A Hundred and One Thoughts (2)

Goals can frustrate you.

The thing is, we keep setting goals but nothing seems ever enough. We set goals, we attain them and then we set another goal. There seems to be a disconnect between satisfaction in terms of outward success and satisfaction in terms of personal fulfillment. We don’t reach a point of fulfillment. We keep adjusting and readjusting what we aim for. Then after awhile, we ask, why are we not happy?

This is no novel idea but I just thought it might be worth sharing. We can listen to our inner voice and search deep within what we really want and make it our goal in everything we do. 

It has been said that there is a wisdom hidden within us that can serve as compass for our desires and goals in life. What do I want? I want to be happy. I want to feel beauty. I want to feel appreciation. I want to feel useful.

While I am keeping these goals in mind, I can then decide and act accordingly. My inner desire for happy, beauty, appreciation and useful leads my thoughts and my actions. 

I suppose you have heard this taught before. I had an epiphany and was surprised how the answers are all right in front of me.


A Hundred and One Thoughts (1)

Nothing is more crippling than self-doubt.

All the past decisions I made felt like they happened out of impulse. Out of my desire to make something happen to my life, I cooked up ideas of great adventures and jumped on them on a precarious point: when I am between doubt and certainty. It is that tipping point when you are about to make a decision. But instead of choosing which side to jump on, you let the wind blow you to a direction you have no solid belief on. 

Falling on a side on that proverbial fence will, at first, give us elation and a sense that finally, something is about to happen. While my subconscious may be aware of the turmoil of indecision, I pushed them back thinking that this here now is what I have always wanted all along. But no journey is eternally smooth. And that indecision will come to the surface and I will have no choice but to confront it.

Looking at the face of indecision is like looking at your self-doubt taking solid and ominous form. Its smirking face looking at you like that kid in grade-school who caught you doing something prohibited and is waiting to tell the teacher about it. You wanted to slap that smirk off its face but you’re too afraid to make a move because you risk making more trouble for yourself. And so the fear grips you, holding you at an unpleasant spot, full of torment and frustration.

Maybe the cure for self-doubt and indecision is out there waiting for me to discover.


A different level of crazy

I am crazy in ways that even I myself don’t understand. Have you ever been in a tug of war with your other self?

I came to a decision over something and then in another moment I change my mind.  I think I have loved and wonder if that was just hate masked in civility. I thought I was feeling mutinous and then afterwards thinks that maybe I was just annoyed. One moment I’m crying, thinking of all the pain and hopelessness of my situation and then later thinks of plans on how I can make things better.

I don’t understand myself most times. I often analyze and think deeply of what I actually feel and not just the surface reaction to present circumstances. In there, I am almost always surprised. Because what I always find is that, my surface reactions are often too superficial.

I have a very active imagination. I can draw things in my mind, sequencing little events, gathering them and finding a scheme out of all of it. There should be job out there that fits this kind of brain (a job in hunting serial killers, perhaps?). The problem with this kind of brain is when I get too caught up in my imagination that it interferes with my perception of reality, of what is actually happening. Those closest to me become victims of my eccentric imaginings and it often disappoints them or hurts them. It is a big problem. So I’m thinking I should just write out my imaginations but I would risk exposing how my delicate, verging on crazy, mind works. That’s not good.

So what am I saying here? Nothing.

I am crazy on a different level. I would want to analyze myself and see if I can cure whatever is in here (finger pointing to my head). But I realize that I do not have to understand myself all the time. I have crazies, that’s a given. But who hasn’t? I am probably under the category of people whose emotional development have been arrested but whose interpersonal capacity was not affected by it. I think that would be fine by me. I want to try to stop analyzing myself and let go of whatever crazies I have without fear of being self-reprimanded.

We are most critical with ourselves. We are our worst enemies. If I keep battling with myself, I might lose touch with everything else in my life because I am too self-critical. I want to give myself the acceptance that I so wanted from others, not realizing that it is me who has not come to terms with who I am.  I have a different level of crazy. Different from everyone else, unique in some ways, but crazy nonetheless. And I am on the road to accepting that.

Reminds me of you

I remember my father. He was a disciplinarian. We call him that although if it were at a different time, people would call him abusive. Every child remembers the pain of coming to terms with a father’s ways. But every child also grows, and if chance permits, they also become parents themselves. When they do, the pain gets viewed from  totally different perspective. This poem is for my dad.

I picked the pieces that you left
I built a new world out of it
The things you did to find yourself
The things you did to hide yourself
They cut a part of me inside
A scar that reminds me of you.

I know by now your peace you found
I wish I was there to see you off
Even as you struggle you keep your pace
You fought for life then say you lost

Never will I know the reasons you keep
I try to make sense out of those pieces
Maybe you fought to make it right
Maybe not, but I know you might

I wish there was a way to let you know
Every time I face a shadow, I think of you
What would you do, what will you say
You taught me much even as you go astray

There is no way to bring them back
Those years I lost you
While you keep to your escape
But know that I keep you here in my heart
And be assured I never strayed or lack


I previously posted this poem on another website. I got inspired to put it here after reading  ‘s “Bend Over. Grab Your Ankles.”

Pork Barrel Menace: This government should listen to its people.

