Tipping Point

She said didn’t love him
But when he spoke with her
It felt as if someone were reaching out
Asking her to hang on a little longer
To close her eyes and trust the universe
That her scattered bits and pieces
Are right where they are
At this point in time
She said didn’t love him
But when he opened up
It felt as if she were navigating
Through an uncharted territory
In pitch darkness, sans all fears
Cloaked in juvenile wisdom
Dauntless and yielding to the unknown
She said she didn’t love him
But she did


Inner Monologue

Maybe it’s my fault
For not saying anything
For not showing any depth
By only allowing happiness
To reverberate on the surface
But would you still
Blame me
If I told you that it’s difficult
To trust anyone, everybody
With the burden of
My damned introspection
Just this once
Please let my silence
Speak for me



Sinunod ko na naman ang isa sa mga payo ni Maam MLV nung naging propesor ko siya sa Arch 57. Sabi niya dati, kapag nagsisimula pa lang, magandang humanap ng trabaho sa mga maliit na kumpanya dahil natututukan ang bawat galaw mo sa isang proyekto. Kahit isang linggo pa lang ako sa pinagtratrabahuhan ko, napatunayan ko na agad na totoo ito.

Sa katunayan, kakauwi ko lang galing sa site visit. Wala nga akong ibang maisip kundi yung tuwang nararamdaman ko dahil napagtanto kong tama ako ng desisyon sa pinili kong kurso. Naisip ko na ayos lang sa akin kung sakaling katulad ng linggong ito ang magiging panghabambuhay kong kapalaran.

Ayos lang sa akin na mag-disensyo ng kung anu-anong espasyo. Ayos lang sa akin na paikutin ang mundo ko sa makulay na larangan ng arkitektura. Ayos lang sa akin na magpuyat para sa isang proyekto. Ayos lang sa akin na sumakit ang ulo dahil sa kakapiga ng mga ideya. Ayos lang sa akin na mataranta dahil sa ‘di makatarungang pangangailangan ng mga kliente at dahil sa papalapit na pasahan. Ayos lang sa akin na masanay maghintay at intayin upang may kasabay kapag kakain sa tanghalian. Ayos lang sa akin na ituring na parang nakatatandang kapatid lamang ang aking mga kasamahan sa trabaho.

Ayos lang sa akin ang ganitong takbo ng buhay.

Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust

Blue Valentine is one of those emotionally disturbing movies that are almost too painful to watch.

It’s like an adult version of 500 Days of Summer. It’s a love at first sight kind of thing where the guy has this romanticized definition of love and the girl has this childhood trauma hailing from her family’s distorted representation of gender roles. But from that plot formula in chick flicks, it spirals down into a catastrophic depiction of falling in and out of love. The film also has cunniligus and an almost unwanted lovechild. And the guy gets the girl and then loses her in the marriage-falling-apart-and-the-inevitable-divorce-kicks-in kind of context.

If you thrive on dysfunction, though, then maybe this film is for you. It reeks of misogyny and by the end of the film, I massively abhorred Cindy’s damsel-in-distress character. I hated that she glorified her tragedies and let them define her as an individual. I hated that she did not empower herself to appreciate family life differently. I hated that she lit up when she saw Bobby at the liquor store. I hated that she projected her frustrations of not being able to become a doctor onto her husband. And above all, I hated that she chose to see Dean as a slacker rather than as the guy who stepped up to take care of Frankie who, by the way, was not even his.

Think of it as a variant of Robin’s “what’s my ‘but'” scene in HIMYM’s Little Boys episode. Dean was nice but he was a loser with no dreams of living up to his potential. Bobby had a brighter future, though, but he was also the quintessential epitome of the alpha-male-slash-asshole stereotype. Cindy got what she needed, but as the film draw to its conclusion, it seems like what she really wanted was entirely different.

But that’s the drill. At one point in time, we will blow the deal breaker quality of our future partner out of proportion. Maybe, an argument would trigger our “childhood issues” goggles and make it seem bigger than it actually is. Maybe, a heated debacle will make us want an out and not knowing how to casually express the need for space could be the marker for doom. I believe that Dean was a perfect fit to Cindy’s life. But she had not been able to let her husband in because she didn’t even love herself. So, it’s probably not about the premise of the “but” but the hamartia itself that we should be wary of.

Well, it’s either that or we could totally rock on the same wavelength as Rosa Diaz’s as our ticket to happiness.






You Learn by Jorge Luis Borges

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers
And you learn that you really can endure
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and learn
With every good-bye you learn

Morning Musings on Resilience

Life has a funny way of making a fool out of us all. The choices we deemed appropriate now may take that inescapable sharp turn to the other side and consequently flip our psyches around later on. Other decisions which seem gut – wrenching at first may eventually become the most explosive cinematic reveal ever. So no matter how much (or how little) control we claim to have over our judgements, there’s no way we could instantaneously distinguish their righteousness or truth value.

You see, we have this unwritten power of turning worst resolutions into the best plot twists in existence. Unfortunately, other people don’t realize this because their hormones are making it harder for them to think straight, or maybe life is on this dragged out PMS that causes it to behave like an even nastier bitch than before.

My point is that we coax ourselves into perpetually believing this childish notion that times stops at every road bump we encounter. But it doesn’t.

So you flunked a subject. Look back and take mental notes on the points you got wrong. We’re you too busy ogling your professor? Or do you, perhaps, need to lay low on your use of deceiving social networking sites? So the love of your life broke up with you. Cry but don’t drown in your own tears. Better yourself for the right reasons; not out of spite or revenge but out of your personal resolve to grow into your ideal self.

After exerting this perceivable effort to make amends only do we have the right to romanticize and say with moist eyes that bad things had to happen. Only then will we realize that the events weren’t random at all because we chose to not be mere passive audiences in our own lives. Only then will we appreciate the multi – faceted aspect of our daily encounters; that events other than those affiliated with love and romance could also make us feel larger than life.

On Guilt and Promiscuity

I have attempted to watch Diary of a Nymphomaniac for about twice now but it was only yesterday when I finally mustered enough courage (albeit maturity) to finish the film. Throughout Val’s occasional soliloquy on her musings about her own promiscuity, Sir Neil Santillan’s unanticipated lecture on Gender and Sexuality kept resonating at the back of my head.

Our professor was giving a brief overview of the ancient Indian civilization when the discussion veered towards the Kama Sutra. A bibliophilic classmate of mine debunked the misconception that the Kama Sutra is nothing but a sexual guide for the public. It was, in fact, more of a hygienic manual rather than a mere piece of erotic literature. This brought the inappropriately suggestive movie counterpart of the book into question. However, the part of the debate that left an indelible mark on me was when Sir Neil probed on the apparent guilt of women in terms of virginity, or lack thereof.

In our conservative culture, virginity is an overused social construct utilized for judging women’s worth. With this bias, we are preconditioned to think that if we engage in premarital sex, we’d be ultimately stigmatized and considered as sinful and immoral. Conversely, if we chose to keep our virginities intact, we are bound to be placed on this esteemed pedestal of incorruptibility and high moral resolve. But in a devoutly Catholic setup, even the casual discourse about sex is taboo.

I dream of a time when people are measured by the yardstick of common sense, and not through some abstracted means of qualifying gender.