You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.

The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...

-Walt Whitman


george bernard shaw once wrote...

"There are two tragedies in life:
One is to lose your heart's desire.
The other is to gain it."

Yes, losing your heart's desire is tragic. But gaining your heart's desire, it's all you can hope for. This year I wished for love. To immerse myself in someone else and to wake a heart, long, afraid to feel. My wish was granted. If having that is tragic, then give me tragedy.
-- Peyton Sawyer


This new year, I hope for a courageous heart; a heart that can master all fears; a heart that beats with faith despite of all of the confusion and indecision where it has long been immersed. I hope for a heart that will persevere in search for answers, for freedom, for love. I have lost my heart's desire. It's time to get it back.


the one one with the beard, guitar, and a beautiful voice

TIRED OF POPULAR MAINSTREAM MUSIC? Well I suggest you go underground...

Imagine this: There are thousands of musically talented artists all over the world and millions of beautiful songs. But when I turn on the TV or the radio, it sounds like I’m hearing the same things over and over again. Well, as an audiophile, it’s almost unbearable that’s why I try my best to search for fresh music from underground artists.
Most people are not aware that such artists exist and the beautiful music they make. When people ask me who my favourite artists are and I’d say Jose Gonzales, Jack Savoretti, or Carla Bruni, they usually end up asking: Who the hell are they?! I know people have different ears for music but I think the media plays a great role in influencing the people of what music they would listen to.

What’s your favourite type of music? I noticed that my answer to this question changes as time went by. I loved pop music (mostly ballads) as I was into boy bands before. Then my ear gears shifted and I developed a liking for alternative, then post-rock to ambien, and then finally, folk. I am really not particular with the genre (or the lyrics!) as long as they’re not loud. I like them unplugged or stripped but most of all, played sincerely from the heart (Fake artists are everywhere!). And this type of music is very rare to find lately. And pure coincidence or manual searches are the only keys to find them.

My latest find is William Fitzsimmons, a folk musician. No crazy costumes, no gimmicks. Just with his guitar, overgrown beard, and pure unadulterated voice coming from his heart to his mouth.


15 happy thoughts

Marry on a hilltop
I’ve always imagined it happening on a hilltop just before sunrise.

Ride the Titanic
And scream “I am the king of the world!”

Visit the Louvre
I’m a sucker for artworks and yet I have never been to any art museums.

Write a novel
It would be nice to write a story and move someone.

Travel back in time
I know I ca
n’t change the past. I guess I just want to remember something. Make sure I won’t miss a thing.

Ride a bike
…in the Tuscan countryside. Being in that place is like living inside a dream. I need to learn to ride the bike first, of course, since I have the worst balancing skills in the world.

Be a photographer
A picture is a moment frozen in time. It’s like you have a power to stop time for a moment and let people see that moment through your eyes.

Draw a graffiti
…on Tree Hill Rivercourt. And play some hoops with Hales.

Study at a wizarding school
What’s cooler than riding a broomstick while playing Quidditch? Plus you get to hex people who think you’re a dork.

Watch a Josh Groban Concert
He’s probably the one who inspired me to stretch my musical vocal cords and sing in the shower.

Hoist the Wimbledon Cup
I wonder what it’s like—kicking Roger Federer’s ass.

Listen to tons of music without falling totally asleep
Have you ever experienced laying half awake and half asleep just before the dawn breaks and your head is floating in a colorful abyss of mellow music? Well, you should.

Paint a masterpiece
It’s been a while since the last time my hands held a paintbrush. I guess when you stop using what has been given, it just leaves you.

Have children (I KNOW!)
And they will be called Lucas and Haley (Of course, I'd still need to consider my wife’s wishes —you know? The one I will marry on that hilltop?)

Hang out on the coffin rock again
I remember sitting on it with my bestfriend years ago. And it’s one of those rare moments of clarity wherein you do
n’t need to think and yet your head is teeming with thoughts. I remember that moment—reclining underneath a green ceiling of leaves permeated by sunlight and the lullaby of rush of water underneath you. And yeah. That’s where I got the name of this blog.

