Fragments of the Quiet Mind

It’s not the knife that breaks you. It’s the hand you thought would never hold one. I’ve had people talk behind my back. I’ve been insulted, excluded, underestimated. I’ve had strangers throw shade, coworkers act petty, random people online say stupid things. It stings for a second, but I forget about it by the next day. Because honestly, I expect that from people who don’t know me. Who have no investment in who I am. It doesn’t really get in. But what stays—the thing I carry—isn’t from enemies. It’s from people I trusted.  And it always catches me off guard. Every single time. Because you never expect it from them . The ones you let in. The ones who knew your soft spots. The ones who said, “I’m here, always.” The people who didn’t just know your story—they were in it. And then, somehow, they become the ones who hurt you in ways no stranger ever could. It’s never loud. It’s not some explosive betrayal with dramatic exits and slammed doors. No, it’s quieter than that. It’s the u...

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 is not what we do, but also what we do not do, for which we are accountable." – Molière In the cutthroat world of work, accountability can become a weapon, but not everyone wields it against the vulnerable. There will always be that specific kind of person— a few, yet more than enough — who turn on you when the stakes rise.  They don’t announce their intentions; instead, they shift imperceptibly. Their tone becomes measured, their gaze evasive, and their silence during critical moments deafening. These are not strangers, but colleagues you trusted, people who once shared the weight of the work alongside you. It’s not always an immediate betrayal. It begins with small omissions, selective truths, and decisions framed as “what’s best for everyone.” What they really mean, of course, is what’s best for themselves. One moment, you're exchanging solidarity; the next, you're the sacrificial lamb. It’s devastating not just because it feels personal—it’s devastating beca...

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...

Wishing to be alone at times so as to understand the self does not necessarily mean that we are shutting ourselves off from people. Sometimes, it’s just that we don’t want others to be sucked in our depression or perhaps sometimes, we just owe time to ourselves and to provide us an opportunity to understand a small part of our personalities. We move away from people for their and our sake. In doing so, not many would understand it. Some would even think of us as pompous bastards which usually result to haters. Indeed, some people hate what they don’t understand. Even though I want to say that we are not responsible for what people think of us (or what people say about us), the truth of the matter is that; it’s still painful to hear words and exaggerated stories people make to pull 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 alm...

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...

When twilight descends, as slumber draws near, 'Tis not the venomous words of foes that linger, But in the hush of companions, a cherished sphere. For in the depths of night's quiet embrace, The echoes of enmity slowly fade away, Replaced by whispers of friendship and grace. The wounds inflicted by adversaries' spite, Though painful and cruel in their transient might, Hold no lasting weight, no enduring might. Instead, 'tis the stillness of loyal hearts, The solace found in unspoken devotion, That etches itself upon memory's arts. When shadows dance and the world grows dim, The tender silence of friends speaks volumes, A symphony of trust and kinship within. So, as sleep beckons, reflect on this truth, That amidst life's trials and its endless bends, It's in the silence of friends, a treasure aloof.

There are moments when life throws us into chaos. Despite our efforts to maintain a positive outlook, some instances push us to our limits. Suddenly, it feels like we're staring at our own reflection, where darkness engulfs the itsy-bitsy light that we are so desperately trying to ignite. It's disheartening...  In this state of condemnation and self-judgment,  as we struggle to make sense of it all,  we find ourselves consumed by angst and painful realizations.  No matter how hard we try to mend things, there are unforeseen circumstances where destruction triumphs over creation. Perhaps it's due to our limitations,  our inherent inadequacies that we persist in trying to fix what's broken. But more often than not, our attempts only result in shattering it further, leaving us with countless irreparable fragments.  Maybe they're right;  I seem to destroy everything I touch. I can't help but question what is wrong with me. I feel like a forsaken soul, ...

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...

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...

“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 ...

I ran this morning. Gray sky, nothing special. Weather that doesn’t force you to feel anything. Usually, I wander without purpose. Today, something stopped me. Time is a trap. We pretend it’s limited, but it isn’t. So we rush through it—steps, choices, life—until it all blurs. The small things disappear. The smell of earth, the quiet air. Gone. A song got stuck in my head. “I’ll stop the world and melt with you.” Unwanted. Persistent. How did it get in? Maybe fate. Maybe nothing. I don’t believe in destiny, but here I was—stuck in the sound, stuck in a loop. The world paused inside me. I didn’t move. The day went on. Hands trembled—not from connection, but from the weight of existing. Scars on skin—maps of past failures. Nothing clean, nothing clear. I touched a cheek. No softness. Smoke? Habit? Grip loosened—like sanity slipping. Wanting to let go, but afraid of the emptiness that follows. I kissed a cheek. A stupid move. A laugh broke the silence. A glitch. A mistake. Coffee a...

If it happens, then it happens. If not, then not. Those words echo through my mind, swirling in a whirlpool of uncertainty and resignation. There's a certain beauty in their simplicity, yet they carry a weight that's hard to bear. Life is a tapestry of possibilities, a series of intertwined threads leading us down divergent paths. And here I stand, at the crossroads, grappling with the notion of fate and surrender. There's a part of me that yearns for control, that desires to shape my own destiny. I long to sculpt my future with deliberate choices and unwavering determination. But deep down, I know that control is an illusion, a fragile veil we use to shield ourselves from the unpredictable nature of existence. Life, in all its chaotic glory, refuses to be tamed. Yet, why does this realization fill me with a sense of both freedom and trepidation? It's liberating to release the burden of trying to force outcomes, to relinquish the constant striving and instead embrac...

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...