A Place For Me Somewhere Out There

And then you find yourself walking away again… Hoping to find a place, where you’d really belong.

​May 14, 2016  •  2am

So, we hang on.. We stumble, we fall, and we get bucked up. And somehow, when we can finally stand strong on our own again, there’s another roll of rocks on our way. We get stumbled on, we fell down; and then we get bucked up again. It’s just a cycle: A series of déjà vu. A happenstance that felt very familiar. A cliché encounters; a crazy probability.

Sometimes, when you finally choose to be where you wanna be… suddenly, the place is not yours. When you thought it is where you’d finally belong, just when you thought it’s finally the place where you can be…ironically, maybe it’s somewhere else. When you finally let the people stay in your life, they’d decide to leave. And sometimes, when you find yourself being happy, and finally let yourself to, that thing is not yours.

I mean, I don’t get sad anymore. When you find yourself being sick of all those things repeatedly, you don’t get hurt that much anymore. Because you learn to be indifferent. I’d like to say, resilient… But not really. I mean…just for the record, because I think maybe that would be an overstatement.

Eventually, you’ll learn to cope with a lot of disappointments; and all the other ugly things there is. So when it finally comes around…it’s not like, — it’s really a complete shock. It actually shocked me when things are right and actually go my way, tbh. So it’s more of like immunity for me. (You see, you can still gain a strength out of unfortunate events, really. But whatever. Lol). I mean you learn. And I think, maybe the whole point of life was learning. Learning how to deal with pain, learning things are never meant to be yours, learning that pain and changes are part of your existence, because it’s a package of having a Life. — Learning

It’s actually fun. Though, not really. But hey, isn’t it fun when you always seem to learn something out of.. Um… I don’t know, something? I mean, we must admit, when you learn something, it’s not like a complete loss, isn’t it? Because you still gain something out of it; out of that things that…used to hurt you..

Talk about the paradox.

I understand that the only thing that’s ours, and ours alone, is our own pain. Sadly enough, it’s true. It is the only thing we can call our “own”, the only thing that no one else can take away from you. And I know that we all hope and wish, that same goes for our money too. But lol, welcome to reality! Because pain is borne within you. Hidden, kept. Secluded, even. We bear it everywhere we go; we can’t just throw it away because it’s inside us, within us. But we can call it a “lesson” as a euphemism to it. So that when there’s something dangerous to come, we know exactly how it felt like, and by all means know how to handle it. It’s just a matter of perspective and insights. Mostly the wisdom of it all. I think we just deal with it like a pro, that is all.

Because sometimes, we find ourselves walking on a perpetual journey…where the only thing that remains, and truly lasts, is pain.. 

We fight and we learn, that sometimes…the place where you’ve always wanted to be, and the place you thought you’re supposed to be, and rather be…is not the place for you.

And then you find yourself walking away again… 

Hoping to find a place where you’d really belong.

But there has to be… There has to be some place for me. A place for me somewhere out there…

A Quest in the Abyss

You are being torn between what you want and what happens; what you feel and what you do… And somehow, in the midst of it all, you find yourself being lost in knowing what to do.

​May 14, 2016 •  1:45am

And then we come and go to the life of each other like the way the seasons do. So that when one leaves, another one might come along. How is that there’s nothing permanent in this world? We live our life to matter to the life of one another, only to know that they were never meant for us? We live our life to matter. We do things for the ones that matters to us.. But then they would leave; and if they don’t, they would die. And there’s only one thing that remains the same,– they both hurt you in any other way.

If you don’t love someone, it’s like you’ve never lived at all. If you don’t let someone love you, it’s like dying inside. You are being torn between what you want and what happens; what you feel and what you do… And somehow in the midst of it all, you find yourself being lost in knowing what to do.

We want all these things we can’t have. And get all those things we don’t wish for. It’s just so ironic. Full of complications. We want the world to stop, so we can take a break. But no honey, the world is not yours, not your life anyway. 

It’s like living a life not your own.

Everything you ask for, has no real answers… Sometimes you’re left to make one of your own. Sometimes it’s enough, sometimes its not. And sometimes…nothing is enough.But most of the time? you’re left even more baffled…confused, and dazed. — lost, even. You lose a part of yourself in a quest of finding answers. 

You felt more than incomplete. Felt ever more alone. You can’t simply let the inevitable happen. — You want to know what’s that inevitable is going to bring. Or whether it’s going to bring any good to you…or it would just add to yet another frustrating matter to fight with again, at night. Either way…one thing is for sure, it’s only going to be just another roll of paranoia to deal with… Again.

