This is the part, you've got to say all that you're feeling, feeling Packing a bag, we're leaving tonight when everyone's sleeping, sleeping Let's run away I'll run away with you P H O T O D U M P
Tide/high
Category: Personal
The world is our playground and we will always be home
You found me Where will we go from here I swear I belong This is where I belong Where do we go from here? Keep me It was the second night of the usual vacation festivities -- intoxicated bodies in swimwear, hair tousled by the breeze, the smell of salt clinging to our… Continue reading The world is our playground and we will always be home
Matters of the heart
Frodo: I can't do this, Sam. Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the… Continue reading Matters of the heart
Mistakes made.
Maybe it was her fault she didn't tell him sooner. Maybe she should have gathered up her courage, picked the little bits of bravery scattered on the floor. Maybe she should have sculpted them and turned them into palpable evidence of what she felt. Maybe she should have said it to him, that night in… Continue reading Mistakes made.
Subterranean
The thing I like best about science is the fact of its humility. Sometimes it tells you things: big things, small things, medium things, and then, when pressed for explanation, it says, "But no one knows why this is so." My favourite manifestation of this is that trivia about ducks. Apparently, according to that magazine… Continue reading Subterranean
24 // Mamba Memories
He was never as good as he was in 2013, or the years before, and anyone who’d say he was still doing great in 2015 would be lying. Today, however, he was phenomenal. — Growing up surrounded by people who think basketball is the best thing since sliced bread exposes you to the sport at… Continue reading 24 // Mamba Memories
Spectre of yesterdays
Act I. Eventually your fingers will be the gauge of your disposition Your knuckles the bearer of your sins. Soldiers have amputated arms, amputated legs. You have translucent skin brought about by wounds which never seem to heal. People would notice how your nails are always trimmed, almost invisible. You tell them it's… Continue reading Spectre of yesterdays
020103
Things have changed. She used to sit alone in restaurants, taking forever to read the carefully laid out menu, digesting each word even before her stomach would do the same to the food she will eventually order. She used to be comfortable with empty tables, with a book only for company. No reason to hurry,… Continue reading 020103
Of women
I was walking to the drugstore at 7 PM that day, the summer sun splashing the sky with vibrant colours of purple, pink, green, blue as it hid behind the faint Sierra Madre mountains, a temporary bid of farewell for the day. I overheard a girl, who was helping her mother sell chicken innards and… Continue reading Of women
REBEL: EDSA at 30
People spent yesterday in various ways -- some stayed at home and read up on the events that gave us back our democracy, others went outside and retraced the steps taken by quiet heroes, a few went away to unwind, and many still did not do anything out of the ordinary. Last night, armed with… Continue reading REBEL: EDSA at 30
Of perpetual finds 