bibliophile wannabe

“Books say: she did this because. Life says: she did this. Books are where things are explained to you, life where things aren’t.”
Julian Barnes

I was always fascinated with books, you could say I am in love with them. They are my addiction, my incurable disease. One of my silent prayers in my lifetime is to have a place where I could house my books, adding along rare, tattered books that has been passed on from hand to hand, thought to thoughts…


For now, I can only envision that room. Wishing that in a sooner time, I can be able to build my own.

one love

We spend a lot of time trying to find a love that will last us all our lives. Something to keep us waking up happy every morning, smiling all day, and warm every night.

What we don’t realize, is that some of us have that already without knowing.

Love, Friends, Sisters, Brothers, and Forever are just three ways to describe the same thing.

wanted: a lover i don’t have to love

Bright Eyes - A Lover I Don't Have to Love

I picked you out
Of a crowd and talked to you
Said I liked your shoes
You said “Thanks, can I follow you?”
So it’s up the stairs
And out the aim of prying eyes
I poured some wine
I asked your name
You asked the time

Now it’s two o’clock
The club is closed, we’re up the block
Your hands on me
Pressing hard against your jeans
Your tongue in my mouth
Trying to keep the words from coming out
You didn’t care to know
Who else may have been you before

I want a lover I don’t have to love
I want a girl who’s too sad to give a fuck
Where’s the kid with the chemicals?
I thought he said he’d meet me here but I’m not sure
I got the money if you got the time
He said, “It feels good”
I said, “I’ll give it a try”

Then my mind went dark
We both forgot where your car was parked
Let’s just take the train
I’ll meet up with the band in the morning

Bad actors with bad habits
Some sad singers
They just play tragic
And the phone’s ringing
And the band’s leaving
Let’s just keep touching
Let’s just keep keep, keep singing

I want a lover I don’t have to love
I want a boy who’s so drunk he doesn’t talk
Where’s the kid with the chemicals
I got a hunger and I can’t seem to get full
I need some meaning I can memorize
The kind I have always seems to slip my mind

But you, but you
You write such pretty words
But life’s no storybook
Love’s an excuse to get hurt
And to hurt
Do you like to hurt?
I do, I do
Then hurt me
Then hurt me
Then hurt me
Then hurt me
Then hurt me
Then hurt me
Then hurt me
Then hurt me
Then hurt me
Then hurt me

til i am in it again ♥

We often forget that if trying to find that certain someone is a tiring process, we have the right to stop. It’s often chasing what was once a vital part of our lives.

But by no means, are we allowed to deny ourselves the chance to be happy, in fear of being hurt again.

All trees grow leaves again after a cold winter, and each one of us has the chance to be happy again.

nomadic illusion

This was an entry to my university’s annual literary journal. I was on my last year in college. Luckily, it was one of the four entries my brother submitted that was published (all of them published)- one check on my list to do before I graduated..

I opened my eyes,
ready to accept fate
and search for myself
in this wanton place
but then I realized
the world is merely an illusion
of an unceasing quest
for the one you could never be,
ignoring the simple answers
you ignored inside yourself.

You searched and failed
to look for a permanent shelter,
becoming a wanderer you never intended
the world is merely an illusion my friend,
an unceasing quest
for simple answers
that beg to be left alone,
warning you of their forbiddingness,
or you pay the price of unlocking Pandora’s box.

But you risked to know who you are
the one who’s trapped in a bottomless hole,
going through the pretenses
and braving through the deceptions,
trying to dive deeper
than you originally planned,
hoping to get nearer
but in the process, got farther
farther away from
what they really want to reveal
pushing you up the surface,
saving you from more airless world,
covering your ears, blinding your eyes.

You try to uncover your ears,
Hoping to listen to one bit of clue
but you only found yourself in a whirlpool
of  confusion, of dilemma,
challenging your ideals
that takes you back again
to where you started
should the truth continue to be known
inspite of knowing you merely live in illusion,
in denial of that illusion
of what you really are
of how well you really know yourself?

You are labeled and branded,
calculated in every detail,
of your superficial being,
of what rabbit you’ll follow to the hole,
from where you came from
towards this unnerving illusion.
Or should you take the blue pill instead of the red
to continue living in your damned illusion.

Try to open your eyes
but try as you may,
you cannot see
beyond this illusion
you only know and trust
what is visible, of what is acceptable
to you and you alone.
You clean your ears,
hoping to hear better
but you can only hear the unmade sounds
of a heart that has long been forsaken.

You try to understand
but there’s hardly something to understand, is there?
Or has understanding ever really existed?
Is there something to understanding
when you’re merely looking for something
that merely goes through you,
that sifts through your tired soul,
revealing only the inessential fragments
of your overused emotion
rather than the essential remnants
of who you truly are…?
Lucky you…
You‘ve just sold your chance
to taste freedom…
and bought back your slavery for deception…
you who live in pretenses…
you who tried to dive deeper
into the hole…
but only found the mirage of your
own reflection…
wandering around your chances…
becoming a nomad in this world of illusion….
Living in the concealment of your guarded emotion…


the flowers began to fall
From the grasp of the sun
In spite of its plea for chances
That they have doubted to come.
Their stems slowly unattach
In spite of the love that has grown
Now surrendered to the promises
That has long said adieu.
Their senescence willed them to wither
Amidst the thriving awakened sun
With an unconcious permission
To kiss them by its toxic rays
That always possessed to stay
However it could be done
Unmindful of the flaws that tag along
Resulting to the suffocation of a spirit.
With the death of the flowers’ beauty
Came the regret of the sun’s bounty
Damned to watch growth and death by its rays
It only yearned to caress the earth’s warmth
And by its kiss,
came the overwhelming realization
That it has the power to create a life
With the inevitable curse of witnessing death
By which it is also its doing.


I feel like walking under rain. I want to wash off the tears that never seem to run dry. Getting myself soaked will be a better alternative to this sadness. At the very least I can feel something other than this cheerlessness. I can be a kid again. I will gladly trade anything so I can be rid of the unhappiness that never seem to elude me.

Right now, I just want to walk under the rain. I want to be amazed with the sprinkles rather than the hurt that devours me. I want to catch water on my joined palms, holding something intangible even if it is for an ephemeral moment.

I just don’t want to answer the things I have been questioned of which I have no answers either. I just want to hide this dysphoria.