On signs and staying

I’m a believer of signs. Also, of staying.

I started to when years ago, I was supposed to make the biggest decision of my life and I couldn’t seem to decide what to do. So in that moment, I closed my eyes, and asked for signs.

Since then, I started to believe that when it’s hard to decide, I should just leave it up to the heavens to decide for me; but…

Signs are not always a good idea, though. They don’t all end well for you.

The first time was bad. I was rejected of a job I wanted in the place I dreamt of living in my entire life. My dreams, and my parents’ dream for me, came crumbling. It lessen my confidence, I lost my path. I changed a lot of plans I already looked forward to.

Although after years, simple answer was, it happened for a reason. I stayed for a reason. I lost my Mom. If I ended up going, I wouldn’t have spent the remaining year with her. So I learned to thank the heavens for that.

I stayed for a reason; and it was good.

The second time was bad. Because that time, I didn’t take what the signs were telling me. I made myself believe that they were telling me to stay, when in fact, they didn’t. They were telling me to go forth. But I was young, and blinded by love, so I stayed. Then, that love left me behind.

I stayed for a reason; and it wasn’t good.

Or maybe it is; because, I also believe in the domino effect of life. The idea that what happens to you one time could be a reason for another thing to unfold. You just don’t know yet whether it’s something good or bad. You just got to trust the signs.

Stay, and wait – and hope – that good things will come out of you staying.

But then, another door opened for me; also, another love came. The world is good. But the world is also confusing.

I wanted both; but clearly I can’t have both. So I did what I don’t usually do. I decided for myself. I got up to see where this door is going to take me. It was very promising, and I’m finally saying yes to going, but I couldn’t move. Something was blocking my path, and no matter how I forced to set it aside, it just wouldn’t move.

I knew immediately it was the sign. 

Maybe it was telling me that out of every stay, this would be the best, the greatest.

So I’m staying. With the hopes and prayers that this stay will be the promise of a lifetime.

*I'm staying, babe.

An open letter to every one who doubts the relationship I’m in right now

Dear every one,

Respect and understand my relationship right now, because it is what I want, and I’m happy with him. Don’t badmouth him, just because he doesn’t pass the standards of “your ideal boyfriend”. If I’m going to get hurt, this is my heart, I can take care of it.

Don’t turn him into one of your case studies, because again, I’m the one who’s dating him, not you. I guess you could leave it to me to figure him out. Don’t fast track to the hurt that I might get in the future that we can’t all predict. Just let me handle that if ever.

I have trust issues. he has trust issues. We’re both haunted by past loves that broke not just our hearts, but our ideals, our souls, our entire beings; and we’re both at the moment trying to stand from the fall, both trying to piece back what’s broken inside of us. So, please.

Please allow us to be with each other, while also trying to each find our own selves apart. We are not the same people in the same stories that you’re using as patterns for the advice you give me.

We are just him and I. We’re just trying to believe that once and for all, we deserve a love that would never leave. Good things take time. And somehow, I believe that we are good together; so we are going to take all the time that we need.

Meanwhile, just let us be.

Ugly Things

28276209_10210726526180531_181820635_oThey say:

Focus on the beautiful things.


But I plead:

Let me realize that there are more things wrong about you than the good.

Let me venture into your messed up mind.

Let me hear the murmurs of your soul.

Let me smell your foul temper.

Let me taste whiskey in your mouth.

Let me feel your indifference.

Let me see the ink on your skin.

I shall focus on your imperfections,

on the pain you inflict on my open wounds;

scars that won’t ever heal.


I tell myself:

Focus on the ugly things,

so I can finally say,

I’m not in love anymore.

Mom, what did we last talk about?


Last words are powerful.

In stories or movies with heartbreaking endings, characters would leave important words that would impact the lives of the viewers; those which would give them epiphanies, so they would want to be better, to change, or to continue in life giving their best foot forward.

But fiction is fiction; and these words are well thought of and edited a hundred, or maybe a thousand times to create a perfect ending. Here is reality. In the real world, there are no beautiful and impact giving last words. Only questions of what should’ve been said before the parting.

It’s ironic how important for me last words are, when I can’t even remember what my Mom last told me before she passed. I didn’t realize this until months after my Mom’s passing, I was telling a close friend about the day Mom went when surprisingly, I was caught off guard and suddenly asked “What were Mama’s last words? Because I honestly can’t remember”.

The question haunted me for days, and up until now, it still does. I can’t remember what my Mom’s last words were. Sometimes, it’s funny; but most times, it’s devastating.

