Sige Na, Ako Na

Sa bawat sinag ng araw na ang binabalik sa akin ay ambon,
Bawat oras ng bukas na magiging isang simpleng kahapon,
Sa bawat sandaling huli na ang pag-dating,
Bawat “hindi ako pwede”, “busy ako”, o ano pang sinungaling.

Kahit ako na ang maghintay,
Kahit ako nalang ang magpuyat,
Kahit ako nalang ang tumayo dito
At ikaw nalang ang lumakad palayo

Sige na, ako na ang magdudusa.

Kung ang kapalit naman pala ay ika’y hindi na mapapahamak
Kung ang kapantay naman ay ang iyong tuwa at ligaya
Kung ang kailangan mo lang ay ang aking puso at diwa,
Ok lang, mahal, sige na, ako na.

Isang pahayag na dati’y sobrang tamis
Ngunit ngayo’y sobrang laki ng hinagpis
Pinipilit na ngumiti sa bawat sandali
Kahit na mata’y pula sa hapdi

Sige na. Oo na. Ako na ang may mali.

Sa bawat imbitasyon, bawat lakad, at bawat hamon,
Bawat pagtawag ng saklolo na hindi mo naririnig
Bawat oras na sinayang sa paghintay at pagtimpi
Bawat pagkunwari para lang ika’y bumalik.

Ako ba’y naririnig na ngayon? Sige na, ako na.


Ano ba… Ako nalang palagi.


Hindi… Ok lang.





Ok nga lang ba?

Sige Na, Ako Na

A Love Letter to Self-Love

Dear self-love,

Your cousins, sisters, brothers all outshine you
Eros, Agape, Filia, Storge, just to name a few
But out of all the people in your family
Only you have ever left an impression on me; you see,

No language in the world does justice to your name
No culture that romanticizes the warmth of your flames
Oh, am I the only one that yearns for your existence,
The only one overpowered by your silent presence?

Thank you for taking care of me when no one else did
Chanced meetings in dark places, how ironic, isn’t it?
How much I crave you when you’re away,
And yet, underestimate you whenever you stay.

Why not seek glory and fame like the others?
Yet, I’m thankful, for your humility has pushed me farther
It is selfish of me to have you to myself, but am I
To be blamed when all else has seen you, and without a pause, simply passed by?

But oh, you have taught me what love meant, and
It was giving what you have without bargaining for your end
I want to have you as mine, to close all our distance
Such sentiments will defeat your purpose, an insult to your existence

And so – an open letter
For the curious, the wounded, those who yearn to feel better
For those who still look for solace in their own embrace
For those whose shadows save them from grace

A Love Letter to Self-Love

“RE: Filipinos saying we should move on”


Don’t you dare associate heartbreak with socio-political traumas
On top of the reasons why, is that theirs ended with a period; yours, a comma

Never think that your tears over a lover is the same grief victims feel
Opposition led the powerful to send Death to many; your sad songs
Tell about a boy or girl you losed; how can you still

Fall in love with the idea of not remembering? I refuse to think
Only the ones who were wounded would remember the scars; that
Rage will only beget those near the fire, and never those who were afar
God rightfully gave us life, even if this religion was forced upon us by a separate enemy
Even if both a heartbreak and a death are both graced with loss, one was simply a mistake;
The other, a tragedy; we forget what’s at stake –

Made a promise to the future children never to beat them with the same stick that harmed us
Apathy: the one emotion you learn after heartbreak; the one thing you get if you don’t get scarred
Rage beget by those near the fire, are now burning those who are afar
To wound them, to hurt them, to make them feel what they were feeling, this…
Instead of aiming the flames to the ones who held the match, we hiss at
Anyone ignorant, for we’d rather burn whole forests than the one stick that was first lit
Learn from the past, both for heartbreak and traumas, but don’t you dare forget it

Let scars be shown
Accept it
What has happened has happened.

Remember it.

“RE: Filipinos saying we should move on”

I love the dimples in your smile

The tiny wrinkles of your eyes

The way you frown while grinning

when explaining something amazing that frustrates you


I love how childish you can be sometimes

How your laugh bubbles from your chest

How you never take your eyes off mine

when explaining something I love more than you


But out of all the things I love about you

Do I love you?

The Tragedy of the Self-Entitled Girl with the Flames

I can hear the whispers from a mile away
As I post my advocacies online
I can see them shaking their heads in disappointment
and scrolling away my fire.

They say I’ve changed into something flammable,
something dangerous. I should tone it down.
They say I should stop lest I burn myself
Can’t they see that their words make me drown?

I was never afraid to burn myself
For I knew I was going to be the light
But I was a fool. The flames have blinded me
And now I kill the fire to return my sight

I promised myself I won’t be a droplet in the ocean
I would let my flames lick people’s eyes open wide
But their words burned hotter than my passion
So, like everyone else, I shall stop asking the “why”s

Never will you see another advocacy
Never will you hear another battle cry
I cannot war with others’ demons
When I can barely stay alive defeating mine

So say farewell to that girl on fire
She has long gone turned into ash
What’s left of her now is her teardrops
Going with the flow of the sea

Is this not what you have wanted?
Well for once, you get what you wished
Say farewell to that girl on fire
Your spit has died down her flames

I say farewell to dreams of making a legacy
I should’ve known even statues of heroes would rot
All I have now is a written tragedy
And now my heroic efforts are for naught

This is the last you’ll hear from me
The self-entitled girl with the flames
Fire was never to be played by children
Once burnt, now sworn – never again.

The Tragedy of the Self-Entitled Girl with the Flames

The Fear of Imperfection

The fancy notebook was never filled
although it willed you to write
Words promised, to be sealed
you want it to be right

Words should be chosen carefully,
or so that’s what they said
But remember this, remember truthfully
All our ledgers are gushing red

The fragile mind, made of glass, is full of scratches,
The crumpled heart, made of paper, is fulled with ink blotches
But note that everyone has their own hamartia
A fatal flaw that should be loved and not hated.

The Fear of Imperfection