We let our life happen in the flow of everyday life.. We let our breathes pass through our throats just as the pain does to our soul…– It never stops. It waits for you to get something to sealed it off and shut closed. Because for us, humans, as long as you’re breathing, you’re good. As long as you’re alive, you’re still okay. You can still go a long way.

But the pain we feel inside? — it never really stops…just like the river. It flows right into our veins…in every part of our system. It seeps through every single part of our flesh that it has the chance to creep in. It pauses, but it never stops. It pauses when there’s a rock, or for us, seems like some kind of ‘distraction’.. when we find our small joys, like, when we talk to a friend, when we laugh at the jokes… There’s so many ways for it to pause. But to make it stop? I haven’t really got an answer to that just yet. 

It’s just that, life is obscure. 


We don’t know how to live
. We don’t really know how to do it. We just do it the way we thought it should be done; sometimes we do it the way others do, or the way we see them how they do theirs. Or we look at other people’s lives and just live our lives the way they live theirs. Yeah, talk about originality. There’s nothing wrong, nothing right. And sometimes…what we thought we’re doing…is enough for us to be right.

And in the journey of searching for answers…You lose a part of yourself even more. Only to find out that..

…you are not who you thought you are.

A Pang of Epiphany

We are what we feel. We are what we hide away. We’re not what we appear to be; we are what we kept.

​May 13, 2016 • 11:47pm

And then I woke up to the cold truth that I can never go back to the way I was; and how I used to be anymore. I can never be the “me” I used to know…And I can never become the “old me” that I’ve always wanted back. It’s just that…we have to wake up to reality that life doesn’t always go for us…not always “with us”. Most of the time, it’s against us. And we can only continue leaving the things that were already behind us…including the old “us” because life goes on, and the world spins; everything change…it’s not all the same. 

We are not the same. We are not the same person we used to be. We are not the same person we used to know. We are not these people talking to each other, waving their hands and saying goodbye. Not anymore. We are who we are right now. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. We are who we are today. And we continue facing each other like the way we face the mirror everyday. Constantly seeing faces, knowing what to say, doing things we do… 

But on the parallel opposite things of what we do, what we say, and what we see…is the contrary of it all. We know exactly what we feel; but we are too mute to tell, and too dumb to speak and say it. Too weak to talk about it, and too deaf to be willing to hear it…even from our own. Too scared to hear about it even just on the inside; we are too scared to open up. We just simply dismiss it, before it even get started. We are afraid to talk about things that might destroy us. And all those feelings we put behind great walls that we built for ourselves, were left untouched, unseen, unheard of…

And unknown.

It remained unknown to us; to each other.. Especially ourselves. It remains unknown to ourselves that we come to a point where we don’t exactly know what it is. It becomes so hidden that we don’t know what it really is that we actually hide. What it is that we’re so afraid of. What it is that we do not want to appear.

Perhaps ourselves? The real you that’s been buried deep within you… In the deepest and darkest corners of your own being. Kept in the deepest chasm…Too far away, from the rest, and everyone of us where no one can see it. Buried, that it’s been enough for it to die. 

But it’s still not certain whether it’s “we” that we really hide, or “us” or the real “you” or “I”. Because I sure as hell know we shouldn’t be using “it” as a pronoun for it when we know exactly who it is. Nonetheless, whether it’s who, whom, or what, it’s not really much of a big deal, actually. It doesn’t really matter anymore. Because in the end, it’s still a mystery… That in the end, it remains a mystery; no matter how much we try to seek for answers. 

Unless we decide to go find it.

They were kept hidden and sealed off safe. But they were there. Undeniably there. And it would only become obvious when a tear finally falls down our cheek. We are what we feel. We are what we hide away. We’re not what we appear to be; we are what we kept.

And then we keep talking to each other like nothing’s wrong. Like everything’s normal and everything’s fine; and nothing’s changed. Like it’s just same way we also talk to ourselves when we’re alone. Like the way we smile to other people is the way we are when it comes to ourselves. Or, like how soft and warm we are to others is the same way we do to ourselves. We act like everything’s fine. But it’s not. Unfortunately, it’s not. 

We’re just trying to be nice to them because we know exactly how it feels like to be hard on ourselves. We keep trying. We keep on trying to be better, so we can continue to live. But in the end, it never satisfies. It will only cause more ache and pain to ourselves that what we are trying to do was just not enough. There’s always a need for something. Something else that we don’t quite understand. Something that we do not know if it would ever come… 

We smile, we laugh and we live like any other human beings. But when the night hits, and when the moment of truth finally comes around again…There you are, falling apart. Screaming inside. There’s always something strange inside of you that comes back alive. There’s this something that breaks, — or even dies. It’s something that automatically strikes you every night; and everytime the dark crepts in…as if by default. We don’t know how, we don’t know why. But it’s just there…coming along from the past…from behind us.. And it would be remembered when it’s time for them to be remembered.

