I don’t know how many times I wished to see myself on your account.

I understand that you’re not really the type to post things like that. I know it isn’t something that naturally comes to you, and I never wanted to force you into doing something just because I wanted it.

But sometimes, I wonder if asking was really the only way I could ever see it happen.

and the fact that I don’t want you to do it because I asked you.

Because you never initiated first.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

It wasn’t really about the story. It was about never feeling like the thought came from you.

I never asked you to post me every day. I never needed to constantly see myself on your account just so I could believe that you loved me.

I just wanted, even once, to feel like you wanted to show me without me having to ask.

I wanted to feel like you looked at a picture of me and thought, I want her here.

Not because I reminded you.

Not because I asked.

Not because you knew I would be hurt if you didn’t.

But simply because you wanted to.

And I hate that something so small made me question something so big.

Sometimes I find myself wondering if I’m asking for too much.

Is it really too much to want a little reassurance? Too much to want to feel chosen?

Too much to wonder why the person I love never seems to initiate the things that make me feel loved?

And then my mind starts making the questions crueler than they need to be. Maybe I’m not pretty enough. Maybe you’re embarrassed of me. Maybe you don’t want people to know I’m your girlfriend.

Maybe I’m not someone you’re proud to show.

I know those thoughts might not be true.

But when you constantly have to ask for something, it becomes difficult not to wonder why it never comes naturally.

And I don’t want to be loved only after I ask to be loved. I don’t want to have to explain every little thing that makes me feel special.

I want you to learn me, too.

I want you to notice the things that matter to me, even when I don’t say them.

Because sometimes, love is not about doing something because someone asked.

Sometimes, it’s about remembering because you know it would make them happy.

Still, I’m trying to understand you.

Maybe this is simply not how you express love.

Maybe you show it in ways I sometimes fail to notice.

And I don’t want one small thing to erase everything else you’ve done for me.

But I also don’t want to dismiss my feelings just because the thing that hurt me seems small.

Because it wasn’t really the absence of a story that hurt. It was the feeling behind it.

The feeling that if I stopped asking, maybe you would never do it.

And that scared me.

Because I don’t want to spend my time wondering whether you would choose me if I stopped reminding you that I wanted to be chosen.

I want to believe that I am someone you’re proud of.

Someone you’re happy to have. Someone you would reach for first, even if only sometimes.

And maybe that’s all I was asking for.

Not a post.

Not proof.

Not validation from everyone else.

Just a little reassurance from you.

A small reminder that I am loved—not because I asked for it, but because you wanted to make sure I felt it.

Because this love was never supposed to be a question.

And I hope, somehow, you understand that.

Sometimes the hardest thing is watching someone have the very thing you have been praying for in your entire life.

and what makes it even more painful is when they know but still chose to brag infront of you by saying

“Buti pa ako.”

It doesn’t feel like a harmless statement to me. It feels like they are comparing their blessings to the things I’m still waiting for or the things I never got to have.

And maybe they don’t realize how deeply their words affect me.

Maybe they think I’m just being sensitive. Maybe they think I’m jealous.

But they don’t know how hard it is to smile and say, “I’m happy for you,” while a small part of me is hurting inside.

And maybe that’s the ugliest part of it—to be genuinely happy for someone while quietly feeling sad for yourself.

I don’t want to take anything away from anyone.

That doesn’t make me bitter. It doesn’t make me jealous. It just makes me human.

I don’t want their happiness to disappear just because I’m hurting. I just wish people would understand that not every difference in our lives needs to become a comparison.

If you know someone is struggling with something, you don’t have to hide your happiness. But you can choose to be gentle with it.

You can celebrate what you have without making another person feel less fortunate for what they don’t have.

Because sometimes, the person listening to your “buti pa ako.” is already asking themselves, “Kailan naman kaya ako?”

And honestly, I’m learning to stop blaming myself for feeling hurt.

I’m allowed to feel sad.

