The clumsiest part of me

Losing my grip

Stumbling across

Spilling coffee


Cuts on my fingers

Stupid fails

Wishful thinking…

I walk slowly

But I still trip

I bump my head anywhere

And often gets my foot twisted

Clumsy, that’s who I am


When my mom calls my full name, that’s when I did something careless again.

Times where either I ruin something, or accidentally hurt myself

I hate it

But I enjoy it

Sometimes I get embarrassed by it

But this is me.

When I do everything perfect, that’s not me

Clumsy, that’s who I am

Who says I can’t cook?

I can. It just tastes differently

Who says I can’t dance?

I can. I just don’t move on the beat

Who says I can’t sing?

I can. I just can’t find the right notes

Who says I can’t do it? I can. Just not quite right

Just a little bit below the expectation

Maybe I always succeed a little bit late

But I always try. I always do.

I was always made fun

Looked down upon

Cause something always goes wrong.

I am not trusted, I am not reliable

With me, things will never go as planned

But what they don’t know about clumsy people like me is that we work the hardest.

We make the most mistakes, but we are also the ones who are most afraid to do something wrong.

We actually don’t do careless. Because we care the most about the little details and study everything before we do it.

We are the type of people who don’t give up easily.

We are those who are not embarrassed to start all over again.

We are those who are not afraid to admit that we failed.

We are people who are not afraid to take risks.

We try and try. And find the best thing we can do.

We are not afraid to get hurt, because we, ourselves, are used to it.

We are the ones who do not care about self image.

We are the underdogs.

We are people who just smiles despite of our defeat.

We always fight.

And though it’s as if we have epic fails written on our foreheads, we still want to succeed.

I look at people and imagine myself if I’m not clumsy.

Except I can’t.

I just love the fails

I can’t imagine my life without the experience of just enjoying things.

Perfect is boring.

Clumsy is the new fun.

Clumsy, that’s who I am.


How I envy others they could give love a chance

How I envy others who are so brave to survive the pain

Truth is that, I am a coward

I’m a coward because the fear grows everyday

I’m a coward because failure is all I’ve ever known

I hate people who changes their minds easily, because I, myself, has always been undecided

I hate myself for being afraid

I hate myself for being too careful

I hate myself for not taking the risks

Truth is that, I want that too

I want to have that someone who will hold my hand and tell me that everything’s going to be okay

I want to be with someone who will make me realize that there’s nothing to be afraid

I want to go on dates, I want to pack on long vacations

I want to have someone who will take away my insecurities

I want someone who will not stop my loudness, but also won’t force me to talk when all I want is silence

I want to have someone who will propose to me someday with the sincerest heart

I want to get married when the time comes

I’ve always dreamed of preparing for my wedding

I want to have someone waiting for me in the altar wearing a tux

And I, am wearing the most beautiful gown with the brightest smile on my face

I want to spend the rest of my life with someone who will take care of me, and in return I’ll do the same to him

I want to have children and kiss and hug them everyday

I’ll be the best wife

I’ll be the most amazing mom…

But I am a coward

The pain goes away, yet the fears stay

I fear that true love will not come to me

I fear that everything is temporary

 I fear that all expectations will never be reality

I fear that the love I so wanted the most will be the death of me

I know,

I’m a coward

I know…

That flower

What is more painful than a broken heart, what is worse than a fallen expectation. What is farther than the longest trail of hopes, what is higher than mountains of grief. 

Once there was a flower. That flower that still blooms even under too much sunlight. That flower that swims into flooding water. That flower that stands tall even with the strongest  blowing of winds. That flower that broke into the smallest pieces, that flower that fell the hardest. That is the flower that’s willing to walk the longest trail towards sunshine, that flower who is still willing to love higher than any mountain.

The flower once wanted to belong. She wanted to be seen, she wanted to be cared about. For once she wanted to be painted with the brightest of colors, she hoped to feel more than a beauty. That was that flower’s dream. The most beautiful one, but perhaps the cruelest. 

She tried so hard, but can’t stand to live. To be someone else, she died in search for acceptance that no one dared to give. 

No one knew how beautiful is that flower but she’s not yet in full bloom. In a world where everyone sees the colors.When all that was cared about is beauty. That flower decided to stand just looking at the crowd.She was seldom seen, never cared about. Deprived of color, less of a beauty. 

But she realized at some point she liked it. She likes to stand far where there is no blindness, where there is no taking advantage, no comparison. A world where there were no measures and rules. A place where she feels free. A world full of only her. 

