Tuesday, November 5, 2013

I Wish You Saw Me. See Me.

Dangle the faithless weaving change round himself as he abhors himself.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

It occurs to me

That all this time, I have been coasting along, have always had discomfort crawling inside me, awkward and uncomfortable in my own skin. I know the pathways leading to my light, but the spiral descent to darkness is intoxicating, and, in strange ways, safer. And so I suffer more.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013


Two days ago, on a rainy Monday, I was soaked to and beyond my bone. I
had to wade through a flood, something I avoid because of an incident
in my childhood. That day, it could not be helped. I enjoy walking in
the rain and I initially thought that was all I had to do to get home,
but what greeted me at the next bend was a wet blanket of swirling
water. I had to suck it up and wade in, trying my hardest to direct my
attention elsewhere, however I failed. My shoes and my pants were
submerged and I was getting more miserable by the minute.

By the time I got home, I no longer thought myself cool for walking in
the rain. An unkempt and pitiable face greeted me in the mirror. My
clothes were soiled and my shoes were a mess. As I took a bath, I
realized the truth beyond the idioms. No other rain I was ever in
could compare to that Monday rain. The entire walk home, I was caught
up in my present tragedies and every little reminder that littered my
room wounded like no other. I could not even bring myself to
romanticize my experience. Six months after my big mistake, I am still
reeling from the repercussions of choices made in poor taste.

I was in a black sulk yesterday and never left the house. When I woke
up this morning, I told myself I wouldn't report to the office, yet
here I am writing this. These days I hate my clothes, my miserable
pair of shoes, my being out of school, my den, all the distractions
that keep me from creative pursuits and it all shows in the dark
circles under my eyes, and my binge eating, which I also hate. There
is just too much negativity assaulting me from all fronts that I can
barely keep myself from ripping at the seams. I keep feeling that my
time is being stolen from me and I keep scrambling to do everything I
can while I can to not lose my edge.

On my way to the office today, a recollection randomly jumped at me
and I found myself smiling, laughing to myself without a care in the
world. That I could still do these two little things remind me that I
am not so broken as I think I am. That I am strong. That I am saved.

Or maybe I'm losing my sanity.

Friday, July 12, 2013

FU: A Letter to the Wind

Insufferable Upstart,

May you fester in the shallow cesspool of your ignorance while I
ferment in my selfish bitterness. You have not wronged me, per se. I
am merely being the jealous friend, for I have few. Your idiotic
conquest for undeserved attention has struck a nerve.

Do not grieve. I have issues of my own and you have most kindly
provided an outlet.

This is me being creative. This is you being a victim of chance. I do
not know you. You will never know this letter exists.

Insincerely yours,
Spiral Bitch

Monday, July 8, 2013


Daily I am assaulted by the cloying smell of my second-degree nephew's
It is clearly his adolescent ignorance for the new-fangled behind this
brouhaha, for surely, beyond the excuse of being subjected to
merciless perspiration precipitated by faulty biological
processes(which he is no victim of), there is no sensible reason that
will absolve him of his sin of excess beyond excess such that every
half-hour is marked by sudden disappearances barely making the
two-minute mark, before he emerges once more the depths of his room to
plague me anew with the renewed vigour of the thick miasma upon his
person. His fumigant has amalgamated with his own effluvia to create a
potent affront to my nasal faculties and personal sensibilities, for
his perceived solution to a non-existent problem has become a problem
in itself, and one of even greater magnitude. I try to distance
myself, however, his deprivation of a male figure other than his
grandfather(my uncle), manifests in his constant conquests for
interaction. He is quite oblivious to all of this, quite content with
the novelty of his addiction. I wonder sometimes: does he feel a
strange satisfaction each time he smudges his ________ on the pits of
his arms? Don't even get me started on his Eau de Saster fancy which
is just as bad.

These things I suffer in silence, for the rest of the household condones them.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Where Is My Morning Coffee?

Instagram pet-peeve: When hashtags become a story of their own.
#instagram #IG #IGrandom #instapetpeeve #insta #pet #peeve #instapet
#peeve #insta #petpeeve #status #memasabilang #brainfart #quote
#random #whydidthechickencrosstheroad

Friday, June 14, 2013

Lala Land

I prayed for youth unwithered and youth there bloomed in me, I sought for age unweathered and age has ceased to be

Thursday, May 30, 2013


Run through my veins, I see naught but red. Red. Red.

Monday, May 27, 2013

Non inultus premor

The balm of my soul of late has been to record my thoughts, literally, instead of writing them down. It leaves little room for trying to decide which approach works better and allows for more honesty to pour in. What little peace this affords me I hunger for madly, for morsels are as feasts to me. I am a beggar, in more ways than one. I am also one who seeks vengeance. Non inultus premor.

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Things We Lost in the Fire

Cast the crown at my feet I am Prince no longer

Friday, May 10, 2013


Overheard at Fully Booked earlier:

Conyo Kid 1: Hey look -The Great Gatsby. We should read The Great Gatsby.

Conyo Kid 2: Yes! It's a cool book about Time Travel.

Poor Spiral died a little inside.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013


Alas the paupers who think their deeds fairer than their liege. Alas the housemate that complain loudest that there is nothing to eat. Because he knows not how to fucking cook.

Sunday, May 5, 2013


It comes unbidden, coating everything in rime.