I’m allowed to distance myself from things that trigger that sadness.

I’m allowed to protect my peace without wishing anything bad upon anyone.

Most importantly, I’m learning that someone else having what I’m praying for does not mean I will never have it.

Their timing is not my timing.

Their life is not my life.

And their blessings do not make me any less deserving of my own.

Maybe I’m still grieving. Maybe I’m still waiting. Maybe some days it still hurts more than I want to admit.

But I’m trying to remind myself that my story is still being written.

I don’t need to compete with anyone.

I don’t need to rush my life because someone else got there first.

And I certainly don’t need to feel ashamed for having a heart that sometimes hurts.

I just need to keep going, keep hoping, and trust that one day, I’ll have my own “buti pa ako” moment—not because someone else lost theirs, but because life finally gave me something I once thought I would never have.

"Jack of all trades, master of none" words that lingered with me long before I understood why.

I've always wanted to know everything.

To experience everything, to become everything could possibly be. Curiosity has always been both my gift and my burden.

I find myself drawn to every path, every skill, every unanswered question, yet I know I cannot walk them all.

and to think that all of them are worth trying every skill worth learning, every question worth chasing.

But somewhere along the way, my curiosity became uncertainty.

I wanted so many things that I no longer knew what I truly wanted to become. I reached for countless possibilities, hoping one of them would finally feel like home. Instead, I found myself standing between them all, unable to choose.

Sometimes it feels as though I was given the ability to learn many things, yet never enough time to master one. And I've always been afraid that in trying to become everything, I would end up becoming nothing in particular.

To the point that I don't even know what I want to be anymore.

You know, I hate the part of you that would let me walk away if I wanted to. Not because I want to walk away but because I expect you to hold me more.

Do I need to unlearn how to be seen for you to seek for me wholeheartedly?

and when I make you feel like you’re losing me I feel like I was losing you instead.

Why should I pretend to love less to be loved more?

Why do I need to disappear for you to feel my presence when you can love me while I’m here? Does neglecting my feelings does not hurt you anymore?

Sometimes I wonder why I have to walk away for you to feel my absence.

Why does my distance makes you reach for me when my closeness seems so easy to take for granted?

I don’t want to keep loving you through the constant fear that if I stop chasing, you’ll stop choosing me.

I don’t want live to feel like a game where I have to walk away to see if you’ll come after me.

I want to be wanted without having to become distance first. Why does loving you feel, like I have to push you away so you can pull me closer?

Maybe what hurts the most is knowing that you are capable of yearning for me whenever I started to leave. And it makes me wonder if you can miss me when I'm gone, why can't you cherish me while I’m here? because that’s what I did.

I cherished you while you are here.

I don’t want to keep testing whether you'll notice my absence. I want to feel your presence without having to create my own absence first.

I want to love that doesn’t require me to walk away to be pursued .

A love where I don't need to disappear just for you to need me. Because I'm tired of wondering if you only reach for me when you realized you were afraid of losing me.

I want to be loved not just missed.

And maybe that's the difference between us, because I hold you more when you are still here and you hold me more when I’m leaving.

People often forget that watermelons have white seeds.

They are so careful not to swallow the black ones, picking them out one by one,

while the white seeds pass unnoticed with every bite.

The black seeds are easy to see.

They look complete,

as if they have already become what they were meant to be. They are held up as proof that growth has reached its destination.

The white seeds rest quietly in the sweetness, still growing,

still finding their color, even in a watermelon already called ripe.

No one speaks of them.

Not because they matter less, but because eyes are often drawn to what seems finished.

Yet a seed does not lose its worth simply because it blooms later.

Some are celebrated for what they have become, while others are still becoming.

Both belong to the same fruit.

Both carry the same promise.

And by now, we all know that we are not talking about watermelons.

You hear a lot about anxious becoming avoidant, as if people only ever move toward less feeling, like emotions are a tide that always recedes. But no one talks about the opposite shift.

The avoidant becoming anxious.

