Mr. D


Source: Google images. Photo not mine.


When hope has disappeared from all the eyes can see, I resort to what one can hear: poetry.

Right now, my fingers gently tap against the seemingly exhausted keyboard, forming words that silently resonate inside my head. I honestly don’t know if this will – at any point- make any sense; I just know that writing is supposed to be something that will free me from the chains of reality, from all the cruelty that my eyes embrace but my ears could no longer tolerate.

I am exhausted. I feel like a swarm of beautiful butterflies that peacefully plays in the air has suddenly been engulfed by a one-eyed monster named Mr. D. One might not believe how my eyes can stay open despite such an unimaginable cruelty. But my ears – oh my ears- plead for deafness as all the colors crush between Mr. D’s venomous canines, and as the little ones silently scream, begging with their last breath for help.

Help us, help us. The sound only fades into the horizon until they’re no more.

But I can’t do anything. All I can do is escape by pretending that the swarm of butterflies still linger against a bright, blue sky, resorting to metaphors that try to salvage what has been unjustly taken away.

Mr. D, Mr D, let us free.

Mr. D, have you no mercy?

Mr. D…

Mr. D…


It’s useless.

My reality has become fantasy.

Do you see the butterflies?


To and with the uncertain

To that dishonest man who is an exception to my distrust.


Photo not mine. Source: Google Images

Life once asked whether or not I wanted to jump off a cliff. As a response, I asked her where I would land. She just shrugged, implying that she, of course, could not reveal.

Usually, whenever Life offers such questions– those that possess too much uncertainty- I would hand her a firm and direct ‘no’.  After all, who wants to risk being grappled by a terrifying unknown? Well, there may be some daredevils who would enlist themselves, but clearly, I am not one of them.

But for a reason that dimly lit inside my always-frightened head, I managed to say yes to Life; I jumped.

You see, Life herself is an uncertain creature. She would say yes when she means no, and no when she means yes. But one thing we all know is that she is not entirely merciless; she would sometimes offer the vaguest hint of what is to come through a wink, a subtle smile, or even through an inaudible whisper.

When she asked me about the cliff, she mouthed It’s time, or so I think. I can never be so sure whether I just hallucinated, or fell for her unnecessary tricks of vagueness. But with whatever it was that she did (or did not do), it caused a portion of my fears to be converted into light – a dim yet powerful one in this case. It illuminated a box of memories which was labelled Escapism. When I opened them under the faint light, all the stories of how I said no to the beautiful what-could-have-been’s flashed before my eyes. At that moment, I realized that it was Life’s way of saying that falling off that cliff is a journey I wouldn’t want to be stored together with all those missed chances.

Now, I am still falling deeper towards the uncertain.

And whether or not a terrifying unknown awaits to grapple me, I hold onto Life’s obscure hint:

It’s time, she said.

The True Light

Where shall we see the true light? Is it in the moon-lit darkness where everyone escapes freely in their sound sleep? Or is it during the day when the sun hovers over the daily pretension of people?

We perceive people to be who they are when they’re awake and moving. We’re made to believe that under the daylight, they are real. But this isn’t always the case. Sometimes, during the day, we’re simply deceived. And sometimes, it is only in the darkness that people are freed from their masks. They travel in their dreams. They escape from reality. They get to be who they are. But all are pretension by the time they awake. 

Now where shall we see the true light?

Well, it is hidden. 


Source: Google Images

Source: Google Images

Sometimes, I just want to run until the world tires of me and my insensible, little life.

I want to run until I’m vanquished by this unquenchable thirst for meaning and happiness. 

I want to run – just run- until every single thing in this universe would just fail to exist. 

I want to run.

I need to run.

I need escape. 


We have always thought that we, humans, have a choice.

But I figured, no. We don’t. Not entirely. 

At least, that was what psychology thought me. 

In my psychology class, I learned a lot of things that resulted to this simple yet bothering conclusion. I discovered that most parts of our identity did not root from our own liking. They came from the different factors that surrounded us our entire lives. And these could basically be generalized into two: Nature, and Nurture. 

First is nature – our genes. If you wanted to have green eyes, but was born with blue, you could not really blame anyone – not even your parents. But you could blame something – your genetic composition (or you could blame the supernatural being you believe made this)! Well, you, same with your parents and your ancestors, don’t really have a choice when it comes to what characteristics you want your genetic make-up to display. Lucky ones get the good traits (“good” in terms of whatever is your standard of beauty), while the unlucky ones get the not-so-good attributes. Genes, however, are not only limited to determining your physical characteristics. They also are the cause for your sex, possibly health conditions, and some of your behavioral traits (i.e intelligence, natural talents). So if you want to be a guy, but was born a gal, or stupid when you were born intelligent, well then, you couldn’t really do anything about it, could you?

Some of you may argue, nonetheless, that there now exists plastic surgeries and transgender operations, which technically give us a wider room for choice as opposed to what I am claiming. But here is when the second one comes in: Nurture, or simply, your environment.

Perhaps, you’ve always believed that the way you decide and behave right now is entirely the product of your own choices. You’ve always believed that your identity is ultimately the fruit of your own wants. But you’re wrong. You always have been. Who you are right now is not only the result of your genetic make-up, but also the fruit of all that is in your environment. You may not believe it, but the people and the place that surround you, together with the experiences they offer, create your wants, your decisions, your needs, your choices, and most importantly, the person you are. So if you were raised in a chaotic home, and you grew up to be resentful, it’s not because of magic or destiny. There is a reason. And that reason is always the way you have been nurtured by your own environment. Similarly, if a lot of people loved and cared for you, and you turned out to be a kind, wholesome person, well it was definitely not an accident. 

Hence, if you think about it, people who want to undergo surgeries don’t just aspire to do it because they had a vision whatsoever. They want to do it because they have a reason. Whether that reason is the fact they’ve been bullied for they looks, or discriminated by their gender, it is always a product of the external factors that affect them.

And so do we actually have a choice? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe there are just choices that are fated to be made. But then again, if it would be fate working, then what does that make of our choices again? 

I can be wrong. Perhaps, you may have choices that are due to no reason at all. You may also be who you are because you were able to travel in time and change way things are. But here’s what I know: I am certain that whether or not we could really make choices of our own, we are ultimately ruled by two important things: our genes, and our environment.