"You look happy when you talk about films," she told me, despite knowing that I work as a lawyer, a profession one cannot associate with the arts. She, herself, is taking up chemical engineering although her real passion is creating virtual reality. Her parents want her to be an engineer. But her eyes glistens as well when she talks about art. I guess you can find yourself in others even milea away from home; and you leave that self behind as well.
Six days here and so far, less pleasant than I have expected. The weather isn't suited for my backpacking lifestyle (or the other way around because I was stupid to think that I can brave the winter with only a few sweaters on). I can't seem to take my eyes off my phone, constantly bombarded by the stupidity of the land I will come back to the day after tomorrow. I am frustrated. Things have been going out of my way recently. I can't seem to shake the bad things away. I can't seem to run away from it. Here I am, thousand of kilometers away from my bed, and the anxiety and melancholia still creep in, much more in the middle of the night where the room is cold from its emptiness. 

I am headed to Seoul today. I lost track of time and was unaware that it is Saturdal. All of the trains are fullybooked. I got a standing ticket instead. This sucks. An hour in, I was squatting on the floor, in the middle of train 15 and 16, with no view of the passing trees and mountains, and a heavy backpack to mind. 

Out of nowhere, an old lady gave us, the crowd inside the standing carriage, caramel candies. It was the simplest of gesture. It might even be natural for the old lady. But it is the highest point of my trip. Cramped among locals and exhausted with no sense of comfort in sight, I think I finally found meaning in this trip. 

Nov. 27, 2017

The temperature is below zero here, and I am stuck in the middle of a town where bus signs are in a language I used to know a decade ago. I just saw a guy order an iced coffee. The idea of putting something cold in between my lips terrifies me now more than ever. The warmth, I need some warmth.

To (all of) you

Devour my lips, but don’t trust the words that come from it. I am good with words. Like a spider, intricately spinning its web, with no other purpose but to catch a prey.

(Just because I’ve been on several dates lately. And I’m still afraid of what I’m capable/incapable of. *cue Robyn’s Hang With Me*)


In the early hours of the year, I told myself I will not salivate over unopened boxes of condom or envy the boy who tossed himself off to every man on the street. I said I will seek more meaningful sex; an adieu to the constant bullshit to seek attention through grinding with no single man.

It lasted for more than a month.

The night was majestic in Zambales. All the surfers were dead tired and the tourists drunk but the scent of the wind is inviting- salty from the waves pounding the shore, calming from the absence of pollution in the air. We were drunk, probably high. He grabbed me in the communal bathroom. I almost caved in only to be saved, thankfully, by a guy who only wanted to embrace the banality of the bathroom.

The drinking continued in the shore, where campers blissfully basked at the roundness of the moon; the heat that emanated from their bonfires only quelled by the more intense and parching craving of our bodies as he attempted to lure me with his boy-next-door charm. I refused to be sucked in. I told him we should probably wake a drunk friend so he can move to his bed and get a better sleep.

I diverted my attention further; joining, instead, a group of fresh college graduates playing cards. He was just sitting there, in the corner of the common room, pretending to tinkle with his phone even though he knew, and he knew that I knew, that he had no chance of getting a decent cellular connection in the area. After a few more games, I bid the night off.

At two in the morning, probably three, he was already at the foot of my bed. Resistance was futile. Only covered by cheap mosquito net and thin fabric to serve as curtain while I pretend to end the day with a sober sleep, I was too transparent.

That is how the year ended. Another crooked one.  Or maybe, it's another start; another chance to forge a make believe shift to the good side when all I along I cradle the darkness of the night.