Fragments of the Quiet Mind

Monday mornings feel like waking up in the aftermath of something unspeakable. The alarm goes off—not like a gentle chime, but more like a siren dragging you out of some place deeper than sleep. You don’t wake up so much as surface, disoriented, the bed a kind of shipwreck you were clinging to all night. The sheets are twisted like torn sails. Your body, waterlogged with dreams and dread, doesn't move. Not yet. It’s not just fatigue. There’s a kind of existential drag, as if the very structure of the week is built to resist your being. You stare at the ceiling like it might offer a reason to rise. None comes. The world beyond the blanket is already demanding something from you—your time, your answers, your alignment with a schedule you didn’t invent but are somehow bound to. The idea that Monday is a “fresh start” feels like a corporate myth. Nothing about it is fresh. What you feel is continuity—the heavy kind. Everything you didn’t finish last week is still there, waiting, as if...

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...

What lies behind you and what lies in front of you pales in comparison to what lies inside of you. In our relentless pursuit of understanding the past and preparing for the future, we often overlook the profound complexity within us—a complexity that defines our very existence. Philosophers from Aristotle to Heidegger have grappled with the essence of being, often emphasizing external factors like time and space. Yet, the true essence of life isn’t merely a chronological sequence of events but the rich inner world that shapes our perceptions and decisions. This internal landscape, often overshadowed by external pursuits, is where the deepest truths and most authentic self reside. Imagine life as a game of chess. While each move matters, the game’s outcome is determined not by the pieces on the board but by the mind of the player. The same applies to life—our external actions are merely reflections of our internal state. The real challenge, then, is not just to navigate the external wor...

I’ve been thinking about how good I am at understanding people. Call me an airhead and proud, but really, I am good at it. Maybe too good. It’s like my brain is wired to read between the lines, catch the half-hidden sighs, the subtle shifts in tone. I can sense when someone’s tired before they say it, when a smile is just a mask, when words are doing damage beneath the surface. And I do it so naturally that I barely notice I’m doing it. I make excuses for people before anyone else even feels the sting.  They didn’t mean it.  They’re hurting.  It’s not personal.   I rehearse their backstories and soften their edges, as if by understanding them better, I can protect myself from being hurt. But here’s the thing I’m only now starting to admit to myself: while I’m fluent in everyone else’s pain, I’m utterly mute about my own. When I withdraw, I hear the word “cold.” When I set a boundary, it’s “too much.” When I flinch at a careless comment, I’m “overreacting.” No one ...

There you were again. Bittersweet. Mysterious. Smelling faintly of burnt hope and toasted almonds. I couldn’t place you, but somehow I already missed you. You arrived on a Tuesday — not a remarkable Tuesday, mind you. Just one of those limp, mid-tempo days that smelled faintly of budget cuts and existential dread. I found you sitting there, steam spiraling like a secret trying to escape, whispering things to my tired soul like: "You’ll survive this spreadsheet." "You are more than your inbox." "The meeting could’ve been an email." Was it your warmth that unraveled the corners of my anxiety? Or your bitterness — so artfully balanced, like heartbreak in a tuxedo? Loving you felt oddly familiar, like recognizing a skyline you’ve only ever seen in a dream. Or a crush on someone who doesn't exist — but has a Spotify playlist somehow eerily aligned with your breakup mood. I started timing my mornings around you. Measured my sanity by your pre...

There was a time I thought saying “maybe” meant you didn’t know what you were doing. Like certainty was the mark of competence. You’re either in or out. Yes or no. Pick a side. Now I see “maybe” as resistance. A quiet refusal to be rushed into clarity. A pause in a world that demands immediacy. People ask: "Are you sure this is the right path?" Maybe. "Do you know what you want?" Maybe. "Is this who you want to be?" Maybe. I’m not indecisive—I’m just unwilling to pretend complexity fits neatly into binaries. Most things aren’t clean. Most choices aren’t final. Most truths shift when you look at them twice. I used to think “maybe” was the space between two stronger words. Now I think it’s a full sentence. A boundary. A breath. The courage to say: I’m still becoming. I haven’t arrived. I don’t want to promise anything just to feel safe. We’re taught to pick a lane, plant a flag, define the relationship, be sure. But maybe “maybe” is the most hones...

