the morning after you died, everyone who has ever loved you and has the privilege to know your heart slept with heavy hearts and wet sobbed eyes. the morning after you died, i watched the sun greet me as if the world didn’t just stop for me when you left this land. the sun greeted me the way it has everyday— like it could still start like any other ordinary day, even when i’ve lost you.

the morning after you died, your mom is still weak in the knees, couldn’t believe that the child she’s raised for half her life is gone. while your dad finds strength in not letting it sink in and trying to be composed so everyone doesn’t lose it. they try to wipe your face with the screen that covers you in the coffin, as if they could still feel the warmth your face. your friends visit you and says their thank you’s and sorry’s— you could tell they’re trying only trying to speak to you like you’re just sleeping, so they won’t fall apart. everyone still makes their everyday cup of coffee, have their breakfast and go on about their day, and the world kept spinning as if it didn’t just lose you.

the world kept spinning the day after you were gone

that’s probably the most cruelest thing about death. the world never stops— it keeps spinning and everyone keeps living. your parents still has to go to the market every other day to buy supplies, keep the house clean and net, look after the family, your siblings still go to school to listen, learn, and laugh with their peers, your friends will all come and hangout at your common place to drink and jam to your shared music. the people you left has to keep living until it’s their own time, everyone has to find strength to keep living without you— until a day comes where your absence feels ordinary, and grief has passed, where even drinking a cup of coffee with a fast thought of you won’t feel too heavy, where your life has become something vaguely familiar but a time no one fully remembers.

some will remember the way your eyes wrinkled while smiling, while some will slowly forget the way your face looked like. some will remember the way your voice sounded like, while some will forget the way it was different, soft, and demanding at the same time. some will remember the way you sprayed your perfume like it would never run out and how you liked smelling good everytime you go out, while some will forget the way your scent lingered when you were still alive.

i hate that

how could the world not stop when it lost you, how is it that everyone has to live their lives even when yours stopped? how could everyone get to live on, sleep, eat, walk, talk, laugh, and have fun while the world took all your ability to. how unfair. how is it that the sun continues to shine bright and everything changes, while your life stopped along with your breathing.

that’s the cruel part

the sun will set, the sun will go down, rain will pour, seasons will change— but the fact that you’ve left remains unchanged. it’s something no one will ever get to change, but something that everyone has to live with.

the world will never end when you go, it won’t stop spinning when you breathe your last, it’ll keep going like any other day, like your passing didn’t just break every single one of the hearts you’ve touched in your lifetime.

and maybe that’s also the beauty of it

because sometimes, we have to cherish everything. nothing is ever constant in this world— even water dries out, the climate changes, flowers wither, and every single living thing dies. we have to cherish every single moment when it’s there, so we can have something to appreciate when it’s gone.

we have to fill people with love, so they have something to hold on to when we’re gone.

so that the morning after your death— they’ll remember how you’ve lived fully, with love and through love, and not that you haven’t lived yet enough.

dati kung tatanungin ako kung ano nga ba ang mga pangarap ko sa buhay, sasagutin kita ng hindi matapos tapos na mga bagay. suntok sa buwan, kasing taas ng langit. ganun kataas, ganun karami. simula sa makapagtapos, magkaroon ng magandang trabaho, yumaman, magkaroon ng sariling bahay, mabili lahat ng gusto ko, matulungan ang pamilya ko, at malibot ang buong mundo hanggang sa kasulok-sulukan nito. at marami pang iba.

pero habang tumatanda ako at unti-unti kong nararanas ang iba’t ibang uri ng hirap. mula sa hindi mabilang na mga ambisyon— sa kada hirap, hinagpis, at gapang na kailangan kong gawin para makaraos, at habang lumiliit ang mundo ko sa mga responsibilidad na kailangan kong harapin sa buhay kong ito— ganoon na lang din lumiit ang pangarap ko.

1. makapagtapos (kung kayanin)

2. mabuhay

3. maging masaya

4. tahanang payapa

ang hirap pala talaga umuwi sa bahay na walang espasyo para sa pagod mo ano? hindi ka pwedeng mapagod dahil mas pagod sila buhayin ka, hindi ka pwedeng umiyak dahil sa bawat patak ay paalala na mahina ka, hindi pwedeng mag reklamo dahil ang lahat ay dapat lang kasi panganay ka.

dapat pag uwi ng lahat ay nalinis mo na bawat sulok ng bahay, malinis na ang mga platong kakainan, at handa na ang hapagkainan. hindi pwedeng maging maingay dahil pagod ang lahat kaya kailangan sa bawat galaw at kaluskos ay may ingat, hindi pwedeng mag salita kung hindi kinakailangan dahil ang bawat salita ay may kapangyarihang makapag simula ng away. bawat galaw ay dapat laging kalkulado at bawat salita ay dapat sigurado.

