Untitled (Ash Monkey)

She was running, something she always did.

She kept on running up the fire exit steps until she reached the top floor. She didn’t know what she was looking for but she just wanted to escape.

She opened the top floor door and saw the first room opened. She invited herself in, swiftly so no one could see her.

There were people talking in the living room. She decided to barge in the last room at the end of the hall. No matter what’s inside, she would cut in and stay for a while. She was tired of running.

She came in and knelt on the corner to let herself breathe, but tears came flooding in. She sobbed her eyes out not minding the people inside the room.

“What are we supposed to do? My parents will kill me,” one voice said. “This was never part of the plan. What are we gonna do?”.

She forced herself to stop crying and looked around the room. A girl, same as her age, was talking to a boy – who was completely still. She knew that look very well – hopelessness.

She was wrong to think they were talking about her. They didn’t even look her way.

“ANSWER ME!” shouted the girl. The boy only looked at her for a brief moment. The girl started lashing and hurting him.

She stood up and ran to their spot, stood in between the two and pushed the girl away. She held her carefully to the door and whispered, “It’s okay. It’s okay,” until she was calm enough to leave.

The boy didn’t protest, didn’t look at her at all.

She reached for his hand and pulled him to the bed. She laid on her back and pulled him so that his head was on her chest.

He started crying and hugged her arm. She kissed his hair and told him “It’s okay,” over and over until he fell asleep.

It suddenly occurred to her that she stopped crying moments ago. That whatever was chasing her was not important and could wait.

She needed to help this boy.

But most importantly, she needs to stop (doing this to herself. ) Putting someone else’s needs before hers.

Maybe this was the last one.

Or maybe not.



The world goes on without you. That is the truth.

If somebody close to you died, if your heart gets broken, if the fire inside you disappeared – the world would still continue to spin.

So we try to busy ourselves with anything that can make us forget. Work, socializing, games, parties, alcohol drugs – anything at all.

We think this is it. This is life. The fast pace of every 24 hours passing by. This is living.

Worrying what to do tomorrow, plans for the next week, arrangements for the upcoming birthdays, budget for the next vacation and on and on and on.


“Have you heard of The Smiths?”, he asked me.

“Never”, I said.

He made a funny face and played one song.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the smell of his aftershave, or maybe the combination of marlboro and soda in the air that made the sudden change in the air.

As I opened my eyes, I felt alive. Not the adrenaline rush of the fast rides nor the tingling sensation of a first touch. No. Not like those. I felt aware.

Unlike most times, my mind wasn’t wandering, not daydreaming, not usually sad of everything I’ve lost, not worrying at all. I. AM. HERE.

Its liberating.

I can see it all – the beat of his fingertips. The lines on his face as he shouts for the chorus. The bed left undone. The sky getting darker. The grey towel on the couch. The half full (or half empty) bottled water oh his table. The goosebumps all around my body as I take it all in.

“They’re good!”, I smiled knowing I discovered something valuable.

I’m alive.

This is living.

I am here.

And I will let my world spin.


Happiness and The Lost Puppy

Happiness walked happily, despite the Genie’s absence – the only person that could make her happy.


“Everyone is relying on my happiness,” Happiness thought. “I should not be sad”, even if her heart is shattering.


A tiny bark could be heard once in a while but Happiness thought nothing of it. Now that she thinks about it, the tiny barks has been there even since the Genie was still around.


Happiness looked around, something Happiness never did before. Behind her, wagging its tail, is a little white puppy.


“Hello?”, Happiness waved. “Have you been following me?”


The little puppy happily wagged its tail with much gusto. Unlike the other beings Happiness met, this one is different. Her heart skipped a beat.


“You’re not tagging along anymore. You have to leave me too”, Happiness whispered.


The little white puppy whimpered and walked towards Happiness. Happiness sat down and hugged him.


“Its okay, I’m used to it. I hope you can find your way back”, Happiness smiled with tears streaming down her face.


The little white puppy licked her face that made Happiness giggled. “I will be okay”, she said.


Happiness hugged the little white puppy until he disappeared. Happiness stayed this way for a moment, her mind and her heart heavy.


After a while, Happiness stood up and walked happily.


“Everyone is relying on my happiness,” Happiness thought. “I should not be sad”, even if her heart is shattering.

Day 3: Thank You for the Rain

It has been raining since the day I saw you inside that box. I heard a lot of people complaining on the difficulty to commute and if there’s a storm to be raining this often.

But the rain helped me a lot of times before. To feel calm, to slow down, to embrace whatever it is that I need to feel.

And I like to think you made it rain on these days to help me cope up. You made me remember all our rainy days together, sharing one umbrella – my arms around your waist and you half hugging me.

You always bring your umbrella but you’re “too lazy” to use it. So I have to walk with you until the jeepney stop so you won’t get wet. Every hug before you go I realize you’re just making some sort of excuse to have longer time with me. Or maybe I’m overthinking things.

I’m thankful of our rainy days before and feeling nostalgic of the rainy days these past days.

I miss you so much and there’s nothing I can do but hide my tears under my umbrella.



Day 2: Right Words at the Right Time

While waiting for a jeepney ride, I asked you to tell me anything interesting, that I was bored.

And you always knew the right things to say to make me laugh. You smiled and said, “Grabe ang laki ng boobs ni Tsunade (from Naruto) noh?”, and touched your chest to have a good measure. Hahaha.

You never fail to make everyone around you happy. Goodnight, Floyde.


Day 1: A New Phobia

I can’t remember when and how I developed my fear of dead people. For a solid horror junkie, I can’t stand to be in one room with a corpse. And you know that.

Hope was the only thing I was holding on to when I received the message. Maybe they were mistaken. Maybe its a cruel joke.

I passed by the spot we last met. Your head on my shoulder, telling me how much you missed me. I laughed and told you I’ll always be here just like the old days.

I can’t help but cry. A little girl saw me and looked concerned. I bowed my head down, maybe they were mistaken.

“Are you ready?”, your cousin asked. It was at this point that I realized I’m no longer afraid of corpses.

As I made my way slowly to the white coffin, I developed a new fear. I’m horribly afraid to look beyond the glass and see your face. Maybe they were mistaken. Or maybe this is a dumb joke.

The first thing I saw was your striped polo, I can’t walk further. Thats your favorite shirt.

Then I saw your thin lips, your long eyelashes, your wide forehead. Hope left me.

I broke down. My tears overflowed. I looked down and look at you again hoping my eyes are tricking me. I closed my eyes hard, pinched myself. Maybe this is a nightmare.

But the hurt inside my heart is real. As real as your body inside that box, looking peaceful.

You told me you’re gonna be busy. I told you its okay, I’ll be here. You can text me or call me when you’re available.

You told me you’ll be busy, you didn’t tell me you’d leave me behind.

Fear of Memories

She felt afraid experiencing new things. Of remembering certain memories. She’s afraid of being happy now and waking up one day remembering one event that will cause pain in her heart.


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