Fragments of the Quiet Mind

There’s that sharp edge—somewhere between longing and hesitation—that stops you before you even try. It’s not just fear. It’s the weight of the unseen, the unsaid, like a compass spinning in confusion, unsure which way is true north. Desire maps out places you’re not sure you want to go. The mind does this trick—it turns something simple, like a call or an invitation, into a battlefield where heart and head argue over who gets to lead. You want to step forward, but something holds you back, frozen in the space between. Indecision is the quiet war you fight with yourself. To want connection is sweet and cruel at once. You crave being seen, safe in the soft glow of familiarity, but somewhere beneath that comfort there’s a whisper—don’t cross the line. Don’t wander too far where reason says danger waits. Longing is that guest who arrives but never stays. You analyze every glance, every silence thick with meaning you never asked for. What was simple becomes tangled—trust feels fragil...

Alright, listen up—my muse is in full-on concupiscent mode lately, which is a fancy way of saying she won’t let my brain rest. So here I am, trying to capture the experience without smashing it to bits under the weight of words. If you came here expecting a highbrow academic paper... nope. You can bail now. This ain’t that. Picture me: balcony, laptop, coffee, and my muse—lusty as ever—deciding now is the perfect time to show up. Since writing without smokes is like trying to dance without music, I grabbed my umbrella and braved a rainstorm on steroids. Oh, and did I mention I live half a kilometer from civilization? Cows, horses, crickets—mountain life perks. Welcome to the wild. Made it to the store and here’s Manang with the bad news: “No Marlboro, kuya. Nobody buys those anymore.” I blinked. “Champion lang po.” Champion? I thought I was gearing up for a symphony, not a fight with a cigarette. But whatever, I bought it. Back on my throne (balcony chair), I lit my Champion… Puf...

It’s not a person I miss. It’s the deafening silence that swallowed all the chaos—the void left when the noise finally quit pretending it mattered. That hollow pause where the echoes of all the fights, laughs, and empty promises died slow and cruel. Funny how the silence wasn’t comfort. It was a black hole sucking up what little was left of hope. Not absence, but annihilation. I don’t miss the noise. I fear the silence—that pitiless quiet that forces you to meet yourself, no distractions allowed. Because sometimes, missing isn’t about who’s gone. It’s about what never really existed.

Ang nakakapanlumong karanasan ng isang pilosopo Sa kanyang pag iisa hawak ang sigarilyong tumutupok sa kanyang katinuan,  sa bawat hithit at buga ay sya ring bilis ng proseso ng mga ideyang di mawari kung dapat pa nga bang isipin o hayaan na lang. musika, sining, pilosopiya – Kabayo, damo, ulan at buwan. Di dapat ito pagtuunan ng pansin. mga kontradiksyong kinapapalooban ng pagdududa Mga katotohanang napapanis sa tagal ng panahong di napagtuunan ng pansin.  “Tama!” maski ang katotohan ay dapat ding maubos. Ang nakakalungkot ay ang kawalan ng lakas ng loob,  At hinayaang takot at pagdududa ang mamutawi sa iyong kamalayan.  At isa ring tulad mo ang nakapag isip ng ideyang ito- Sa pagitan ng pantas at ng kawalan,  sya ang di natitinag na sabihin ang kanyang nasasaisip  Binigyang kulay,  pinalawig ang emosyon,  at isinalahad ang kanyang saloobin.  Habang binabasa ang kanyang akda Wala ka ng magawa kundi tumunganga.  At sinasabi sa sariling, ...

There are moments when we realize that the things we’ve done in the past were better left undone, words left unsaid, thoughts better kept in our brains, and emotions that should’ve stayed in that dark and hollow part of our souls. It would’ve been more favorable if it were as such,  rather than leave us in disarray and turmoil.    In your damnation, you think of the hurt,  and think of the depression,  and finally,  just think. The curse of the thinker is that everything appears to be ambiguous,  making everything as a conundrum to be solved.  He gets so engrossed with his ideas that sometimes,  he cannot identify what is real from what is not.  Making sense about almost everything, but few people understands him. The curse of the dreamer is that, there will come a time when they have to wake up from their slumber,  a juncture where hope is abandoned and be ensnared by the idea that dreams never really happen. Inevitably, the light ...

The reverie of walking – that state where one becomes preoccupied in thinking, an art of fleeing from reality towards a fantasy world created to escape the tragedies of this world. I admit that I cannot escape the harshness and stressful conditions of this reality, and that is the very reason why I choose to cling to this 5 minute walk to the 6th floor -  to this ‘fantasy’ world I created-  Sadly,  the finitude of the stairs makes me wish na sana, nasa 158th floor na lang yung classroom…  It’s in walking that I am lost in my thoughts and in my thought comes realization. A dangerous thing to some but through my realizations, I am able to contemplate and know why things ARE (as well as why things ARE NOT).  This catastrophic spectacle of life happens when I think I am quite certain of something but then I suddenly realize that the 'thing' I thought I already know is slowly escaping my grasp (which most of the time, would leave me hating my stupi...

lipad demonyong baboy...  Hatawin pa ng insulto ang kasalukuyan...  Sisid banidosang butiki.aliwin ang sarili sa mga kolorete upang mapagtakpan ang kamangmangan.  Napakababaw ng mundo, walang kwentang pananaw.  Nakaangat ka man baboy ka pa rin, nakulayan ka man butiki ka pa rin.