Self made. Hand made. Heart made. 

That flower was made of bright lights. She shines to the point that it’s blinding. She comes alive with the notes of the sweetest music. She lives by the story written by the best writer ever told. She always longs for the sun to rise.Even with the darkest of the night, she gives light. Even with the deafening sound of silence, she sings the most beautiful melody. 

That flower is alive. That flower lives. That flower gives life. 

With that she knew what she wanted.

Stay not so far, but not too near.

Give not too much, but not too little. 

Offer love with a sincere heart, but never lose yourself. 

Now that flower blooms with the kind of beauty she has always wanted. She is painted with colors she personally picked herself. She became the strongest, she turned to be the most beautiful. 

What she wanted, she did not have it all. 

But she’s achieved greater. She has come farther. 

Yet, she remains to be that same flower.

What Day is Today

Go on and cry today, I wouldn’t laugh at you

Never mind that man, who has betrayed you

If there’s something more than a heartbreak and moving on

That is a girl who was beaten by life, but still managed to stand tall


You closed your eyes, then blinked to the future

Looking straight ahead, afraid to be unsure

Skyscrapers, mountains, towers of dreams

What to be, who to be, the never ending possibilities


So you woke up today with the brightest smile on your face

You took a step feeling there’s nothing on your way

You stopped for a minute taking your time to pray

What day is today? Hey girl! It’s your graduation day!


This one is dedicated to the person who has always been a fan of my writing. She is my best friend, my sister, and someone who never gets tired of listening. This is it! Finally you’re on this great step in reaching your dreams. I wish you the best, and may all your dreams come true. I’m so proud of you, I love you so much.

Ming Girl

I once stole a cat, and that made me bad

But no one knows it was me, so nobody got mad

I’m a good girl, I am not mean

I’m just fond of cats, that makes me a Ming


Meow Meow said the little cat

I hid him well on my belly, good thing I was fat

He scratched my skin but I just did sing

I like him so, that makes me a Ming


He sneaks and sleeps beside me

And I got no choice so I let him be

He invades my space it left my back aching

I shared my blanket even when by body is freezing


He sees himself in the mirror

Sometimes he’s amazed, sometimes angry, sometimes in terror

Boxes, plastics, and bags on smuggling

I laughed so hard, he’s a funny Ming


He scratches the mats

But he gets rid of the rats

He’s a good boy, he is not mean

He’s just a cat, he’s just a Ming


My ming doesn’t leave me

My ming doesn’t hurt me

He’s a good boy, he is my Ming

I’m not a mean girl, I’m just a Ming


I close my eyes and I imagine how incredible is the brain

It still works even when I’m sleeping with the song sung by the rain

It won’t stop working, won’t stop thinking, won’t stop remembering

If I’m already gone, why am I still breathing?

Slowly I am sinking

Into the darkness, I am slowly falling

Deeper and deeper unto the place where I feel nothing

Embracing the oblivion where my heart’s not wailing

I touch my feet on the ground as I shiver

To the numbing coldness here underwater

Subsided in tears, thick with fears

I let go of myself as I spiral in spheres

I swim freely in this enormous space

Beautifully lost in calmness and grace

With love and caution I hold on to the gems

A cashmere, a pearl, my life, all beautiful emblems

They say I have to leave soon

The waters are mad, there’s a forthcoming typhoon

I stomp my feet but the weight lowers me down

They tell me to let go, or else I will drown

I found myself lost in a piercing shriek

Kicking my feet to the roaring pound of the beat

Feelings that are not meant to be felt shaking hard in collision

All that’s left of me, subject for destruction

Will you save me, please say yes

Not in the storm but on this continuing emptiness

Where the land has been planted with dreamt kisses and promises

Should I wait until the pain ceases

Or should I swim up now and start picking up myself and the scattered pieces?

Depicting Places

It’s funny and amazing at the same time that my Dad has a collection of maps. It wasn’t something that he thought about. It wasn’t something that he planned to. He just woke up one day realizing that he has been too fond of maps he has kept too many of them.

Those maps are already around since I was born, so I was told. I don’t know where he got them or how he happened to gather all of them, but the maps has always been part of the family. Like other collectors, my father takes care of them like his babies. But unlike them, he keeps them neatly folded inside a bag. I don’t know if it was because we don’t have extra space at home for him to display it, or maybe he just didn’t want to at all. But once a week during weekends he would take them out and inspect them. Those are the only times that I get to see them too. He has a map of all the seven continents and of different countries all around the world. Amazing isn’t it? My father has never went abroad so there’s no way he bought them outside the Philippines. Maybe some were given to him or he has bought it somewhere. Still, it is a collection. A collection of places he has never been to, but has always been drawn in his memory.

