Fragments of the Quiet Mind

 There is no justification for walking into a place of worship with a weapon. No cause, no grievance, no theory—nothing—can make sense of that kind of cruelty. To kill people in the middle of prayer is not rebellion, it is desecration. It is not rage—it is rot. The kind that begins in the soul and spreads through history, disguised as ideology. On October 27, 2018, a man entered the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh and opened fire. Eleven people were murdered. It was the deadliest attack on the Jewish community in U.S. history. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t surprising. The world had been inching toward this—subtly, then shamelessly. Hatred no longer hid. It posted. It shouted. It ran for office. It wore suits and badges and usernames and smirks. And when it pulled the trigger that morning, it did so with the confidence of someone who had already been told: yes, you belong here too. The Tree of Life. Etz Chaim. A name that echoes through both scripture and longing. A symbol of ...

I used to believe faith was a steady flame handed down—warmth that sheltered me from the cold winds of doubt. It was a map drawn by hands older than mine, with clear roads, familiar landmarks, and promises stitched into the sky. I carried it like armor and sanctuary, the kind you don’t question because it’s part of your bones. But growing up is learning to step outside that light and see the shadows it cast. The edges blur. The roads fork. The promises twist in ways you never expected. Outgrowing faith isn’t a clean break. It’s a slow peeling back, a quiet unlearning, an ache that feels like betrayal and freedom all at once. It’s realizing that what once protected you may now confine you. That your soul, hungry for something deeper, refuses to be tethered to the stories you were told. I see now that faith is less about certainty and more about courage—the courage to face the unknown without the safety net of old truths. It’s a paradox: losing belief but not losing hope. Letting go b...

1.  Hindi ang pagsisimba kada Linggo o ang pagdarasal kada oras ang basehan ng pagiging mabuting tao kundi kung papaano ang aplikasyon ng pananalig at pananampalataya ng tao sa kanyang pamumuhay. Ang pananalig ay di nakikita kung gaano kalaki ang loyalty mo sa religion mo kundi kung gaano kalalim ang connection mo sa pinaniniwalaan mo . Hindi lamang sa simbahan maaring makita ang Maykapal kundi ito’y makikita rin sa atin kalooban. Minsan kailangan lang nating manahimik saglit at makinig, eventually, mararamdaman din natin yung connection. 2. " The universe is not made up of atoms, it is made up of tiny stories " ika nga ni Joseph Gordon-Levitt  sa kanyang children's book na the Tiny book of Tiny Stories, sabayan pa natin ng "The world is made up of facts, not of things" na sinabi ng pilosopong si Wittgenstein sa kanyang Tractatus. Napaka radikal na sabihing ang pisikal na anyo ng mundo ay walang katotohanan, di naman yan ang punto. Maganda ding pagisipan na s...

Amidst the depths... When life has scraped the marrow of your being,   and hardships outnumber the stars in the night sky. Yet, in that abyss, there lies a flicker, a spark of resilience refusing to be extinguished. For it is in the darkest moments,   where the strength to endure is forged with every breath,   and the embers of hope persist against the odds. Amidst the depths,  a transformation takes hold,   where wounds become scars,  and vulnerability turns into fortitude. With each trial endured,  a fragment of wisdom is gained,   a lesson etched deep within the dark crevices of the soul. And as the weight of the world threatens to suffocate,   the spirit within rises,  defying the gravity of despair. For even amidst the depths,   there exists an unwavering belief,   t hat the human spirit is indomitable,   and from the depths,  it shall ascend,   t o pierce the night with a beacon of resilience.

I never really liked commuting although I enjoy travelling. It’s weird, but what I mean by this is that, I don’t like the feeling of being inside of something. Enclosed, bounded and not doing anything – the feeling of being static while the world around you is moving. It’s not the speed, it’s the feeling of being able to go somewhere or achieve something without you exerting any effort but still getting that which you want to get.  It’s how I feel when I'm commuting, I just sit there then the next thing you know, you are already at your destination. What’s more than this perverted idea is perhaps because of this certain irrational fear that’s building up inside me whenever I’m inside a car, jeep, taxi or a van.  The stillness of the air inside the vehicle creates the very ground for my paranoid thoughts to germinate and breed. I find enclosed spaces fettering, but no, it’s not claustrophobia (because I don’t have issues with elevators), it’s just that riding makes me feel ir...

