Fragments of the Quiet Mind

Some ghosts wear zippers instead of faces. There was a time I couldn’t go anywhere without you. You were comfort on bad days, silence when words felt too sharp. You made cold mornings softer. Loneliness easier to carry. I didn’t question you. You were just there. Always. We went through everything together—late-night walks, grocery store breakdowns, bus rides where I tried to disappear. You hugged me when no one else knew how. I kept you even when you started falling apart. Even when I knew you were past your prime, unraveling at the edges, losing color in places that used to feel like home. You stopped fitting, but I made excuses. Called it loyalty. Called it love. And still, I held on. Maybe out of memory. Maybe out of guilt. Or maybe because I was afraid of what letting go might say about me. But the truth is— I don’t miss you now. Not really. Not who you’ve become. You're stretched out. Sagging. Smell like an old version of me I’d rather forget. You don't ho...

Let’s begin with the obvious: some of us were simply built different. And by different, I mean wired to fall in love with people who treat us like foot rugs from NOVO—slightly discounted, questionably stitched, and always replaceable. You'd think we’d aim for warmth, tenderness, a hint of decency. But no. Our emotional GPS reroutes straight to the nearest emotionally unavailable person, preferably with a tragic backstory and 13 unread messages from us. We love them because they don’t clap when we win, they don’t check if we ate, and they only reply with “k.” In short, ideal partner material . Psych majors call it anxious attachment. Your tita calls it “ kulang ka lang sa palo .” But we know the truth: it’s probably our inner child cosplaying as a martyr. Some of us were not raised with affection; we were raised with conditional love and jokes that hurt a little too specifically during family reunions. We say things like: “but I see their potential” or  “they’re just going throu...