Gray Skies and Scattered Rainshowers

You know that feeling when your heart feels heavier and heavier until you find it hard to breathe? That feeling when every move you make is painful, not physically but emotionally because your heart has pleaded your body to not move. That it’s better to just stay still because there would be only less pain.

Flashes in your mind on how you could kill yourself. Or to write letters in case you die anytime now.

But you keep yourself composed. You stay strong. Because when you get out of here, better days will be waiting. You try to stay positive. You try to distract yourself to forget. And for a second, you actually forget. But then it crashes all back to you like a large block of cement. And now you’re stuck.


I’m tired of your words constantly dragging me down,

constantly making me feel how worthless I am

constantly making me feel how I can’t be anything that I want to be.

I tried to be what you want me to be, but you still only see the wrong things. What about those things I’ve done right?

What about the things I’ve done good but you don’t know about because I don’t tell you because I just think that you don’t give a damn about me anymore.

I’m so tired of always tolerating you, as you tell me how much you’ve done for me and how did nothing for you.

I think that’s the problem. You forget.

Or maybe you remember but you choose to set it aside because you find it more satisfying that you prove yourself right every single time. That you’re right thinking that I’m selfish, worthless and lazy.

You even compare me to her who’s shown you all her high grades and told you that she’s in the top ten.

So you’re proud of her. You like her. No. You love her and she’s your favorite. Don’t deny it anymore because it’s too obvious.

You don’t even know how hard it is to be in school everyday and deal with people with lessons and professors. You don’t know how lonely I feel sometimes because there’s no one in that school who knows me really. You don’t know how good I’ve done in school. Youalways think that your life is harder than mine.

Let’s stops comparing here. Because my life is hard as it is. And in case you don’t see it, every person has a different kind of hard life. So don’t tell me your life is harder because you’ve never be me and I’d never be you. So stop.

You don’t know how hard it is to put a smile on my face and pretend that everything’s fine because if they’d know who much I’m shattered inside they might not want to hear the pathetic story and would casually change the subject and then I’d be pretending again that it’s fine but I really feel rejected deep inside. So that’s why I don’t tell them.

They don’t have to know.

And now…

I’m so done. I’m going to do the things I’m ought to do. And do the things I want to do for myself and not the the pathetic reason of pleasing you. I’m so tired of doing that. It’s slowly melting me to the ground until there will be nothing left of me. I’d stop this before I get to that point. I’m staying away from you. Less conversations if possible. One word answers. Nods. And gestures.

I think you’ve noticed how I’ve been sleeping a lot. Eating less. Reading more. Staying in my room most of the time. And not talking to you. You’ve noticed.

I know you do because you’re treating me nicely. You talk to me as if you really care. Maybe you do. But I feel that you don’t most of the time. So stop the act. Because if it’s trying to make me feel okay, it’s not. If you’re trying to reach out, I’m backing further away. If you’re trying to make me tell you what’s wrong, I’d never tell you what’s wrong.

If I tell you, what would you do about it? Would it change you? I don’t think so.

Would it make you realize how we’re different from each other? NO. Because you think that if it’s not your way, it’s the wrong way.

It doesn’t work like that.

It doesn’t mean that if I come from you, we’d be identical.

Again. It doesn’t work like that.

You think you’ve done the things that you do for my own good.

But look what you’ve done to me. Take a look and actually see me.




A Place Called Here



Where do missing things and people go? That is the question for Sandy Shortt. She’s has a obsessive compulsive thing that she doesn’t stop looking for the things that she lost. For example, a sock. She lost a sock and she spend a lot amount of time to look for it in every corner of their house. Good thing her parents are very understanding and supportive of her condition. 

When did this condition of her started? That’s when her neighbor frenemy Jenny-May Butler gone missing. 

After that incident, she can’t be settled if she can’t find what she’s looking for. And this habit has somehow led her to going the Garda. But then she wasn’t satisfied there so she left her job and started her own agency for missing persons.

She’s been searching for people, for things all her life.

And this time, she’s the one has gone missing. 

And where does she go? 

To a place called ‘Here’. 

‘Here’ is the place where the missing persons and things go. Sandy finds it a hard time absorbing everything. Then she sees those people that she has been looking for a long long time. Even the things that she’s been looking for. 

But what do you do when you finally find what you’re looking for?

This book for me is 3/5. It’s a good book. It has a nice story. I just found it a hard time to wrap my head around the place called ‘Here’. It’s a mix of reality and fantasy, so it was a bit slow for me to cope up with the setting. I was thinking at first if she was just dreaming or hallucinating or something.

But the end part was really touching and it got me teary eyed for a second there. 

And at the end, no matter how lost things and people get, they always find their way back. 

They’re always found. 





You feel disappointed if the people you expect that would understand you are the first ones who misunderstand you. You just thought that even if you don’t tell them, they’d know, they’d feel it. But they didn’t.



Some Nights



Some nights I spend watching tv alone in my room.

Some nights I spend writing through an idea for a story I had earlier that day.

Some nights I read a book, I mean, most nights, I read a book and get lost in it. 

Some nights I sleep early. Not to get enough sleep. But to shut myself down and not feel. Just not feel.

And some nights, when sleep doesn’t come, I stay awake and think. 

Sometimes, I cry. Not because I’m sad. Or maybe I am. But it’s just not that.

Those nights when I cry, those are the nights when I feel I’m alone. And then when the thought of being alone sinks in, then I feel lonely.

Sometimes, I just need someone to talk to. Someone to listen. 

Sometimes, I’m tired of being the one who always listens and gives advice. 

Sometimes I want to be the one being comforted. And to be told that everything’s fine, that I’m fine. 


And some nights, I just cry for no reason at all. Or for a reason that I don’t know of.