I am 18. I am sorry.

I still have not figured it out.

You can say I am a product of the new era. A spirit molded by the worries of this generation which to some may refer to as whining and tremendous complaining. People place labels across my forehead, as if claiming they can fill my journey of self- fulfillment, only putting me in restriction from what they believe I am merely made of. Most humans deem their possession of such audacity to take my very humanity away from my becoming like they know better.

I do not get disgusted at all by blood oozing off women’s genitals. It’s natural; menstruation comes ticking off my mouth naturally- simply because there is nothing wrong about it. I support lovely mothers feeding their infants through their breasts which God made so beautifully to connect the product from the origin. It is a direct embodiment of life and the primary tangles of human dependence. I have absolutely no problem when people work differently as I do. Moreover, I do not hate people when they prefer a different set of clothes, or when they choose to watch movies far from what interests me.

I do converse, however, when it involves my country, the Philippines. I do communicate what I regard as just when the poor is stripped off form their rights. I never let indifference slip. I do not let my country fall under the hands of the oppressor, may it be foreign or within; in this era where the Filipino is no longer under the jurisdiction of those who claimed their conquest on the Pearl of the Orient, why would I let my country suffer more when it has suffered enough? I fight. I fight for the low- wage earners. I fight for those who have yet seen the comforts of a home. I fight for life, but I also fight for the life of the life giver. I believe in contraception, in education, in pills, in dignity, in discipline. When I say I fight for life, I mean I fight for every race Earth cradles because every person from every ethnicity breathe; they are humans: we are made of the same skin, of the same cells- we take in the same element. Moreover, I fight for life and its sanctity; the animals and the planet are of essence to protect. I fight for involvement. I fight for the accused who have gone naked from their very right to receive a spot in court. I fight for the people; I fight to serve the people; I am still fighting because the people who should be serving their countrymen are serving themselves. Skilled, extraordinary, proficient, men and women deserve a seat in office; instead, sexist, fascist, and incompetent people hold these positions. I fight for girls who are boys, for boys who are girls, and for those who refuse to encase their expression in a universe that have made something so wide into something so minimal. I fight for an emancipation that the former recognize as odd and unnecessary.

Yes, you’re probably correct. I have not met grounds for becoming the successful one the past era makes me persevere to meet; I still have not found the secret behind being Mark Zuckerberg and earning on my own at age 18. I work hard, nevertheless, to be less of a burden for my parents. But I have explored alone, read alone, chose to be alone, so I could see the world from a clearer lens, making a spot for myself to traverse this universe, my universe, without disregarding the credibility of the identity of the living and the place I call home. I chose to travel with my own two feet, so I could immerse myself in the simplicity of time and complexity of human race. I have known struggle but I have not known enough of it. I have tasted ease and comfort but others have not. That is why I strive to walk further, making use of all that I have so I can live a life for others, so that they, too, may get a hold of the life they deserve. I carry this responsibility with pride and honor.

I apologize, for not meeting the standards of those who came before me. But I will not apologize for how ravishingly I came to be. I will not apologize for being so different that it disgusts them, for being so unusual that they start calling me as rude and sensitive and a waste of time and money and space.

I still haven’t figured it out- the path that leads to becoming a machine that those who assert they have power can simply manipulate.

I probably never will.

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Time Check 12:33 AM

It’s been a while! 

I have lots to tell you.


Halfway through the year and I am not feeling my best. I had so much plans for myself this year. What I remember most is telling myself, “be more.” Now, I feel ugly. I feel utterly loathsome and beastly. I could not find my way to quietude amidst the unruly stampede of thoughts willed by my conscience and fear. I could not grasp my unbecoming and that is the least I could do with this internal emulation. Soon, if I let it, it will be more and more dreadful. I will be more and more intolerable; it will result to a lot of pushing away and deactivation. Everything will detach. I will relapse into partition.

No, this is not about academics. I am no longer that woman who bases everything on numbers. Or is this just a mere cover- up for what I have truly metamorphosed? This is not about my personal life. This is not about my country nor is it about society.

It is about me, and me alone.

Sure, there are catalysts- but to whatever extent I pushed myself into relies solely on the fact that I settled for release. I freed myself upon dominion.

I could not precisely describe the feeling of losing control over my own self. But if I must: it is as though travelling an empty road that goes on forever, without even stepping your feet on the ground. You feel weightless. You hurt no one. No one hurts you. You only get to hurt yourself.