Think happy, guys!


kahlil gibran once wrote...

"Your reason and your passion are the rudder and sails of your seafaring soul. If either be broken, you can but toss and drift or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone is a force confining. And passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction..."


it's here... finally

THE 72ND VOLLEYBALL SEASON of UAAP is finally here. Lots of volleyball action to occupy my lazy afternoons. Woohoo! I’m really rooting for the Ateneo Lady Eagles but I don’t think they could make it to the Finals this season especially now that the defending champions, The De La Salle Lady Spikers are back. Have you watched the Main Game yesterday? UST VS DLSU? Oh man! It was a nail biter. La Salle won it 5 sets. I wouldn’t be surprised if the ladies in green would win a back-to-back championship.

Cute girls digging and spiking balls? Whew. It can’t get any better than this! However, I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of one player. She has a great resemblance to that gymnast who won in the Olympics (I forgot her name. Hehe!) The winner of the Dancing with the Stars?

Stephanie Mercado, De La Salle Lady Spikers

Catch the live game telecast of UAAP Women’s Volleyball on Studio 23. 2-6 PM usually on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Sundays.

5.12.09 theory

OTHING STRIVES INSIDE A BROKEN HEART. When the heart gets broken, it turns into a void, a black hole in your chest sucking everything in and eventually spitting it all out. It’s like filling a cracking glass of water. No matter how you try to fill it, water will just keep leaking out. At the end of the day, you’re still empty and hollow and thirsty for something that you think would satiate the need for happiness.

Emptiness compels people to immediately start the search for such things. They could be anything. And when they do find them, they instantly start stuffing themselves, forcing everything in, even those that their hearts don’t really need. Empty people are impatient people. They are so distracted by the pain. They can’t wait to get rid of it. Their minds are stuck on thinking how to purge the heart of such torment, conveniently forgetting the fact that anything kept inside a heart should not be forced—like love. You have to own the right heart to nurture such sublime entity. I can’t imagine offering my heart to someone, all torn and hideous. Can you?

When a heart gets broken, repairs should be made first. Bleeders should be cauterized. Patches should be placed to cover the holes. Cuts should be stitched closed. And then one should let it heal. The healing part takes time but it varies among people because every heart is unique and wounds vary in severity depending on the degree of damage, depth, and hurts one had taken hold. And there are a gazillion ways to break a heart but ironically, only a few to fix it (open heart surgeries excluded).

The healing process is very tricky. Let’s take broken relationships, for example. When one says he had already moved on, there’s a great probability that it’s actually the opposite. The moment one thinks that his feet stands on the grounds of acceptance, that is when he usually finds himself chewing on the first seeds of grief—denial.
The damaged heart deals with a lot of questions, focusing mainly on the experience of pain. Some say the pain doesn’t really go away. You just learn how to live with it eventually. But a healing heart juggles more complex questions. Fear, doubt, frustrations, and phantom hurts swarm the heart forcing it to shut down—a coping mechanism. The heart is strong but it is also as fragile as it is vital.

When can one say his heart is completely healed? There are no infallible ways to know for sure just like discerning the exact point in time when a heart starts to love. In the end it’s still a risk, a gamble. But with a heart intact, filled with the right things, and a love true and inspiring, it’s definitely a risk worth taking.

. . .
This draft is already growing cobwebs so I decided to finally post it. I’m no love doctor so I don’t think it’s wise to trust everything I just said. I do not have right to write a post like this actually given the state of my social life. Just cheesy theories I wanted to share.


twenty three

AND THEN MY BIRTHDAY CAME, with a blast. I was so caught by surprise I almost lost my head. I never expected that a family affair party could go really crazy. For a moment there, it felt like being young again with all those gallons of ice cream and cakes (Thank God there’s no longer a freaking Winnie the Pooh on it!), but no. I am now 23 and it’s curious to think that I have already almost spent half of my life, given that the average lifespan of a common Filipino man dropped down to 50 years old. It makes me wonder how the other half of my life will turn out.

