Of sense and nonsense.

Posted on: March 18, 2013


When all else fails

And I get nothing

But you,

Just give me

A lifetime of things to do.

Tonight I write of nonsensical matters that may be of importance to me. I write about sleep and how it is supposed to be utilized at this very hour. I write about the days I would sleep in the wee hours of a new day because of too much thinking. I write about those made-up encounters I have of you in my daydreams. I write about weakness, the sadness of not being able to do anything to help. I write about how missing Sunday sermons is a step closer into damnation. I write about regretting what had transpired in that one drunken September night. I write about my brother who just decided to sleep on his bed at the other side of the room and how he always manages to goad me in telling him stories about how my day went or how my friends’ days went. I write about my aching legs–of how sore they are at this very moment (the side leg lifts are finally paying off!) I write about university applications and how I have been stressing myself for the past few months because of it. I write about fear of not being able to accomplish anything for any person who may be of great inspiration to me. I write about my father who still loves me even if I raise my voice while talking to him most of the time. (I am not proud of that. And I am gravely sorry.) I write about the light of my life, my nanay, and how she manages to do her crazy dances even if she struggles to make all ends meet. I write about how angry I am at myself for not doing what I am supposed to be doing on my spare time (e.g. looking for scholarships and zumba!) I write about how bad beers taste and how my heart palpitates when I drink coffee. I write about crunches, squats, lunges, stretches, and hoping that writing just the names of the said exercises could magically burn the same amount of calories as actually doing them. I write about how unfair life can become when you’ve wasted days of being absolutely the opposite of what you truly are. I write about how surprise birthday parties bring a torrent of tears down your cheeks and make everyone invited in the event realize how people actually care about you. I write about wishes granted on St. Patrick’s Day (I guess luck’s on your side today, my darling.) I write about shitty ball game seats and the not-so-anticipated no-booze night in my second Raptors game next Friday. I write about my Ryerson acceptance and  how I can’t wait to start school on the fall season.


Tonight, I write about myself and how I am content with the words my brain and my fingers had just weaved together. (Even if my heart agrees to disagree.)

There is still fire left in me, after all. 


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