Fragments of the Quiet Mind

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...

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.

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...

There are truths that settle within you like stones, heavy and unmoving, their presence undeniable. You can feel their weight in your chest, pressing in, yet words escape them, as if the language itself is too fragile to bear their mass. These truths are not for the tongue—they are for the body, for the silent understanding that reverberates through the core of your being. To speak them is to risk collapse, to unearth a burden that your voice cannot carry. It is why, in moments of profound realization, we find ourselves mute, lost in the space between thought and utterance, where the truth lingers, unspoken but alive. I often think of the body as a vessel of unspoken knowledge, a landscape that holds within it the imprints of all that cannot be voiced. We move through the world, unaware that each step, each gesture, is a manifestation of the truths we carry but cannot speak.  In every sigh, in every clenched fist, there are words that have no home in language, truths that live in ...

Puff… Hoping Rising Breathing Delightful Wishful Blissful Gratifying Transforming Loving Tragedy Agony Teary Falling Parting Dying... Dying... Parting Falling Teary Agony Tragedy Loving Transforming Gratifying Breathing… Rising… Hoping… Blow…

What’s the worth of utterly accepting life in all its’ pains and glories through complete surrender and having a full  Dionystic attitude? Does Nietzsche's ‘ amor-fati ’ justify the absence of regret and resentment?  In the first place, how should I begin with this rambling?  The answer perhaps, is through another question about regret and a pseudo-philosophical treatment of this. Such is life – too easy to say, yet indescribable in many aspects. It’s just difficult to understand it, additionally, it’s difficult to limit life into something that just randomly happens. We are thinkers and being such, we clamor for reasons behind everything. There SHOULD be a reason behind life and there must ABSOLUTELY BE A REASON for everything that’s happening. (without thinking we're just crazy to assume that there is a magnanimous ecclesiastical destiny that governs life) Life is maybe a very simple concept but was (and is) subjected to multiple definitions. I am even wond...

It’s a strange thing, the way we’re taught to crave choice. We’re told it’s freedom—this endless sea of possibilities, waiting for us to swim through. Each choice is supposed to feel like a victory, like we’re taking control of our lives. But sometimes, when I pause to think about it, I wonder if it’s really freedom at all. The more options I have, the more I find myself lost, staring at the endless doors and wondering which one should I take. The world gives us choices like confetti. They’re everywhere—what career to follow, who to love, where to live, how to live.  It’s all out there, shimmering with potential, promising that if we pick the right one, the perfect one, we’ll find happiness. But what I’ve realized, after years of standing at crossroads, is that too many choices often feel like a weight, not a gift.  The more doors I have to choose from, the harder it becomes to pick one. And every decision seems like a risk—one wrong move and I might lose everything... On...

We spend so much of our lives waiting for the big moments, the grand gestures, the dramatic shifts that promise to mark us with significance. But what if the truth is tucked away in the moments that slip by unnoticed? The small ones. The quiet ones. Like the way the sunlight hits the window just before dusk, painting the room with that strange golden glow. Or the way a friend’s laugh sounds after they’ve told a joke, something familiar but still warming. You might not remember these moments, not by name, but something in you changes every time they pass. It’s easy to think that life’s meaning lies in the milestones—the promotions, the graduations, the weddings, the great victories. But what about the moments before all that? The pauses, the silences, the ones where you were simply there , breathing, watching, existing. The times when nothing “big” happened but you felt everything. We often overlook them, these small moments. We think they don’t count. But they do. Because somewhere ...