Fragments of the Quiet Mind

We are, all of us, a careful construction—a house with bright, open windows where the light pours in, and rooms we keep locked, the key hidden even from ourselves. Those hidden rooms? That’s where the shadow lives. The parts of us we deny, suppress, push away because they don’t fit the version of ourselves we want the world to see. It’s easy to think of the shadow as something sinister, as though it’s where our worst traits fester: anger, envy, fear, pride. And maybe that’s true. But more than that, the shadow holds our truths—the pieces we’ve exiled because they were too raw, too shameful, or too inconvenient to carry out into the light. What happens, though, when we refuse to look? The irony is that the parts we suppress never disappear. They only grow heavier. That anger we bury becomes a quiet resentment that poisons the air around us. Envy slips into our thoughts like a whisper, twisting admiration into bitterness. Fear calcifies, hardening into excuses that keep us small. I’ve...

  Sometimes, life feels like trying to hold water in my cupped hands, spilling faster than I can catch it. There’s a tension in that, a strange pull between release and regret. The thought that everything is fleeting—that nothing I build or love or dream of will last—sits with me often. It’s not always a heavy thought. Sometimes it’s light, almost weightless, and yet, somehow, it presses down all the same. If everything fades, does it matter? I ask myself this more than I probably should. But maybe the question is wrong, or maybe I’m just afraid of the answer. I wonder if we’ve been looking for meaning in the wrong places—in permanence, in legacies, in things that don’t move. What if it’s the movement itself that matters? On certain days, the fleeting nature of life feels like a gift. Decisions don’t carry the same gravity; I let things go more easily. I can savor a moment without needing to trap it, knowing it’s meant to be brief. And yet, there’s this undercurrent, a kind of s...

Minsan, feeling ko, ang buhay ay parang talent show na walang final performance.  Lahat tayo nag-a-audition, nagbabaka-sakaling makuha ang main role ng “being loved and understood.” Gusto natin yung spotlight moment , pero sa totoo lang, takot din tayong magkamali sa harap ng audience. Kasi paano kung imbes na palakpak, ang sumalubong sa’yo eh nakakabinging katahimikan at tunog ng mga crickets ang sasalubong pala? The desire to be seen is universal. Kahit yung kunwari chill lang sa buhay, pero deep down meron din yung  “Uy, pansinin niyo rin ako minsan” moments. The thing is, sa real life, hindi yan gaya ng selfie na may filter—effortless and mostly, perfect. Reality is raw, messy, and involves showing the parts of yourself na hindi ka sure kung Instagram-worthy. Eto ang dilemma: gusto mo ng recognition, pero takot kang ipakita yung tunay na ikaw. Kasi sa mundo ngayon, ang bilis mong ma-box in. Pag masyado kang confident, ang sasabihin ng mga tao: “Feelingero.” Pag masyado ka...

Accountability is a relentless truth, binding us not only to the weight of what we do, but to the echoes of what we leave undone.  It is in the cracks of silence, in the deliberate omissions, where the soul whispers its allegiance.  To act without conscience is betrayal;  to remain still when courage calls is surrender.  But the gravest fracture lies in the quiet abdication of self—when we trade our integrity for fleeting safety, rewriting who we are to fit the narrative of convenience.  In this, we are not merely judged by others; we are laid bare before the mirror of our own making.

There’s a certain heaviness that settles over us, an invisible weight that we carry without knowing exactly how it’s come to rest upon our shoulders. It’s not the weight of physical things—of tasks to be done, of deadlines to be met—but something deeper. A quiet pressure, the weight of constant input, endless streams of noise that flood the mind. We are connected, yet distant, linked to a world of voices that all seem to say the same thing, and yet none of them quite reach us. We are told, over and over, that meaning is something we must chase, that it lies just beyond the horizon of our daily lives. But in the rush of things, in the swirling chaos of notifications and demands, meaning becomes a fleeting shadow, something we can almost grasp but never quite hold. Every day, we search—through scrolling screens, through fleeting conversations, through the next achievement or the next purchase—hoping to find something that anchors us, something that gives shape to the restless, shifting f...

  I sat across from my friend, both of us staring at screens instead of each other. Her last message was bold, raw—something she needed to say out loud. But all I could offer was a double-tap emoji. “Seen.” It struck me how much weight that single word carries now. “Seen.” As if visibility alone were enough. As if scrolling past someone’s pain, liking their fractured confession, was somehow a substitute for true presence. I realized “seen” is the new “I’m listening,” but emptier. It’s the hollow echo of attention in a world drowning in noise. To be “seen” is to be momentarily noticed, then swiped away. It’s the illusion of connection without the risk of vulnerability. Maybe we have traded depth for distance, presence for pixels. Because listening demands silence, patience, a willingness to be unsettled—and those are luxuries few afford in the rapid scroll of modern life. I remember a time when “I’m listening” meant leaning in, eyes soft and open, breath held gently to hear what...