Minsan napapaisip at napapatanong ako na sa paglikha ba ng art, music, or sa pagsusulat e mas naihahayag natin ang tunay na concept ng kalayaan? Di ba sa ARTS as a whole eh walang limitasyon, walang hindrances ng policies at laws, kundi guided tayo ng ating mga ideya lang. Kahit na ang ating mundo ay puno ng difficulties, insecurities and absence ng certainty, sa paglikha ay nadadama natin ang kalayaan at dito, pwede tauong magpakalunod sa mga emotions na tanging art lamang ang kayang mag express. Malaya ang taong gawin ang kanyang nanaisin,  Subalit hindi rin maiiwasan na sa kalayaang yan eh merong mga bagay na nagagawa at mga salitang nabibitawan na nagdudulot ng pain at difficulties sa ibang tao. Eto ang dahilan kung bakit marami din ang nagsasabing kailangan nating ic ontrol ang ating kalayaan dahil baka meron taong nasasaktan sa ating mga pinagsasabi or pinag gagawa. Basic civility , ika nga.  Pero di naman din ibig sabihin nito na kailangang manahimik ka na lang at ta...

I live in the tension between freedom and belonging—the silent pull shaping every choice. Freedom promises escape and autonomy but leaves a loneliness like concrete pressing down. Freedom isn’t just no chains; it’s a room where no one calls your name. Belonging is messy, a weight carried because isolation terrifies more. It demands surrender, risking erosion—wearing a soft wound as armor until it bleeds. Freedom isolates. Belonging erases. We crave both but find them strangers wearing the same mask. The door to connection often leads to a subtle cage. We trade one prison for another, hoping at least the bars are invisible. No one teaches this dance—how to want people but hold your edges, how to be vulnerable without dissolving. I’ve fled closeness and begged for space. Stayed too long and left too soon. The hardest place is between what we want and what we lose. Maybe freedom and belonging aren’t destinations but forces held in uneasy balance—fractured and whole, both at once. Livi...

It is said that the human brain is hard wired to remember the negativity and pains more than the positive memories. Like, we remember the mistakes we have committed in our exams more than the correct answers we've had. Simply putting it, the brain can't cut the crap because it remembers the crap more than the happy moments. I’ve been reading an article about neuroscience (and positivism) and a recent discovery suggests that a person with high cognitive capability can actually use his higher brain regions to control emotions and shut off (or subdue) the lower regions that make people remember traumatic instances that happened in their lives. In a way, it’s like rewiring the already hardwired brain to shift perspectives and focus by using In-tention and attention to overcome the negative bias.  Just imagine how powerful that brain must be. It would be really cool to have that kind of ability and have the skill and power to manipulate the thoughts you want to remember.  ...

The desire to be alone at times in order to understand oneself does not necessarily mean that one is shutting oneself off from others. Sometimes, it is simply because one does not want others to be affected by their own depression, or because they need time to understand a certain aspect of their personality. Moving away from others is done for both our and their sake. Unfortunately, not many people would understand this, and some may even view it as pompousness, leading to negative comments and hate. Although we are not responsible for what others think of us, it can still be painful to hear the negative words and stories that people use to bring others down. Life is like this. No matter how you struggle to move forward, there will always be people who would prove you otherwise. It doesn’t only happen in schools or in work, but it happens in almost every conceivable place and time. As critics, these people would wait for you to do something wrong or say something stupid – which is the...

Today, I learned that … In the company of fools and in trying to make your point be understood by them is as futile as forcing a pig to fly. Never underestimate the ingenuity of fools, or you’ll end up sounding like a total moron. Helping colleagues with their messes will only make your boss call you in her office and give you an hour sermon about responsibility, indifference and how altruism is in fact defined as stupidity. Overthinking is the universe's way of saying “Have a coffee with a friend.” a simple thank you from your colleagues whose asses you just saved despite being scolded by your blood thirsty boss is somewhat soothing. in the silence of the remaining hour at work, uttering a short grateful prayer brings back an equal amount of pain and bliss. a stick on pad with a sunflower and a sun god drawing on it can make a downhearted soul be hopeful. life is full of surprises, the person you don’t expect to be there when you need someone to talk to happens to be the perso...

I once believed that no one could understand me, that my pain was mine alone, a sacred private wound no one could touch. This belief carried the weight of isolation, a shield against the world and its indifference. But, in truth, the arrogance of that thought is its own trap. It is not suffering that is private, nor understanding that belongs solely to the individual. Understanding, like truth, is born from reasoning, not from solitary pain. To claim ownership of understanding is to forget that truth is something shared—not a fortress to guard, but a bridge to cross. It’s easy to get lost in the duality of our lives—the physical world that demands our attention and the mental world that creates our reality. We draw lines between them, as if they were separate realms, but they are not. We are creatures of both, shaped by the tension between the two. Truth, in all its forms, is not something we possess. It is a communion, a moment of resonance between minds, fleeting but real. The ha...