sa bawat bawal ay may dapat

1. bawal magsalita pabalik dapat may galang

2. bawal pumalya dapat masipag

3. bawal mapagod dapat laging may lakas

4. bawal ang reklamo dapat agaran ang sunod

5. bawal ang “pero” dapat palaging “opo”

palagi kong iniisip kung ano kaya ang pakiramdam ng mga taong may tahanang kalmado at hindi palaging galit, nakaka inggit ano? siguro habang buhay ko iisipin kung gaano kaya kagaan sa pakiramdam ang umuwi sa bahay na may espasyo para sa pagod mo, yung tipong malaya ka sabihing, “ma, pa, pagod ako” at hindi niyo kailangan mag timbangan o mag kompetensya kung sino ang mas pagod sainyo. yung malaya ka sabihin at ipakita kung ano nararamdaman mo, yung may espasyo para sa saya at lungkot mo— yung may yayakap sayo sa segundong papatak na ang luha mo. yung may karapatan ka na gawin ang gusto mo, at walang susuway sayo sa onting kaluskos at galaw mo.

hindi ko siguro kailanman malalaman kung ano ang sarap sa pakiramdam ng umuwi sa bahay na walang sigawan, sakitan, at murahan. kung paano umuwi sa bahay na payapa at talagang matatawag mong “tahanan”. kaya siguro habang buhay ko ring inaasam ngunit kinakatakutan makahanap ng taong kalmado at mapagmahal— dahil una, natatakot ako sa sakit na maaari nilang mahanap, o maaari nilang maidulot.

ewan ko. siguro habang buhay na lang magiging tanong, pero may kakaunti pa rin namang parte ko ang nangangarap. na sana. sana.

sana kahit hindi ako nanggaling sa tahanang payapa at mapag mahal— sana ako naman ang makagawa nito. sana makagawa ako ng tahanan na walang sigawan at puno ng pagmamahalan, kung saan ang bawat taong nakatira rito ay hindi matatakot sabihing pagod sila o nalulungkot sila. tahanan na ang bawat kaluskos ay walang kahalip na kaba. tahanan na unang maiisip nilang uwian at taguan sa tuwing pagod at takot sila. tahanan na lugar para sa pahinga, at hindi lugar na kailangang takasan pa.

sana

i read about junebug earlier this day to see what all the talks is about— not knowing it’ll ruin me again and bring back the sorrows of the past i’ve long burried after.

“junebug” was a nickname given by her “middle-school bestfriend”, from a moment where they encountered a bug and had to flick it off of her clothes. and so after that, she has since then called her “junebug” nonstop ever since as if it’s her name. it’s like a thing only two of them would understand and know the story behind— it’s like her name, not given by birth, but by a person destined for some time. junebug existed simply only to them, until she stopped calling her.

so if the silly name “junebug” stopped existing, did the existence of “them” also die?

i also had a best friend in middle school, i’ll name her “sky”. she was popular, pretty, talented, and smart. her hands are always raised every discussion, she lead like she was always meant to, she was so wise for a middle-school girl and was always ahead of her time, she was always curious, and she found beauty in everything. and she was beautiful. she’s the not-so-typical type of girls in middle-school you would be jealous about, she’s the type you’d die to be close to. she lit up every room she went in, and her voice echoed everywhere she spoke. everyone looked at her like she’s high and mighty— but even with how undeniably special she really is, she’s always been just “sky” to me.

she wasn’t “sky” to me because of all the qualities she embodies, but she was with the way she simply existed. everyone else saw her for how amazing she is, but i saw her beyond the lines— i saw her in struggle, in pain, and in every way a person can be raw. and i saw how she carried everything with grace despite and inspite everything she went through, and how she turned every pain into something beautiful. and that was her life itself.

i spent summer beneath the trees with sky, we would lay down in grass and feel the whispers of the air while waiting for the sun to come down (which was our favorite part). our hangouts were never anything fancy, it existed in places money never mattered— but company. everything felt priceless and special as long as it was shared with her. she would always laugh at anything, sometimes even things nothing’s even funny about, and yet i still laugh with her because her laugh is contagious. and she smiled beautifully. she was beaming with light.

we’d be each others one call away. we would sneak around at night to eat outside and feel the breeze until all our problems at home suddenly doesn’t feel too big. i remember i would count my money to see if it would fit for two mcdonald’s meal for us because we snuck out without enough money— we were only juniors back then. but when i see her relieved and happy, like she’s forgotten all the pain she’s been carrying and suppressing the whole day—it’s like all the storms calm down, and the cloudy sky that was just about to rain earlier lost to the bright sun.

