. I kind of need to find a “write time” in my schedule. 🙂 I have so much to do, with so little time, and so little focus. I need focus. I need to arrange my life. I know I’m not really a stickler for structure but I don’t think winging it is working anymore. :))

I am one big fleeting, errant contradiction

Alright. From now on, I will stop whining about how I suck at keeping a diary, journal or a blog, and just start doing it. No, I don’t mean sex. This blog is going to contain anything and everything that I want to do in my life. Whether or not I will achieve them is immaterial. This blog is going to be chock-full of my hopes, dreams and murderous intents altruistic aspirations. It is also going to be a to-do list of things that I most probably will not do, a laundry list of things that I should remember, but will definitely forget the moment after I think of them. Last, this is going to be a desperate prayer to my God, Whom I love so much, but cause so much pain and disappointment at the same time.