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Dinner night out at Hossein’s! Shawarma and kebab love. Yey! Thanks Mich, Tin and Gilbert. Yey!

I just want to stick myself in a corner and just cry until I get tired and fall asleep.


How To Tell If Somebody Loves You:

Somebody loves you if they pick an eyelash off of your face or wet a napkin and apply it to your dirty skin. You didn’t ask for these things, but this person went ahead and did it anyway. They don’t want to see you looking like a fool with eyelashes and crumbs on your face. They notice these things. They really look at you and are the first to notice if something is amiss with your beautiful visage!

Somebody loves you if they assume the role of caretaker when you’re sick. Unsure if someone really gives a shit about you? Fake a case of food poisoning and text them being like, “oh my god, so sick. need water.” Depending on their response, you’ll know whether or not they REALLY love you. “That’s terrible. Feel better!” earns you a stay in friendship jail; “Do you need anything? I can come over and bring you get well remedies!” gets you a cozy friendship suite. It’s easy to care about someone when they don’t need you. It’s easy to love them when they’re healthy and don’t ask you for anything beyond change for the parking meter. Being sick is different. Being sick means asking someone to hold your hair back when you vomit. Either love me with vomit in my hair or don’t love me at all.

Somebody loves you if they call you out on your bullshit. They’re not passive, they don’t just let you get away with murder. They know you well enough and care about you enough to ask you to chill out, to bust your balls, to tell you to stop. They aren’t passive observers in your life, they are in the trenches. They have an opinion about your decisions and the things you say and do. They want to be a part of it; they want to be a part of you.

Somebody loves you if they don’t mind the quiet. They don’t mind running errands with you or cleaning your apartment while blasting some annoying music. There’s no pressure, no need to fill the silences. You know how with some of your friends there needs to be some sort of activity for you to hang out? You don’t feel comfortable just shooting the shit and watching bad reality TV with them. You need something that will keep the both of you busy to ensure there won’t be a void. That’s not love. That’s “hey babe! i like you okay. do you wanna grab lunch? i think we have enough to talk about to fill two hours!” It’s a damn dream when you find someone you can do nothing with. Whether you’re skydiving together or sitting at home and doing different things, it’s always comfortable. That is fucking love.

Somebody loves you if they want you to be happy, even if that involves something that doesn’t benefit them. They realize the things you need to do in order to be content and come to terms with the fact that it might not include them. Never underestimate the gift of understanding. When there are so many people who are selfish and equate relationships as something that only must make them happy, having someone around who can take their needs out of any given situation if they need to.

Somebody loves you if they can order you food without having to be told what you want. Somebody loves you if they rub your back at any given moment. Somebody loves you if they give you oral sex without expecting anything back. Somebody loves you if they don’t care about your job or how much money you make. It’s a relationship where no one is selling something to the other. No one is the prostitute. Somebody loves you if they’ll watch a movie starring Kate Hudson because you really really want to see it. Somebody loves you if they’re able to create their own separate world with you, away from the internet and your job and family and friends. Just you and them.

Somebody will always love you. If you don’t think this is true, then you’re not paying close enough attention.



Right now, I am just feeling sad. I just feel sad about everything. Like there is a ship sinking in between my chest and it keeps on hitting the soft muscles of my heart until it tears everything open. I just feel sad. I just feel like the office is twice as cold as it used to. I feel lonely and alone. I always believe that those two things are different but they are not necessarily mutually exclusive. I feel lost. I am every wrong mistake. I am having thoughts of just disappearing again. I will just smoke. 

Footnote to my Depression


The first day I have learned about depression, I saw myself in every words, in every sentences, that I have seen myself being described by how depression rolls under your sleeves and crawls up into your head. I know I was normal, but I saw myself in between the letters of depression. I thought that I was just sad.

The first time I told it to my parents and relatives, they said that it is just a part of growing up - having anxieties most of the time, feeling down even for no exact reason, wanting to just disappear, having that certain coldness inside of you which makes you feel numb at some point and weak at another. I just kept it to myself because they would not understand.

The first time I told it to my friends, they just thought that depression is just some kind of made-up joke that people use to cover their fragility, their incapability to do so many things, their difficulty with emotions. I was laughed at, and at times, made an exemption to things as if I was not supposed to exist in any of their lives. I just shut myself from the world.

