magdasal ka sa patron ng malalabong usapan
kumain ka ng basura’t magkape nang kahit saglit lamang
tumingala ka sa langit, pagmasdan ang sinag ng araw sa pagitan ng
mga dahong hinahaplos ang isa’t isa

gugunaw rin ang mundo balang araw pero
pakiramdam ko naman hindi ko aabutan iyon
pero kung baka sakaling dumating man nang hindi sinasadya
mukhang mabuting narito pa rin ako para humalakhak nang kahit saglit lamang.




reasons undisclosed
yet more often than not, left uncontemplated
intentions as pure as dry ice
left to stick to skin shifting movements across its surface

gray clouds gaze upon the debris
that I chose to create in the first place
hallowed eyes and gaunt cheeks
observances left untethered

“the world is a cruel place for people like me
unless I choose to be crueler.”
the maxim has been known all along,
why had it not come sooner?

i stay up until two in the morning pondering
upon undisclosed secrets left underneath the staircase of my mind
rewinding rewind upon rewind of mind-boggling timetables
staring at paint drying while dying to pass the time.

“what is this even about?” I ask.
silence meets me at its gates
and I come to realize that realizations
are overrated like overtly branded gourmet ice cream.

“I love myself more than I love you,” I try to tell myself.
it’s not true if you lie to your face everyday, more than to them.
bells ring and I stare at blank screens, empty wallets and mental signposts:
“but I believe in some form of magic, I just don’t know if I’m the right wizard.”

detrimental elemental mental elementary mathematical calculable
adjectives defunct in the land before time
phenomena scorching, blazing hotter than the sun
which i’ve been staring directly at since i was a little kid in kindergarten.

i cope by writing stanzas when i feel things that make me want to
curl up into a ball, big bones notwithstanding.
my friends think i’m a fraud for doing what i think is right
i think i just think i don’t know if i’m in the right for what i’m doing.

what am I loyal to? God, what am I worshipping?
language games have been played
while formulas confound me until now
and i still haven’t found sufficient reason for me to have found one



the opposite of dynamite
is what I am at night.

creative spices, secreted
through hushed voices
and steady murmurs.

make implosions stop
with every single teardrop,
dropped while I caress you
lying on the bathroom floor.

I am tired of being tired
of not trying hard enough
when solutions keep appearing
and my eyesight blurs, lips concealing
what I meant to say before you left.


Part I.



The things left unsaid gnaw away at my insides every single day, but I feel fine. I’m happy with this back-and-forth. Your presences makes me feel like the world’s gray shade got a tad lighter.

For that, I am thankful.


If this is what love is, let me have none of it. Let me wallow away in isolation, never to be heard from again.

If this is what love is, let me have all of it. Let me take it in the palm of my hand and wonder at how fragile something so beautiful can be.

If this is what love is, let me let you let us in our letting. Let it pour over me, drown me like a thousand seas, but never let me go.

(It is, after all, the most wondrous of all phenomena.)

If this is what love is, let me question it until my knuckles are raw from punching imaginary walls where they should not be. Let me keep doubting, lest I become content and stop loving altogether.

If this is what love is, let me be angry at fate, even just for a moment. Let me blame the stars, who mock me in my sorrow but keep me hoping all the same.

If this is what love is, let me be consoled with what may still be. Let me hope against all hope, to never falter in troubled times.

If this is what love is, let it not be what love is not. Let it be as it should, as painful, as ugly, as difficult as it may be.

If this is what love is, let her be the beloved. Let it be as simple as that.


Ang makita kang nasasaktan at umiiyak ay hindi isang imaheng dapat makasanayan.


Kung ang mundong nabubuksan mo sa iisang salita lamang ay napakaganda’t napakaligaya, nais kong kausapin ka sa bawat sandali, hinihiling sa langit na kailanman wari’y hindi mabingi.


Nagsusulat ako para sa lahat at sa wala. Nagsusulat ako para sa iyo at para sa sarili ko. Nagsusulat ako para marinig ng mundo ang mga bulong ng pusong naghihinagpis at nagkakandagulo sapagkat ito’y nakakulong ng isang isipang nagmamarunong at nagpapakatama. Nagsusulat ako dahil alam kong ito lang ang nararapat at naaayon. Nagsusulat ako kahit na hindi sapat ang siguro at baka sakali, kahit na hindi sapat ang mga saglit at teka lang, at kahit hindi kailanman magiging sapat ang walang katiyakan.