Syria had 1,300 of its citizen die in a chemical attack. Egypt’s citizens are warring against each other. The monsoon winds is leaving devastation in my country Philippines.

I am not familiar with other country’s government system. Here in the Philippines, we are ruled by family dynasties. The senate, the congress, down to the governors and to the smallest unit of governance is run by politicians who have made our government a lucrative business.

The latest issue these days is the anomalous use of public funds by senators and congressmen. These officials take a big slash from the national budget yearly in billions of pesos for what is called Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF). This fund is allocated to each congressman and senator with an intention to let them use it in their priority projects to help the people they serve.

This PDAF is also called “Pork Barrel”, a practice wherein landlords fill a barrel with goods and have them greased with pork oil. It encourages competition among his tenants and that whoever has the most goods appears to be most lucky.

The intention may be good, or it may be crooked from the very start. The expose’ being run today claims that this our honorable politicians have used the pork barrel as a means to rob the people of our money and put it in their pockets. Evidences show that they release these funds to bogus non-government organizations. These organizations, according to the whistle blowers give back a percentage of the amount to the politician.

Some of them have even have the gall to say that they are not responsible to monitor where the money went. For goodness sake!

I am a lowly Filipino worker who, albeit unwilling, has my monthly wage deducted for taxes. Taxes that might have helped me bring more food on the table. Taxes that might have helped me buy the essentials for my family. I don’t begrudge paying taxes, that is true. But with all these scandal of how my taxes have been stolen from me, and not even clandestinely, it just bring my blood to a boil.

These politicians knows no shame. Now, people will be marching the streets again to push the removal of PDAF/Pork barrel. But not even the President of this robbed nation would make a move to abolish the pork barrel! We are a pitiful nation!

I am not being unpatriotic. I am a citizen fed up with the crooked way this country have been run for decades now. We used to be #1 in Asia, now we are known as among the most corrupt nation in the world. And don’t let the statistics fool you. Those people living in the gutters, them who roam the streets for food in garbage bins, they are the true evidence of our country’s state.

Abolish PDAF! NOW!


I have previously published this article on another website.

Menace at Home

They can feel the heavy atmosphere in the room. Any moment now, it will happen.

He sat down in the dining table and his words were, “That again?”. A remark on the meal. Jessy is standing near the sink, filling the pitcher with water. She did not dare say a word about his remark. She knew his mood all too well. Any word from her will send the plates flying across the room. And they will be frightened. “No, I am not going to give him an excuse to hurt us tonight”, she thought. Little did she realized that the seconds it took her to fill that pitcher was all it take to fuel his uncalled for anger.

“Where is the water Jessy?”, his voice boomed. Frightened of his sudden outburst, little Henry dropped his spoon. Henry wanted to pick it up but he was afraid to move. “He will hit me?”, Henry thought.

“What is it with you and dropping things? I only asked for water. You’re scared of that? What are you? Too chicken? Come here and let’s man you up!”, he shouted at Henry. Henry is only 5.

Jessy hurriedly went to get the spoon and tried to comfort Henry. He was about to cry and Jessy knew that tears will only anger this man even more. “Now, now, no crying little one. Here’s the spoon, be sure not to drop it again or it will run from you.” She said. She was trying to make him smile. She was looking at Henry when splash of water covered her face. It has started.

They all stood up abruptly tipping chairs. The storm is coming. The plates went flying. “Why do you anger me Jessy? Why do you defy me? I am going to teach that shit of yours to become a man and you comfort him like I’m a monster!” He was shouting. The anger in his eyes, the fury in his voice, palpable.

He took some steps towards Jessy and the kids started crying, “Papa no!”.

“Please John, please, I wasn’t trying to defy you. I didn’t mean to. Not tonight John, not tonight, please.”

He grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her to the nearby chair.The kids were crying, pleading.

“Papa stop, papa no, papa please, stop.”

John went to the counter, looking for something. Something to show them what his anger means. Something to tell them he is the god of this house. Something to tell them he means the lesson learned.

“Kids get out! Now!”, was Jessy’s command to them. The two elder kids went out, Henry lingered. He kept begging. “Papa stop, don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt her! Stop!”

John found that sharp something. “You think you’re a man now? Let’s see what you got!”.

Jessy got up from the chair, hurriedly ran to John, hoping to knock out that ax from his hand. She managed to shake it off his hand while John stumbled to the table. They both got up and tried to get to the ax together. Jessy got near first but only able to kick the ax farther. John got hold of her hair. He pulled her and then pinned her down.

It was a horror show for little Henry. Mama was pinned down, her free hand trying to shield her face from Papa’s blows. The show played on in front of him with no sound but the beating of his heart. Blood flowed from Mama’s broken eyebrow. “Mama, mama get up!” But no words came out of his lips. Now Papa is trying to reach for the ax.

A voice woke Henry. “Henry run! Run Henry!”

Little Henry run for the door, left the house into the cold night. There was no one around. No one to help them. No one to stop papa from hurting her.

Little Henry will have nightmares for a life.


This is an entry for the weekly writing challenge on the theme dialogues. More about the challenge here. This is my first entry ever to any challenge and I am very new to WordPress or blogging for that matter. I have published this flash fiction on another site.