I have tried so many times; I prayed so many times. And out of all these times, nothing lasted. Not even when I prayed, “Lord, help me.” I do not even know what to fix. I just know I need fixing and I need it at the soonest possible time. The consistency of my feelings were increasingly fading. And for months it felt like I surrendered to no one and nothing but the void.

 I come home to my parents every weekend, visit my girlfriend every weekend, hang out with friends at times, do a lot of academics day and night. My grades are fine. However, nothing really satisfied the seeping emptiness.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my family, my friends, my girlfriend. They are not the driving force as to why I am slowly becoming a slave to nothingness.

As a matter of fact, I can no longer will myself to write.

It’s much better to write broken than to not write at all, I have figured. For at least, when I am angry and sad, I know I am breathing. I can feel my heartbeat; whereas when I am emotionless, I can only feel the air touch my face and see the people I love crumble as I turn into something I must not.


Into contemplation, I realize that it is my utmost commitment to life that also brings me into grave abandonment. I pressured myself into all these becoming that I soon lost my grip on to what is right. I lost my grip on the dream. I cannot accept who I am that I scrutinized myself into becoming someone I am not. I think so little of myself! I am not my mistakes. This moment right now is to be remembered always; someday, the new, fulfilled and complete Rea will thank this exact moment. There is nothing to be ashamed of, I know now. I am not to be ashamed of having to transform ever so often. I am not going to be ashamed anymore that I am not as smart as I ought to be. I am not going to be ashamed anymore of having lower grades than my brilliant block mates. Instead, I am going to raise my head up and I am going to start being thankful. Rather than moping around the corner wishing I had the same writing skills than him, I would approach him and commend him for a great poem. I am no longer going to dwell on what I lack; I am going to delve into filling the lack thereof. I am not going to let it consume me. I am going to be kind. That way, I will be strong. I will know how to fight the silent fight. I am no longer going to repeat people’s criticism about me in my head every second and question my being; instead, I will gulp it all up and see what I can do. It’s okay to return to wishing I was someone else, because I know for sure it is normal. But I won’t feed it my courage and resilience of being better. No. Scratch that. Of being the ideal Rea.


But really, what is there to change about me? I keep saying, I will, I will, I will. But what are these things that I would like to change?

  1. Not helping my family members with chores around the house.
  2. Not being able to balance my time with school works.
  3. Settling for, “bukas na ‘yan!” (“I’ll do it tomorrow!”)
  4. Going for, “bahala na. Okay na ‘yan.” (“Whatever. That will do.”)
  5. Resorting into fear.
  6. Lying. (To God, to parents, to myself)
  7. Feeding my insecurities. (Like getting mad at myself for being dumb sometimes.)
  8. Being ignorant. (About rules, schedule, deadline, simple things.)
  9. Not being practical. (Being too miserly)
  10. Being a spoiled brat.
  11. Not paying respect to my parents.
  12. Being too lazy.
  13. Forgetting proper hygiene. (I often forget applying my medications for my pimples.)
  14. Saying no to friends because I’m lazy.
  15. Complaining so much.
  16. Not being grateful enough.
  17. Always forgetting things.
  18. Being insensitive.

Strolling through the Wilderness

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Since the start of the semester, I have been experiencing a form of yearning which I am not fully aware what to call- yet. I have looked everywhere- I bought new books, downloaded apps on my phone which would help me  update myself on world and local news, consulted friends regarding secret ventures. There is still something missing, to my dismay.

I walk alone a lot. I have my friends on Wednesday and Fridays but we only have three subjects together. Tuesdays and Thursdays are mine and mine alone- four subjects dealing with myself. I have this developing theory that being alone makes me sad. However, I recall, I become more productive when I have no one to spare time with. Here’s the problem with being alone, I guess. You become more sensitive to the things around you. You let your mind speak for you. It seems odd to say. But the more you spend time with yourself, the more you develop a stronger connection with your mind. You become more conscious of what is inside of you. You become conscious of what comes out. And more often than not, our actions do not satisfy our ideal self.

I guess that’s what people forget to do: live inside themselves. They keep dreaming about their careers in different industries; they keep running when they don’t even understand up to what limit they could. They keep living as if the adventure is outside. They are unaware that it starts the moment they have accomplished the quest inside. Although I believe this is still debatable, for self- discovery is a lifetime labyrinth, I still rest my case on the fact that the primary necessity to achieve our concrete life goals is to at least consider living inside and understanding what it is making of you.

I walk alone a lot. And walking alone has taught me to observe- not only on the way trees sway in absolute serenity, but also the way my thoughts buffer inside. I observe how I breathe, how my pacing is synchronized with the way I turn my head- left then right.

This is all for now, I guess.

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