Potpot | 23 | Pasay | Aspiring Writer Professional Teacher | Foodie | Bachelor of Arts Graduate 2012 |
Frustrated Photographer | Asshole | Extemporaneous Talker | Perfectly Imperfect | Food and Book Lover | I <3 -------------------------------------------------------------------
I write every word of my pieces without re-reading it, publish it without checking it. I am a professional murder of grammar. I am allergic to grammar nazi. I am not the kind of writer who seeks for a publisher nor the kind of photographer who was professionally trained. I am just a boy who claim himself as a writer of his own world who seeks for someone who will try to listen from all his drama. He claimed himself as a photographer who took pictures of every single detail he desire. I may not be the best but I can prove that I tried something on my own and build what my hearts aim.---------------------------------------------------------------
“We are great bloggers in our own way”
He’s already 24 years old but I can’t still believe that he still use letter “c” as a substitute letter for “k”. He puts a number on the last part of his name and always add letter “h” for no reasons.
Nobody miss me
a sad story
became
reality.
The Rocker on Wheels
Bonifacio High Street, Taguig City
May 18, 2013
I was walking my way home from Fully Booked in High Street with my friends when we passed by this awesome guy, I was confused at first, a singing dude in a place so classy, not expecting that here he goes. He was a cool one, a man on wheels with microphone, a player and a set of speakers with a soul of a rocker. He was singing some unfamiliar (for me) rock songs back in the 80’s while doing some rock moves which was entertaining. I listen for a couple of minutes and dropped some coins he deserved. I look forward seeing him soon.
Haters are simple your motivators
I don’t how to explain the fucking fact of those individuals who were amazingly industrious in sending a pack of message, not the sweet one or the inspiring one that will put a smile in your face but those messages that will simply ruin your vibes or boil your head into a worst level of temperature, the hate mails. They were simple like that, a severe hobby of a lunatic with no explanation at all.
Me, myself received 5-10 hate mails everyday and I repeat EVERYDAY. It was like a spam or a chain mail that knocks my inbox every single day. I used to answer them either in a pity way or in a manly way but at the end of the day, a tiring redundant process, I decided to ignore it,everyday. I treated them as as lonely soul wondering his way home no not wasting any droplet of my attention to them. I don’t know how to explain myself or should I do that, I don’t if I have to please them and be the one who they want me to be or just ignore this world full of judgement and just do the stuff I love as long as no one gets hurt.
He is always my felicity, from the first time I noticed him as a cute little chinese boy who is not really a chinese to the numerous encounter we had, he was like a memory tattooed in my head. I always long for him since then, looking for any chances that might cross our lines together even it will sound accidentally or intentionally. A true apple in the eye or a lovely bouquet of mine, a fantasy that became a reality, the dream boy on TV that walks toward me. His smile is unique and a real killer of knees through emotional attachment, his laugh are like melodies of Mozart in my ears, it gives a cylinder of energy and a pocketful of excitement.
This details might sound so cliche and happy but I can’t enjoy this sugar coated words of mine by the emotional attraction I have for him, he is just my friend for now. I will just stay calm and hope that I am the man that God planned for him even it will sound too ambitious and impossible because if I’m not the one for him, I will file a motion for reconsideration.
I was staring at your icon in my chat box. My head was in a war of two decision, like hell and heaven. They were both strongly uttering words that leads me to confusion while wearing a fuck face. I am sweating and shaking, I can’t choose what will I do. I miss you and I want to talk you but at the same time I hate for not feeling the same way to me.
It’s been hours but I am still staring.
My life as of today is a big question mark.
He is not one of those mediocre guy passing by in front of me, not that catchy but simply fit like a photographs in my head. He has this kind of aura that quiescent everything, putting me into a focus on looking in his brown eyes, wavy hair and a million dollar smile. I feel something not exactly love but an almost one, I never believe in emotional development through attachment, not until he start to give this kind of indifferent reaction towards to him. I just feel sad that I can do nothing, he is just a part of a television show who doesn’t know about my existence.
Slowly, kiss my neck
feel my breath
hold my hand
and never let go
lay beside me
cuddle like crazy
don’t fly away
never leave me
You are a part of me
my heart beats for you
don’t lie to me
please, don’t.
Exchanging voice messages via WeChat is one of the coolest thing for me by now. It was like a sweet conversation squeezed in a couple of seconds, while maneuvering the keys to record a perfect voice message that will not sound too robotic plus a good way to talk to someone if you are too lazy to press a set of letters and create a message.
A Weekend of Music and Passion at Bonifacio High Street
May 18, 2013 - Taguig City
Martin quoted..
“In Bonifacio High Street, you walk in as Zombie
and then you walk out as Zobel”
I always dream for a prince charming. A man not exactly how the fairy tale draw in the books but fair enough to love me the way I will do to him. The boy who will act like Richard Gomez and lift me like Dawn Zulueta even I am too heavy for him. A kind of a guy who will never get tired listening to my punchlines and will laugh the rolling way. The only dude that will be my best friend when I’m down and my only fan who will cheer me up in every thing that I will do. The person that will sit proudly on the dining table and will enjoy the food that I will prepare for him everyday. The lucky one that will acknowledge the love we have and treasure it like a Yamashita. The only one who can replace Enchong Dee as my number one fantasy and the one will look at me in the eye and whisper those words, “I love you”.
I will always dream, pray and believe that this story of mine will be a happy ending, that this fantasy of mine will become a reality where I can feel it as a whole. I don’t know when or how exactly it will fit to my expectation but I will always trust the lines in my palm, the destiny will always be there for me, a happy ending like every fairy tale.
“I love you” was too overused by many, the real essence of it became to trendy where its start to vanish and be just a simple word like “hi”. Sometimes it used as a weapon of mass destruction of an individual’s feeling who has been a victim of a sad concealing scene. The message within it has turned into a crime or an avenue to get the things they want and not the love itself. The saddest part of this, we still fall with the same trap of it, the “i love you” trap.
I am the severe cause of my darkest hour, the epidemic that slowly kills the dreams I planned when I was a little boy with no assurance of cure. I can still remember all the answer when some elders used to ask me every family gathering, the ambition I wished to grab after college, the person I want to be after 20 years but its been 15 years and still, I am the clueless child who is having fun with useless things. I am afraid that I might waste again the remaining 5 years I have, not accomplishing the dreams I intend to be and then ended up as the man knocking in every door for food or help. I just hope not, 5 years will be my only aces for now.
Katorse anyos lang si Rico
pero alam na nya ang takbo ng mundo
matira ang matibay
lumaban para mabuhay,
Hindi na sya nakatungtong ng hayskul
dahil na rin sa kanyang pambubulakbol
lumayas na sya sa kanyang pamilya
pinamukha na kayang kaya na nya,
Kumikita sya bilang isang alay
sa isang eskinita habang tumatagay
nakaliyad at sarap na sarap
ang bawat subo ay isang alapaap,
Ito na ang kanyang nakasanayang trabaho
nagpapalinis na kanyang tubo
walang pinipiling edad
basta tama ang ilalagay sa kanyang palad,
Sa bawat putok na lumabas
patagong luha ang tumatagas
pagsisi na wala nang solusyon
biktima lang sya ng prostitusyon.