Before You See Her Naked

I know she is wonderful. It’s the reason why you fall in love in the first place.

I know that she has the face of an angel. The eyes that mirror the whole cosmos. Eyes you simply get lost in. And a voice that makes the 9th symphony seem like a nursery rhyme. I know how her hair fits perfectly between your fingers as you brush them, how soft and gentle her skin is every time you slide your fingertips against it. I know how irresistible her warmth is, how your arms meld into the warmth of her waists. Can’t seem to let go of that embrace. Can’t seem to remove your face from the sweet scent of her neck. I know the taste of her lips—a taste so indescribable—a bittersweet sensation—nonetheless, a taste you’ll always long for…

But before you lift her shirt and see her naked, do this.

If You Think You’re In Love, Know This.

So you couldn’t stop thinking of a person. You couldn’t stop smiling. You couldn’t you couldn’t help but feel that giddy feeling in your stomach, those weak knees and trembling hands. You couldn’t help but remind yourself, from everything you see, hear, touch and smell in the world, of how awesome he/she is.

Congratulations! You think you’re in love.
… and you’re in for a world of hurt.

Love, perhaps, is the most universal human emotion of all, and it also happens to be the most complicated and complex. It is a cocktail of emotions— joy, sorrow, anger, envy, desire, even hate. It has been intertwined with the existence of humanity since the very beginning, yet interestingly no one can still fully define it. All of us, even the greatest of minds, are fools in the face of love. Furthermore, a conundrum as it may be, we think, feel and know the incomprehensible. Paradoxically, we know and don’t know love.

That being said, there are times when we think we’re in love, but sometimes we pause and reevaluate ourselves, “Is what I think is love, truly love?” And when we doubt, things start to go downhill from there. This confusion causes us to make irrational decisions— decisions we regret— regrets that may haunt us for life.

The Time I Finally Decided to be a Writer

They say, to become a full-fledged writer, you first have to face the wrath of rejection.

Today, I lost the very first writing competition I joined in. It was a children’s book writing competition hosted by one of the most prominent children’s book publishers in the country. It took me 3 devastating years of life experiences, one death, one heartbreak, one illness, one crisis and seven months of writing to craft what I thought to be my very masterpiece. It was the toughest 10,000 words I have ever written. But just as any other artist to his craft, I lost confidence in what I have created. I hesitated to fight. I doubted my capabilities and refused to submit my work. However, the very kind people who have read my work were surprisingly moved by my craft and urged me to continue the fight, and seeing that I have touched even just a single soul gave me hope that I might as well give it a shot… and it as it turns out, it missed.

When God Disappoints…

The faith I gave did not live up to the bullshit I received… and yet we’re fools who still believe in justice.

I am a man of faith. Raised by a family of faith. Driven by dreams and visions that are fueled by faith. However, I am writing this right now as a shattered soul, fresh from the mud of shame and failure, overwhelmed by feelings of disappointment and resentment.

When you’re filled with stories of when David defeated Goliath with just one stone, when Moses parted the Red Sea with his staff, when Lazarus was brought to life, and when faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains, then you come across a point of your life when what happens in reality was nothing like the book you so firmly believe in, it can’t be helped but to feel betrayed.

The Time I Finally Understood Why Sad People Drink

This is the story of how rum saved my life…

I. Don’t. Drink. Never in my life have I ever gotten myself drunk. Sober since ’96.

However this time, on New Year’s Eve, I got myself as “almost drunk” as I possibly can.

It’s not that I’m sort of a prude moralist that I have abstained myself from intaking alcohol. I have nothing against drinkers, unlike some self-righteous people who think they’re morally better than others just because they don’t drink (let’s admit it, they exist). I’m still a man of countless principles, no doubt, but I stay away from drinking, smoking or any other similar thing, not because I was raised to see them as wrong. It’s not even because of health reasons. It’s for the simple reason that I don’t enjoy it. And if I don’t take pleasure in it, I see no point in doing it.

My principle is that the key to happiness and satisfaction is to find pleasure in the necessities of life. As what the Romans believed, food is not only for sustenance but also for the indulgence of the senses. The pleasure of delightful tastes playing with the taste buds. With that being said, I find beer too bitter for my taste and alcohol, in general, weirdly strong. Same goes for smoke. I don’t find pleasure with it, and it’s not a necessity, so there’s no use in having it. Nothing morally fancy.

“1 of 365” and the Endless Procrastination of Life

This is for us– the people whose failure to fulfill New Year’s resolutions is an annual affair.

The obligatory New Year’s post.

1 of 365, okay, seriously though, I’m just using this cliche for laughs. Thinking about it, however, gave me an interesting thought. This “1 of 365” is just one of the endless cliches of New Year (and don’t get me started with those “New Year, New Me” shenanigans), and the thing about is that almost everyone does it. Even if some don’t admit to it, somehow deep in our hearts we feel this certain need for change. Somehow we see this mark of another complete revolution of this planet around its home star an opportunity to have a fresh start. Tabula rasa. Day zero. Gives us a somewhat symbolic anchor for our hopes of changing for the better.

The interesting thing about is that it is so seldom to see that “1 of 365” reach even at least “100 of 365.” One of the reasons why I never stick to any of the countless New Year cliches. How many journals and planners have we had these previous years? How many of us have at least filled first thirty pages then followed by countless blank pages? How many plans have we forgotten? Dreams we have given up again and again? Memories we annually attempt to forget? I’m guilty of all these, and so are most of us, and realizing these things gave me an opportunity to reevaluate my life.

Why are we obsessed in having a clean slate?