The one who learned to need less can still learn what it costs to lose.

The one who learned early that needing is a kind of exposure-so they became skilled at distance, at silence that looks like peace, at being

"fine" in ways no one questions twice

Until something doesn't respond the way it used to.

The same distance that once felt like safety starts to feel like abandonment when it is no longer chosen.

And now they are the one refreshing the screen, the one rereading what was said, the one trying not to care and checking messages at 2 a.m. not because something changed, but because nothing did.

Not a transformation into someone new— just the old defenses meeting a new kind of fear:

not "if I get too close, I'll lose myself,"

but

"if I don't reach out now, I might lose you."

And somewhere in between those two fears, the person they built to stay safe and the person they didn't expect to become sit at the same table without speaking.

Promises are really some of the wisest words in the world.

Imagine being pursued by promises that we don't even know will come true.

Sometimes, we mistake manipulation for promises.

And yet, we cling to them-those sweet, fleeting words whispered in the dark, scribbled in messages, hidden between gentle touches and soft smiles. We hold them close to our chests like talismans, convincing ourselves that maybe, just maybe, this time they won't break us.

But promises, like people, are fragile things. They bend under pressure, shatter under doubt, and sometimes they're nothing more than pretty lies wrapped in hope. Maybe that's why we're so easily fooled-because hope makes fools of us all.

Still, we keep listening. We keep waiting.

Because despite the betrayals and half-truths, a part of us still wants to believe that not every promise is a trap.

That one day, someone's word will hold steady, and we won't have to wonder if we've been manipulated again.

I peeled my orange.

It wasn’t the smoothest peel, but I accepted it for what it was.

For a long time, I thought moving forward meant finding the right people to help me peel my oranges.

Oranges are my favorite, and sharing one has always felt like sharing a small part of myself.

I would share them with people I wanted to know me well, hoping they would understand me through the things I loved.

But today, I realized that life doesn’t revolve around people. Some stay, some leave, and some never fully understand the pieces of ourselves that we offer. Still, life goes on. The orange remains in my hands, waiting to be peeled.

Maybe moving forward isn’t about finding someone to do it with me. Maybe it’s about accepting that I can continue, even when no one is there to help.

And since the beginning, I was the only one who knew how to peel my oranges.

If I were Yeon-su, I would answer the same.

At first, I always wondered, how can an anxious person be the first one to leave?

I thought anxious people were supposed to hold on. To beg for reassurance, to stay even when things get difficult, to be terrified of losing the person they love. Because I am…

I am scared of losing people, my trauma response was always beg for them to stay.

But then I realized, when the world inside my head gets too heavy, I tend to let go of the person I always run to.

Not because I don’t want you to know what’s going on in my head, but because I don’t want you to stay in the middle of all the chaos. I don’t want you to get lost in the mess I’m trying to understand. And most of all, I don’t want my confusion hurt you.

and maybe in the middle of being too much that thought always came “I’d rather end it myself than wait for you to leave me.“

The uncertainty, the fear of rejection, and the constant fear of losing you eventually became unbearable. And there was a part of me that thought, I need to leave—not because I don’t love you, but because I don’t know how much longer I can keep hurting like this.

So sometimes I tend to leave first.

Not because you are the easiest thing to throw away but because you are the only one I have.

You were never the easiest thing I can throw away, and will never be. Because I know how much you mean to me. You were the only person I had. The only person I could run to, talk to and feel safe with.

You were the only person I had, but I was hurting so much that I couldn’t keep doing this. I push you while wanting you because I feel like staying hurts too much.

If you only knew how painful it was for me, as an anxious person, to tell you that we should break up.

How badly I wanted to take everything back the moment those words left my mouth because it hurt so much. I was the one who chose to leave, but somehow, I was also the one who cried when it finally became real.

And I think that’s the part people don’t always understand.

I can be the one who leaves and still be the one who doesn’t want to be left.

I can choose to walk away while every part of me is begging me to stay.