My Dad loved books. That was one of the best things I got from him. He used to cherish ones about history. Our favorite was the History of America. Sometimes he would read about medicinal plants. Then one day I found him in the backyard planting various herbs I never heard about. When he grew tired and bored with that, he read about religions. And then I saw him one day talking to some men arguing about some Greek words spoken in the Bible. He also has books about The Beetles. There were three of them I think. He reads them while listening to their songs and he always looked like a teenager everytime.  In his shelf, there were books that I’m allowed to read. But the top shelf where he places his geographical books is something that I’m not permitted to get my hands into. I wanted to read those books so bad because whenever I see him opening those books and I see those drawings and illustration of places, I felt like my Dad is going somewhere far. I imagined him boarding on a ship going sailing like I see in movies. I wonder what’s with those books that he loves them so much. 

Aside from books, watching Television has also occupied his time. Some people would find it a waste of time, but my Dad has his own unique way of making his time worthwhile. He always had a trivia about everything. The actor’s real name, the family he has came from, the history of the place that the scene was shot, the language they are speaking, or even the story behind the character’s clothes. He has them. And I wonder sometimes how did he knew about those facts. It almost annoys me every time that he blabs about everything, but the silly thing is that it rubbed on me. I started seeing myself doing the same thing even with my friends. I would say trivia over trivia. Facts over facts. And I was surprised that it didn’t annoy them like I did. Instead, they found it amusing and intelligent of me.

And that’s when I started working hard. I read more and more and spent my time researching about everything. Whenever we watch the television, I wanted to be the one to say the facts first. I wanted to compete with my father and I would take pride on the things that he didn’t know about. He would do the same when I fall short and went out of things to say. He was always so competitive. But I know, and I see it in his eyes all the time- he was proud of me.

My Dad loved treasure hunting. I thought maybe that would be one of the reasons why he has those maps. When I was little, at times he would go for a week up in the mountains I didn’t know where, I asked my mom if it was like the treasure hunting we do on holidays. She said yes, but when my Dad came back few weeks after, I learned that my mom half lied to me, or so I thought at the time. Well it was actually about finding treasures, but it wasn’t like what we play during holidays. It was a more serious and complicated one. He told me that they used specialized equipment to locate them. He told me there were clues about the treasures. He told me everything and I listened to him carefully and attentively. He never belittled me being young and has never deprived me the facts that I needed and was allowed to know. And I loved him so much for doing that.

My Dad loved places. And that was what kept him away from us. My mom would tell us before that my father was everywhere. I didn’t know if that was an act of sarcasm or simply an explanation of his absence but I’ve always waited for his return. He tells me about the places he has been, and the people he talked to and spent time with which always fascinates me. I always wonder when can I go there too, I wonder when can I come with him. And then it happened. When my Dad did not came back for two months, I was so thrilled. I told myself “I knew it!”. I knew he was planning to get away, I knew he was going sailing. And I waited, and waited and waited. I was excited at first but when he still hasn’t come back for a year, I told my mom we should call the police cause Dad is lost floating in the sea. I kept thinking that for years. And looking back, I still laugh at myself whenever I remember it.

When my father came back after three years, I was already in high school. That was a very long time for me to turn from the gullible, silly little princess into a strong and wise girl. I knew then from my mother’s sad eyes what had happened. And I also knew that as much as he loved books, as much as he loved treasure hunting, as much as he loved places, and as much as he loved his maps, he also loved lies.

When my Dad died of stroke last year, I personally emptied his bookshelf. There were books that I threw away, there were some that I gave to the neighbors. It was heartbreaking and soothing at the same time. I knew I needed to do that. Maybe as closure, maybe for acceptance. When he came back after a long time, I was confused. I didn’t know how to approach him and was always lost for words. I tried to sit with him watching the television, I tried to talk to him about treasures, I tried to read books with him. I’ve tried so hard but it was too much for me. That’s when I realized, it was not because of his mistake. I was trying so hard because that’s not me anymore. I grew out of it. Maybe he realized that too, but he has always been patient with me. The moment we both accepted that, the easier it became.