The self-righteous-religious-fanatic who keeps on using the name of God in almost all her sentences and yet gossips about the life of others. A preacher who keeps on telling us about a merciful God and yet talks about punishment and how souls are hell-bound if ‘donations’ for the church are not made. (which gives me two points for reconsideration:  First, it’s an implicit way of saying that you must join their religion if you want to be saved,  and secondly, donations are defined with a specific percentage of your income.) ok, I don’t intend to wage a war against beliefs here, all I am trying to imply is that donations should be done wholeheartedly. Some does that, but I doubt if everyone really gives the ‘real’ percentage of their income.  Incidentally, faith without reason breeds mediocrity, and religions nowadays are doing the exact opposite of what Jesus preached. (or what they are really meant to do.) Quoting the song Holy Wars by Megadeth: Brothers will kill brot...

Its fundamentally an eschatological treatment to one’s miserable year: in other words, regret. People are resentful of their past year, hoping to make the upcoming year better, brighter and lighter by making promises to themselves which most of the time, they really have no intention of keeping. I don’t make resolutions as I know that I am bonded to my promises. I never want to make a promise to myself that I can’t preserve (in as much as I don’t want to make promises to people that I know I can’t keep.) As clichéd as it sounds, we don’t need to wait for a new year to aim for transformation and new life. Change takes place everyday- Mutation (destructive) and Evolution (constructive) takes place every fudgin day. From the setting of the sun to the rising of the moon, we are already at the mercy of change though most of the times, we ignore it. We are a completely different person 1 second ago – and we don’t have to make promises to appease ourselves of the change happening in us. We w...

“In the silence of the soul, we find not what is missing, but what has always been there.” — Unknown In the moments when faith in people wanes—fragile, like a thread unraveling in the wind—there is an unsettling realization that perhaps the world was never meant to be understood, only endured. Every disillusionment, every broken promise, leaves behind a taste of bitterness, a subtle erosion of trust. And yet, isn’t there a strange comfort found in this unraveling? The bitter, gnawing emptiness that follows seems less an end than a turning point, a shift toward something darker and deeper . The quiet that follows a loss of faith is not just absence; it is a kind of hunger . It is not silence for its own sake, but a silence that cradles the soul like a mother’s arms, soothing wounds that once bled too openly. We leave behind the noise , the promises of connection that only hollowed us out more. What was once a cacophony, demanding our attention, has been replaced by something more ...

To find the vastness of a world contained within a grain of sand is to learn that meaning often lives in the smallest details—those fragments overlooked in the rush of everyday life. This truth asks us to slow down, to soften our gaze until the invisible becomes visible. “To see a world in a grain of sand,” Trust is never simple. It is a fragile negotiation between yearning and hesitation, a delicate dance where hope and doubt circle one another endlessly. Dreams may stretch high, aspiring toward the infinite, yet shadows of uncertainty pull them earthward, reminding us that progress is often tentative, fragile. “And heaven on a wild flower,” Connection is rare and wild, like a flower blooming unexpectedly in barren soil. It defies explanation and resists containment, thriving best when seen without judgment or expectation. In these moments of quiet encounter, the extraordinary quietly reveals itself. Our emotions are more than reactions; they are the outcome of what we choose to bel...

It was supposed to be a simple Sunday—a light, breezy day where life just flows, no plans, no structure. You know the type: the kind where spontaneity is your guide, nudging you in whichever direction the wind blows. After a satisfying run in the rain—my body alive with the rhythm of the droplets—I found myself wandering toward the cathedral. Not because I had to, but because something deep within me craved that connection to something larger than myself. Spiritual, not religious—that’s the badge I wear. I just wanted to pray. Just wanted to whisper my thoughts into the vastness, to reach out to that elusive spirit that weaves through everything, binding us all. But when I arrived, I was greeted by a tarp—a drab banner of rules pretending to be divine law. "Dress codes," it proclaimed, like some sartorial decree. “No shorts, no sleeveless tops,” it warned, as if God had suddenly developed a taste for high fashion. Seriously? Instead of communion with the divine, I turned on m...