One highlight of the party involved a candle-blowing ceremony with people singing Happy Birthday in chorus (I could feel my face blushing red till the last line of the song). After that, they ‘forced’ me to give a speech. It was really embarrassing. This never happened in my previous birthdays. But it was really nice to hear your family’s and friend’s wishes for you (That I go find myself a girlfriend being the common denominator, well, except for my mother of course! Hehe!). I was really trying to control what I feel because they I know and they know I have a thing for public display of emotion. I am a cryer. :P

Other things I like my birthday this year:

1. 1..I received cash. Hehe :P

2. 2. Lots of spaghetti (Even though my diet which going smoothly for two weeks was completely destroyed).

3. 3. I got to celebrate it with my family.

4. 4. I was reconnected with my friends. I never expected anyone to greet me a Happy Birthday ever since I became socially dormant for ages. Some may have forgotten but the important thing is that my closest friends still know that I exist, for another year at least.

5. 5. Glad texted. Enough said :P

No emo posts for now. Happy comes rarely for me. Hehe!


the author's side of the story

WAS BROWSING through cable channels yesterday afternoon when I chanced upon an NBC special aired by Dateline from the 2nd Avenue Channel. The word 'mason' caught my attention and got intrigued in an instant. To my surprise Dan Brown appeared on the screen and started talking about his latest book-- The Lost Symbol. Yeah I know. I wouldn't stop talking about it. But if you're too lazy to read the book, just watch these videos from YouTube. However, if you're planning to read the book. I am warning you: Essential spoilers ahead.

It's really cool to know the comments from those involved in Dan Brown's novel. I was able to view the book in a Masonic perspective. I agree that The Lost Symbol had revived the mysticism to the ancient brotherhood that has been eluding people from the very beginning upto now. It also brings the origins of American history in a whole new light.



I AM SO FRUSTRATED with some almost-nonsensical stuff lately. Well, first: The teams I was rooting for to win the Shakey’s V-League didn’t make it to the finals. They gave their best shot but it’s still frustrating all the same. It sucks not to see Fille kick some ass even for just a little while. But I guess I’ll only have to endure a little longer until the UAAP starts.

Fille Saint Merced Cainglet, Ateneo Lady Eagles

Second: The inspiration to write comes like a thief in the night and it leaves the same way it enters—in stealth. The problem is I have no laptop to pour those unpredictable thoughts into and I am not comfortable writing them using pen and paper. And when I try to recall them when finally faced with a computer, my memory fails me. This is a silly ranting. I know there a lot of problems to worry about.

And third: My birthday is fast approaching. If I could only slow down time, I would. Time flies alarmingly fast now and I can’t keep up with it. Sometimes I feel like time is an enemy I should defeat. But we all know that the better way to cope with it, is to treat it like a friend.

Make a wish, Ron…


vampires, werewolves, and insecure boyfriends

HALES AND I WENT TO THE CINEMAS to watch New Moon. I had no great expectations about the movie because I found the book from which the movie was adapted shallow. I was just curious as to how it would turn out on the big screen; the same reason I watch all those movies based from the novels I’ve read. Plus, my birthday was fast approaching so I figured I’d give my bestfriend a treat.

As expected, the lines for the tickets were ridiculously long and on them were mostly kids, giggling girls, and couples taking advantage of the hype brought by the sensationalized movie phenomena. All girls were wide-eyed and pupils dilated in anticipation for the pale body of Edward Cullen (except Hales of course. She’s on Team Jacob. And I think she got the right team. I mean who would want to make out with a talking cadaver? :P)

1:45 PM—We haven’t had our lunch yet and the movie was about to start at 2:10 PM. After buying the tickets we ate lunch at Chowking. We we’re forced to just shove the food down our throats and swallow or else we would miss the beginning of the movie, given that it was not a free-seating show (Hales was still chewing when we started running towards the cinemas. I hate it when I don’t get to watch the trailers before the show or when I begin a movie at the middle. It destroys the over-allcinematic effect. :P

When we got inside the theater, there were no more decent seats left. The only ones available were on the first row—just a couple of steps from the screen. So we decided to just occupy the center aisle of the theater even though we looked totally stupid, sitting there alone. Well, a hurting back and ass were much better than a severe headache and a stiff neck.

