To my 25 year old self

How many years has it been? Right, 7 long years. How are you? Don’t answer me with “I’m fine.” You know you hate it when you open your Messenger, ask someone that very same question and all you get is, “I’m fine.” Because the truth is that whenever you come to someone’s chatbox, you don’t want it to end with, “Oh. I’m fine too.” You’ve always hated everything trivial. You hate being asked about the weather and stuff like that. Trivial. You’ve always wanted to experience deep conversations. You want to close that chatbox having learned something about that person. But no one really understood the question, did they? Remember how your English teacher always taught you how to answer back to that question? She told you to tell them that you’re fine. We both know it was just part of the etiquette. We both know you’re supposed to say that even if deep inside you aren’t. We both know that deep inside even if you longed for such conversations, you’re secretly hoping that they answer what we were taught to answer so that you won’t be forced to carry their burden.

Welcome to Your Grave

Welcome to this generation
Where it’s more shameful to have not lost one’s virginity,
Where corruption is more prevalent in classrooms,
And teaching is no longer a respected profession,
Where children trust their friends more than their parents,
And you can no longer speak for yourself because the way you dress determines whether you’re a slut or an innocent.

To the child at heart

I want to grow up but I can’t.

I feel like a child trapped within this seventeen year old self.

Living for the fairy tales I grew up knowing.

For the daydreams and shooting stars that would turn wishes into reality.

For the kisses that heal the boo-boos that try to hurt me.

The Queen’s Ballroom

I always thought that my words were like a prince.

Us, dancing around to an arbitrary secret melody in a ballroom where all the chandeliers are replaced with my thoughts.

To you who I have long forgotten

I longed for the day when it was not your name I wanted to find in the list of unread messages on Facebook.

I longed for the day when I would look at you and I won’t feel the butterflies wanting to escape from the stomach of delusions in order to deliver the message of me wanting you more than anything.

Papa’s tears

I wonder if papa ever cried.

Sometimes when papa is in the bathroom, I wonder if he let his tears fall like I do as he suppress the voices of pain so that mama won’t have to worry about him too.

Dear sister, I hate you

I wanted to be everything you’re not.

I wanted to be another distinct definition of me, not a me related to a sister like you.

You were like a chandelier in the parties and little get-togethers.

You were a beam of positivity, a golden ray of beauty, a multi-talented sister who was anything but me.

A Letter to the Man I will Marry in the Future

Who knows who you are?

Science tells me that I would know you by the way you smell and the world tells me I will know you because I will feel this sudden rush of excitement and joy when I see you.

I sat today amidst my study session pondering how our relationship would be. I was wondering whether my current seatmate may be the guy I actually marry or maybe I am bound to marry the best friend I have known to “love” for the past five years of my life.

Have I been wasting my time with them when I should’ve been with you?

A Letter to the Person whom she’ll never have

She has never experienced something so wonderful it feels like magic.

But she knows it was more than that. It was something undefined. It was something more. There was no word for it. Surely, there was none. Even supercalifragilisticexpialidocious couldn’t satisfy the depth of its meaning.

When we Ended in Goodbyes

It was never about me…

I was there when you need me…

To help you each night…

To join you in your pain…

Even if I cry in your goodbyes…