I regret not being a child protégé. I regret not pushing myself to be really good at something. I have always treated school like a playground. It was a place to play around with my classmates and to talk with them about nonsensical things. It was a place that cultivated me, yet simply not enough. Do not get me wrong, I learned a lot of things from school, it was a great experience, but I just realized now that I did not push myself enough to get to know my strengths, my skills, my wants. I just went to school to do routines: talk to classmates, pass tests, get medals. I realized that I really did not take time to discover what I really want back then and train myself for it. It is giving me a hard time now that I’m in college. I’m still very lost. I do not know what I want.

I feel like a child star

Sometimes, I feel like a chid star. I feel like someone who still has not figured out how the world works yet, but eyes are already critical of her. I feel like a kid who wants to try something new but ends up not doing it because she is afraid to fail and be ridiculed because of it.

These eyes are like cold bars inhibiting me to soar high enough and fall, and eventually fly back again. Life is like that. You fail. You learn. You move on. But why is it that I feel like someone who is not allowed to fall through? Ever.

College is like that for me. Critical eyes and cold cell bars.

I am not saying this to prove that this systematic education holds me back and is pointless. No. I do believe that you can learn a lot from college, so please do your best to graduate from high school and get into college. All I am saying is, MY COLLEGE EDUCATION is like that to me.

My college teaches us to be perfect. It teaches us to make no mistake…ever. Because that one mistake will make us lose our credibility, the value of our names. (Or at least, that is what I think my college is feeding me.)

On second thought, let me take back what I wrote in the second paragraph. It is not my college that inhibits me to soar into high altitudes; it is society. It is the real world. I guess my college only wants me to prepare for what is out there. It only wants me to be prepared for the “real” world where society is critical of you and only perfect people are tolerated. A place where a tiny stain on your name or the lack of experience on your resume will plague you for a long time, if not forever.

I feel like an unsure child star forced to appear in the limelight. Should I star having diva tantrums now? Nah.


As a college student, time is very important yet more often than not, I just deliberately take it for granted. I do know the consequences of me procrastinating and doing all my school works thoughtlessly, but wasting time is such a powerful force I just have a hard time resisting.

After realizing what I had done, I cringe, yet I do it again the day after. It is like a drug slowly wrecking me yet I still take it because of the thrill. But I am now sick of below average grades. I am now sick of unproductive late night habits. I am now tired of the guilt that ensues from this habit. I am going to put this laptop down after this.

Procrasti-girl out. Peace.

The Difference Between Me and Her

To you who had always broken my heart. To the one who had always torn me apart.

That girl you talked about, I knew she was amazing, really. I have not even met her but I knew deep in my heart that she was something. Something better than me. Something more interesting, more challenging, more stupefying, more well-dressed, more… More than I could ever be. Why?

Because… you chose her. Not me. I have always stayed by your side but noticing me just isn’t a part of your system. Apparently, noticing anyone had never been a part of your system. But like a book heroine, with a grand entrance, she came into your life. Her beauty astounding quickly grasped your being and awakened your once so innocent soul. Suddenly, your emotions came to life; your system took a leap of faith.

Maybe that is love. I won’t tell you that it isn’t, because it may be, and it may not be. I’m not really sure. But here is the thing that you should know (and preferably also consider), the real difference between me and that girl.

I may be a bit more crazy about you than I think. It’s true. In almost all of the love songs I played, I heard the words and I saw your face. In my head you and I were dancing and laughing–something I never experienced within the hold of reality. I wrote about you, thought about you, sang about you, dreamed about you. And you know what? She is definitely not this crazy about you. Trust me. I know.

She had all the chance in the world to be with you, the chance I never really had, but what did she do? She brushed you off the corner and watched you wither away. Every part of you was disintegrating, but she just stared at you with her hollowed eyes. Her eyes killed you. My eyes teared up for you. Her touch was venomous, but still you would rather die in her arms than live a life without her skin. She is filled with nothing but malice but you did not care. You have become blind and chose to live vicariously through her eyes–the same eyes that killed you. The eyes that never shined for you. The eyes that never cried for/because you.

I, on the other hand, am still that crazy about you, a blind man. A man who lost himself.

Now I realize how lost you truly are… how I could not save you anymore since you willingly offered yourself to death. I could have saved you. And now I can’t.

That’s the difference.

My 18th Birthday

In my country, a girl’s 18th birthday is considered her most special birthday, because it signifies her transition from being a “girl” to being “woman”. It is called, “debut”.

An excessively rich girl celebrates it by hosting the grandest party with a theme according to her preference. There, she dances on her heels and in her beautiful handpicked gown, and with 18 different guys, who will later give her a rose. She receives 18 “treasures” or gifts and verbal messages from her 18 besties. She receives 18k from 18 different godparents/aunts/uncles… etc. (Basically, debutants or 18th birthday celebrants just come up with their own sets of 18 somethings and force their guests to give something to them.)

I never dreamt of having one of those extravagant 18th birthdays. I just wanted to go to some fun and beautiful place and celebrate with my family…

But in my life, that’s still too good to be true.

On my birthday I celebrated by… taking exams, writing papers, and being stuck at school. I didn’t have time to really celebrate it like those normal girls do. Life just got in the way. I did not have a choice.

I hated that day. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t, because I did not have time to do so. My dad had bought 2 boxes of pizza and a small cake to make things feel like a “celebration” but we did not eat together at the dinner table. I let him eat first because I was too busy doing my assignments.

I had told my dad that I would just celebrate the week after but I ended up not finding the time to do so.

I just can’t help but feel bad and wallow in my own misery and frustrations whenever I think about my 18th birthday. I had known that I was not going to celebrate it extravagantly, but not not celebrate it at all. I dreamt of celebrating it blissfully with my family but now, it’s just a lonely part of my life’s history.

My troubled soul

I promised myself that I wasn’t going to be agitated,
and that my week’s mantra is to think positive thoughts instead.
But it’s funny when you finally decide not to let  the world get into you,
it pierces itself in and leaves deep wounds on your skin.

Tonight, I’ve got unresolved questions in my mind.
Questions that are voraciously devouring all of my senseless thoughts, vomiting out a new sense of void. A feeling of void that eventually makes its way to my stomach, masquerading itself as wicked little butterflies…

But still my hope isn’t shaking. This is just temporary. All is well. All things work together for good. These questions will eventually be answered and my troubled soul will be, in due course, delivered.