I walk through this world unshaken, Unafraid of the eyes that pass, For their gaze is ash in the storm— It neither shapes nor scatters me. I am not forged by applause, Nor do I bleed in their silence. My roots twist deep in blackened soil, Feeding on the marrow of my own darkness. I do not seek the light of people's approval, For I have tasted the abyss within— Cold, relentless, unbroken. And in this quiet certainty, No mirror need reflect me, For I am the shadow and the flame I simply... am

Dense clouds of thought scatter across my mind,  a maze of jumbled words and fleeting fragments.  I try to catch them,  to shape them,  but they slip through like grains of sand.  In this chaos, there’s rhythm—a pulse that speaks of buried ideas and quiet aspirations, waiting to rise above the noise. Life feels like this sometimes— a storm of intentions,  emotions, and  scattered plans.  Yet, within the disarray,  patterns emerge,  connections form, and  meaning is born.  The scattered letters remind me of how, in the mess of daily life, beauty often hides in the most unexpected places. Perhaps the key isn’t control but surrender— to let the randomness dance,  to embrace the unpredictable flow,  and to trust that the pieces will align when the time is right.  The fragments may never form a perfect picture, but maybe, just maybe, they’ll tell a story worth hearing.

  Isn’t it fascinating that, in Plato’s Symposium, there’s this old myth about how humans were once these incredible, whole beings—with two faces, four arms, and four legs—only to be split in half by Zeus? The story goes that we were separated not out of cruelty, but to give us a sense of purpose—to spend our lives searching for that other part of ourselves. It’s strange how this ancient story tugs at something deep within us, doesn’t it? Like it speaks to this buried ache we all have, this need to find that missing piece, as if by doing so we’d be whole again. It’s really both romantic and tragic at the same time. We spend so much of our lives chasing after connections, hoping for those fleeting moments where we think we’ve found that lost unity. And yet, it’s not just about finding another person—it’s about finding that elusive sense of completeness we think we’ve lost. Every relationship, no matter how short or imperfect, gives us a glimpse of that fullness we’re after. Just fo...

Sa panahon ngayon, dito sa tinatawag na digital era, online games have evolved into a vast virtual playground where people from around the world come together to revel in the thrill of play. Here, we transform into warriors, wizards, archers, or perhaps just that one player persistently hoping to join the party (or yung player na nanlilimos ng zenny sa tabi tabi) . Our screens come alive with epic battles and pixelated victories, and we bask in the fleeting glory of our digital conquests. These games provide more than mere entertainment; they are arenas for connection, creativity, and personal growth. However, as the stakes of online competition escalate, a troubling aspect often surfaces: toxic competitiveness that threatens to overshadow the very essence of enjoyment. In this digital playground, where avatars clash and virtual worlds are conquered, we sometimes forget a fundamental truth: games are meant to be fun, not battlegrounds for wounded egos. As we immerse ourselves in these ...

I’ve been running from something, though I’m not sure what anymore. The warmth of coffee, once a comfort, now feels distant, like everything else. Time has frozen something inside me, leaving only a hollow chase for peace that never seems to end. Maybe it’s not about winning or losing, but about letting go—surrendering to the emptiness and finding a strange peace in it. We tell ourselves that we’re supposed to rise, to fight, but at what cost? To lean on others is easier, but when you stand on their shoulders, do you even recognize the height? I almost gave in to the lies, to the quick escape, but something stopped me. What’s left when you abandon yourself for an illusion? In the quiet of now, I realize it’s the small things that matter. The overlooked moments where peace resides—not in the noise, but in the stillness. What comes next is uncertain. Joy, sorrow—both are inevitable. But maybe that’s where the freedom lies: in accepting the paradox of it all.

How can one even begin to grasp the true essence of Wittgenstein's words: "The limits of my language mean the limits of my world"? Here I am, amidst these silent witnesses of thought and ink, each volume a testament to the endless quest for understanding. Yet, as I stand here, I can't help but feel the weight of those very words pressing upon me, defining and confining my existence. Imagine this room as a labyrinth of language, its walls sculpted from every book I’ve ever read, every word I’ve ever spoken. Each turn, each passage within this maze is delineated by the constraints of my own expression. It’s as though my entire world is mapped out by the words I use to navigate it.  I find myself caught in a delicate dance with these walls, pushing against them, seeking to transcend their limits, only to realize that my every attempt is bound by the very language I rely on. Every insight I gain, every emotion I experience, seems to echo within this space, a reflection of...

  I've always been drawn to the raw, unfiltered energy of heavy rock music—the kind that feels like it’s tearing something open inside of you, leaving you exposed yet somehow makes you stronger.  Waaaaayyy back in college, when the world seemed divided into groups— the rockers on one side 💀😈💀, and hip-hoppers on the other ✌✌👌—I knew exactly where I stood.  Rock was more than just music; it was a statement of identity, a rebellion against the mundane. The aggressive riffs, the head-banging intensity, the sheer force of it all—it was like channeling the chaos of life into something tangible, something powerful. So, when the era of Nu metal emerged, blending rap and pop with my sacred rock, I didn't like it. It wasn’t that I couldn’t appreciate the craftsmanship behind it—I could—but it felt like a dilution, a watering down of everything I held dear. You had to pick a side back then, and I chose rock with a sort of blind loyalty, fueled more by the need to belong than by...