and somehow, our friendship to me didn’t feel like it was just. it felt more. i started noticing how different it started to feel— with the way i felt more when she hugs me, holds my hand, and lay her head on my shoulder. the things we used to do platonically didn’t feel like they still are to me.

i started seeing her more beautifully. i started admiring how she looks from the back while she walks in front of me, how she sees love even in simple things, how she’s never scared to run towards the rain with me as if she isn’t the most careful person i know, and how she’s the prettiest when the sunlight hits just right in her face and her eyes turns into the most radiant thing i have ever seen.

i started loving the way her head felt so naturally leaning onto mine.

but the difference between us was that she knew herself. and i didn’t. and i was still figuring myself out— scared of admitting i am deep in love with a girl. we were both born into families who we know would never accept the way we are if we ever come out and say we like a person of the same gender, families who believed loving a girl when you are also one is a sickness. but she was different from me— she’s not scared, she’s not a coward, and she fully embraces herself the way she is.

and just as much i couldn’t admit to myself i was different, i also couldn’t tell myself i loved her.

so we fell apart.

it didn’t happen fast. it felt like she was slipping out of my grasp slowly. we started not having time to lay beneath the trees like we used to anymore, we started having different lives, different friends— we started becoming different people. until we just didn’t know the people we were anymore. until we couldn’t come back to the versions of us we loved anymore, that falling apart or not wasn’t even an option for us anymore— but something that’s awaiting us.

so i ask myself, how do you name something beyond almost? something that keeps you up at night with regret but never even had quite the chance to begin?

but i still wonder, would we have ruined each other properly if we were born into kinder families?

i don’t know, but maybe we would’ve been much more better than strangers.

maybe we would’ve ruined each other in a different way, and not with “what ifs” or “maybes”. maybe we could’ve fought a little more, misunderstand each other, tried and tried again until it’s enough we know it’s just meant to fall apart. we could’ve fought about who loves more between the two of us instead of wondering if the love was even there at all. but these millions of possibilities would ever even have existed, because we never got the chance to try. the world has convinced itself that it’s easier to think love between two of the same gender is a sin, rather than something beautiful only two girls with burning passion for love begins.

i talked to her in the past week after 4 whole years of not reaching out to each other, and she told me, “time has a way of putting things into perspective.” i had the chance to tell her finally how i loved her back then, but i didn’t.

maybe it’s because i don’t deserve to tell her what i was so coward about in the past. i couldn’t bring myself to tell her that we had to slip away because i couldn’t accept it myself how i started seeing her differently. and that i loved her, for all the she is and was. because she deserves so much more than a love built on uncertainty.

but if you happen to read this now— sky, it did pass, but i loved you more than i was ever allowed to. :)

i keep living in the past. i don’t know why, but i just do. i don’t hate it in here, but it’s actually quite comfortable. as if it’s a familiar place i cannot let go of just yet. and every morning, it feels oddly weird. like something’s missing, and i’m waiting for it to happen. it’s a feeling i can’t name, something i can’t figure out. it’s always vague. sometimes i feel like i’m living in a dream, where i keep looking for and remembering someone i can’t even see. it’s a fuzzy feeling everyday— it starts when the sunlight hits my face and the first thing i reach for is my phone. it’s like i’m waiting for a call that never comes, or a text that never sends. someone who’s there but not quite here.

it feels like i lost someone i’m still trying to remember. in between lines and pauses. and when i try to close my eyes, i just see myself in the same scenario over and over again. i’m looking at someone i don’t know, familiarizing their eyes and the way their lips curve into a smile— and they’re looking at me with eyes that seems to see nothing else but me. just me. it feels like i’m in a start of a movie, and i know where it starts and ends.

and it starts with eyes that reflects mine, and a smile that makes the world spin just a little longer when it curves.

i’m still waiting for that call to start my day, it feels far more familiar and comforting than my same old cup of hot chocolate every morning. it’s something i look forward to, it’s something i start the day with. but it never comes through anymore. sometimes i check my phone multiple times to see if it’s broken to see why the call i’m waiting for doesn’t come, so i try calling myself— and in my disappointment, it actually works just fine. and sometimes i still hear a laugh echo through these walls, like the person i’m looking for is here somewhere. everyday is filled with all the tiny bits and fragments of them i can remember. even in these sheets and pillows in between dreams that seems to feel like how a skin felt once touching mine, and in dreams that continues a story that never happens tomorrow.

every single day consists of dreams you, that feels like a reality i never seem to want to face.

i remember you in ways i never wish to forget. i remember eyes that disappears with smiles, a face filled with so much warmth but cold against when touched, a hair with the shape of curls i can never forget, and a perfect voice that echoes through halls— especially when it laughs. oh God, that laugh.

