• Prose and poetry,  Relationships

    Coordinating conjunctions go hand in hand with me.

    For you, at the very least, I would walk to the ends of this earth
    And neither hell
    Nor high water can deter me.
    But you’re either incredibly ignorant of the suffering I’m enduring for you,
    Or you willingly turn a blind eye to my sacrifice. I want to cry out in agony,
    Yet my lips are sealed, overcome by soft-spokenness and fear
    So I write, the conjunctions a metaphor for hidden emotions.
    Inspired by the lecture in English class last Thursday.
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  • Prose and poetry

    Nine PM on a rainy Thursday

    My shaking hands held a dingy, pale blue umbrella.
     
    Philcoa! Mga Philcoa, babaan na!
    Staggered off the jeepney, mumbling an apology to the lady whose shiny red vinyl shoes I stepped on.
    Looked at my watch. It was already 9PM, yet the street was alive and bustling with activity. Vendors trying to sell more fruits and faulty umbrellas before they pack up for the night. Students and employees elbowing each other, running to board a jeepney, in a rush to get home and rest their heads on their comfortably warm beds.
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  • Prose and poetry,  Relationships

    The Love of a Writer

    The love of a writer runs deep as the words she puts to paper.
    She scrutinizes every paragraph, every sentence, trying to make sure that it conveys the exact magnitude of emotions she holds.
    She wastes hours hunched over her desk, fervently scribbling yet another love poem that he will never read.
    She holds a pen in place of his hand. Endless amounts of ink flow as she continually tries to convince herself that he will fall for the words she has written about him.
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  • Prose and poetry,  Relationships

    The Green Line

    The machine hooked to her skeletal body beeped softly. The bright green line resembled mountain peaks. Her heartbeat was erratic.
    The boy closed his eyes and prepared to spend yet another night in the hospital room. It had been a year since the accident.
    He could still remember the phone call from his girlfriend’s mom; how he had raced to the hospital; how he saw her family’s tears; how the doctor broke the news: she was never to wake again. The doctor had declared her brain-dead.
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  • Prose and poetry,  Relationships

    Farewell

    “I’m going.”
    Those words, those two simple words, made my breath catch. My mind struggled to make sense of this piece of information. “Where?”
    “To America. Chicago, actually. My dad’s being relocated.”
    Silence. Then…
    “Oh,” I said with an attempt at a smile. It came off as a wince. “When?”
    “Next week.”
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  • Prose and poetry,  Relationships

    Wishes

    Shooting stars falling from the sky
    are dead stars. Lifeless
    but renew hope in those who see them.
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