Maybe I left because I loved you enough to know that I wasn’t okay. I was afraid that if I kept you beside me while my mind was this chaotic, I would eventually hurt you.

And the thought of becoming the reason you get hurt scared me more than being the one who had to walk away.

So, Yeon-su, I think I finally understand you.

You weren’t throwing him away because he was easy to lose.

He was the only person you had to throw away.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

Sometimes, the person we love the most becomes the person we feel we have to let go of—not because we stopped loving them, but because we don’t know how to love them without hurting them.

I’m anxious, but I get you, Yeon-su.

Because sometimes, leaving isn’t what my heart wants.

It’s just what I convince myself I have to do.

In a room full of people peeling tangerines for you, I’d be the one peeling a pomegranate for you.

Not because tangerines are any less sweet,
 but because I learned how to stay
 where others leave quickly.

I would sit there, 
fingers stained red,
 patiently separating each aril,
 one by one, 
while the room wonders
 why I bother.

I loved you for years, quietly,
 in silence,
 in waiting that no one saw,
 in choosing you when there was nothing certain to hold on to
 except the feeling that you were still worth it. believing that some things are worth waiting for.

And even now,
when your hand already finds mine,


I still do it—

I’d peel another pomegranate for you tomorrow,
 and day after that,
 because we both know I’m not just talking about fruit.

And if love is a choice made over and over again, then I am still here,
 choosing you
 with stained fingers.

I don’t have patience, not for lines that move too slowly, not for waiting that has no meaning, but for you–

I find I do, like learning how to peel a pomegranate, slowly figuring out how to open it without breaking it apart,

How to reach what’s inside without rushing, the same way I learn you in depth, not all at once, but piece by piece, staying even

when it would be easier to stop, because knowing you and learning you both take time, and I am willing to take all of it.

So even if everyone else is willing to peel tangerines for you, I’ll be the quiet one still there— patiently peeling a pomegranate for you.

"The older I get the more I believe in the theory that you never run into people again once their cycle in your life is complete."

It was 3 am when I read the these.

And for some reasons it got me thinking about all the person from my past the one I never saw again after that last conversation, after the silence, after we stopped being part of each other's lives.

All of that just to be stranger in the same town.

Same place , same streets, memorized address and maybe even the same days we go out without meeting each other.

And yet somehow, I never saw them. But I wondered what if they saw me?

What if there were moments when our paths came close and I simply didn't noticed it but they did? What if they still know the smell of the shampoo  on my hair the perfume i used, the walk I did but never noticed?

What if they past somewhere I just left?  what if they saw me across the Street, inside the same bus? Or in a crowded place and I continued walking completely unaware of everything?

For years. I could say, I never saw them again.

But I could never truly say, They never saw me again.

And somehow, that distinction feels important.

Maybe the ending of a relationship, friendship isn’t always about people disappearing completely from each other’s worlds. Maybe sometimes it’s simply about no longer being aware of one another.

You can still exist under the same sky, breathe the same air, walk through the same town, and yet become strangers in the truest sense of the word.

Perhaps that’s what it means for a cycle to be complete.

Not that the person disappears.

Not that fate physically keeps you apart.

But that whatever was meant to happen between you has already happened.

The conversations are over.

The questions have been asked.

The memories have been made.

The goodbye has already happened—even if neither of you called it that.

And maybe life allows you to pass each other without knowing.

Maybe that’s its quiet way of saying:

You don’t need to go back.

I wonder if they ever saw me.

I wonder if, for a second, they recognized me.

I wonder if they felt anything.

Or maybe they simply kept walking.

And the fact that I will never know,  perhaps that’s the hardest and most peaceful part of it.

There are people whose lives will always have a small room somewhere inside ours, even after we no longer have a place in theirs.

Sometimes we don’t get another encounter.

Sometimes we don’t get another conversation.

Sometimes we don’t even get the certainty that we truly never crossed paths again.

