bleak and pretty


I don't want to write Facebook posts anymore so I'll just take things directly here.

So here it goes.

I've been taking long walks lately, for health reasons. It's primarily physical (burn more cals) but I can find mental benefits, too. It gives me a safe and quiet space to think about things in my life.

Well, as of today, I'm like, “I'm taking my board and camping tent to Leyte and I'm entrusting it to a man I've known for less than 2 months.”

To be fair, I once entrusted my board to someone I've known for only like a couple weeks (and yeah, it was instant regret) but this time, it feels like a huge deal, a big commitment.

Basically, I'll be committing all of my surfing and most, if not all, of my vacationing time with him.

A big deal

My favorite part of life, the most treasured chunk of it, is somehow being put in the hands of this other person.

I know for a fact that 2 captains on one ship doesn't always account for a smooth ride.

Like, last night, I was invited to join their crew for a surfing event in Samar. Initially, I was all for it, then I kind of realized that things tend to be fucked up for me when I travel as part of a group.

Compromise is such a dreadful word

He was supposed to join the competition.

On the other hand, I couldn't go on a different date because my trip was already paid for and planned.

He decided to give way, I think. So now thanks to my visiting, he just missed an opportunity to compete. He'd rather just be with me so we could surf together.

Well, he did ask me to come over for Christmas.


I don't like being stuck in complicated situations. I don't like taking away from people or giving so much. I'm an uncaged bird, supposedly.

I thought all about this while having my long walk earlier today. Freedom is still my most valued virtue.

In the back of my head, I just thought, well if things go sour, I could always take my board and surf somewhere else; I've done it before.



I called in sick to work last night.

I rarely used sick leaves; only about a few times a year. I thought I was getting depressed or having a case of the blues —

— no, it was motherfucking influenza.

I thought about pushing myself and going to work even when I could barely stand up, but luckily my boyfriend talked me into staying home for the night. I did. I slept like a baby, only I was in pain.

I felt a little better earlier today. Thankfully I managed to finish my writing assignments. I'd been writing from 10:30 am to 3:30 pm. Five hours.

I'd been wishing that this all be over and that I wouldn't have homework anymore, because damn having side jobs apart from full time work.

Nevertheless, I'd been thinking about taking assignments from EPH again, to exercise writing and to increase my writer ranking. That's part of the plan to resign.

Just taking it one step at a time. Slowly. Carefully.

Regarding personal writing projects, I'm not really sure where the quest is going. I kind of just want to stay here and take life slowly.

Maybe I'll write an ebook. Start a blog for real. I don't know. There's many trajectories from here.


I have decided to stop my medication...without professional advice.

Divalproex sodium was prescribed to me as medication for bipolar, a condition that doesn't have a cure anyway. It was supposed to act as a mood stabilizer according to a psychiatrist. I'd been taking it for 6 months now, as prescribed, but I had come to a point where it felt like inorganic medication wasn't something I wanted to do anymore.

The daily alarm for 10:30 in the morning is an exhausting reminder: You need to take some inorganic substance because you don't count as normal and mentally stable.

I understand that discontinuing the medication can worsen my symptoms or cause a relapse. As of now, I feel completely fine and that everything's going great. This is probably because the medicine is “working”. Like, I owe Big Pharma the reason why I have my shit together.

The exact opposite may happen sometime in the future, all because I refuse to take medicine. It doesn't feel like a big decision right now, unlike when I came to the doctor for treatment because I have lost control of my emotions and feelings, as I have been banging my head on a wall and cutting my wrist.

When I recall that day, it's like remembering a person who is not me anymore.

I was first diagnosed three years ago. I medicated for a short while, like less than 2 months, then tried to manage it on my own. I'm doing the same thing right now. I just hope I don't end up in the same position as before. I hope I don't get suicidal thoughts in the future anymore.

I think I'm gonna do well taking care of myself: I just have to eat, sleep, and de-stress like a normal person, understand my triggers, stay in a “safe zone” in life, and continue exercising and all that good stuff.

And maybe not splurge all my savings again on an impulsive surf trip to Calicoan. And maybe not meet anyone from Tinder again. Maybe. I just have to live inside this bubble, continue writing, stay away from toxic people.

I just have to make sure that my feet are planted firmly on a tightrope, hanging 5000 feet.


My heart isn't broken, but I must admit that it stings. The pain of a once-savored, now-lost passion is like the searing pain of scraped knees.

But was it truly lost? A friend of mine said before, “Waves don't disappear; you just find them somewhere else.”


It's Tuesday shift. Post-Monday blues. I've just had coffee and cigarettes and thought how nice it was to come down from a high and take these two other drugs.

It gives you the feeling of a beautiful sunshine in crowded midnight — smokers obliviously gathering on a small area and inhaling-exhaling all their lives away.

I'm the one you never noticed as I lean silently on the wall. I have been thinking of you. The image of you is a cigarette burn on my mind.


Hypersomnia is real. I've just been lying down, napping intermittently, procrastinating (now I just told my assistant editor that I'm not writing those 8 blogs due in 10 days), and getting lost in contemplation. I'm not sure if this is just a much needed rest or if I'm in an official slump.


On the road lies a series of “reality checkpoints” that knocks us off our dreams and fantasies. They serve to clear our minds so we can better make decisions about our lives and futures.


We started seeing each other last summer. Right now, rain poured heavily; the chill of damp midnight air verified my realization that summer was over – and most likely so, our juvenile relationship.


my mind is in a bad place right now. i feel disoriented regarding what i want, what i'm actually doing, and what i need to do. this feeling has been going on for more than a week now, and it doesn't help that the surf is off-season and i don't have a diversion/escape/release except for marijuana.

fuckin flat


Courtesy of Pexels

I am officially wearing the hat of a twenty-somethings yuppie who drags herself to office, a hellish place where gold digging activities are held in exchange of youthful soul. Proof? I just don't care anymore – apathy has taken hold of my soul.


i feel so unhappy i'm just at a loss for words. i visited my parents' house for the weekend, and though i was thankful i didn't have to see my dad for the majority of it, i threw a fit at my brother who was just really upsetting. we shouted back and forth and argued about his cat.