Tag: life

Workshop Letter of Intent

Submitted an hour later.

Instead of dilly-dallying on how to sell yourself in the “best image” imaginable, just went brutally honest and get on with it. I am even not a good writer in Filipino, so I opted to write in english / taglish instead.

29 November 2025

Dear Ricky Lee and the Workshop working team,

I wish to attend the workshop because I want to learn about scriptwriting and the best practices to apply the life experiences through the script. So far, I am only able to creatively write these sensibilities through the essays I publish in my personal blog, and do some letter-writing to an imaginary person to expand whatever I have in my mind.

In addition, I want expand my social capital and finally, advocate for myself.

You see, I may be a straight woman, but with the current trends of social political climate and men being asses, I desire a “lavender relationship” — a woman being committed to a gay man. Kahit manlalaki pa sya sa labas, ang mahalaga, sa akin uuwi. At pareho naming pagkukwentuhan kung bakit ang gagago ng mga kapwa lalaki sa panahon ngayon. I do have a goal in mind since my 39th birthday, and aside from submitting this entry, is to write to Marvin Agustin and introduce myself, offering whatever I have as a self-sustaining middle class corporate slave, and finally take a step to get to know the creative people behind the show business and expand my network and tackle the desires of my heart.

Wala kasing ganito sa corporate. Lahat gusto kang anakan.

And maybe this is way beyond the usual reasons for applying to your workshop, I do want to gain experience and networks to finally having this creative pursuit as a retirement career from the daily corporate grind of being a Fund Accountant.

Thank you for considering my application.

Yours truly,

MARIA ELLA BETOS, CPA

Then I attached my Creative Nonfiction about my hike in Mt. Pulag and kind of let them what I know about writing. But then again, the letter of intent is as polarizing as my romantic POV in that essay of seeing that happiest thing happened to date. Wala pa ring tatalo sa isang kilo ng bigas. Kung meron man, it will be that black credit card (and that needs to be written as another entry, but I can’t. Because if I write about it, I don’t own that happy story anymore… it will be the world’s.)

Punch at Pat’s

“Dali, Z! Drive this car out!”
“Ito na, ito na!!! Si sir, kumusta? BAKIT TAYO MAY DALANG DUGUAN?!”
“Nakakaawa kasi siya eh. Itakbo lang natin saglit sa PGH, Isaglit lang natin ito. Mahimasmasan man lang at matignan ko. Kahit sa student quarters.”
“Anong matingnan?! Hindi ka pa lisensyado, gurl! You are still a med student!!!”
“Z wag ka nang maingay please, ang first aid ko nandun sa ospital. Andun ang gamit ko. Hindi naman dadaang OPD. ER agad, ako na titingin, ganun.”
“Gurl, bakit ba kasi binitbit pa natin yan?! Tignan mo ‘tong si Lis, namumutla na rin. Don’t tell me dalawa silang gagamutin mo?”
“Z – STOP. Okay girls, sandali.”

Kumalma nga kayo.
Iba talaga kapag mga babae ang mga kasama mo, hindi alam ang mga sinasabi minsan.

“Girls. 1. Si sir, conscious, okay? He hears us. Lasing lang, pero nakakapagsapak. And 2. He saved me, kargo ko siya. So, if you don’t want to help, fine. Magtataxi ako dala-dala ko ‘yan siya.”

“OKAY OKAY JESS OKAY ITO NA NGA OH DADALHIN NA NATIN. LIS OKAY KA LANG, HA? UMINOM KANG TUBIG, MERON DYAN SA GLOVE COMPARTMENT. ITO NA NAGDA-DRIVE NA! AFTER NITO, IHAHATID KO SI LIS PAUWI.”
“Thank you.”

Umuugong ang Never the Strangers playlist ni Z. Kahit papaano, nakakatulong siya para manatiling gising ang lalaking kasama namin. I don’t need saving, sana. Nakapantalon at naka-long sleeve ako. May dala akong jacket. May kasama akong mga kaibigan. Pero minsan talaga sa pagka-machismo ng pagkakataon,muntikan pa akong mabiktima ng sexual assault. Mabuti na lang itong sira ulo na ‘to, kahit lasing, eh nagpaka-knight in shining armor.

