Malaking tulong nga yang mga ads na yan sa gilid gilid ng facebook. Baka nga kailangang-kailangan ko yang bronze at fire police item na yan. Seriously, tapos pati sa tumblr meron na din? Nakakaurat.

Don’t be disappointed when people didn’t turn out to be as what they said they are. They didn’t have the chance to see the real you instead, they showed theirs.

You used to tell me that I am your fuel, that I rev your rusty engine—well I’m saying it back to you: You are my fuel and my engine. You don’t only serve as a part of me but also a reason why I am myself.

You always know how to shut me up. You know what my insecurities are yet I feel the acceptance and that reassurance that you don’t care about it. It makes me comfortable and it just makes me love you more.

You know the things that I hate like cooking food for dinner or going home and having to do a lot of things or that I don’t eat liver or that I don’t like kpop songs and animes and even I hate some of the things you love, it’s fine with you and that’s nice. I like it. 

You know the things that I’m afraid of, primarily cockroaches— let’s face it, those motherfuckers are really creepy especially those twitchy little legs of theirs, it just bothers me.. somehow, that didn’t bother you that I’m more afraid of cockroaches than you are, thank you.

You also know the things that I love, the books I have always wanted to read, or what kind of movies do I watch or what food would I love to eat when I get my paycheck. Of course, you know that I love you, that’s the first thing you should know.

Sometimes you know me too much that I think that you know me better than I know myself. It’s cool, though.

I can be mean at times, ‘cause sometimes I act like a child like you do and i feel kind of bad whenever I tease you or get mad at you or get annoyed ‘cause I know I can be so annoying and you never said anything and I’m sorry for that.

These words may be the best thing that I can offer to you, ‘cause you know that I’m not that sweet, I can be cold sometimes, I’m not expressive and let’s face it, I’m no Brad Pitt.. but believe me when I say this, you’re my Angelina Jolie.

I don’t believe it when a writer says he doesn’t have anything to write about anymore.

I don’t know, maybe it’s because I know writing has been a part of their routine and somehow they use it as an extension of their heart to say everything what their mouth can’t.

Be it a paragraphs full of highfalutin shits and creative lies or just a simple daily journal entry; they can never run out of words for as words are their armor, to protect themselves from the judgement of the real world and somehow to feel a little bit of acceptance from the people around them; weapon, cliche as it may seems but writers use their pen (or nowadays keyboard) to fight for what they believe be it from who the president should be to that they deserve someone better. 

Writers can never run out of something to write, they write everything that they see. They may write about the beauty of love of an old couple they have rode with on the bus, or how love can have no boundaries when they see a midget and a  gorgeous model as a couple. They may write how shitty their day went or how things could go worse when you thought it’s already the worst.

Writers can write about anything or anyone. It doesn’t matter if their grammar is correct or if they have used the right word or if the punctuation marks is in the right place. They just write what they know they should write.

Or maybe writers really do run out of words to write.. they just don’t give up.

Because publishing all the worthless ta’s is cool.

To the bloggers out there who doesn’t seem to run out of ideas about tumblr—on how it works, what kind of people are in it and the infinite issues roaming around it—we spent enough time to know everything about that and it’s kind of annoying that it’s 2013 already and you’re still babbling about the same thing. So please, just.. just shut up.

You’re just like a word—
filling my sentence, completing them
to make sense.

You’re just like a word—
defining me, giving me a meaning
to avoid confusion, to know myself.

You’re just like a word—
making everything beautiful,
creative and colorful.

You’re just like a word—
deep, somehow rare and requires
a lot of thinking to understand.

You’re just like a word—
in fact, my favorite one.
and I hope, unlike words,
you won’t fade away.

I have a lot of used-to-be close friends, a lot that I can’t think of who may this be. Thank you and I hope— you’re happy from where you are too.

I think I know you already. :-)

Anyway, thank you. Thank you for noticing and sparing me some time to go on my blog and message me. Thank you for appreciating what I am instead of wishing I was something else. Thank you for encouraging me despite of my weaknesses, and boy that’s a lot of weaknesses. I love it when someone notice little things about me, at least I know they’re paying attention, not because I told them to, but because they want to. Thanks, friend.

We may fight sometimes—sorry, every time. We tend to argue on every freaking topic. Whenever you disagree, I always get upset which leads into a fight. I always shout back when you’re mad so instead of cooling the situation, I always make it worse.

We’ve been through a lot of things. We’ve tried to kill each other that I had to run away from home for two months. I’ve tried to forget you and cursed that I never should have known you and you did the same. I’ve told myself that I have no mother and so did you.

But sometimes, that’s not what I think about. I think of the times when I was still a kid and I was your favorite son, and that you always go on my side whenever me and my sister fight (even though it has always been my fault) I’ve missed that. Sometimes I wish I’d return to being a kid again, when everything was so simple, and I was still your son and you were my mom.

Daisy, I mean mom. I missed you. Happy mother’s day, I guess.

Tell me if you don’t want me anymore, or  if you’re tired of my shit already or if you want to go on a different way ‘cause that would be much easier; the feeling of ‘unknown’ is scary— having to guess what you feel, it truly frightens me. 

My mind is a blank piece of paper. Unfortunately, my pen’s ink ran out.

I think I just witnessed a public display of sex (?) Ewan ko kung sex na yun. Basta kalaswaan kasi.

Neto neto lang,(Actually di pa nga ako nagbibihis) sumakay ako ng mrt pauwi. Siyempre pag mga ganitong oras, siksikan sa tren alam yan ng mga madalas mag-mrt.  Eh nakahabol ako kanina, edi todo siksik ako. Yung body bag ko (yung di sukbit sa balikat) inangat ko dahil nga para magkasya ako. 

Napunta ako sa gitna nung dalawang lalaki. Yung isa kalbong maputi na nakasalmin, tapos yung isa malaki katawan. Actually, pareho silang malaki katawa. Ngayon kung titignan mo, akala mo mag-tropa lang. Akala.

Dahil nga nakaangat yung bag ko, hawak ko sa 2 kamay (yung parang mag-aalay ka) natatakpan yung baba namin. Parang dibdib and up ang visible. Ngayon kaharap ko lang yung isang lalaki tapos napipikit pa siya sabi ko di na bago to baka antok. Ginagawa ko din yun.

Eh, yung siko ko ata o basta bandang pakamay sa ilalim ng bag parang nakakaramdam ng yugyog. Akla ko pa nung una, baka minomodus na ko. Kinipit ko yung bag ko, tapos binantayan ko zipper, kasi nandun cellphone ko. Tapos yung yugyog, hindi tumitigil. Nararamdaman mo naman kung may gumagalaw na malapit sa katawan mo eh.

Tapos ang weirdo, yung lalaking nasa hirap ko, pumipikit, tapos dumidilat. Puta, umuungol pa. Ano yun, sarap na sarap siya sa pagtulog? Nakakaramdam na ko ng kakaiba. Nangyari yun mula istasyon ng Santolan hanggang Cubao. Nung nagbabaan na ng cubao, tinignan ko talaga kung anong nangyayari sa ilalim ng aking bag..

Anak ng kagaw.