It’s just that…we’re not really looking for answers. Not always. But we are looking for a reason. 
Perhaps a single reason would be enough? 

Perchance, even a single one would suffice our seeking soul, that’s been aching and dying of hunger for a food that won’t really come..

And it’s times like this, in the stillness of the night…where I realize that, it’s not actually “we” that I’m supposed to be using. Because, it was actually, utterly, and absolutely, just… “I”

It was just me, after all.

Not we, just I.

Why We Write

But most importantly, we write to understand ourselves.

​April 23, 2016 |  4:03pm

I hated explaining myself to people. That’s why I don’t. I’m explaining myself to me. I am trying to figure out who I am inside, what I really want and who I want to become. I’m trying to find out who I am. That’s why I blog. I do not write just for fun. I don’t write something just to please anyone. I don’t write out of boredom. I write because there is something to write about. It’s not just a pastime. And the pleasure of it? well yeah, there’s a pleasure in writing. But regardless of that pleasure, it’s more of ‘where that pleasure comes from’. It’s the satisfaction that you get whenever you let the words come out…and peace & stillness — of your heart, your feelings and emotions, especially your mind. It’s the freedom of the soul…that you feel at ease with yourself. It’s the little freedom that you get when you’re trying to figure out your own thoughts, notion and perception. Especially your feelings. We write to figure things out. We write in order to release the weight.

And I just love how Sylvia Plath would put it…she had definitely hit it right and explained it well: “I write only because there is a voice within me that would not be still”. And isn’t that the reason why some, or better still, most of us, write? Sometimes we don’t really write out of pleasure, and most likely, we write out of pain; and never out of boredom. We don’t write because it’s a hobby. — we write because it’s definitely a Passion. It just comes naturally…we do not have to force ourselves to do such. We have to write because our minds won’t allow us not to. And Passion is what you do even if you won’t gain anything from it, even if it doesn’t pay, even if it doesn’t benefit — you know it does. Inwardly it does;  your soul felt satisfied, it’s an inner joy that you cannot get from anything else. It’s ‘exceptional’ among all the other things that you do. It is the happiness and a little freedom that your heart gets every time you let all your feelings out.

Writing is FREEDOM. You felt free every time you write the words you cannot say, or tell to anyone. It’s the words that you cannot speak up, and can’t talk about the most. 

Now I understand what Rizal was talking about; what he’s trying to say. Back then, I’ve always been so fond of him. Yes, our national Filipino hero. Regardless of being a national hero, I admire how talented and versatile he was. I even dreamed of going to Barcelona and Madrid to see the roads he had walked on. Now I understand him even more. Why he had chosen to write instead of fighting with the guns and swords. To use a quill/pen and paper to fight the foes, instead. Even though I never really quite understand his novels sometimes; I understand his point…and where he’s coming from. The depth in his works were indisputably, and profoundly, eloquent — in so many ways, and so many levels. The significant influence it has brought to us all is what made us believe that there is in fact, a Hope in writing.

Because here, you can write all the things you cannot say.

You don’t really get “fully” satisfied by the way you write your work, or words, or the way you express what you feel. There’ll always be that something that’s missing, something that you cannot point out. It won’t always be enough. The words aren’t enough to say what we exactly feel. I think maybe that’s why we just feel it. Because it was supposed to be felt, not to talk about; or tell, and put into words.

But it is in our nature that we do not stop until we find, until we figure out…until we know, and understand; until we get what we want, what we need and what we seek. Until we learn what it’s all supposed to mean. We do not stop until we find answers. And…we write because we’re trying.

I think, we write to figure this life out; to figure ourselves out. To express what we can’t do physically. To express what we cannot say and what we really feel.


But most importantly, we write to understand ourselves.

I Decided To Blog

I cannot flee this madness and insanity that is tied within me; but I at least want to be able to do something with it. I wanted to write in order to free myself from the past.

                           June 2, 2016 | 6:46pm

Why I made this blog

I began this blog with the hope that I just might be able to free myself from what’s been tethering me from over the past years now… I realized, I have to be okay — that I need to. I want to be able to free myself from the past; from everything that’s been locking me up inside a box. And there’s no one to help me but myself. And that I’ll have to help myself real soon. I want these thoughts out of my mind, and these ugly feelings I’ve always felt inside, to let go what’s hurting… I want to be able to release them all. I want them out of my system. I want them gone, I wanted to let it all go, that is all.

