Wednesday, November 23, 2011


i felt pain from reading her words.
a goddamned caption and yet it was searing enough
that i felt something inside break.

she doesn't know how lucky she is.
i had all that time with him and i tried so hard.
i wasn't sure enough to start it. he wasn't sure
enough to broach it.

but i did try. i tried so goddamned hard.

then she came.

and now they have months and probably
will have years to their name, if not the rest of
their lives.

i am breaking.
i am seething.
i am... resigned.

i was too broken to begin with.

i couldn't have kept him.

i'm just not whole enough.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Life at Twenty-Five

This wasn't how I thought I'd find myself at twenty-five.

A thousand and one scenarios had gone through my mind growing
up. I thought I'd be be climbing a career ladder somewhere,
stable and established. I thought I'd have found that annoying
insistence of the idealization of “the one” despite all my
feminist sensibilities. At one point or another, I'd thought I
would already have had a baby (although ideally, I pegged this
scenario at 27 or 28). I thought I'd be making it big. I thought
I'd be this complete, successful individual... taking the world
one article or documentary at a time.

Funny how life decides to slap you awake and make you realize just
how naïve we are to think we can just plan our lives and then fate
will timidly and gladly take that blueprint off our hands and make
all our dreams come true.

Because this is NOT where I thought I'd be. If people had told me
at say, twenty that this is where I'll be at twenty-five, I would
have laughed at their faces and would not have, for a moment,
taken such a ridiculous scenario seriously.

Who knew.

I haven't found "the one" or even just someone and instead just
had my heart broken too many times, I can't even figure out how
I let it happen so many times in the first place. I let go of
“the dream” I built my academic and extra-curricular credentials on
for my entire college existence for a chance at love that turned out
to be one of my worst gambles. I tasted what it felt like to get
published, to write and be read, to do what I love...
but now, I don't know where the dream has gone.

And now at twenty-five, halfway through my twenty-sixth birthday, I
sit here, reeling because life is happening to me this very moment.
Knocked up. Outside of wedlock. Broke. Jobless. Alone. Carrying the
child of a man-boy who is currently my personal version of the devil
incarnate. Writing this post in an effort to figure out what got me
here while waiting in anxious anticipation for the birth of my
daughter which could happen in a few weeks, or any minute. Wondering
where I went wrong. And most importantly, trying to figure out what
kind of life broken, irresponsible, confused me could ever give
this baby.

Oh the self-pity trips I take everyday.

I only got two more pills on my pre-natal meds bottle, an OB
appointment in a few days, two expensive tetanus shots to take and
no idea how to pay for them. I search the net for articles on
pregnancy and skip all the parts that talks about daddy's role.
I resent that stupid Anmum advertisement with the woman that goes
“Now that I'm pregnant, my husband makes sure I do what's best
for me too”. I balk every time people ask me where the dad is and
when I plan to get married because no matter how smoothly I lie,
my eyes always say otherwise.

I wake up every morning and do my daily walk and wonder what
people think when they pass by this pregnant girl walking by
herself on mornings. Do they wonder where her husband is?
Does it show that I care what they think when they look
at me?

Why do I even care anyway?

When I line up for my OB visit and I sit sy-by-side with other
pregnant women with their supportive husbands and partners, I
wonder if they look at me sideways and try to hide their pity.
When I ride in jeepneys and see whole families squished together
going home from the church or mall or whatever, I wonder will
my baby ask herself why she never has a dad to ride jeepneys
or go to church or to the mall with? And when she asks me,
will I ever figure out a way to tell her without highlighting
the brokenness of our little incomplete family?

I never run out of material. I am the oppressed, rejected
heroine in my tragic little teledrama.

But in truth, I am not that naïve.

Not about this at least. As much as I enjoy playing the drama
queen, I know I have no right to pretend to be the victim here.
Fate really isn't the architect of our lives. We are. And
wherever we find ourselves, at any point in our lives, we know
well enough that we constructed the circumstances that led us
there. Okay, maybe fate constructed the circumstances, but how
we responded to those circumstances and those decisions and
choices we made brought us to where we are.

I chose to believe him despite common sense telling me it's a
pile of bullshit. I was the one who willingly allowed myself
to confuse intimacy with love even though I've told myself not
to let that happen. I cried the tears I knew I'd cry even though
I had every opportunity to prevent them and enough experiences
to know better. Or so it seemed.

Right now, I just want to pop a champagne and celebrate my
stupidity with a mirror in front me so I can look at myself
with derision the entire time while I toast at my reflection.

And I really would. If I could take alcohol which I can't.
If I can afford champagne which I also can't.

Which brings me back to my baby. My baby whom I love beyond
reason even though we haven't met. My baby who I already worry
about even though she's not even here yet. My baby who I will
be responsible for forever when I'm not even sure I'm responsible
enough for my self yet.

It's easy to write down the lessons and look at the mess-that-is-
my-life nicely typed in black and white, as if it's all sorted out.
But I know just how confusing it's all going to be when she comes.

Still, the messy confusion of life is what makes it beautiful.
That's where the colors spring from. That's where the stories
come from. It's the stuff that those lasting memories are made
of. And even though, I'm at it again, making another blueprint
for two lives now, I'll re-read this post once in while and
remind myself that it may turn to be a lot different that I
thought it would be in my head and I should always remember
that I'm no longer deciding for myself.