Saturday, April 20, 2013


Having found myself at the eye of several things tugging at me, I left one in pursuit of the other: Happiness. Fulfillment. Distractions. I write this with the knowledge that I've lost, and I've lost in so my ways. I'm back and I've nothing to show for my departure. I tried not to go back. Yet here I am, stripped of everything else but what skill is given me. There is peace. A sense of comfort to be had that is not unlike the ease one finds when one talks to one's self. The question, however, is whether or not I have grown. Or have I degenerated.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Silang Mga Pabilib

Transcript: I enjoy spontaneity: random joyrides, unplanned trips in the company of like-minded souls. I'm human and I've got my urges, too. Your problem with that is yours to bear.

Transcript: And ______ don't get me wrong. to bear your urges is actually eeenk ! it's BARE your urges. change the word - very quick. ehehe ;* mwuua

My. Goodness.

Monday, March 18, 2013


I first knew of her a decade or so ago now - the smart girl on the road to her valedictory address. I knew the name, I glimpsed her face but once. The second time I saw her - the one that stuck with me was in our subdivision. She was riding a bike. I was riding mine. I knew it was her. I don't think she even knew me. Fast forward to high school and we found ourselves in the same institution. I first spoke to her during our freshmen family day, eager to try out a game on her phone. All those other times I met her - in the hallway or elsewhere in the school grounds - I gave a vague nod of acknowledgement. We were never friends then, although that changed, very slightly, when a lot of us from our batch got addicted to Ragnarok Online. Among the things that I am very proud of, it's that I was classmates with all of us who graduated from high school, although we weren't classmates until our senior year. Like I said, we were more acquaintances than we were friends up until the day I decided to break the ice: I started bullying her after my own fashion, which is how I usually befriend somebody. After having gone through the past three years, the entire batch was well aware of her intense fascination with the color yellow. The walls of our classroom were apple green and, well, I love the color green, so I pointed out to her that she was surrounded and that the color green was clearly superior over yellow, and our classmates, realizing this, followed suit. And so it became known that green and yellow were at war. The rest was an immensely fun history.

I used to be one to struggle intensely against the looming change that tugged at all of us, threatening to unravel the knots we forged over the years. Needless to say, I found myself burned out and feeling tossed aside, but that is another story. Over the years, while I have grown distant from the rest of our batch, I still maintain our ties. Where there is awkwardness between me and the rest of our peers, with her, I feel I could run across endless fields of soil and sand, soaking in sun and rain alike: light and free, and most importantly, me. There is no judgment, only an understanding that can only come from kindred souls, bridging so wide a distance, physical and metaphorical, that it ceases to matter, which I sorely need at this stretch of my life's road where I have seen once-bosom friends shun me. At the end of all things, I know I will find yellow and myself upon a bench, sharing a good laugh as only friends can, and agree that it has been one maelstrom of a ride, and yet argue whether yellow or green is better than the other.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Raison d'être

There is a fundamental difference between our lives that strains to sever our bridges. I am an anchor weighing you down as you sail towards your dreams. Even then, I have yokes to bear alone: frustration, guilt, and wistful despair plague me incessantly. After all I went through, the surprise at being cast away has lost its novelty. It is as you said: do not complicate life. I am a tumor practically begging for a surgical removal. I live vicariously, leeching off of things until I am rid of.

It occurs to me now that perhaps people cross paths with my own to ascertain what they truly want - not too different from coveting a toy from behind a window, going into the shop to speak with the maker, and briefly trying the toy out only to find realize that you never wanted the toy at all and so you return it and leave contented. 

I am toy. This is my purpose: to be loved for a spell only to be outgrown, before the hands change again.

This is my fate: to be cherished until the child is grown, after which my fate is my own.

Thursday, March 7, 2013


Between leaving this space to start afresh, and staying to maintain some semblance of consistency, I was made to stay. I have weathered storms that left me broken these past few months, but their telling is for another time, or it may never come at all. Things come to us that are beyond all forms of control: the weather, a rip in your suit, you stumbling down the pavement in picturesque flailing of limbs, chance meetings with a lost friend, sharing a smile with a stranger, laughing inwardly to a joke remembered in our heads. I have laid down drafts for my departure, all intricately woven as to reflect my belief in some grand design I cannot comprehend that has me entangled. Shackled. That at my weakest I whisper to myself that all is not for naught in the end.

In the end.

In the end you come waltzing into my life and I find myself caught in your embrace, and your whispered professions, your - your honest confessions come knocking at my doors, incessantly hoping to weather the rock that once was a heart. I rebuff and reason that everything is too soon, that this briefness of time comes with a familiarity to it: a bitterness in my gut and a salty tang to my eyes. And in the end we come to this.

I hear nothing but the last beats of this heart at my feet. I see nothing but your face contorted in honest pain and yet your eyes still enthrall me so - I brim with the force of thawed ice that I cannot hold back. You whisper those words again, one hand raised in a final plea. 

Forgive me for this sin: I took the fall.

Sunday, January 20, 2013


I had a dream my life would be different from this hell I'm living.

Happy birthday to me.

Saturday, January 19, 2013


When it comes to love, we fall twice:

first is when we fall in love
second is when we're left to fall on our own

Are we, then, to be blamed if we fall flailing and screaming? Are we still to blame if we choose to hide behind silence to spare all parties from the blade of words?

In love, we lose, we fall, we fail. Alone.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Friday, January 4, 2013

You Have Been Warned