I’ve seen some of the good, and some of the bad in humanity, but not much in these two quite fascinate me as much as the in-betweens do.

How amazing complications are. How brilliant contradictions are. We manage to somehow hold onto the pieces of the goodness that we were born with, while somehow filling ourselves with the inedible excess of this world.

There are times when we grab any  excuse to be better than we are. There are also times when we so easily fall into the worldly ways that we helped define. Maybe the secret of the universe is that while we are constantly searching for an answer, we just have to choose one, and hope that we are dogged enough to stick to it.


There are expectations from us grown ups. You are expected to take pride in numbness. You are expected to feign simplicity in your sentiments because people fear the unfamiliar. You are expected to thrive under pressure, and to never show vulnerability. All these societal expectations because we are supposed to be brave people, right? Have we forgotten that bravery is acting despite being human in our emotions, and in our characters, and not doing our best to be inhuman?

Dear, you.

Why do you expect me to hide my emotions under some false mask of apathy? Are you so easily irked by the authenticity of a vulnerable soul that you shun it so heartlessly? Or should I say, so fearfully?

You bury your self so deep inside you that when someone comes along who does the slightest attempt at digging you up, you force her to bury her soul alongside your dark “forgotten” secret.

Why do you think people are so obsessed with sex? Our cravings for connection which comes from that thing we buried inside ourselves, has to find a way to show itself. Physical intimacy then becomes a temporary solution to satiate that longing for connection.

You may never admit it, but you crave for the day when someone forces you to stare at your own shit in the face, and deal with it.

When that day comes, please tell me about it.


Why is it that the moment we choose to be vulnerable, we fall so hard so fast? We dive headfirst into the unknown because that’s what great literature are made of until we realize that we’re alone in the depths. We bare our bleeding patched up hearts and souls to the world just to prove that we are alive and breathing fire, and then, licking our battle wounds, we curl up in a ball at night hoping for a reprieve.

I know how it is, and I wish I can make it easier for us. But truth is, there is no other way to grow except to do it uncomfortably. As it does me, I know it takes a lot out of you to accept and live with that thought, it will be overwhelming and exhilarating, but I am still hopeful we can come out the other side scathed, but at peace with whoever we’ve become.

A savior is not a role I can play.

I have played many roles – the loving daughter, the hateful child, the cynical bitch, the cowardly lover, the damaged soul, the hopeful explorer, and at times, the reluctant student of philosophy.
All these roles, and not one has taught me what you did –
Being in the center of it all does not make one valuable.

Who am I to demand importance in your life? Who am I to ask you to save me, just because I, per your own words, might just save you? And I promise you, I ask these questions without sarcasm. I am merely in awe of my realizations today. It’s not fair for me to put the burden of my baggage on your shoulders. It’s not right to rely on your carving skills for a home.

You are not whole. I am not whole. How are we to save each other from the void inside ourselves if we have nothing of our beings to spare?

A Restless soul

I’d like to travel with gypsies
And maybe meet people who are brave enough to be who they are;
People who are not afraid to take a leap of faith;
People who dance in the rain, and sing off-key;
Maybe I’d get to meet someone who has infant eyes, and a gentleman’s demeanor.
Someone who sees the world as a discovery – full of wonderfully weird creatures.

On Intimacy.

Call me naive, but I find it hard to wrap my head around the thought that there are people who hate to be loved. I met a couple of people last night who tried their hardest to make me believe that they are against intimacy. Not the physical kind, the emotional kind. I was fascinated with how much they were trying to persuade me into believing that they were happy with not wanting emotional intimacy. And please notice that I was being particular in how I said, “happy with not wanting”, because that is different from saying, “happy with not having”. I noted how they subtly assured me that they can easily have it if they wanted it. I’m not sure if I am deducing this correctly, but all those assurances made me think that they were scared, and that they were in denial of being scared. And as they were trying to secure my acquiescence, I couldn’t help but be thankful that I am in a place right now where I can confidently admit to wanting emotional intimacy. This thought made me proud of myself because I can say that I am finally brave enough to give emotional intimacy a try.