Yun lang. Pagkasapak, nasapak pabalik.

Hay. Men.

Nice set, Jessica Patrimonio. Sakto, bukas, may reporting plus duty. Minsan na nga lang maglamyerda, ganito pa. Ano ba naman kasing itong si Z, akala ko hanggang balwarte lang ng Maynila ang aming Girl’s Night Out. Umabot pa talaga ng kyusi. Langya. Isa pa itong si Lis, nagpapaka-Laco. Kung hindi pa aaluin ni Z at kung wala pang dalang sasakyan, hindi pa sasama. Tapos kung saan kakain, eh di ayun, sa bar ko raw. Jess & Pat’s. As if naman ako ang may-ari, dahil pinaikling pangalan ko lang yung lugar.

Patawa ‘tong dalawang ‘to.

“Hi, Z!”
“Gurl, finally, nakawala ka sa hawla mo! Kumusta naman sa ospital? Good thing I waited here in Café Adriatico.”
“Eto, pagod. Palagi naman. Ito nga ako, may eyebags na tinubuan ng mata.”
“HAHAHAHA Girl, you still look stunning. Maswerte magiging boa mo kapag nakilala ka. You both have the beauty and brains! Proud kaya ako sa iyo, girl.”

“Hah, thanks. Si Lis?”
“Asa class pa raw siya. I just want to treat you a coffee overload because I want to invite you somewhere.”
“Ha? Saan ito?”
“May extra kang damit? Tara gig! Matagal na akong fan ng set na ito eh. Sud, at saka yung Flips.”

“Alam mo Z yang mga kinakaabangan mong boyband minsan –”
“Girl, let me tell you something: they are not a boyband! Just. Band.”
“I don’t like the vibe of these men. Hindi ko alam. Nakita ko sila sa twitter. Maingay yung issue sa kanila.”
“Don’t listen to them, they create good music because they are good.”

“What? Good manipulators?”
“Jess, wag OA. Huwag kang papa-manipulate kasi if ayaw mo. Laro-laro lang yan. Maunang mahulog, talo. Wait, I’ll call Lis. She needs convincing that the place we are going is safe. Stay put, order some Americano.”

Showbiz by Never the Strangers
An Excerpt

Sumama ka na sa akin
Dahil bihirang dumating ang pagkakataon
Gusto mo bang mag showbiz
Iwan ang dati mong buhay
Para sa di tiyak na hinaharap

Handa ka na ba magshowbiz
Lumapit ka pa sa camera
Ito ang una mong pelikula

PutanginaHAHAHAHAH

Nice.
Nakakaloko rin itong playlist mo, Z.
Nakakaloko rin yang bandang yan. Hah. If I know, isa rin sila sa mga gossips underground na dawit sila sa mga enabler ng sexual assault. Hindi ko lang alam ha, pero, Diyos ko, kasalanan ba yung maging kaaya-aya ang hitsura mo? Wala naman akong suot na revealing o ano. Maayos ako manamit. Malinis rin akong manamit. Hindi man ako perpekto, pero hindi ako yung mga babaeng naka-pekpek shorts basta may coachella. Pantalon na ang suot ko, may dala nga akong jacket, di ba? Pero putangina. Sa sobrang bait at accommodating ko rin kasi minsan, hindi ko namamalayan hinahalayan na pala ako ng isang basista after ng second set. Ang inosente naming tatlo na nanonood –

Fuck naman, minsan na nga lang ako mag-unwind.