i’m convinced that even when i probably forget every bit of memory i have of you, it’ll all come back to me with one sight of you. you will always be familiar. like a place you’ve only been through once, but know the directions to even with eyes shut.

but i’ll be stuck with remembering you in ways i once had you. and i’ll forever stand by being selfish that no one else will ever have you the way i did. i’ll always live in the movie nights we shared everyday that lasts until the crack of dawn, watching romcoms, with me telling you to shut your eyes close when they start kissing— waking up every person in the house with our not-so-synchronized laughs. i’ll live in coffee dates we never got to have, and in hugs i never got to properly cherish. i feel so ungrateful seeing every moments the way i do now than when i had it, unfortunately, only when it slipped my grasp and my fingers.

i’ll probably be stuck remembering you more than i had you.

i know i’m gonna need to forget one day,

but let me live in this memory just for now.

you existed in my life like it was simple— but i felt it so deeply. every moment spent with you felt like you were always a part of it, like you were meant to be in it. i wish it had stayed that way, but for now, i’ll be stuck wishing God to listen to these prayers. that somewhere along the way, we might get the future we spend hours at night dreaming and talking about.

i’ll catch up with you some other time

when our paths cross again

but for now, i’ll keep remembering you in songs we used to love and ones we have yet to listen, in places you will never visit with me. i hope even when our time apart makes us live in different worlds, shared with different people, in different places and climate— i hope we’re united by the same love still.

i’ll remember the first and last time i saw you, with flowers in hand, not realizing i’ll love you this much. and i’ll remember those dazzling eyes that looked at me with such tenderness, and the way they made the world pause for a little bit. i’ll remember the softness you carried, and how you soothed everything else around with your light— including all the harshness of the world. of my world.

now i know why every single one of dreams feel familiar now, and why they feel vividly real everyday. because i once lived them. with you. they’re not just dreams, but a reality i wish i never wake up from. one i’ll gladly be stuck in fantasy with.

i’ll always remember you in the same eyes i met you.

i’m sorry we got lost

i hope our paths cross again

https://open.spotify.com/track/4EoJ151oQ5jY48z4RhSE96?si=eA85RYRUR2qeDIteVmxmdw&utm_source=copy-link

there will be a point in our lives where we think love alone is enough to save us. to save us from the mediocre reality we cannot face alone— to escape our little reality because it sucks to live a life that’s only filled with harshness, to save us from falling behind while everyone finds their own romantic connection, to save us from the fact that we’re looking for love to mask the fact that we simply cannot give it to ourselves so we look for it in every person we come across. we expect love to be the antidote to cure how sick we are.

but it’ll never be the cure.

love exists in so many forms, may it be family, friendships, relationships, acquaintances, pets, places, and so much more. it can even exist in the way you see the world itself— with the way bird sings in broad daylight, or the way the wind brushes against the trees, or the way the sunlight hits your face first thing in the morning. love exists in you before it exists anywhere else— but love can never be shared when it doesn’t even exist within.

we tend to find love in romantic forms and expect it to be as perfect as the movies. we expect falling inlove to cure the rotting flesh beneath us, and all the hate you’ve mustered up inside you all these years. we expect to be seen fundamentally raw and be loved for it anyway. we expect love to be the antidote for the love we cannot give ourself.

but what happens when you actually find it?

what if you actually find the “cure”?

we are so overly fixated of romantic relationships, but when we actually find one that’s perfect as you imagined it to be— we realize how love is not what’s missing in you all along. that love cannot be the cure you’re looking for. it’s the feeling of horror when you actually find it, to find exactly what you’re looking for, and what you thought you’ve been “missing” all along. only to find out that the thing you’ve always wanted doesn’t really fix the void inside you.

then you realize how someone else’s love, no matter how perfect it can be, can never be the “cure” for the way you are all along. reality then strucks you with how love doesn’t actually change anything for you, because there’s something inside you that’s fundamentally broken and unraveled that nothing— not even love can fix it.

the girl who’s never been happy about themselves, the way that they look, their nose, eyes, skin, and always hated herself would never find happiness from another person’s love, when they also feel like they’re the ugliest among her peers. the girl who didn’t come from love would never learn love from another until she learns it herself. and the girl whose everyone always been hard to, will never know how to accept softness when harshness is all she’s ever known.

you just can never cure a person who doesn’t realize they’re broken yet.

i got the things i wanted, it’s just not what i expected it to be

and this is why love should exist within you before it can exist anywhere else.

because the cure starts with you.

it should never be another person’s responsibility to fix you, to give you directions in life, or to fill the void inside you. it should be no one’s job to figure out whatever is wrong inside you, to figure out whatever is running inside of your busy head, to figure out why you seem to pull back when shown affection. nobody should ever drain themselves to fix another person, when mending should start within first.

a person can only love you, but never fix you.