Take a Number

My neck cranes past the long queue

The discomfort is bearable, or so I tell myself


For a second, I am in doubt

Surely, there must be some mistake – must I really take a number?

My neighbors rub against my shoulders uncomfortably

I’m wedged in between “late night meetings” and “bank errands”

I make myself smaller, compact – as I make more room for them


Suddenly, the lights are closing, the place is packing up

A neon sign brightens in the tunneling darkness,

The light hums

“SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED”, it read.


So I stood, left empty-handed

Discarded the late night musings, the dinner plans


I crawled into bed

Tired bones pressed heavy against the mattress.

Letting out an audible sigh

But the air was thick with silence


It was all bearable

Or so I tell myself.


10 Random Facts

When I was still in prep, “tag” was a game I liked to play with other kids who were also missing their two front teeth. We’d run around the field and scream tagging people with then-tiny hands, desperately reaching for the nearest limb to pass on the “virus”. This goes on until we’re breathless and sweaty, or until the teacher whistles in the end of recess.

Now, tagging has evolved into a social-media function. It’s become a “viral” way of spreading awareness, building a sense of community, or just merely creating a hype.

Recently, I’ve been tagged by several people to do “1o random facts about yourself”. Call it riding the bandwagon or what have you, but I actually like these things because it’s an opportunity for self discovery. So here it goes:


10 random things about me:

  1. Some people like to collect comics, shells, or whatnot but I like to collect words. I’m a self-professed word nerd. I used to highlight my favorite words in the dictionary; now I write them down in a little pocket notebook which also houses my favorite sentences/phrases in books I read. I feel most fulfilled when I help someone think of that word that’s at the tip of their tongue. I live for that moment when they repeat that word and nod aggressively in agreement and in relief.
  1. I get migraines a lot when I’m exposed to drastic temperature changes (like say, being drenched under the cruel Manila heat one minute then being in an artic cold room the next? pretty much a quick and easy recipe for a nervous system malfunction in my case). At one point, it was so painful and drove me mad that I made a rap about it.
  1. I love writing and I like making things too, though I flutter from one love to another. It’s either I’m obsessed about taking photos (mostly creative clutter), working on watercolor and calligraphy, or on a blog slash writing frenzy.
  1. I prefer to cook rather than to bake, but maybe that’s partly because of our faulty oven. But one day, I’m going to make Lauren Conrad’s Beach Sprinkle Donuts and a Hazelnut Ferrero Cake whether my oven agrees with me or not.
  1. I love my comfort foods: my top 3 being pancake house’s spaghetti, California Pizza Kitchen’s Pepperoni Pizza, and homemade French toast with cream cheese topped with fresh fruits.
  2. If I could adopt a wild animal it would be a sloth. People find them creepy, but I think they’re effortlessly funny.
  3. You know how they say that our body is made of 70% water? I think coffee runs madly in my veins. I used to drink it back in college to keep me awake for all-nighters, but I’m guessing my body found it funny to work on reverse and it would make me sleepy instead. Is there a disorder for consuming coffee in excess?
  4. My phobia of accidents comes from a weird fetish of watching Air Crash Investigation on Nat Geo and Fox Crime.
  5. Up to now, I’m still scared of that pop the balloon with your butt relay game. I would always sit it out as a kid, and as a grown woman I still would.
  6. I love the smell of crayons, fresh basil, a new book, Vogue magazines, and frying garlic and I hated marshmallows until I roasted my first smores by the beach. Awesome.



Boy Sees Girl

The way she is aware of every part of her, every tiny nudge of movement she makes, is enigmatic and inviting all the same. I try my best to lift my gaze elsewhere, but it’s fixated on her.

She knows it, i’m sure. She’s aware of that strand of hair that falls like a curtain over her cheeks – flushed with a shy hint of pink. She brushes the prodigal hair back to where it belongs, but not in a swift motion. Instead, in a graceful whip of her fingers. There’s nothing idle about the way she is tracing the lip of her cup of coffee, too. She stops momentarily as if contemplating the sentence she just read from her book. Like she had just read the climactic twist – her eyes widening in interest. Her feet are lightly tapping the ground, as if to some musical beat in her mental playlist. I casually wonder what songs she might like.

“This is all a part of some conscious choreography,” I thought. And that’s when she looked right at me, as if my thoughts suddenly became audible to her. She held her gaze for a few heart-stopping seconds and then looked away.It was like driving under a tunnel – unconsciously, I held my breath.

For the next five minutes, I cannoned into a grueling mental debate with myself whether I should take the seat next to her and do what I know best: Awkward Small Talk. Maybe she’ll find it endearing, or otherwise think I’m a creep. But then I decided to tuck my pride away and just walk over to her. So I swallow a thick gulp of my pride, and make my way to her – coming up with all kinds of permutations of “Hey, is this seat taken?”. For a split second, I thought about taking a comedic approach – Joey Tribbiani from Friends style: “How You Doin?” but I had coffee, not tequila so that might as well have ended in a wreck.

I felt like a walking cliche from some rom-com movie, but what the hell.I clear my throat and tap her lightly on her shoulder. She smiles.

Conscious choreography, I tell you. 

Apocalyptic Pains

I feel that anytime now, Marvel will come to the astonishing conclusion that The Hulk actually has a female counterpart.

I am experiencing an apocalyptic pain in 3 different regions of my body and I am thisclose to going ape sh*t on anything nearby. I’ve always wanted to flip a table full of papers and watch it snow chaos. Yeah, I think today is a perfect day to tick that off my bucketlist. Except I might get fired for violent demeanor so, maybe another time when the opportunity cost isnt that high.

My current tolerance for pain is at its all-time low and this is the perfect time for me to just be lying peacefully on my wonderful mattress in a relatively artic-like temperature, in room socks and a hoodie and in the loving comfort of my duvet. Why don’t we add a cup of the most perfectly brewed coffee to that mental image? Yeah. That would be nice. Can’t do any wrong with coffee.

You might say that in this day and age, modern medicine has a simple solution: pain killers. But I’m paranoid. I’ve had one too many and isn’t there some kind of danger in taking too much Advil? So with that warning blaring in my mind, I’m going to have to go hardcore mode for this one.

I need a burger.

New Thought Dump Destinations

When I first saw the WordPress interface, it was love at first sight.

The layout was easier to the eyes, and it was aesthetically perfect to me. Having a pleasing interface is like having the perfect journal. You remember those right? I’m sure despite the surge of technology these days, the old tradition of pen and paper is not extinct. Yet. But i’m hoping it never does. I fear that the future generations will not experience the joy of doodling their brooding-hot Literature professor’s name in their notebook’s marginalia (or does that only apply to me?)

When you have a mediocre journal, it doesn’t exactly compel you to write with flowery vocabulary. You’ll probably be monotonous and less meticulous about it, giving your feelings a bland name in the process. But you see, journalism is an art in itself. If artists have their clay, brushes and palettes, journalists are armed with their ironies, puns and metaphors (my personal favorite choice of ammunition). The figurative language is a powerful thing; it allows you to make the skies seem bluer, and it allows you to see mundane things in a beautiful light. And if you get lost in your own language, you kind of enter into this trance and you forget what you were talking about in the first place.

Like now.

So yeah, having a good blogging interface is like a good journal because it inspires you to linger a little longer and expound on the details. The whys, the hows. Instead of just merely narrating the what, who’s and the where’s. Makes sense?

So I hope I was pretty successful in justifying why the primary reason I had for moving out was because I had font issues with my old blog.