lost love

The sound of your voice brings me comfort I never knew existed. We barely see each other and we only get to hang out after months or years of not seeing each other. But we talk. We talk about so many things; our problems, the universe, celebrities, politics, songs—almost… just almost about everything.

I fell in love with the way you see the world.
Your eyes hold so much more than what people can see when they look at you.
Your voice—it’s soothing that it can utter words so kind the entirety of human existence can come clean from all the bullshits it has.
Your hair, disarrayed after you’ve lain in your bed for most of the time looks so good that I badly wanted to run my fingers on it again and again.
Your lips that hang slightly open as you listen to what I say make me want to nibble it so bad.

I fell in love with the way people treat you like someone so strong yet so soft.
Your words can go harsh for as long as you want but your heart shines through it the moment we talk about all the things you love.
Your breath that smells mint and smoke got me intoxicated and nearly drowning.
Your hands—rough and soft, ran through mine nonchalantly that it sent shivers down to my spine and you weren’t aware of the effect you have on me. Continue reading

Advertisements

Four Seasons – A poem

I was waiting for you
Until the sun shone,
The people flocked on the beach,
And my hopes were all dried up

I was waiting for you
Until the drizzle came,
Turned into a hurricane,
Wiped all my tears away

I was waiting for you
Until the leaves fell,
The ground brown and well,
But I was alone and much couldn’t tell

I was waiting for you
Until the first snow fell
Christmas carols were everywhere
Yet my hands were cold with my heart freezing with sadness

I was done waiting for you
Then all of a sudden
You were there

Beyond the Book Cover 07 | Before Ever After

before-ever-after

I suppose you already know how I’m a knocked-out-romantic-hopeless reader. I didn’t want to read those sad novels that make you cringe, and cry, and weep at the peak of the climax except that I want to read it. I didn’t want to feel the pain some characters go through but I want to cry and weep with them as well. I am torn in between reading these kinds of novels. How do I know if a book is that ‘kind’ of novel? Well, google. Goodreads. Book reviews. They’re everywhere and I even got friends spoiling me with tidbits of information. But with this book, I only got Goodreads reviews telling me what to expect.

One day in my life, as I listened to my professor in literature talk about various Filipino novelists, I found myself opening my mobile data and search for each one of them. I’ve found gems of different genre from the list of authors she gave us. Then when I got home, I researched thoroughly and that’s when I stumbled across Samantha Sotto’s book, Before Ever After. I listed about three books and presented it to the class for some references on what book we are going to read for our final paper. Most of which are fiction. I then presented the book’s synopsis and reviews that I got from the said site. My blockmates voted for her book. I even relayed false information saying that the book can be bought for 235php (around $4-$5) because that’s what the local bookstore’s website’s price. When we checked it out, it was for 400php++ ($6). We opted to get the eBook instead. (I have the ebook copy. So… if you’re looking for it you can email me.) Continue reading

Five Years Later, 1826 Days After

in that same coffee shop

that witnessed what could have been,

what should have been;

came the day they sat across each other

feeling the strong nostalgia,

killing the dreams they both made

when they finally decided to go separate ways.

she was looking through his eyes

trying to remember what it looked like

when it was still wearing the spark they both shared.

he held her gaze

trying so hard to swallow the fact

that he lost the only one that truly matters.

and they both wander in each other’s mind

asking the same questions they have last time they were there,

‘what happened to us?’

five years later, they met up

and she finally spoke her mind

“we’ve grown apart.”

it also took him 1826 days to finally say the words

“yes, because I screwed up.”

he saw remorse in his eyes

she wanted to ease him

except that she won’t

she won’t come running back to him anymore

because five years later, she learned how to love herself

more than she loves him;

because 1,826 days after

she realized she was doing a lot better without him.

five years later, 1,826 days after…

He realized he lost the love of his life.

Next To You

Hundreds and thousands of things had been in my mind throughout the day. You called and told me to come to your house because you wanted to see me and spend some time with me. There, we talked about the most mundane things to the most important ones. I haven’t felt the weariness that I have felt before coming to you. The day ended too fast meaning I have to go home, but you didn’t let me. You told me to stay and sleep there instead. I said yes, too tired to argue.

I rested on your bed after fixing myself, stared at your plain white ceiling trying to answer questions that had been running in my head – why did I come here with just one phone call? Why am I too tired to go home? The questions I keep asking myself are leading me to the highest heights of denial.


I miss you, yet can’t bring myself to admit it.


