Fragments of the Quiet Mind

It always starts with a broom. Not a better policy. Not a more efficient process. Just… a broom. Or a new shelf. Or a bright red label that screams “TAPE HERE” like that’s going to fix systemic inefficiency. We call it 7S. I call it performance art for the underpaid and over-managed. In my current workplace, 7S has become our favorite illusion of progress. We polish our tables like it’ll reflect competence. We realign folders like it realigns priorities. We proudly display our “before and after” photos as if anyone asked. Meanwhile, the actual deliverables? Delayed. Disjointed. Disregarded. We aren’t improving systems—we’re decorating dysfunction. There was a time last week when I spent an entire afternoon watching coworkers argue over the font size of cabinet labels. Not the report deadlines, not the implementation gaps—just labels. And I realized: we’ve turned 7S into a religion. Not of discipline, but of distraction. Let’s be honest. Nobody dares question it anymore. To cha...

There’s something charming—almost poetic—about being politely asked to step into your own firing line. “Courtesy resignations,” they call it. Like being handed a thank-you note before your eviction. Like being broken up with via scented stationery. It’s governance by ghosting—but with manners. And oh, what timing. The king’s popularity is dipping, and suddenly, it’s the court’s fault the crowd is booing. Not the decisions, not the mirror—just the reflections. So now it’s time for the grand reshuffle. Not a purge, mind you, just a “realignment.” Because we wouldn’t want to sound tyrannical—we just want results. And nothing says “results” quite like rearranging the same deck chairs on a sinking narrative. Let’s be clear: this is not about personalities, the King insists. It’s about “performance.” But only after the performance failed to get a standing ovation. Strange how urgency is always retroactive. When the people whispered discontent, it was politics as usual. But when they scre...

It started with a simple question from a cousin at dinner: "Would you still vaccinate your future kids after all that Dengvaxia stuff?" I had just taken a bite of kare-kare. I chewed for a bit longer than necessary. Not because I didn’t have an answer, but because I knew the moment I opened my mouth, I’d become the uninvited spokesperson for science, ethics, and a country’s fractured trust. There’s something absurd about the way we treat public health here. We throw away decades of medical progress faster than we throw rice at a wedding, then panic when outbreaks arrive like uninvited relatives during fiesta. We trusted science — until it made a mistake. And like every Filipino family feud, we never truly recover. We just stop speaking to each other and pretend everything’s fine. For the past Months, the name "Dengvaxia" spread faster than the disease it was meant to prevent. A vaccine meant to protect became a symbol of betrayal. And suddenly, everyone was a...

I used to think growing up meant becoming some grand, polished version of yourself—the one your childhood self would cheer for, maybe even brag about at recess. But here I am, ordering my third cup of coffee at 9 PM, staring blankly at a screen, and wondering if I’ve just been winging adulthood all along. Growing up is realizing you’re your own unpaid intern. Turns out, the kid inside me would side-eye this version pretty hard. Not because I gave up on dreams, but because I forgot how to be recklessly hopeful. The fearless wonder? Buried under endless to-do lists and a growing collection of "shoulds" I didn’t even know I agreed to. Hope is the most expensive habit with the worst Return of Investment. But here’s the twist: maybe that side-eye is a good thing. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of reminding me that I’m still in progress. The kid’s shock is just a mirror—reflecting not failure, but the distance traveled. Sometimes the only thing growing faster than you is your coll...

I'm really not into waiting... in fact, i detest it. At this moment, i am waiting for the rain to stop (because i'm too vain to bring my umbrella when i left the house this morning. I kinda thought that my my prophetic prowess can control the weather.) As I gaze at unfamiliar faces, it's kinda silly how they attempt to run through the rain when in fact, it's futile to brave this kind of weather. People rushing to go home, all too busy with their matters-of-consequences...  Pitying these people as i try to Justify the Cartesian idea that these people are engrossed with nothing but metaphysical illusions of reality. Do their matters of consequences really matter? The heck...agawid ak ketdin.