It is not the money on your pocket
That lets you buy an expensive cigarette;
Not the fortune you’ve been saving,
All for the glory of extravagant spending.

It is not the beauty of being high above the sky,
Seeing the clouds below you as you fly,
Or the scream as you take a deep breath,
And jump on the cliff as if it’s your death.

It is not the diamond on your finger
With a promise still uncertain from your lover;
Not the way they call your name,
A superiority you won from a dangerous game.

One may tell a tale so worthy,
But the end is not entirely its beauty;
For it is not the end of the tunnel you crossed,
But the journey, all the risks you tossed.

The Beauty of Struggling and Overcoming Plights

Just a few weeks ago, maybe around mid-April until before May ended, I was in a state of not knowing what had been happening with me.

I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to do anything, nothing seemed to excite me, I didn’t want to go out with people, I couldn’t laugh with my boyfriend no matter how hard he tried to lift my spirit up, I cried every night with no particular reason while trying my best to not be heard by anyone, and all other things that just made me feel like the best thing to do was just end things.

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And the Door Opened

30 of #100HappyThings

Maybe it’s coincidence

Or perhaps it’s not,

This page of iridescence

Lights up and blinks a lot;


A new moon, a new star,

It shines in the night,

Once admired from afar,

Now a knob to hold tight;


Maybe they heard a knock,

And in silence, they listened,

A secret unlocked,

And then the door opened.




Who would know
what this future holds?
The present
knows nothing
but to make us wonder
or perhaps
make us hope
of our dreams coming true,
our hearts getting healed,
and our lives being contented;
All things unanswered
in this moment called “now”
may be decoded tomorrow,
or never.

Sudden thoughts. I wonder which of my souls is alive right now.

Office Alone Thoughts

At this very moment, I’m not actually alone in the office, but I am alone in my area. There’s a person on the other side of the room, but we have a divider in between, so it still feels alone in its fair sense. Plus, we’re both busy (or am I?) right now with our respective tasks so we’re pretty much in a I-hear-the-sounds-of-your-fingers-typing-on-your-keyboard setting.

Okay. I am busy, indeed, but I can’t be too busy to scribble my current thoughts or else I might just explode and shout in an instant and my roommate right now might just freak out if I do so… So here I am, typing words as my thoughts pour them down without even knowing what I will be writing until the very end of this post.

What if?

When I was in fifth grade, my Language teacher, Sir Bendiscovered that I have a pretty good talent in writing. I was a new student at that time since I transferred to a new school after moving in to a new house. He then invited me join the school organ’s pool of writers (The Liguorian Bulletin) and chosen me to be in his special workshop for Campus Journalism the summer after that school year. I’ve had volumes of personal diaries since second grade, and I guess that really helped me develop the writer in me. Campus Journalism was a whole different thing though, but I enjoyed it.  Not only that – I was exposed to public speaking as well, and from then on, I have always wanted to become a Journalist.

I was chosen to become the Editor-in-Chief of our school organ’s elementary division when I was in sixth grade after an essay writing elimination. I felt proud. No, I felt damn proud because it was just my second year in that school and I got the highest position in the school organ. That year, Sir Ben decided that we should try joining the Division Schools’ Press Conference. It was the first time that there would be representatives from our school, and it felt good that I had been one of the first representatives that the school would be bringing. And yes, yes, yes, I won first place for Editorial Writing in English. This gave me the chance to attend in-house trainings and more workshops and eventually bagged me a Special Award in Campus Journalism (aside from, ehem, my Second Honorable Mention Award) during our elementary graduation.

I entered high school with the dream of becoming a famous writer someday. I have kept a blog and written poems and novels, but when it was already my time to choose a degree for my college application, I couldn’t remember what happened.

My top choice in all college application forms had been Accountancy, followed by Economics and some social sciences. I made it into the quota of my first choice, and honey, despite the Dos Policy (2.0 or 85%, Zero-based General Weighted Average System), I was able to graduate under the BS Accountancy degree. But I didn’t let go of my writer’s dream even when I was a BSA student, because after being active in our college publications, I eventually became the Editor-in-Chief during our time.

Don’t get me wrong. I have no regrets, but yes, I have my what if’s. I am working at Inquirer Group of Companies as a Finance Analyst for Investments and just by the job title, I can’t help but feel proud of myself. But I am working at Inquirer. I am working at the company where the number one newspaper, the most-read broadsheet is homed. Every morning when I pass by the Central Desk, every afternoon that I can take a glimpse of the writers being too busy, and every moment I get to see Sir John Nery (Editor-in-chief, Inquirer.net) and Sir Joey Nolasco (Executive Editor, Philippine Daily Inquirer), I can’t help but ask myself, WHAT IF I FOLLOWED MY PASSION? WHAT IF I DIDN’T THINK ABOUT BEING PRACTICAL THAT TIME? WOULD I HAVE BEEN HAPPIER? WOULD I HAVE BEEN MORE PROUD OF MYSELF?

I don’t know, but I think these questions will forever remain as questions. But hey, I’m not giving up. I will keep on writing. I will keep on writing poetry (even when they say that poetry is an old art), I will keep on writing my personal views, I will keep on writing stories, I will keep on writing whatever comes to my mind. And I will keep on sharing. If this is the only way to keep the writer in me that Sir Ben had discovered several years ago, then I will keep on writing, even when the time comes that no one’s gonna read them. I will keep on writing – that’s a promise.