How many times did I wish to lay down with someone I love? How many times did I daydream about staying up until four in the morning talking about things? How many times did I ask myself the same questions over and over again?

You lied down beside me and stared at your ceiling too. We talked and talked until you finally fell asleep, faster than what I imagined. I stared at your face – your lashes, your brows, your lips. Everything about you is mesmerizing and I can’t help but smile at myself.

I turned my back from you, trying to keep my feelings to myself. I can’t seem to be sleepy even after a tiring day because my body is fully aware that you are lying beside me. Then you wrapped your arms around me. I closed my eyes trying to savor the moment for I know it won’t last long. You were asleep and you didn’t know what you were doing. I was awake and I know exactly what I’m feeling. Continue reading

What Makes Her Perfect?

mothers day

Being a mother requires a lifetime of passion and dedication. Not much appealing, but very fulfilling. It doesn’t come with a handbook. Mothers start with a blank slate, a question mark, a no-clue situation, but cheers to all the mothers who nailed being a mother.

Three hundred sixty five days in a year, but not a single day could the child leave a mom’s thoughts. Seven days a week of endless thoughts of what could happen to us runs through her mind. Twenty-four hours a day, not a single hour of a silent moment with her. Millions of fiascos and dissatisfactions may fractious our heart, but her unconditional love can crush all the pain away.

So, thank you, Mama. For being my Mama. Though the repeating reminders for everything may sometimes be irritating, I will never get tired of hearing it. Thought the daily reminder of everything you do for us may crush us because we feel like our own efforts and ways of showing our love for you may not be enough, we will still try. Though we may never do the things you want us to do for our lives because of our own reveries, we will still listen… because you deserve to be heard and understood, to be loved and cared for, to laugh, to enjoy just like how you want us to. You deserve to feel the same absolute love you give us to nurture us while we grow up.

I may not be your idea of a good daughter, but I promise you that I will take care of you when you grow older. I may not take the path you want me to take, but I promise you that I will still make you proud of what I could become with the vision I have for myself. You may hurt me with your words sometimes, but those are what made me strive to be a better person.

You are a perfectly flawed mother, and I wouldn’t have you any other way. Your deficiencies make me realize how human you still are despite of doing every single thing for us. Your limitations remind me to ask you how you are doing even though you look amazingly fine. Your flaws teach me what to do and say to my future children to avoid hurting their feelings, and what not.

Thank you for the things you’ve done for us. For being selfless, for being strong.

You are one of a kind. All of the over-acting, the bickering, and the false news you give us. Again, I wouldn’t ask for you to be in any other way. You are who you are, and that’s what makes it perfect for us.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama. You know we love you.

DSC_0195

sign

P.S. Happy Mother’s Day to all the Mom’s out there! Much love.

The Last Memory 1

chapter.jpg

I pull up my blanket from half of my body up to my neck. Some rays of the sun peek through the small gaps of the blinds I installed when I moved into the apartment, warm on my face helping my body adjust to the cold temperature in my room. Last night, I conclude today to be my rest day and I know there is no stopping me. I savour the moment I have with my bed and my warm blanket than turns even cozier in the morning. I feel my throat burn from thirstiness, and then I remember how lazy I am last night, neglecting the need of my body for water. Right now, I can settle to the fact that I am a lazy-ass girl who can’t leave her bed for her own benefit. Well, blame my bed… and pillows… and blanket… and the weather itself. I wonder how possibly it could be that my bed is a lot more comfortable in the morning than it already is. I am just so grateful that it’s my rest day today.

I stare blankly at the plain white ceiling I re-painted weeks ago. I can’t deny the fact that I am badly missing my room back home—painted in pastel blue color, with my painting materials carefully arranged on the cabinet beside the window, Kara on the bunk bed going through the stack of books I have. I miss everything back home, but I have to deal with the choices I made. My doorbell ring for three times and I hesitate for a moment if I should stand up and get the door, or just ignore it away, but in the end, I shrug the laziness away, wrap the robe around my body and head for the door.

“Good day, Isabelle.” It is kind of appalling for me to see Mrs. Bloomberg behind the door holding up a tray with pancakes on it. Mrs. Bloomberg—a woman in her fifties—is my neighbour across our apartment who, by rumours, I learn that she is living alone for almost five years already.

I widen the door opening upon recognizing her face. “Hey, Mrs. Bloomberg, what can I do for you?” I ask flashing her a bright smile. Continue reading