Ayan sir, pumipikit-pikit ka. That is a good sign. You are battling the need to sleep and the pain. Quezon Ave na tayo, lampas na tayo ng Sto. Domingo. Hindi ko lang alam ha, pero kapag naaaninag ka ng dilaw na ilaw sa madaling araw, pogi ka pala. Kahit sira ulo. Gusto kong magpasalamat pero kailangan muna natin i-check ang mukha mo. Sayang, minsan lang ako makakita ng kaaya-ayang tanawin sa PGH. Ayos rin ang waze ni Z. Legit runway ang mga daan ngayon – pagkalabas ng Maginhawa, dere-derecho ang Quezon Ave, Welcome, España, Lerma, Lacson at Taft. She knows her logistics, lalo na’t kapag trapik. I commend her road-savvy skillsets in exploring the insides of the Sampaloc community nang bumiyahe kami mula PGH during primetime.

“Miss, alam mo, kahit hubarin mo jacket mo, okay lang, hindi naman malamig.”
“Okay lang po ako, thanks.”

“May number ka?”
“…”
“Ilang taon ka na, miss?”
“…”
GET OUT OF THIS PLACE, Jess.
Z, look at me. PLEASE Z LOOK AT ME.
Lis, I NEED HELP PLEASE LOOK AT ME.

“Miss, may boyfriend ka na?”
Jess, you can walk away. Kaya mong lumaban.
You know Krav Maga, or at least, remember some methods.
Jess, have courage. WALK AWAY.

“Miss, subukan mo ngumiti kapag tutugtog na kami sa last set. Hindi ako yung singer pero magaling akong mag-bang. Hehehe”
“…”
OH MY GOD THIS MAN FUCK KAYA MO SYANG BALIBAGIN, JESS.
BUT CHOOSE TO WALK AWAY.

“Miss, what’s your name? Nagsisimula ba sa letter J?”
WHAT IN THE FUCK IS –
“Janice? Jasmine? Jas? Jes?”
“…”
“Oh, Jes? I saw your surprised eyes. Jes, the name alone got me excited. Nakaka-inspire tumugtog.”
STOP TOUCHING MY HAIR STOP TOUCHING MY FACE STOP IT STOP IT WALK AWAY JESS SHUT UP YOU MONSTER PLEASE SAVE ME SAVE ME ANYONE PLEASE LOOK AT US LOOK THIS WAY!!!

“Nice music paps, pero tanginamo!”
HARD PUNCH YUN. BLAG. GRABE. YEAH, HE DESERVED IT.

“Putangina mo at sa mga katulad mong magaling mambiktima tangina mo kasama ka sa mga kalipunan na nanggagago ng mga estudyante ko.”

“Hey, stop. Wala na syang malay. Tutugtog pa raw sya!”

“Tugtog nya bayag nya! Okay ka lang?”
“Ha?
“Pareng paradox is what they call me.”
“Ha?”
“Minsan, sir Araullo. Nagtuturo kasi –”

“SIR!!!”
“Sapakan pala gusto mo! Pre, ano?”
“Tama na!!!”
“Jess?!?!”
“Z LET’S GO!!!”

Sir, wait lang, huwag kang matutulog. Huwag na huwag, malapit na tayo! Nasa Lacson bridge na, ilang lipad na lang ni Z sa kotse. Kausapin ko kaya si sir?

“Hi.”
“Hi. Pero wait lang po sir, huwag ka muna magsalita, may sugat ka pa.”
“Okay ka lang, miss?”
“Okay ako, salamat.”
“Wallet ko. Right pocket. Andun ang ID ko.”
“Okay, okay.”

“Okay ka lang ba? Hindi ka ba nagkaka-anxiety? Tremors, or anything?”
“Narito naman ang mga kaibigan ko, nakabantay rin sa akin. Okay na ako. Ikaw?”
“Ito, duguan.”
“Sir naman, nagawa mo pang magbiro.”

“Stop calling me sir, hindi kita estudyante.”
“Ha? Sabi mo kasi –”
“Sid. Ako si Sid. Gusto ko munang matulog, nahihilo ako.”
“Wait lang malapit na tayo nasa Faura na tayo!”

“Saan tayo papunta?”
“I need to check your head. Ide-derecho kitang ER.”
“Ha? Ospital?”
“Oo, Sid. PGH. Asa ER na tayo.”

