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.

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!

I Got Your Back


I heard you this morning.

I heard you putting on your shoes because it’s time for your morning walk. I heard the kettle boiling, then I heard you sipping your favorite coffee. I heard you playing your guitar, singing along to Leader of the Band. Then you called your friends to come over, and together you laughed until things went out of hand.

I felt you last night.

You covered me with my blanket since I slept in my shorts. You whispered in my ears, telling me you got another trivia saved for tomorrow. I felt you kissed my forehead, telling me sleep tight, no one can harm me.

I saw you the other day.

You pulled out our favorite book. You made me read the History of America again, though I still need to cook. I saw you opened the fridge, and you secretly took out a chocolate bar though you have diabetes. You still ate it though, while sitting under the trees.

It’s been a long time since then.

I grew pretty fast without you. I’ve been so caught up in my own self-sulking, I did not bother to look at you and see how you’re hurting. Tell me, do you think it’s easy? Do you think its fun to distrust people? Do you think it’s good to know that you cannot step out of this bubble because people will hurt you? People will lie to you? How can I even make a fresh start, when I’m still hurting since you broke my heart?

Few months ago, I stand beside your hospital bed.

I look at you and I see the man that I loved. I look at you and I remember how much you loved me. I look at you and I tell myself this isn’t true. I wanted to scold myself because all this time I wanted to be like you. You’re someone who was able to admit your mistakes, someone who showed me how to be sorry, you showed me how to love unconditionally.

You left me.

This time it’s for real. This time I know you will never come back to me.

I always imagine what it would feel like if I have the power to change things.

How awesome it would be if I can turn back time, if can right all my mistakes. If I only could, I would bring you back. I’ll change those little mistakes when I said I’m tired of you. I’ll change how I felt, when I’m so mad at you. I’ll take back what I said, and I’ll say “Dad, I love you”.

If people can just change all their mistakes, maybe people would live a better life. But if we could, then there will be no room for acceptance and learning. We will be free to commit the same mistakes over and over again, because we know that later on we can go back and change it. I choose to live my life. Not to change anything, but to learn everything.

You said I have to be brave.

You said I should not be afraid.

This is what you told me, remember?

“Go on! Do not look back, child, I’m here, and I got your back.”