And as much as that feels me with dread, it fills me with
excitement as well. I don't know what kind of mother I'm going
to be. I guess I'll just have to take this parenting thing one
day at a time and hope that five, ten years from now, I'll be
popping champagne celebrating how despite my stupidity, despite
my being me, life is still turning out to be a whole hell of a
lot better than I could ever plan.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

two pink lines

*just something I wrote at the height of the pregnancy drama :) still
very much pregnant, goin seven months, and despite, well despite
everything... i am very happy and beside myself with excitement
to meet our girl and the the newest BBum. haha.

There they are.

Those two pink lines.

So benign looking and unassuming. The simple (and inevitable)
result of my urine’s current composition and whatever chemicals
they doused that thing with. Just two miniscule lines, and yet
their appearance felt like a physical slap, leaving a screaming
red mark on its wake.

All those dreams, all those carefully laid plans, gone.

Those three agonizing minutes that the lines took before shyly
revealing themselves: those were the last three minutes of my
life as i know it. When those lines confirmed what has become
a nagging certainty at the back of mind, I ceased becoming who
I was, and became someone all parents dreaded their sweet little
girl to be: a unwed mother, a single parent, possibly a soon-to-be
estranged sister and disowned daughter. Not to mention what those
two lines REALLY mean. That there will be a whole entire person,
half me, half him and entirely, completely herself that i will be
responsible for forever.

I cannot begin to fathom the gravity of you.

But I am, despite all my fears and shortcomings, very very excited
to meet you.

Monday, October 18, 2010


i am tired of this cat and mouse game we are playing.
you let me catch you for a bit, and then you run off again
most of the time i seem to be the cat
but really, i'm the mouse being played at
i am tired of constantly feeling like
begging for something that isn't mine
well, you're certainly not mine
not your life, not your attention, not your time
what i'm asking, what i want to know
is in that whole world of you,
how much are you willing to share with me?
and in that unfathomable well of a mind
how many thoughts will you think with me?

because i am tired of running
and playing this little game
and i am tired of sitting
and i am tired of waiting
and i am tired of hoping
...i'm all packed and ready to go
but you never stop
long enough for me to get on.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

12 hours in dumaguete

time. seems like we're always running out time. all we get
are snatches and moments, hurried kisses and abrupt embraces...
measly hours that seem like seconds.

on the long exhuasting bus ride that will take me to my boat
to Dumaguete, scenarios kept running through my head like from
some icky pinoy B-grade romance flick.

Bea to John Lloyd: "Sana ako ulit..."
John Lloyd: "She had me at worst, you had me at my best, but you
chose to break my heart."

i started snickering to myself which made the passenger beside me
give me a tentative look and shuffled a little to the window.

The boat trip made me more anxious. So anxious that it took me a
couple of minutes to notice the guy who was nervously asking if i was
in the right bunk.

As it happens, no, i am not in the right bunk. And yes, i plan to
occupy this one nevertheless.

The poor bloke didn't put up a fight.

i grew a conscience and offered to transfer and in turn he offered to
look for my bed first and then help me with my bags.

i thought he wasn't coming back, but when he did, he looked like he
scoured the whole ship and it turns out, my blasted bunk was in the
bottom probably right next to the engine from the looks of him.

anyway, i ended up occupying his bed for the rest of the trip and
surprisingly, he and his friends actually turned up to be interesting
company. we swapped anecdotes, laughed and i welcomed the distraction.

before going on this trip, i had hoped to not run into people i know
because i wanted time to think. to ask myself what i hoped to get
from seeing him. where i hoped to find myself and us after we met
and talked.

but i've been asking myself the same thing for months and i felt like
going in circles.

after all been's said and done. i'm still drawin up a blank wall.


---- this story had one hell of a bad ending.

two years later, i feel i'm going down the exact same path.
different male lead. same plot. same setting even. blasted Dumaguete.
My haven and my pitfall.

will it still have the same ending?

08/04/10 - 11:36 PM

Saturday, July 31, 2010


give me stars
give me a garden
where i can breathe
give me blossoms
falling gently
upon my head
give me oceans
give me reasons
to know that i live
or better yet
give me you
to give it to

- mickey
hayahay, july 2010

don't hate me for publishing this mickey.
i have two excuses:
1. my blog is just begging for this poem
2. i have no words for that night, except these beautiful
borrowed ones and that night begs to be chronicled as well

Monday, June 14, 2010

somebody gag me


i've found so many uses for them.

change people's opinions. make students look at the same things
differently. get what i want. weave stories. build whatever i
want on thin air. forge acquaintances. get people's favor.

but it is when words are most powerful, that they are at their
most dangerous as well.

because i use words to hurt people too. to manipulate, blackmail
and cut people down to size. i could cut you right down the middle
with a sentence. i could make gashes deeper and more painful than
any flesh wound with words spoken in spite. i could peel off any
pretense and force you to display painfully hidden insecurities.

when i get hurt i verbally lash out and use words that cut deeper
than knives.

i try to hurt people less, but well, TRY is still the operative

just had a bout with my father and we're both emotionally bleeding
right now.

he says i'm ungrateful and useless and stupid and should just move
out, i say the same things and ask him why he thinks this is
his house.

i am a bad person.