Every night, when I’m about to sleep, I look at my Mom’s photos on my bedroom wall, and wonder. How did I get to say goodbye? Or was I able to?

The sunset my Mom passed wasn’t the kind you see in movies. It was painful, and every night I remember.

I remember how she fought for air, how she held my Dad, how she couldn’t decide whether to lie down or sit, how she tried to vomit but nothing came out, how my Dad did all he could to help her be comfortable, and how I came down from upstairs and saw Mom peacefully lying there, lifeless. I never saw how she went, I never heard what she last said, but Daddy told me that as she drew her last breath, she whispered to him that we two should stick together no matter what; that she loved me so much.

Even though my Dad told me what she spoke of in her last moments, I deemed it important to remember what we, my Mom and I, last talked about. But no matter what I do, no matter how much I vividly remember the sunset she passed, I couldn’t seem to grasp what our last conversation was about. It’s like the world is playing this game on me about how I still feel the sting of losing her like it just happened earlier today, but the things we last spoke of were completely lost somewhere in between muffled cries and breaking hearts.

Every day, when my mind becomes unoccupied; every night, before I sleep, I go back to those last moments with Mom. I don’t care if replaying everything would scar my heart more than it already is. All I know is that I won’t ever be at peace until I remember the last words I heard her said.

I hate that this is reality; and that I am part of this madness. I hate that I can’t rewrite Mom’s last moments, so I’d be able to talk to her one last time; that I’d be able to somehow make our last conversation beautiful.

I hate that I feel so much, but I can’t remember.

Mom, I’m sorry if I can’t let this go. But I know, someday I will be able to, when I have my questions answered, I will then, let you go.

You’re my hero, so stay

You are both my hero, and my downfall.

Before that, you were just a face in a roomful of people. It’s funny how time changes things; or no, maybe people are the ones who change things. However it goes though, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.

When you came, I didn’t know what I signed up for. I wasn’t fully aware of the effect that you, that this, would have on me. I took risks anyway. I’m a risk taker. I don’t think ahead of things. I just savor whatever the moment gives me.

Luckily, life gave me you. From the moment I had you, you’ve been giving me comfort. You give me things others wouldn’t even bother to give me. You give me time. You know me, sometimes better than I know myself. You continue to stay despite seeing the darkest, and messed up parts of me. You push me to be the best version of myself; to do things I’m not aware I’m capable of doing. You believe in me so much it starts to scare me.

It scares me that I’m too messed up to achieve the things you want for me.

It scares me that I would let you down; and when I do, you will leave me behind.

So I constantly reevaluate myself. If I’m being the person you liked in the first place. If I’m good enough for you. If I’m still the intelligent woman you believe me to be.

You see, I don’t want you to go. I can’t see you go. I don’t know what I’ll do if.

To me, you are my tattoo. Meaningful and important etched in my skin. A symbol to remind me that I chose you, because I want to. Not because I was told, or because I’ll be pretty with it.

Before you came, I didn’t know how valuable you’d be. Still, I chose you; and then you saved me. You saved me from the person I don’t deserve. You saved me from choosing the wrong decisions. You saved me from insanity when Mom was rushed to the hospital. You saved me when I wanted to die with my Mom.

You’re still saving me; from the immature woman I could turn into at times, for the bad decisions I might make.

I don’t know how it feels like to hang around me; to understand me when I’m being difficult. But somehow, you manage to do it. And you manage to teach me a lot of things, so I’d be a better person. You’re still saving me.

Every day, I ask the heavens why you came. But until now, I still can’t figure out how someone who’s as beautiful and as goodhearted as you would ever be part of my life. I know that it’s not just about saving me, it’s much more; and I know that the answers will come. At the right time, like you always said. Along with the questions, I beg the Almighty to please make you stay.

Please, love. Stay.

The Wedding

You were my love

happiness and hope

I was in cream

With a gold ribbon tied around my waist

My hair like a Greek goddess’

Speech kept in my floral gold wristband

My feet hurt for I wore my pair of 3 ½ inch heels

Those which you picked for me last year.

There you were at the altar

In a tux I meticulously chose for you

I looked at you and I felt like falling.

You wore that smile which I most love about you.

The walk down the aisle was a struggle.

I couldn’t keep my tears from falling.

At the ceremony, I remembered

How we met

How we fooled around

How we fought over little things

How you turned into my sunshine, and I into your angel

How far we’ve gone

You hurt me, a lot of times

I love you, still.