Poetics: lumang akda, nilapat ko ito noong pandemic lockdowns kasi gusto kong subukan sumulat ng maikling kwento o dagli na dadaan sa kahabaan ng Espanya hanggang kamaynilaan. Sinubukan kong sumulat nang walang quotation marks, pero hindi ko pa kasi kilala si Sally Rooney nang nilikha ko ito, kaya mas pinili kong may quotes para mas accessible sa batang mambabasa ang pagbagtas sa mga daan at sa mismong kwento. Isa pa, ginawa ko ang kwentong ito habang nakikinig sa kantang Alive ng Never the Strangers — mga tatlong oras on-loop. Maganda ang ritmo ng kanta sa bawat tipa at paglabas ng adrenalin rush sa akda.

Diary Entry ng isang Watsons Saleslady

15 Agosto 2025. Biyernes. Alas sais ng umaga. Maulan.

Minsan naiisip ko kung ang pagsusulat ng ganito ang paraan para hindi makalimot. Pero sige na nga. Tatlong araw na akong absent at kailangan ko nang pumasok. Maaga naman akong nagising. Maaga rin ang ulan. Dinig ko ‘yung patak sa yero, parang paulit-ulit na paalala na hindi pa rin tapos ang gabing iyon. Dito sa maliit kong bahay sa Pinedang looban, kahit ang ulan parang may ingay ng galit. Binunot ko ang palanggana mula sa ilalim ng lababo. Hindi ‘yung plastik na puti. Yung isa. Yung stainless. Malamig sa kamay. Mabigat. Parang may memorya.

Noong isang araw, doon siya nilagay. Isang nilalang na hindi pa buo, hindi pa lumalaban.
Nilapag ng nurse sa loob ng palanggana, parang basang piraso ng karne. Walang tunog, pero sa isip ko, rinig na rinig ko ang kalampag — ‘yung tunog ng laman sa bakal.

Plak. Gano’n ba talaga ang tunog ng kamatayan?

Ngayon, nilagyan ko ng tubig ‘yung palanggana. Nilabhan ko ‘yung panty kong may natuyong dugo, ‘yung T-shirt kong may bahid ng sugat galing sa ER. Pati ‘yung bra na pinunit niya noong gabi bago ‘ko tumakbo paospital. Hindi ako nagpasundo. Wala rin naman akong matatawagan. Wala akong kapamilyang malapit. Takot din ang mga kapitbahay. Tinibayan ko ang loob ko at mag-isang umuwi mula Rizal Medical, buti na lang at malapit.

Pero kamakailan lang, tumawid ako sa mismong overpass, gabing-gabi, habang hawak ‘yung puson kong parang pinupunit sa loob. Sa ilalim ng ilaw ng poste, tinangka pa niyang habulin ako. Naririnig ko pa boses niya habang tumatakbo ako: “’Wag kang maarte, ikaw may kasalanan nito!” Gusto ko siyang sigawan, sabihing, “Hindi ako makina!” Pero wala na kong boses. Naiwan na sa bahay.

Pagdating ko sa ospital, duguan na ‘yung shorts ko. Tinanong ako ng nurse kung ilang buwan na. Limang buwan, ‘ka ‘ko. Walang luhang lumabas.

Mula kagabi, dama ko pang parang wala na akong tubig sa katawan. Nilabhan ko na lahat sa luha. Habang kinukusot ko ‘tong panty, naiisip ko ‘yung tunog ng pagkakalapag sa palanggana. Parang hindi siya nawawala. Parang sumasabay sa bawat kusot. Plak. Plak. Plak. Kahit wala na siya, parang naririnig ko pa rin ang paghinga niya, kung meron man.

Hindi ako pumasok kahapon sa Watsons. Pero ngayon, kailangan na. 3-day sale. Nag-text si Ma’am Liza kagabi: “Pumasok ka bukas, kulang sa tao.” Walang tanong kung kumusta ba ako, o kung ayos lang ako. Wala rin naman akong maisasagot.