What lies behind you and what lies in front of you pales in comparison to what lies inside of you. In our relentless pursuit of understanding the past and preparing for the future, we often overlook the profound complexity within us—a complexity that defines our very existence. Philosophers from Aristotle to Heidegger have grappled with the essence of being, often emphasizing external factors like time and space. Yet, the true essence of life isn’t merely a chronological sequence of events but the rich inner world that shapes our perceptions and decisions. This internal landscape, often overshadowed by external pursuits, is where the deepest truths and most authentic self reside. Imagine life as a game of chess. While each move matters, the game’s outcome is determined not by the pieces on the board but by the mind of the player. The same applies to life—our external actions are merely reflections of our internal state. The real challenge, then, is not just to navigate the external wor...

Philosophy goes to dinner.  Isn't it amusing to see people who happily devour bacon, steak, and chicken wings suddenly get on their high horse when the topic of dog meat comes up? The indignation is almost palpable.  “How could anyone eat a dog?” they ask, horrified, as they reach for another slice of pepperoni pizza.  It’s a reaction that’s understandable—dogs are our loyal companions, our furry best friends. But let’s take a step back and look at the bigger picture.  If you’re going to argue against eating dogs, shouldn’t that same logic apply to all animals? Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not suggesting we start putting Whitey, Blackie or Brownie on the menu.  But here’s the thing: meat is meat.  If you’re morally opposed to eating dogs because they’re intelligent, loyal, or simply because you can’t imagine doing so, then shouldn’t that same consideration be extended to pigs, cows, and chickens? After all, pigs are known for their intelligence, cows form c...

Let me get this straight: NEDA thinks a family of five can survive on P9,581 a month?  That's like saying a cat can survive on a diet of air and Facebook likes.  It's almost as if they’re expecting us to pull out our Monopoly money and start making a living off “Free Parking” and “Community Chest” cards.  What’s next? Are we going to start paying for our groceries with exposure, good vibes, and a nod of "pasasalamat" to the cashier? Let’s break it down, shall we? According to NEDA, that P9,581 is supposed to cover everything—food, shelter, clothing, transportation, education, healthcare, and, I don’t know, maybe a unicorn ride to work? They’re saying that each person can live on P64 a day. That’s less than the price of a decent cup of coffee, and I’m talking about the kind where the barista just scowls at you and slaps your name on a paper cup. Lets take a look at it one by one: Food : Let’s say you’re sticking to the basics—rice, sardines, and maybe a couple of veget...

It’s cold. September’s chill bites at my skin, a crisp reminder of change. As I settle into my chair, cradling my coffee cup like a small flame in my palms, warmth seeps into my fingers. I pause. It’s quiet. That early morning kind of quiet where the world still clings to slumber, and the air feels like an unwritten page, ready for the first strokes of thought. I flip open Simone de Beauvoir’s The Ethics of Ambiguity , a book that demands a dance, not just a read. And there it is, a line that lands softly but hits hard: “The notion of ambiguity must not be confused with that of absurdity.” I pause again, letting the words hang in the air, heavy with implication. I know absurdity. Absurdity is waking at 3 a.m., eyes fixed on the ceiling, grappling with the vast question of existence. It’s standing at a funeral, lost in the ache of grief, or looking out over a teeming city and feeling the weight of how small we really are. Absurdity is that breathless silence that follows a profound ques...

Sabi nga nila, ‘Everyone wears a mask’ daw.  Minsan talaga napapatanong ako sa sarili ko kung ilang maskara nga ba sinusuot ko sa pang araw araw? or technically, ilang maskara nga ba meron ako? Paano or kailan ko ba isinusuot ito?  Madalang? Madalas? or naging natural na sya at unconsciously, automatic na syang naisusuot depende sa situation?  Minsan napapaisip din ako kung eto ba'y kaplastikan?  Pagkukunwari?  Pandaraya? is it a kind of betrayal sa ibang tao lalong lalo na sa sarili ko?   Masama nga bang magsuot ng maskara or this is just how humans navigate through life? Pero syempre, logically speaking, we can't generalize things. Sometimes we need to know the reasons behind things.  Minsan, kailangan nating laliman ang pang unawa para maintindihan nating yung mga reasons behind kung bakit nga ba tayo nagsusuot ng maskara Eto ang point ko jan, what if bawat isang mask na isinusuot natin ay may sariling kwento? Paano kung bawat mukha ay merong  ...

  "It is not what we do, but also what we do not do, for which we are accountable." – Molière In the cutthroat world of work, accountability can become a weapon, but not everyone wields it against the vulnerable. There will always be that specific kind of person— a few, yet more than enough — who turn on you when the stakes rise.  They don’t announce their intentions; instead, they shift imperceptibly. Their tone becomes measured, their gaze evasive, and their silence during critical moments deafening. These are not strangers, but colleagues you trusted, people who once shared the weight of the work alongside you. It’s not always an immediate betrayal. It begins with small omissions, selective truths, and decisions framed as “what’s best for everyone.” What they really mean, of course, is what’s best for themselves. One moment, you're exchanging solidarity; the next, you're the sacrificial lamb. It’s devastating not just because it feels personal—it’s devastating beca...