Who am I?

Source: Google Images. Photo is not mine.

For those who easily judge the depth of the river by sight, and who struggle coping with the river currents. 

This is my fifth jeepney tale.

I am

a plane without a pilot

always stirring towards jeopardy,

 and circling the sky without control

but with direction.

I am

a puppet without a master,

speaking against its own will

and dances despite its utmost reluctance,

but presents itself intelligibly.

I am

an eternal poem without an author,

extending infinitely with words

blending with such violence,

but later proves to be a

masterpiece in an unending progress.

I am

perhaps who they call “lost”

or the one who is momentarily


I am

who they describe to be in a

“poignant phase”

or in a

“period of exploring”.


But beyond the scope of their thinking,

the name-calling, and the

incomprehensible paradoxes,

I rest with the fact that

I am someone

who is driven

by a melancholic absence.


I Swear.

Source: Google Images

This is my fourth jeepney tale.

For all the women with shattered hearts. 

Happy Valentine’s Day.

I swear I saw your lips stretch into a defined infinity when our gazes touched.

I swear I witnessed your eyes tinkle with much splendor as I swiped by your vision.

I swear I heard your heart sing so loudly that I could not help but drown in your lullaby.

I swear I felt your mind race into chaos, unable to restore order as words spilled from my mouth to your listening ears.

I swear I sensed your hands yearn to intertwine with mine.

I swear — I really swear- that during that speck of an eternity, I heard the perfect blending of wonder-filled rhythms, and felt the heaven in reciprocity – in the fact that our hearts were beating as one.

But I also swear that when I began to truly hear, to truly feel, I realized that the music from your heart and the splendor in your eyes were not directed towards me.

You were looking far beyond.

And I swear that at that moment, I knew that I did not want to turn around — to see her, the one whose heart was in unison with yours- for I did not want to accept that my heart was just forcing to cope with yours.

I did not want to accept that I did not have anything to do with the chaos in your mind, the lullaby in your soul, the magic in your eyes.

I did not want to accept, to even believe that while I was being cradled by the eternity of your love, I was actually being drowned by an inescapable delusion.

Always Behind the Windows

I love writing, but I hate how you invade my thoughts.
This is my third jeepney tale.

Our windows face each other.

Every morning, you would wake up, dress at your best, and stand in front of that tiny, transparent square. I would do the same; I would wake up, dress at my best, and stand in front of my own square.

Just how many hours we stand there, I do not know. All that I am aware of is that we stare at each other until the sun tires to shed some light. We see each other, but we fail not to be blind.

Every day, you would look into my eyes and would countlessly utter the word her. With much hope, I would look back and would utter the word you. But not only are we blind; we are also deaf – at least, we choose to be.

We always whisper to each other what we desire, finding the consolation in the fact that we both are seeking – but what we want, we can never have. And so we just stand in our own windows, lamenting over what we can never possess, choosing not to see, not to listen.

It is for this reason that we remain imprisoned in our own miseries, eternally oblivious to what should have been already apparent: there have always been doors beside our tiny windows.

But we choose not to open them.

We choose to be trapped.


Source: Google Images

Another jeepney tale.

You passed by me.

Amidst the chaos that existed in the narrow hallway where the worlds of the students collided but remained isolated, you passed by me.

For a moment — in an eternal second when my hand glided with yours- our worlds overlapped. It was the time when you seemed to discover all the shards of broken glass in my life, transforming them into art. It was the time when I knew what ecstasy meant, what it felt like to be jumping on the clouds of heaven. It was the time when every particle of my body ignited with too much joy and passion that I desired nothing but to wrap you with love. And it was the time when I unmasked your world – the world which only had one masterpiece: her.

In your world, everything was black and white. In there, you kept even more shattered pieces of glass than I did. Just vast darkness could be seen; there was no heaven. Every particle of your body ignited with flames of desire, longing. Anger. But she just remained there, calming you down just with the sight of her eyes, serving as the only beautiful existence in your devastated world.

Our hands glided, and after what seemed to be forever, our worlds went back to independently existing; my world returned to being a mess, while yours continued to be the only hell with an angel.

I looked at you. But you looked far beyond the chaos, reaching for your angel, your masterpiece, who shall never save you.

Our distance grew greater, and in a blink, you vanished. But I was certain — really certain- that to me, you were not just a passer-by — you were my masterpiece I yearned to free.

4 a.m.

I was riding the jeepney when I suddenly felt the urge to write.

It’s 4 a.m in the morning.

Books flood in front of me, all awaiting to drown me with their every word. The lights buzz silently, resonating with the thump-thump-thump of my little heart. The room stands seemingly empty, while I sit motionless, waiting to be drowned, listening to the silent resonance.

All of a sudden I feel a grip around my throat, and I hear the louder thump-thump-thump of my little heart with the deafening buzz of the lights. I feel my eyes water, and it took me a while before I realize I am drowning.

But I stare at the unmoving books, seemingly surprised by the drowning that they did not cause. They stare at me, and I stare back, suffocating as each second passes. I seek for something to grip, but I find nothing. And just when everything turns into darkness – when my heart stops its thump-thump-thump, and my books vanish- I see you.

I see your soulful eyes and your captivating smile. I see your smooth lips, and your rosy cheeks. I see every detail of you that I have always loved. I see the entirety of you that I have always yearned to have. I see you. And then I see you leave. Again.

The lights return. The books stay still, awaiting to drown me with their every word. The buzzing resonates with the thump-thump-thump of my little heart. The room stands empty, while I sit, motionless.

It’s 4 a.m in the morning. And I have never felt so close to death.