• Prose and poetry

    Projections

    emotions feelings emotion feeling
    Photo by Katii Bishop on Pexels.com

    On Facebook and Instagram, with a thousand followers, your carefully curated feed.

    Scenes of nature: mountains, and beaches with water as clear as can be.

    Beautifully plated food in a restaurant whose interior must have cost a small fortune.

    Fashionable OOTDs of you showing off your physical perfection in a flowing floral skirt.

    Photos of family and friends and your lover, all of whom seem as perfect as you, impeccably dressed, with Kodak smiles.

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  • Food,  Prose and poetry,  Relationships

    The Hollowness of a Bite

    We met at a restaurant.

    It was a steakhouse, a block away from where I worked. The entire place was wall-to-wall wood: tables, chairs, even the candleholders. It appeared cozy and familiar, the perfect place to have a hearty, comforting meal after I had another rough day at work.

    “I’ll have the filet mignon, please,” I ordered. “Well-done.”
    The quiet laughter and conversation of the other diners rang loud in my ears. I felt their lightness weighing down on the hollowness inside of me, more painful than the physical pangs of hunger.
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  • Family,  Prose and poetry

    Out/running

    Another night, another fight, and this time it’s different. This time, I’m actually willing to throw a few punches of my own.

    It’s late by the time I slam the door behind me, yelling, bitch, leave me alone, and the wind hits my face like a slap, cold and hard and furious. There’s a lump in my throat and I feel as though I were choking, a dog with a leash tied ’round its neck, struggling to break free.

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  • Prose and poetry,  Relationships

    Glass on Water

    You’re a shy girl of sixteen. You keep your head down when you walk through the hallways, wear a shirt-and-jeans combo every day, keep to your circle of friends. In high school, when everyone’s obsessed with labels –jock, geek, loser, prom queen – you feel invisible, like glass on water,aimlessly floating adrift along the current.

    girl,dark,shadow
    Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash
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  • Prose and poetry,  Relationships

    What do you see?

    Her eyes were in the back of her head.

    Shame, people said, she could have been really pretty. Soft jet-black hair, rosy lips, porcelain skin. Shame, they whispered, staring at her with their eyes placed just above their noses, in the front of their bodies, the way it’s supposed to be.

    Photo by Oscar Keys on Unsplash

    How could they not stare? Her delicate, perfectly shaped features—chin, lips, nose, ears—were completely eclipsed by the bizarre absence of eyes. The space above her nose was a stretch of smooth, blank skin. Her hair was long in front but very short in the back so she could see. She liked to call this a reverse mullet, but no one laughed at this. Maybe you had to have your eyes in the back of your head to see the humor.

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  • Prose and poetry,  Ruminations

    Drag, hold, exhale

    “We should be out there making something of our lives instead of drinking again. After all, we’re young and free,” I said.
    “Free.” He let out a snort, sucking on a cigarette. “You think we’re free?”
    “Do you have to smoke?” I demanded, coughing.
    He exhaled smoke at my narrowed, watering eyes. “I don’t have to. But I want to.”
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  • Prose and poetry,  Relationships

    Somewhere in Manila, we fell in love.

    1:24 on a Thursday afternoon. With your hand in mine, determinedly walking ’round in circles, we found ourselves lost somewhere between Taft and Quiapo. The sun scorched us from overhead, and I could practically smell my hair burning. Crowds of unfriendly people jostled us back and forth. The scent of ihaw-ihaw wafted to our nostrils from the small stall we passed just a second ago.
    “Where are we going?” you asked, fed up.
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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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