Nagsusulat ako dahil minsan ito lang ang kaya kong ibigay. Nagsusulat ako dahil sa kabila ng lahat, ang puno’t dulo ng mga simpleng katha ay ang totoo at nananatiling ikaw. Nagsusulat ako dahil sa pagkakataon, at dahil sa pagtataya.



Pinagtagpo tayo ng Diyos, ng panahon, ng
at nagpapasalamat ako para dito sapagkat
ang mga huling araw
na ito
ang isa sa pinakamaligayang araw
na naranasan ko sa sobrang tagal na panahon.

Ang makapiling at makasama ka
ang tahimik na sandali
ang usapang nakakapagpalinaw sa aking
pagkalabo-labong pananaw;
nagpapasalamat ako para sa lahat ng ito,
nagpapasalamat ako para sa iyo.

Ngunit ang minsan ang tadhana’y malupit,
hindi agad-agad nagpapatawad
at kahit ang damdamin man ay nariyan
ang pagkakataon ay hindi tumutugma rito.

Hindi ako nararapat para sa iyo
Hindi nararapat na nakatali ka sa akin.
Hindi pa ako handa.

Hindi ko na hihilingin ang pag-ibig
o kahit ang pagkakaibigan.
Hindi ko hihilingin ang maging masaya
sapagkat ang bawat salitang lumabas sa aking bibig
nang may kaalaman na
hindi naman tayo nararapat para sa isa’t isa
ay parang pag-ikot
sa kutsilyong nakabaon sa puso ko.

Wala akong maaaring hilingin sa iyo
dahil kasalanan ko ito.

Pasensya na.

On Thought, and Action


*Disclaimer: I won’t be editing this piece that much, so I apologize if my thoughts are underdeveloped, unpolished, pretentious, or even outright stupid. Feel free to dispute or argue against anything I say in this piece, because at this point I can’t sleep and I feel like rambling on about whatever it is that’s currently on my mind. In the spirit of the development of ideas and the noble pursuit of truth, commentary is welcome.

12:00 am thought bubble:

“Thoughts matter not if not put to action.”

Academic ivory towers churn out ideas on a daily, hourly basis. At times these thoughts create only more thoughts without influencing how we go about our existences, and how we relate to other people, or how we go about our lives in this common plane of existence. These are hollow and must be reevaluated accordingly, with these revisitations catering more to praxis rather than pointless theory. Words left unspoken have their effect, but only to those who prevent them from giving life to conversations. Those who withhold words have a tendency to create discursive environments that are not in line with how they believe the environment should be shaped, mostly by virtue of the lack of communication. This further influences what they think, which further shapes the discourse, whether it be for better or for worse (usually for worse).

However, is there really such a thing as thought which does not coerce, oblige, or even slightly influence our decisions? Is thought in itself devoid of action? Is thought itself worthy of being called an “action”? Is there such a thing as a totally detached, floating ivory tower, then, one that is fully divorced from reality?

I would like to think not, and that any idea spurs some sort of response, whether it be from one’s own self or from someone else. This response fuels the exchange of ideas, scrutinizing seemingly misplaced ideas and furthering the development of good ones. Thought begets action, and similarly, action begets thought. The play at work between thought and action makes possible the very dynamic functioning of our lives, allowing us to act upon ideas and think of new things based on previous doings. I do not believe that either is servile to the other, in that thought must be at the service of action, or that action must be because ideas demand it, but rather that both of them are necessarily constitutive of our existences. Phenomenologically speaking, thoughts and actions are necessarily there, and are mutually causative of each other, neither being clearly dominant to the other.

Where does the problem of the ivory tower lie, then? It must then be in our disposition towards ideas and actions, both in our reception and our generation of new thoughts, processes, and systems. An unwillingness or inability to be transformed or at least be engaged in discourse with ideas and actions prevents people from recognizing that ideas already do incite action, and are never just ideas for the sake of ideas. This very unwillingness or inability is a response in itself to the ideas, and in turns shapes further ideas. There is a thought-action dynamic that affects our very existences, and an engaging disposition to this dynamic may allow for the co-governance of our existences.