Fragments of the Quiet Mind

I went to the mall one sunny-rainy-sunny afternoon (if you are from Baguio, you will definitely understand what I mean by this) with one goal in mind: PAY THE BILLS. I did not expect the number of people pressed along an unbelievably long line from the cashier. I seriously hate long lines and at that moment, I felt trapped. I wanted to go away but I can't. I have no choice but wait.  While standing and being on queue, I can't help but wonder and dwell inside the confines of my thoughts. This practically is my way of surviving this impatience building up. Once more, I started looking at faces, movements and reactions of people with me at the line. I was looking at how they deal with boredom. Most of them were busy with their cell phones, some were taking selfies, others were checking their social media accounts and some talking with their companions as they fall in line. Anyway, what tickles my attention is when people are already at the counter, I notice that everyt...

I want to feel something… it feels like I’m in a coma identical to that moment when you’re half asleep and you got no control of your body… you want to move but it’s like there’s an invisible entity controlling your body. But technically, that’s still feeling something right? Is the apathy eating me? Feeling apathetic? But that’s self defeating. For how can one feel and be indifferent at the same time? Feeling the apathy? Or not feeling the indifference? Whatever. The morning sun feels so fudgin’ good, the petrichor after a night’s rain fills my soul with quiet hope. Silently streaming through my soul, coursing through my veins, surging in a torrential path as it fills my cold heart with sudden warmth... The blackened abyss of my being is starting to see colors as the feeling slowly paints this death filled milieu with life. World tainted, seemingly broken, yet still, aesthetically acceptable in the most twisted perspective one can muster. This warm feeling – To be able to be on...

In the hazy depths of this coffee shop's smoky veil, I sit alone, a contemplative soul in need of a wake-up call. A mere slap, some may say, could shake me from this reverie, Yet, I sense a greater force within, a destructive energy, Unbeknownst to me, seeking solace, seeking resolution.   My restless mind, forever longing to tidy the chaos, A manifestation of pride, this belief I hold, That I alone possess the power to mend the broken pieces, To restore order in a world perceived as disarrayed.   But now I see, with newfound clarity, That this desire stems from an egocentric pride, A futile attempt to bend the world to my will, To craft it as I envision, to fit my longing gaze.   Yet, can we truly seek answers in the general, the mundane? Can spontaneity hold the key to our liberation, When it was spontaneity that brought us to this precipice, To this crossroad of uncertainty and introspection?   For truth, they say, is a d...

Once more, the battle commences… This is my eternal struggle with my bed, or rather, with sleep itself. All I am yearning and hoping for right now is having the ability to slide into a peaceful slumber. It should be a simple task (This is supposed to be simple!) Reclining my self on a chair, slouching, resting and closing my weary eyes. Simple right? NO! It is in this moment, when I enter the realm of taming my racing thoughts is where the true challenge lies. This is the time that my mind becomes active. The memories of our shared nights resurface, and I find myself relating all too well to the notion of the "hair monster." You know, that feeling of being smothered by a fluffy creature, waking up to find strands of hair strewn across your face like wayward tendrils of affection. It was just last night, after we indulged in a few drinks, that she retired to bed. I watched as she succumbed to the whimsical artistry of the "sloppy drunk" style of sleep...

Alright, listen up—my muse is in full-on concupiscent mode lately, which is a fancy way of saying she won’t let my brain rest. So here I am, trying to capture the experience without smashing it to bits under the weight of words. If you came here expecting a highbrow academic paper... nope. You can bail now. This ain’t that. Picture me: balcony, laptop, coffee, and my muse—lusty as ever—deciding now is the perfect time to show up. Since writing without smokes is like trying to dance without music, I grabbed my umbrella and braved a rainstorm on steroids. Oh, and did I mention I live half a kilometer from civilization? Cows, horses, crickets—mountain life perks. Welcome to the wild. Made it to the store and here’s Manang with the bad news: “No Marlboro, kuya. Nobody buys those anymore.” I blinked. “Champion lang po.” Champion? I thought I was gearing up for a symphony, not a fight with a cigarette. But whatever, I bought it. Back on my throne (balcony chair), I lit my Champion… Puf...

The reverie of walking – that state where one becomes preoccupied in thinking, an art of fleeing from reality towards a fantasy world created to escape the tragedies of this world. I admit that I cannot escape the harshness and stressful conditions of this reality, and that is the very reason why I choose to cling to this 5 minute walk to the 6th floor -  to this ‘fantasy’ world I created-  Sadly,  the finitude of the stairs makes me wish na sana, nasa 158th floor na lang yung classroom…  It’s in walking that I am lost in my thoughts and in my thought comes realization. A dangerous thing to some but through my realizations, I am able to contemplate and know why things ARE (as well as why things ARE NOT).  This catastrophic spectacle of life happens when I think I am quite certain of something but then I suddenly realize that the 'thing' I thought I already know is slowly escaping my grasp (which most of the time, would leave me hating my stupi...