Magmi-makeup ako mamaya. Light lang. Para matakpan ‘yung pasa sa ilalim ng mata. ‘Yung gasgas sa labi. Sa counter, babati ako ng, “Ma’am, may card po kayo?” kahit ang gusto ko talagang itanong ay, “Ma’am, may pakialam po ba kayo?”

Wala.

Itinapon ko na ‘yung tubig. Itinabi na ang palanggana. Pero alam ko, sa susunod na gabi, baka magamit ko ulit siya. Baka hindi para maglaba. Baka ako naman ang ilagay doon.

Pero hindi pa ngayon.

Ngayon, kailangan ko pang magsuklay. Mag-sanitize ng tester. Magpahid ng lip tint.

At ngumiti.

Kasi wala namang bonus sa pagdurusa. Pero may kaltas sa late.

Poetics: Hinarabas ko ito nang magpost si Nap Arcilla ng isang patimpalak sa facebook. Ang criteria ng dagli: palanggana. Hanggang ngayon, wala akong balita kung nanalo ba ako o anuman. Sayang. Pero minsan, naiisip ko rin ang mga minimum-wage earner katulad ni Ate sa Watsons.

A Love Letter from an Anxious-attached Woman with a Manic Episode

Dearest M,

How is your recent life in Idaho? And why are you not texting me? Do you enjoy your trips on that other side of the world?

So. In the next days of our lives, we shall spend in silence? Like minding ourselves be sucked in our respective worlds, watching our own interests in a nook called a mobile phone? What about the conversations that we used to have? When I tried to engage in sharing my stories, you just dismiss it with a humorless jest, and making it repetitive, a routine unconscientiously performed after days—fuck it, months—of absence?

It feels convoluted, meeting this person.

Does this mean that I learn to settle in this dynamic that bears no joy, not even a high, “for now”?

Intellectualize this: Were you an absent partner on your previous marriage, resulting to a third party you caught in the act? If yes, most likely, your history will repeat itself. You are now on the brink of reprising the role your absent father did to your mother.

And its absence lingered on this timeline.

I miss you.
I am sorry for being this destructive and resentful. It is tough managing an avoidant.

I love you.
But sometimes, I do not love you because of what we have now.
“Out of sight, out of mind.”

And I do not want to hate myself for it. I guess this is how our love works, right?

Sometimes, the kilig comes as a huge tsunami wave whenever you come home and we share the silent space together, and yet, sometimes I am resenting that same silence whenever we independently face our own struggles.

I think this is our kind of love, right? And after all these years, I am still navigating this with sonder and wonder that maybe our storyline is not as unique as the others. Maybe, we have that sentiment that is transcendent, like the novels that we read.

Maybe at the end of the day, loving is about choosing.

And even though moments hurt and memories fade, I choose you.

Break or no break,
E.

Poetics: Actual submission to the JFF25 contest in facebook page. I hope to win free tickets or anything. If I don’t win, meh, then you see my thought process in my current struggle of not seeing my date in the last five months of our lives.

Movement and Memento

Book Review of All The Lonely People by Kannika Claudine Peña

In one of our kotse chronicles, dok bb mentioned that he doesn’t cry much because his tear ducts are tinier than any other person. Instead, whenever he feels like crying, it was his runny nose doing the deed. Whenever he feels deep sadness, he said, “kinokotse ko lang. huling hagulgol ko ay yung huling heartbreak ko eh.” I guess at least with movement, he can find his release (without judging his runny nose and his huge mess of used tissue paper).

Movement and mementos are the big themes in Kannika’s first novel of remembering loss and its adjacent emotions of grief, and how we have found ourselves looking for a company to share our loneliness with. With company comes empathy and reason, and may it not be a concrete form of happiness, but rather a release and a relief. Then hope. After all, hope if what gives us tenacity to brave the rage we experience everyday in the Metro.

Mandirigmang imortal, amirite?

If you are burned out from the daily life of the Metro, this time may not be a perfect chance to read the novel. Maybe this book is meant for people who wanted to enjoy the slow days in their homes, or want to relish the feeling of rawness of emotions. I can only opine on my reading experience, since I finished the whole book during the hours when the Globe Internet is down in Pasig area.