When you dance with the devil, betrayal is not a misstep,  it's not some fleeting moment of faltering in the rhythm ---  it’s the entire choreography,  stitched into the very fabric of the waltz you thought you could master.  Every sway,  every spin,  every seductive glide  is laced with deception.  You think you can outpace him, maybe even rewrite the rules.  But what you fail to see is that there are no rules with him.  He drips betrayal like sweat,  every gesture a broken promise,  every breath a loaded dice roll. Lower your expectations—no,  crush them beneath your heel,  grind them into the dust where they belong.  Expecting fidelity from him is like expecting a flame not to burn.  Agreements with the devil?  Laughable.  A contract you thought you sealed with a handshake will be shattered before the ink even dries,  the clauses rewritten in invisible ink.  His betrayal isn’t a glitc...

It’s 2 am and I am still awake. Though I had a long nap this afternoon, for some reason, my stubborn brain suddenly erupts in these manic streaks. My mind suddenly reboots itself and in a couple of minutes, I become as hyper as a kid who just ate 27 chocolate bars.  Since it’s pointless to lie down and struggle to find the best position, I took my laptop, go out at the porch and started writing. As sat there, I looked at the heavens and there shines my moon together with the stars. The sky was barren of clouds and you can perfectly see how the earth is blanketed by the dark sky as the moon and the stars gave it an enchanting touch.  The moon’s light is waning, so are my thoughts. I guess I am lunatic as I can write lots whenever the moon goes full. I consider the moon as my muse so I wondered, Why can't I shift my obsession to the stars?  I think this is quite improbable. Stars are illusions, I mean, most of the time, the light that we see from these stars are actually t...

Before we can construct anything that endures, we must first dissolve what we once were. It’s the paradox that runs through the very marrow of creation— nothing that is worth anything survives its first death. This is not the death of the body, but the destruction of the ego’s illusions, the slow collapse of our fantasies into the ruin of reality. Only when the old skin falls away, shredded and torn by the unrelenting passage of time, can the new emerge—scarred, remade, but alive in ways it could never have been before. In the quiet aftermath of disintegration, in the hollow echo of what was, lies the fertile soil of something pure. The self, as it is known, must die, for only in that grave of identity can we plant the seeds of something real , something unburdened by the weight of who we thought we were. Creation is never an act of construction—it is an act of surrendering the false, the pretended, the illusory, until only the core remains, raw and unprotected. We fear the coll...

Love is not blind—it is cruel enough to see you fully. To speak of love in the confines of simplicity is to rob it of its depth. Love, the greatest of forces, does not shelter us from the truth. It does not cloak us in the illusions of comfort; rather, it unveils us—stripping us bare of all our pretensions. The notion that love is blind, that it shields us from ourselves, is a lie perpetuated by the needy parts of our hearts, the ones that want safety, the ones that want to stay hidden in the quiet corners of longing. Love, in its truest form, is not a refuge from the world—it is a confrontation. A confrontation with yourself, with the person you love, with all the jagged edges of both. For how can you truly know another without exposing them to the rawness of who you are? To love is to endure. It is to sit in the discomfort of vulnerability and allow someone to see you—really see you—in all your complexity. To be truly loved is to be seen in your entirety, with all your flaws, your ...

Nakikinita ko mula sa aking pagkakaupo ang mga anino ng mga puno na nagsasayaw sa ilalim ng init na dulot ng haring araw. Sa isa naming dako, nakikita ko ang buwan.  Nakakatuwa, umaga na pero napakaliwanag padin ng glow nya. Rippled thoughts –  mga saloobing iniisip at pinapakiramdaman, mga ideyang di ko ma-organize dahil di ko mahanap kuneksyon… subalit, kailangan kong maisalawalat bago ko maubos itong unang tasa ng kape. Bakit mas maganda ang buwan sa gabi?  Ano nga kaya misteryo sa likod nito?  Pero teka, bakit buwan pa din topic ko?  Isip isip isip… hinahayaang mag flow ang mga ideya at saka ko na lang eto hahabulin mamaya. Kapag sinabi kong ako’y isang pilosopo, maniniwala ba kayo? Katotohanan isang napaka delicate na topic.  Lahat ng pwedeng malaman ng isang tao ay half truths lamang at mas madalas kaysa hindi, yung natitirang kalahati ay naitatago.  Tulad ng dark side of the moon. Yung lighted side lang ang tangi nating nakik...

Behind the mask lies a magnanimous battle between the self and the illusory projection one portrays. Usually, the self gives in, conditioned to believe in the phantasmal personality projected. The projection then crosses the boundaries of fantasy and reality, making the illusion appear’ real’ and when the self suddenly realizes he is being eaten up and decides to remove the mask, it’s already adhered to his face, it’s a part of him – the mask becomes him. The pain is excruciating.  In removing the mask it’s inevitable that the face will also be affected Surgical scalpels, blades and knives will be used… and upon doing the task, You are left faceless, No personality, No identity, oblivious of who you are, you become - Nothing…