We only get the silence, and eventually, we learn to let the silence be the ending.

Maybe some people aren’t meant to return.

Maybe some cycles don’t end with a final meeting.

Maybe they end with two people living under the same sky, unknowingly passing through the same world, until one day you realize:

You haven’t seen them in years.

And somehow, you’re okay with that.

crdts: the picture is from google maps 2014 in our town.

hindi ko nilalahat, pero karamihan, oo.

Kaya siguro binansagan na “Kabataan ang Pag-asa ng bayan” kasi kami ang maguunlad sa pamilya namin sa kahirapan. This became a tradition where an inheritance is not cash, title or anything material, but rather a responsibility.

Mas marami pa ang working student na nag-susuporta sa magulang kaysa sa mga magulang na sumasama sa college entrance exam ng anak nila.

there are working students who got to school during the day and work at night shift just to help put food on the table. Students should be worry about exams, deadlines and what we want to become someday, but instead we worry about bills, groceries, tuition and whether there will be enough money left when they get home.

There is a difference between helping your family because you want to and being forced to carry your family because you have no other choice.

We became the breadwinner, the one who provides and it hurts because we are still children too. It was always “Wala tayong pera” Instead of “Gawan natin ng paraan.” and whenever the problem came. sometimes it was “Problema mo na ‘yan.” Or “Gawan mo ng paraan.”

Kasi kung hindi ka kikilos kawawa ka.

so we learned how to survive. we learned to figure things out on our own. we learned that if we didn’t move wala kaming mararating. sarili lang namin ang dapat namin asahan. we never asked to be born yet we are here. without a plan, accident, early pregnancy and many other reasons. we never wanted an inheritance of responsibility we’re just born in it. sometimes the hardest thing isn’t working. It’s about seeing your youth disappear while telling yourself that you have no choice.

ikaw ang last card, kailangan ka ng pamilya mo, Hindi ka pwede mapagod.

sometimes I asked my self, why are we the ones suffering for the decision we never made? and maybe because even though we know we did everything we can, we can’t stop questioning ourselves if its worth it giving up your youth just to have a better future na hindi naman dapat ikaw ang nag-sasacrifice.

and maybe the greatest thing we can inherit from our parents isn’t the responsibilities they never got to finish, or the burdens they carried before us. Maybe it’s the courage to say,

“It ends with me.” To finally choose a different life, even when breaking a cycle feels harder than continuing it.

because we never asked for this life either. and I hope we stop romanticizing this kind of tradition where are kids was the one who needs to suffer just to get what life we want.

we shouldn’t spend our whole lives apologizing for wanting one of our own.

sana minsan ay naalala niyo pa din ako.

Pag-uwi ko galing eskwelahan, gutom ako.

Pagod din. Sobrang pagod. Gutom sa tiyan, pagod sa isip.

Kaya pagpasok ko, pagkain agad ang hinanap ko. May isang plato sa mesa. Isa lang.

Hindi ko kinain.

Hindi dahil ayaw ko. Hindi dahil hindi ko gusto yung pagkain. Hindi ko lang kinain kasi alam kong hindi para sa akin.

At ewan ko ba, parang kasabay na rin nun na nawala yung gutom ko.

“Si Ate mo muna ang kakain.”

Ang sakit pala marinig nun kapag buong araw kang walang laman ang tiyan.

Hindi ko naman sinabi na huwag siyang pakainin. Hindi ko naman gustong maagawan siya. Hindi ko naman hinihingi na ako ang piliin ninyo palagi.

Gusto ko lang sana maalala ninyo na gutom din ako.

Kaya sinabi ko na lang, “Hindi muna ako kakain. Matutulog muna ako. Pagod much.”

Akala ko makakapahinga na ako. Pero hindi pa pala. Marami pa akong narinig. Tahimik na lang akong nakinig kahit ang gusto ko lang naman talaga ay matulog at kalimutan na gutom ako.

Naiintindihan ko naman kayo, Ma.