I heard you said “I do”

I heard the priest said “You may kiss the bride”

I heard everyone cheered and clapped and said congratulations.

Then I heard glass clings,

I was asked to give my speech

In that moment, I forgot of what I wrote

That speech that took me forever to finish

All that came out was

“Congratulations to you and your bride”.

Half past nine


In my younger days, half past nine was a late hour, half past nine was bedtime. But that Saturday night, half past nine was riding a bus, and I, ever unaware of the destination, happily goes with you for reasons I dare not speak out loud.

Half past nine is your bedtime, so as you prepared to sleep the journey off, you advised me to do the same, but I just couldn’t; because half past nine is not my bedtime, at least not anymore.

So as Betty Who sang to me about blue heaven midnight crushes and human touches, I looked outside the bus window, trying to figure out where we were; casually stealing a glance at you, trying to etch in my mind your face as you peacefully slept.

A few minutes after eleven, we got off the bus. We missed our destination, but it’s okay; because we kind of gotten used to the hang of having long walks when we’re together. As I went on ranting about the impulsive journey, I was also happy and grateful that I get to spend this moment with you alone.

For an hour or two, we ate late dinner over life conversations. This, no matter how cliche, is something I won’t get tired of doing with you.

I never finished that dinner; for I was too busy taking in the moment, the surrealism of it all. For I never thought that it would turn out to be that kind of getaway. The kind which makes a person believe in the beauty of unpreparedness, and impulsiveness.

There were a lot of things in my mind, but I never wanted that night to last, that’s for certain.

It was half past 3 when we arrived where we came from. As we rode the taxi before dawn broke, I sit silently beside you, as you slept, as I watched the city at its silent state, the moon as its only light. That moment, I closed my eyes, and thanked the heavens for giving me that quick overnight getaway with you.

It was half past four when you walked me to my front door. There are a lot of things I wanted to tell you then, but only “thank you” made it out. We hugged goodbye, and it was the best morning I’ve ever had in months.

“Thank you” would never suffice for the things you do for me. It will never tell you how much I appreciate you, how amazing you are to me, how truly grateful I am for your existence.

One day, maybe. I’d be able to tell you up front how much you mean to me. For now, thank you.

A love story

I am a big fan of romance. I enjoy seeing other people express their never ending love for their partners. Moreover, I enjoy reading novels that has an extraordinary love story, because I like seeing love in a new perspective. Not all love stories are the same. But at some point or another, there’s a difference that makes a relationship original.

I’m not going to tackle one by one for you all the love stories I know. I’m just going to mention one in particular. This is a story which made me believe that we can actually learn to love someone unconditionally not because we loved that person from the beginning we met him, but because we choose to accept the good or the bad and give importance to the memories we both have shared.

B was an introvert. She was always comfortable on her own. She loved her father so much that she thought she never needed someone to be with for the rest of her life. A was happy go lucky. He liked going out with his friends and he was a big shot among the girls. B and A knew each other because B’s mom hired A to teach B’s sister how to drive. B and A never talked before. Then B’s father died. Her mom was devastated. B was in so much pain. B’s mom was sick, so she decided to marry B off because she knew that if she didn’t, B would become an old maid. B married A. After a year, they had a daughter. B’s mom was really happy. She loved her grand daughter so much she spent all her waking moment taking care of her. Then B’s mom died.

B’s sister rarely went home because she was a military doctor. She needed to stay in the military camps. B’s relatives were in the province. So all that B had was A and their daughter. It was never a perfect marriage. B and A always fight because they really could not get along, even with simple little things. A would always threaten to leave B and take their child with him. A lot of shouting. A lot of pain. For so many years, they did this. But A never left B. He could not. After the fights, they would reconcile and be happier than they ever were. Eventually, the fightings that caused a lot of pain stopped. The threats of leaving stopped. The love grew stronger and the understanding grew deeper.

They were finally able to express their love for each other. And those times, they really mean it. They still fight, but most of the time together were good times. They cuddle, they kiss, they laugh about silly stuff. Sometimes they just sit there, holding each other. It seems like the silence is also a connection. A link to each other that only the two of them could understand.

As I watch them and their love every day, I couldn’t help but be amazed by how they learned to love each other unconditionally despite their history. I think that they’re really lucky to have each other, that this is one love story designed by God.

When I fall in love, I want to have the kind of love that they have. Because someday, I want my kids to also be wanting the kind of love that their parents have. I want them to be writing about their mom and dad’s love story.