I felt that I had to write something about him because few days ago I saw his maps. There were almost thirty of them and it’s funny and amazing. Amazing that he has that collection. Funny that I had to keep them. Now, his spot for shelf has been converted to be mine. It looked different now, but sometimes when I close my eyes, it still looked like his. I put his maps on the bottom shelf, but it was because it looked better there. Sometimes I miss his books about medicinal plants. Sometimes I long to read history of America. Sometimes i wished I did not let go of the books. But I already did. Good thing is that it already came out from the hoarding den. Now, other people could read it too and get the same inspiration my Dad and I got from it. As for the maps, it will always hold a special place in our hearts.

Maybe if life has a map we could never be lost. Except there is none. Life itself is an ongoing depiction of ourselves. Written in it are the milestones we’ve had. The people we’ve met, the people we loved. The heartbreaks, the heartaches. Every failure, every success. Every place we’ve been, every memory we remember. It is something that reminds us of what we have been, what we are now, and what we will become in the future. Maybe my Dad understood that too. Maybe that’s why he loved his maps, maybe that’s why he came back to me. So right now, I just want to make the best map of myself. And if I meet my Dad again someday, I wonder if he’ll still be competitive. I’ll say “Hey dad! I made the best collection of maps. EVER!”

Oh and just in case you were wondering, I got my Dad’s geographical books at my top shelf. Some things are just worth keeping, I read them once in a while now, finally!

No One Better: A Review on Small Great Things by Jodi Picoult


“What if the puzzle of the world was a shape you didn’t fit into? And the only way to survive was to mutilate yourself, carve away your corners, sand yourself down, modify yourself to fit? How come we haven’t been able to change the puzzle instead?”

Before anything else, I want to say that I am an Asian. Filipino to be specific. I do not live in the United States, and I don’t know how it feels like to be born as white or black. Maybe that would give me a reason not to judge both race. Maybe that would mean I am unauthorized to take sides since I wasn’t born in their shoes. Yes folks, I don’t know how to be them. But I know the difference between right and wrong, and if there’s one thing that I can’t stand? That is injustice.

I’m saying this because in this latest novel “Small Great Things” by Jodi Picoult, she writes about one of the most critical issues of today-RACISM. Personally, I was a little hesitant if I’m going to pick this book up since Picoult has had a record of making me emotional (specifically cry) numerous times with her novels. I wasn’t sure about doing this review either since this is such a sensitive topic. For me, Jodi has outdone herself in this. To have the courage to write something about races is something to be commended. Upon reading her novel, people might get defensive, others may be offended or mad. As a renowned and multi awarded novelist, that can be bad for her.

The story is about Ruth Brooks. She is a loving mother, a responsible daughter, and a hardworking and dedicated Labor and Delivery Nurse for 20 years. She has a steady job, an intelligent, obedient, kind son, a circle of friends and a peaceful neighborhood. Ruth could have lived the perfect and happy life she always strives to have. Except one thing always keeps in the way- she was born black.

Then there was Turk and Brittany Bauer. They were White Supremacists who changed Ruth’s life from being steady to chaotic. It was when they banned Ruth from getting involved from their newly born child. It was when Ruth was the only person in the nursery when their child was dying. It was when she did not know what to do. Would she stay away from the child, or go and try to save him though she was forbidden to?

I really admired Ruth’s persistence. It was hard, she struggles everyday, but she keeps going. It was hard not to like her and get mad whenever she gets so blamed throughout the book. But I think the character who evolved and has had a lot of realization is Kennedy McQuarrie. She’s Ruth’s lawyer, but more than that she was an eye opener. She made me realize that that “putting yourself in other people’s shoes” saying doesn’t do all the trick. She rocked it and she is really one character to watch out for.

I’ve always loved the courtroom scenes in a Jodi Picoult novel. These are the parts where I usually get hyped (and want to punch a wall. haha) and I think Small Great Things adds up to my list of favorites. I knew even before I opened this book that there will be a lot of cliff-hanging chapters, self-reflecting statements, and sizzling courtroom scenes. It was very well-written. Kennedy’s closing speech brought tears to my eyes and was one of the reasons that I came to love her.

I tried to know more about White Supremacy after reading this book. And frankly, I wasn’t quite done with my research. But reading more about it made me understand Turk and Brittany’s behaviors and beliefs a lot more.

I’ve said it before I started this review. I am not White or Black. But it does not mean I have never seen inequality. It does not mean I’ve never seen prejudice and race discrimination. My own race has been colonized by Spaniards, Americans and Japanese. It did make up of what we became now, but for too many years, we were treated as slaves, and those colonizers as superior to us. Too many Filipinos died over these colonizing era. For too long we were regarded as “indios”, and even up to the present, despite how far we’ve become as a republic, there’s no denying that the Philippines is still a third world country. Still behind the countries that colonized us. Sometimes discriminated, many times looked down upon.