Alam kong may dahilan kayo.

Alam kong may mga bagay na hindi ko naiintindihan.

At hindi ko naman hinihingi na pantayan ninyo kung gaano ninyo kamahal si Ate. Hindi ko hinihingi na lagi ninyo akong intindihin. Hindi ko rin hinihingi na bigyan ninyo ako ng pagmamahal na hindi ninyo kayang ibigay.

Pero bakit parang pati pagkain, kailangan ko pang matutong hindi humingi?

Bakit kailangan ko pang masanay na hindi ako ang nauuna?

Hindi ko naman kailangan ng maraming pagkain. Kahit isang kutsarang kanin lang. Kahit kaunti. Kahit tanungin niyo lang ako ng, “Kumain ka na ba?”

Siguro ang sakit lang kasi kahit sa simpleng bagay na pagkain, nararamdaman kong hindi ninyo ako naaalala.

At ang nakakainis, hindi naman ako galit dahil hindi ako nabigyan.

Nasasaktan ako kasi pakiramdam ko, kailangan ko pang ipaalala na anak ninyo rin ako.

Ma, hindi ko hinihingi na busugin ninyo ako sa pagmamahal at pag-unawa.

Kung hindi ninyo kayang gawin iyon para sa akin ngayon, okay lang.

Pero sana kahit sa pagkain na lang.

Kahit doon lang.

Kasi, Ma…

nagugutom din ako.

To be loved it to be known.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Pink,” I answered.

i was almost surprised by how easily the word left my mouth. It was such a simple question, yet it made me hold back my tears—not because of what he asked, but because of why he had to ask.

Three years.

long enough to memorize the scars on your hands. The mole on your body. The way your voice changes when you’re tired. The song you hum without realizing it.

Yet somehow, you never learned my favorite color.

It remained a detail too small to stay with you.

It was never about the color.

It was about realizing that love can listen without truly hearing. That love alone doesn’t always mean someone genuinely sees you.

It was never the question itself.

It was about the pieces of me I gave away so effortlessly—the things I said out loud, again and again.

Maybe that’s why I feel like I keep meeting a stranger every time I look at you.

because while I spent years learning every version of you, you never paused long enough to know mine.

I wasn’t waiting for you to ask.

I was waiting for you to remember.

to finally notice me. Because I do.

i remember the little things about you

the things you forgot you ever told me. I noticed you in ways you never realized.

I only wished, even once, that you had noticed me too.

I asked you what was wrong, but you never answered.

So I told myself maybe you just needed space. I tried to understand.

I waited.

Fourteen long hours passed, and not a single message came from you.

I kept reaching out, even when my pride begged me to stop. I wasn’t asking for a perfect answer. I just needed a little reassurance. Just one message to let me know you were okay,

or that you still wanted me, even if you needed time alone.

Why was that so hard?

Why couldn’t you simply tell me, “I need some space,” instead of leaving me alone with my thoughts? You know how anxious I get. You know what silence does to me. You know it makes me question everything.

But you still said nothing.

Then you came back as if nothing had happened, while I was still trying to put myself back together.

The whole time you were gone, I kept staring at my phone. I refreshed our conversation more times than I could count, hoping your name would finally appear.

Every notification made my heart race. Every time my phone rang, I hoped it was you.

It never was.

I don’t understand why your way of finding peace is by getting away from me.

Because when I’m hurting, all I want is to be closer to you.

Maybe that’s the difference between us.

When life gets heavy, I run to you.

When life gets heavy for you, you run away from me.

Sometimes I wonder if you’re so calm because you know I’ll always come back. Because you know I love you enough to forgive you, even when I’m the one left crying.

Or maybe you know I love you more than I love myself.

I don’t want to believe that’s true.

I just wish, for once, that loving me felt as urgent to you as loving you has always felt to me.

I never wanted you to stop needing space.

I just wanted you to remember that while you were finding yours, I was losing mine.

And maybe that’s the part you’ll never understand.