Poetry

dormant feelings

Time will lead you back
to old conversations
long interpreted
to forced messages
accidentally deleted
to sweet words
never expressed.

Vaguely asking questions:
has the heart healed
is the love still there
did the pain go away
are feelings just dormant?

I hope in your mind the answers land.

Standard
Poetry

detachment

But in time
you’d understand
what kept me
from falling.

The wind
stopped blowing
for some time.

I walked away
tired and hopeless
from the edge
of the precipice.

Standard
Poetry

what the world can’t give

On days when I’m mad,
I see sad eyes.
People—
tired of their lives.
A refuge,
that’s what they seek.
But nothing that the world can give.

On nights when I’m pleased,
I hear joyous laughter.
Friends—
turn into lovers.
More time,
that’s what they need.
But nothing that the world can give.

Discover Challenge’s Radical Authenticity

P.S. Authenticity in the eyes of a woman who was mad for a day since she woke up; it didn’t help that the world went against her during that time. I wrote the first four lines when I was commuting to work and the rest when I was going back home, different days, different emotion. 

Standard
Photography

Photo Challenge: Time

And there he was, anticipating for Time to recognize his weary heart.

Photo Challenge: Time

Standard
Strange

Facebook and I

I decided not to open my Facebook account. For how long, I’m not sure. Only my millennial craving for news that are “worth my time” and for events that I’m interested in could tell, not to mention the virtual affection I formed with my friends.

I’m fully aware that Facebook lessens my productivity. Instead of writing more bittersweet sensations, or just do anything, I spend most of my free time scrolling down on an endless pile of updates I need to read, movies I should watch at least once in my life, places I have to visit, and restaurants I must try. Social media, like a tattoo, is addicting; not creating another account once you’ve experienced the “connection” you have with the world is just as hard as not getting another tattoo once you’ve experienced the feel good pain it gives you. Just a few weeks ago, I created an Instagram account to “document” and share whatever I feel like.

But who can a twenty-something girl blame but herself? On one hand, social media (Facebook particularly) provides me information not just about my friends but also on the things that I like and we have to thank the sometimes annoying profiling for that but on the other, it limits me to be more creative and active in the real world.

There was a point in my life when things run smoother and time management is easier. Then I became a prisoner in the beneficial advancements of my own generation, feeling lazy and thinking that since I have nothing to do might as well log in here and sign up there, when there’s actually a lot of things to do, if only I could drop down my phone for a minute, or even a second. 

To be honest, though, I like the sharing part in social media. It’s my stubborn little finger scrolling down infinitely that I come to despise. It’s my lazy mind and tired eyes, wanting to know more, waiting to know more, when there’s no more.

But I’m pretty sure I’ll reconcile with Facebook after a few weeks or so. I was able to do without it for a month before. It’s not really a necessity, but it’s convenient, which makes us fall for it. I just need a more disciplined Ruth before I come back. Someone who can manage to just lurk around for half an hour a day, and another half for Messenger. 😉 —feeling proud of myself. 

Standard
Short Story

The Sun and The Rain

The sun and the rain met earlier. He waited for her. They seldom see each other, and he misses her. Their love is one that you would call complicated, forbidden even.

What the rain dampens the sun dries up. When the rain arrives the sun fades out. But in times when they can no longer endure the rules of the universe, in times when they terribly miss each other, they defy their gods and misbehave.

Oh they make the sweetest pair when they meet. The searing heat of the sun breaks the frigid chill of the rain, making the perfect condition one could only wish.

Gentle, fine, steady. They make love like they can hold each other forever—not rushing it even though they don’t see much, couldn’t see much.

The sun and the rain met earlier. Their time was short, their relationship forbidden, but they love each other.

And somehow, that was enough.

[Photo]

Standard
Poetry

The Last Dance

sad-couple-last-dance-blackandwhite

Dancing with the night
The piano keeps singing
His eyes are the stars
Her voice is the wind

They never stopped time
Played with it instead
For the two of them know
Someone will leave home

Daily Post’s Strike a Chord. [Photo]

Standard