Wednesday, November 8, 2017


When you know that things go in and out of existence,
That time passes
And the sun sleeps
The mood hides
Clouds dissipate
Flowers decay
The ice melts
And the breath of life evaporates
What do you do?
How do you capture
A brief moment's beauty
That once fades
Will never be seen again?

Monday, October 23, 2017

Drawn to Freedom

I cup my hands over you, 
O floating light,
And keep you safe,
keep you in my heart.
I wish to have a whit, a speck,
A touch of your sliver,
Bury me in your dust 
Until I own it,
Yes, own it forever!

O freedom,
I like your pleasant face.
I envy your mirth,
How you're loafing, 
Smiling at the sun
And let your dress flutter 
When you run.

O freedom,
How you spread your arms before the sky!
You walk this earth barefooted,
And in the grass, you lie
Embracing and soaking,
Soaking in its sweet scent.

I like your verity,
You strip off clothes of hypocrisy.
You face the world unmasked,
Trudging hills and bushes,
Scathed by torns and branches.
You are brave, very brave.

In the night, your mind wanders,
Dabbing, staining papers with paint
And then threading words,
Creating worlds that don't exist
Yet live through pens and paintbrushes.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Three Things Women Don't Want to Forget

You, woman, remember.
Three things.

One, you are beautiful.
You might see flaws in the mirror,
but none of those define your beauty.
What matters isn't those that fade and change.
It's about who you are and what you make people feel.

Two, you are worthy.
Your worth is more than glinting diamonds and bars of gold.
You are far more than any material thing in the world,
for your heart is capable of loving deeply
and your mind runs beyond the longest mile.

Three, you deserve a great man.
You're for a man who will love you everyday,
and adore your strengths and weaknesses combined,
and respect you from head to toe.
You might be wrong in other things,
but it doesn't mean you're for a wrong man.

You, woman, remember.
Cherish yourself.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

When God Stares

I lay awake in bed with You in my head.

It was a fine morning. 

The sun was gently shining, 
the temperature cool.

And I felt like You were staring at me,
staring with soft eyes.




I felt like You were telling me 
that You were with me.

That I was never alone.

That I was protected, guided and cared for.

That I was loved.

I lingered on Your stare,
basked in it.

Minutes passed.

A few more minutes.

I felt Your presence soaking my skin,
then my muscles 
then my bones.

You are with me, Lord.

Then I sat,
and then stood.

And I lived the day.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Joyful Blur

Sometimes, life doesn't make sense.

All you know is everything's bright, warm, and beautiful.

Things amble in front of you, and you just let things.

You float along the water's ripples, and you trust the water.

Life is good.

Nothing is sure, save that the time is right.

You feel Jesus's hand gripping yours,
and when you look back, you see clear traces of your footsteps.

Sometimes, life doesn't make sense.

All you remember is that one day, you gave up trying to control things.

And now, when you walk, 
you walk with Him.

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

God's Surprises

One day you wake up and your arid days are over. 
You smile at the sun, you eat well, and you bounce when you walk.
You're all too happy that you can't find words for it or for anything.
It feels like life's wheel just turned, and you're on top.
And there, in that transition, you realize what can really make you happy.

You get to know that you're not the type who gets ecstatic with promotion or any career success,
that you're not proud of being known by quite a multitude of people,
that compliments no longer get into your head.

There, you get to see what's empty and what's not.
You define what it really means to be on top.
You rename dreams, find new goals, and envision a new life.

Things suddenly become surprising as if spotting a huge shell on the shore,
or suddenly feeling cool with the May air,
or taking hold of a book you thought you wouldn't find in the Philippines' bookstore.

And what's more surprising is, whatever made that has always been within your grasp.

Tuesday, September 19, 2017


I don't know if you're fond of dogs. 

I am.

I pray for every street dog I see, especially when it's crossing the street.
"Lord, take care of that dog. Oh please, protect it from getting hit by a vehicle."
My eyes then follow the dog until it safely gets on to the other side of the road. I do that, as if staring helps.

My heart breaks for them, you see. I believe that dogs are good by nature. It's how they are created - loyal, loving and even sweet, sometimes. And I think they are adorable no matter how messy they look. They do not deserve the dirt and cruelty of the street.

But they're homeless.

And I hate that somebody deprived them of the warmth of home, of a family. 

One midday, I was looking out from the jeepney I was riding. I saw a street dog, and said a prayer for it like I always did. The jeep continued to run as it should, but as it did, I saw a street child. My eyes fell on the muck in his cheek, the tattered clothes, bare legs and tanned, dirty skin. I reckoned, he was about three or four years old.

I don't know if you're fond of children.

I am.

But I don't always pray for every street child I see in the street.

You see, I am a preschool teacher. I teach kids how to read and write. I love it when we fall during ring-around-the-rosie. I greet them with a hug, assist them when they change clothes after gym, and fix the girls' hair when tousled. Children are pure, good and happy by nature.

I don't know why it's always blame that comes to my mind first.
"This happened to him because his parents are lazy and indifferent!"
But I realized, it doesn't change the fact that this street child is not one of the kids I teach in school, that he's not learning how to read and write, and that he doesn't play ring-around-the-rosie safely. 

I don't know how many hugs he receives each day, or if somebody assists him nicely when changing clothes, or when somebody even bothers to comb his hair.

I thought, this street child does not deserve the dank, angry road.

But look.

He's homeless.