The six stories in the novel were done in a “hand-off” fashion, where the omniscient POV is moved from one character to another, its main goal is to share their little sob story. At the center of it all is Marya, and her own history of loss and longing for company, her sentiments poured out to the Lost and Found Logbook of the old Apartelle where she is currently working (and living in).

What I liked about the novel is how the story weaves and how it pulls the emotions out of me. I feel that my chest hurt everytime I read a snippet of their sad histories, and at some instances, I see my persona as a composite from the characters in the novel. I reflected at the what-ifs (like, if I was Gemma, will I still be ok managing my mother if she has Alzheimer’s?) I even see my work colleague in Cindy’s story. I loved how relatable the stories are.
Also, the author has effectively inserted her criticisms in our love for sad tropes (“Sadness that sells because it’s everyone’s sadness”), the dismal commute and horrendous traffic (“This city has no time for your heartbreak. So you move on”), and her leeway to explain why there are tendencies to romanticize this chaotic city (“But perhaps she’s looking for a way to feel again”). The universality of stories and the feelings it evoked within me are remarkable. For less than 30 pages, I shed my tears as if the loss was my own. Good thing I don’t have dok beside me because it is hard to explain why are you crying over a page you just read.

I think what wanes the reading experience for a bit is my introduction to Cindy’s story. It felt abrupt. It’s the sudden insertion, nothing weave-like. I was so used to the chaotic EDSA or slower moments in Pasay (where I think Via is from), and then Cindy opened her story with “Pillow crease on face.” The momentum faltered from there. And just before the novel ended, the connection was made too convenient. Also, I personally felt that the stories of queer characters (Jona and Dan Ian, respectively) are tokens of inclusivity. Nonetheless, they are relevant stories. Including their snippets means that all of us walk and manage the loneliness of everyday.

What redeemed me in the end is the seemingly magical realism / romantic narrative at the bus station that even I (as the reader) was rooting for. That was so effective! It feels like watching the final sequence of Kimi No Nawa, two total strangers on the different lines of trains getting off on stations abruptly and meeting at the Suga Shrine.

“It’s possible to be content with whatever and whoever is right there, even and especially with the knowledge that they will soon be gone, that nothing lasts forever—love, happiness, but also heartbreak, sadness, pain.” And I thank this novel for giving me back my reading groove again, after managing the more challenging novels at the first half of the year. Thanks to Kannika for giving me a chance to slow down and just cry it out and breathe.

Sa baba ay ang Universal Robina at ang C5

A Little Letter A Minute After Three

Hello, what is Meta Professional mode? I just intend to keep the followers and friends from the past to be updated with whatever’s happening with me. Suddenly, tadah! There are offers for ads and “subscribe to Meta Verified”.

How is me, you wonder? Heto, pagod.

In the wee hours of morn, I am eating my leftover ramen while trying my best to finish the books I am currently reading (for Pinoy Reads Pinoy Books and Nakita sa Booksale pero Hindi Binili). I wasn’t able to write creatively at the moment since my mind is vexed from frustrations of the Corporate, topped with difficult Market movements of Late-stage capitalism and looming anxiety of 5 days onsite expected later this year.

I miss my amigas. We only touch-base in our group chats. I miss the PRPB after-parties and/or walwal nights. And I miss the moments when I can just grab my bag and hike Benguet mountain ranges, or go to Palawan to feel the sea breeze. I may live in a “ivory tower” away from the floods, but I am not invincible not to feel lonely (or be out of touch with reality. yet. I guess?)

You can actually see my bogsa moments in my instagram stories, my older entries in my personal website. Tiktok contents are stale. Maybe I can put a video out sometime this weekend.

I hope you are okay, dear friend. I may be TTTHHHHIIIISSSS tired, but I make a point to set a time to destress. I hope you do, too. Take care of your health. With leptospirosis and coughs and colds around us, I hope you get yourself some vitamins. Don’t forget to drink water. And never forget to rest.

Because when we rest, we dream. And the further we dream, we envision.