Maybe that is a bad thing. Maybe not. Maybe that is the reason why I related so much with this novel. Good times comes to us, sometimes we strive hard to achieve it. But then, we could look back and remember where we came from and the struggles behind our success. It’s like a replay of episodes in our minds. And that’s what I think, is the fallback of Ruth’s character. She always hope life would be better and equal for her and her son. But she also knew, that the race issue would come up anytime. She was always waiting for it. In the back of her mind, when an unusual situation arises, she would blame it for her being African-American. That same reason over and over again.

I had some issues with the ending though. And I kind of understand that she wanted her readers to see something beyond the issue by making something out of the characters. It just appeared too idealistic, for me. But all in all it is a very good book. A page turner and still, as always, very emotional and moving. It would make you question your reasoning, but at the same time would allow us to reflect on ourselves.

It is a four out of five for me. It was indeed, a work of fiction, but it talks about reality. The reality of what’s been going on not just in America,  but all around the world. Great attempt for Jodi Picoult in trying to open our minds and touch our hearts!

Remember the F Word

I remember the last time we stood like ourselves

We were then hidden behind those books stacked in the shelves

Do you still remember that time when we all started with nothing?

And how come now, it feels like we can conquer everything?


I remember the first day of high school

Back then our classmates act like they’re so cool

I’ve known some of them but each one felt like a stranger

And when we’re together, It felt like I’ve known you since forever


All my years in high school has been significant to me

That time it became a place where I belong to be

There, I always come not just to learn

I came to build memories that I know never will burn


I remember how we laugh so hard till we can hardly breathe

And how we make fun of ourselves until we stomp our feet

Back then we seemed so happy and carefree

We’re like birds starting to spread our wings and break free


What they don’t know is that we shed tears like no other

A pain of one, is a stab to five of us altogether

When one of us cries, we shed tears too

And then we’ll crack jokes until all of us are screwed


I remember when they tried to rank us like a hierarchy

When we’re all raised in a republic of democracy

How come in friendship we should be ranked

Maybe that’s the reason that their friendship sank


I remember how honest we all ought to be

We criticize each other as if we’re cursing on a tree

We tell the truth though sometimes they’re painful

Just so they know, friends should always be faithful


I remember that time we don’t care if we have money

But we still live each day like there’s no room for worry

I’ve lost count how many times we acted so mean

We always make fun of others, what are we then, fifteen?


Later on we parted ways

In our own shelves of books, we can no longer stay

We thought our separation would make us weaker

Now we know, that the space we had has made us all stronger


I remember all the challenges that we’ve been through

And all those times that were too good to be true

All those memories that stick to my brain like a glue

I hope they all matter to you too


I remember the first day we’ve been together

I remember the laughter, the struggles, and the success that came after

It does not matter now when or where did all those happen

It’s the feeling of still being together now, that is already heaven


For all those times are like treasures in my treasure chest

They were hidden in my heart for they are the best

When all those memories I do remember

When did we started our forever?  I can’t remember!

Invisible Me


When I first had the sight of you, I know its love

My heart fluttered as if I’m already holding a wedding dove

Just a glimpse of you makes me feel like going crazy

All I see is you, and everything in the background looks so blurry


All week I anticipate the day you would play

That hot, sweaty look you can wear the whole day

I dream of you without any clothes in your closet except from your Jersey

And also those muscles that always take away the insanity in me


But I like you not just for fame and physicality

You’re the kind of man that would take every loss as an opportunity

I like you because you’re kind to everybody

I just hope one day I’ll see you looking and smiling at me


When I heard you have a girlfriend my world was torn apart

I felt like I lost myself, I didn’t know where to start

Those admissions of love for her has always broken my heart

What’s with her, I also eat a lot of egg tart!


When the bomb of your breakup exploded

I definitely had my party gears loaded

I know you’re broken, but I’m so sorry baby

In my whole life, I have never been this so happy


But just for this time, could I ask you seriously?

That can you please take a simple girl like me

Compared to others I’m not that confident and pretty

I’m just me and there’s nothing else I could be


Oh babe why didn’t you chose to be a scientist

So that you can discover that in this world I do exist

In this pool of girls that surround you, maybe they’re better than me

And maybe I’ll be a forever invisible fan girl, that’s what it ought to be.