But I was terribly alone. There’s no one to talk to. There’s no one who can even understand; had I ever tried to open up about it. I want a friend who will understand, and who will listen. But they’re all out there, having their own lives. And I don’t have the nerve to burden them with what’s supposed to be just my own troubles, either. I can’t just do that. Or at least, I don’t want let myself to. Even if they’d be kind to want to listen, had I’ve had the courage to tell them… I know, I’m not supposed to. Because it’s not the kind of thing they need to hear, even if they’d be willing to. Besides, I don’t even know how to find a word to begin with, anyway. And…we’re growing up and even though painful, we grow apart. And that’s the reality of life. You have to grow on your own, too.

Everything has changed. Our situations have changed; they’re all busy. We’re not that able to tell our own jokes, our stories and even our problems anymore. (the same way as before). We used to be very transparent with just about anything, and everything, which is every-single-thing. And now we just became mum with each other. But that’s because we have no time.

I write because I want to be free. To be free from what’s been hurting inside me, to be free from my own thoughts, that’s never been so good to me (for they’re just so toxic) and may seem to become worse, if I still continue letting them eat me away, alive. To become free from my frustrations, anxiety, procrastination and paranoia. I cannot flee this madness and insanity that is tied within me; but I at least want to be able to do something with it. I wanted to write in order to free myself from the past. 

From Everything.

I want to release the burden and be able to breathe again. I’m trying to save myself; I’m trying to live.
It’s been five years since I ever wrote a piece of what I’m feeling. I used to be a “journal kind of girl”. I was that highschool girl who used to write every significant event in her life. Even those petty little things if I ever feel like it. I’ve used up several notebooks/journal already on those highschool days, just writing about what happened or what I feel. I was that girl who’s very fond of writing every bits of her fun memories, or anger, frustrations, or any sorts of emotion.

But that was before.

Until the darkest days of my life have come and turned into years, and years… I wanted to write it all down. All my sadness and anger and melancholies. All of it. But somehow, I just find it dreary, and inappropriate enough to just write it all down when I know there’s nothing to it; nothing good, or worthy about it that I could ever write about. My life has been so full of miseries and sorrow and grief… I do not buy the idea of writing them, and then one day, suddenly finding them; scrolling into this journal unintentionally and read about those terrible experiences and words full hate; and regret and loathe myself for it. 

I’m tired of hating myself; I’ve hated myself enough.

I never want to blame myself again one day, only because I’ve just written a story full of crap. I said, I won’t write about those sad and ugly things that has happened to me. At all. I don’t want to talk about those gloomy things, I only want to write about the positive ones… I want to write about the good ones, because one day, I want to look back to it, go back reading them, and find a beautiful piece of stories on it. I said, maybe one day I can write again. Perhaps, I’ll be able to write again in time, because there’s something good again that’ll happen. So I decided, I’ll write only when there’s finally a good thing that I can tell and write about. But then again it was just me, being a dreamer. Trying to be all optimist.

But I was wrong.

It has been five long years and yet, there’s nothing beautiful thing that has ever come to me. All I got was hate and exasperation…and frustration, and depression…

I am full of pain and agony. All the pain does is to torture the hell out of me. I figured, I should’ve just wrote it all instead. Maybe it would’ve helped me; maybe I’ll feel a little bit better or a little bit free… 

And I’ve come to realize that there’s no such thing as beautiful.
It’s not perfect; even being beautiful means you need to have a little flaws. And being beautiful means having both the good and the bad sides. Not all stories are all good and all beautiful. That it’ll only become beautiful when it has the good part in it despite the many bad parts..

Even mine does. 

So last year, 2015, I started my blog on tumblr. But then I realized, there’s something more… there’s this something else I wanted. I was never satisfied. I figured, perhaps I need another blog elsewhere. And at some point, I build it here in WordPress because regardless of being real sleek,  you can have the privacy you want and you’ll feel more free to talk about yourself without the fear that someone will know you, lol. That is also why I don’t want to put my name in here. At least, not yet. But hopefully one day, I’ll find the courage to.

I could’ve just easily write down my thoughts on the journal again, instead. But I fear someone might just read it when I clumsily left it behind. And I think this is a better option, or maybe even more. You know, with all those passwords, security and all that.

So…yeah, I guess I made this blog to help myself up. To be able to feel free, even just in the form of writing. Because I want to be okay.

I decided to help myself up to be okay, because I would’ve just killed myself otherwise. 

Lol, just kidding. 😝