The first time I told it to the world, the world ignored me because the world does not care for any depressed person. It doesn’t have any use for depressives. And I just shut myself up because the world won’t listen. I don’t need pity, too. I don’t need any validation that I am okay. I don’t need any assurance that I can get over it. I told myself that sympathy and compassion are not available in this planet.

The first time I told it to someone whom I thought could really understand me. The first time I thought that love can cross over even through depression. I have realized that I was wrong. I have felt like I was a burden, a book difficult to understand until someone closes me and tells me that “you are too difficult to understand.” I tried killing myself but everything about it was treated like a mistake, like I was a mistake, like I should have just died because that could have been better than be judged afterwards. I stopped believing that someone can bear depression with you.

" Date someone who is interested in you. I don’t mean someone who thinks you’re cute or funny. I mean someone who wants to know every insignificant detail about you. Someone who wants to read every word you write. Someone who wants hear every note of your favourite song, and watch every scene of your favourite movie. Someone wants to find every scar upon your body, and learn where each one came from. Someone who wants to know your favourite brand of toothpaste, and which quotes resonate deep inside your bones when you hear them. There is a difference between attraction and interest. Find the person who wants to learn every aspect of who you are, and hold onto them. "

Just got back at the office after staying at Sucat for almost 11 hours for a couple of meetings. Finding a cab there has always been difficult good thing the ride was great. We were singing and talking about sex and laughing together with the cab driver with the name Michaelito. It was crazy but fun. We even had him tell about his wildest sex story. Hahaha.

When I was in elementary,
I thought that basic arithmetic was
difficult with me interchanging signs,
and numbers falling into wrong places
with my fingers trying to figure out
the answers to every equations.

When I was in high school,
I thought that algebra was
difficult with numbers transforming
into letters, variables, with few
constant digits to hold on, and
a lot of pieces to look for
in varying degrees of complexities.

When I was in college,
I thought that college trigonometry was
difficult as we try to understand
how shapes depend on each other,
with the width, and the length, and
the height of every figures being
defined, which kept us closed
to boundaries, to limitless infinities.

But I realized that love is a mechanical
scheme, with numbers and letter
interchanged on how I love yous
are equated to numbers of heartbreaks,
and how the dimension of the heart
can contain every single each of
your entity. And how I try to use
my fingers to figure out answers,
to draw shapes of dreams and
constellations, of how it perfectly fit
with the gaps in between your fingers,
and how we put value in every single
letter, words, moments, that are
indefinite, variables, and regardless
of how many equations we can come
up with, with radicals and complex
numbers and symbols, happiness
will always be the summation of
you and I in an equation we
try to build.

-An Equation We Try to Build; Zakk Habitan


I am so sleepy right now. Okay, good luck!

Team Rocket.

Tinuruan mo ako ng tagu-taguan, ngunit hindi mo naman ako tinuruan kung paano kita makikita sa laro ng pagtataguan ng nararamdaman.

Ikaw ang tala, ang araw sa gabing mapanglaw.
Ikaw ang pagtula, pag-awit, sa kalsadang malamig.
Ikaw ang unan, ang kumot, sa mga gabing nag-iisa.
Sinta, ikaw ang pag-asa.


You are the sunshine in my darkest days. The kiss of the rain on scorched land. The wind of the silent ocean. The presence in absence.

Don’t tell me that my words
are beautiful like me, because
both are really not.

The words
create worlds why I, instead,
break them apart, tear universe,
destroy the land like rib cages,
and shatter all the possible
creations that words once
created -

Even, I love yous.

-Fade; Zakk Habitan

Kailan nga ba nagkaroon
ng laman ang aking mga tula?

Ito nga ay binubuo lamang
ng mga salita, ng mga linyang
pinagdugtong dugtong upang
lumikha ng mga katagang hindi
naman kayang mapanindigan.

Ito ay binubuo ng mga espasyo
na ni kailanman ay hindi maaangkin
sapagkat hindi kailan man magiging
tama ang mga salitang hindi naman
dapat na maging magkakadugtong.

Ito nga ay binubuo ng mga pangungusap
na bako-bako, na putol-putol, malalabo,
na pilit tinatawid ang hangganan ng bawat isa,
hanggang sa tuluyang malunod sa kung
anong hiwaga ang nasa loob ng isipan.

At sa huli,
mananatiling nakabara sa lalamunan
ang mga salitang hindi mabanggit,
tulad ng mga tulang nabubulok sa
mga sulok ng aking isipan.

-Gabi, Zakk Habitan