And then, we rage against the machine.

Zero Visibility

C5 and Ilog Pasig at Rainy Afternoon

Hinihintay humupa ang bulong ng
malakas na ulan nang biglang
umugong ang kulog
sa condo na walang katao-tao.
Lahat sila’y nakalusong,
bumibiyahe kasama ang
ingay ng trapik, mga businang
may badya ng pag-aalala.

Naghihintay ako
hanggang alas-kwatro,
titiyempuhin na tumigil
ang alburoto.

Sana ngayong hapon, makapasok ako.
Kung hindi, wala. Work from Home.

Poetics:

I woke up and I saw the rain. Took a photo and drafted something to get the worry out of my system.

Halaman Sa Balkonahe

Nasanay na ako sa paghimbing sa
gabing may minsanang busina ng mga trak
at alingawngaw ng ambulansa
at alert ng mga pulis,
pero nagulat ako nang bigla
kang pumunta sa aking espasyo
para hanapin ang isang bulalakaw.

“Paano magkakaroon ng Lyrid shooting stars
sa siyudad kong polluted na ng mga
ilaw ng condo at billboard ang panganorin?”
Maya-maya, bigla ka na lang lumuha.
Naku, unscheduled breakdown mo ba?
Natawa lang ako na bumalik ka pa sa loob para
kunin ang iyong relaxing chair at isang bote ng tubig.
Iniayos ang upuan at mesa sa tabi ko—
At tangan mo na ang malinaw na likido.
Hindi siya kulay gintong inuming kapangalan mo.

Heto na ang ating therapy session.

Poetics:

Nothing much. I only showed how I compartmentalize my struggles in living the concrete jungle where dreams are made of.

Weekend Doomscroll

Boat of aid to Gaza
“Can Thunberg swim well?”
With Jet2 holidays you can save 50 pounds per person!
I have a partner I wanted to fcuk hard
but so out of reach, so far away.
I see a wrinkle in my eye—
a permanent mark, to where I show my smile.
With the Statue of Liberty in the background,
I realized the ferry was free.
Zohran Mamdani for Mayor in NYC,
Catching up with memes,
at katok sa pinto. Tao sa tao.
Kampanyang ala-Leni Robredo.

Sa kabila ng kawalan ng Pinoy
as IG reels representative ng boycott,
Namumutiktik sila sa Facebook.
Habang pinuputakte ng Zionist
at bashers at troll farmers
ang targeted ads na pusa
at NCAP at mga pagtatakip sa plate ng sasakyan.
May bago na palang taxi mula sa Vietnam.
Kung saan tayo ang dating nagtuturo
ng pagpapalay, at pagbibigas, sila na
ang nag-eexport ng expertise
sa patuloy na lumulubog
na Pilipinas.

Ruby-chan! Hai! Nani ga suki?
Pinatay muna ang social media.
Nagtungo sa messenger,
nakita ang balita.

May isang kaibigang
tumigil ang mundo.
Binisita ko nitong
nakaraang linggo,
at ang nakita ko ay pagkakabuklod,
ng mga kaanak, kaibigan,
at akong random classmate
ng isang yumao.
Hindi ko alam kung ang pagtutula(ng ito)
ay makapagbigay hustisya
sa mga nakaraang araw ng pahinga.

Nagulat ako at nagising:
Tanghali na.
Lunes na (naman!)

Poetics:

This is my tiktok and IG and facebook last weekend, with a touch of me-time cooking left-overs and ganking in ML. I visited a high school classmate and I felt fear and loneliness because I was a very extrovert, but now with a bookish community being broken about the issues with the Philippines as the Guest of Honor in Frankfurt Buchmesse, I don’t even know where to start building a community again. Maybe I was outrageous of it being broken, or I overthink too much. Maybe all I need to do is to reach out to friends who can help me when I get old, and visit them and talk to them heart-to-heart.

That visit of the dead made me think if I invested enough, or should I start caving in again and be ready. Sigh, is this what the midlife crisis is? Or maybe another episode of existential dread…?