And the film began to roll. As I’ve said, there’s nothing W-O-W about the movie (But the soundtrack's really good! I downloaded it before I went home). I think I enjoyed the people’s reactions more than what were happening infront of me. The highlight was probably this one lady gasping “Oh Shit!” whenever Jacob appeared shirtless on the screen. She sounded torn between whispering and shouting outlout. Hales and I had a great laugh out of it. And when Edward said the magic words “Will you marry me”, the venue suddenly erupted in a unified sighs, shrieks and gigles. Haley and I looked at each other and realized we were so out of place. Let’s get out of here.

Then, Haley’s phone rang. His boyfriend called, inviting her to watch New Moon with him. Then, there was a flash-backward. A faint trace of a love triangle appeared out of nowhere, which shouldn’t be there in the first place. And Haley was once again faced with an old ordeal—How to fake her expressions in watching a movie she’d already seen. I have a bad history with my bestfriend’s boyfriends. All of them seemed to be jealous of me. I can’t still figure out why they’re so insecure of me! Hahaha! I have yet to meet this new guy in her life and I deeply hope that he’s different from the rest. And because I don’t want to place Haley in an impossible position once again—that she needs to choose between a friend and a lover. But most of all, I don’t want to lose her ...again.

“He wants to watch New Moon with me.” she said, a faint trace of worry in her voice.

“Just say ‘Oh Shit!’" I adviced.


the secret is how to die...


In 1991, a document was locked in the safe of the director of the CIA. The document is still there today. Its cryptic text includes references to an ancient portal and an unknown location underground. The document also contains the phrase 'It's buried out there somewhere.'

All organizations in this novel exist, including the Freemasons, the Invisible College, the Office of Security, the SMSC, and the Institute of Noetic Sciences.

All rituals, science, artwork, and monuments in this novel are real.

--Fact Page from The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown

I'M FINALLY DONE perusing the pages of The Lost Symbol—the latest installment of the world-renowned thriller writer, Dan Brown, and with no surprise my brain was once again stimulated by symbols, codes, and secrets. A lot of thanks to my Haley for lending me the book.

The Lost Symbol would be a good read unsurprisingly, especially if you love novels impregnated with historical and scientific facts, and mysteries, impeccably intertwined with an excellent fictional story-telling. Dan Brown is very well-known for blurring the lines between fact and fiction—which had proven successful in raising certain peoples’ eyebrows. Well, for me I don’t give much thought anymore as to what’re considered facts or fiction in his works. As long as they could tease my curiosity and could make my mouth hang open, I’m totally cool with it. I applaud Brown for his skill in connecting parallels that he could use for his story and for setting the flow of the plot in a lightning-paced mode. These are the key factors that made his novels into gripping page-turners and fall into nothing short of interesting.

If you happen to like his other two novels that featured the Harvard symbologist, Robert Langdon, Angels and Demons and the controversial The Da Vinci Code, you’d probably enjoy The Lost Symbol. However, I couldn’t help but notice the similarities and the recurring themes, and approaches Dan Brown had used to tell his novels. Perhaps, I was just expecting too much from this book or that I hoped that Dan Brown could outwrite himself this time but I think The Lost Symbol is the weakest from him since the Deception Point. The characters were flat. I am not sure if th
is was because of the pace of the story. The twists and the revelations in the end weren’t strong enough. They fell short of the buildup, I think. It’s an easy book to read, the trivial arguments were effective, and the process of discovery was thrilling but Dan just didn’t have new and fresh ways to deliver it.

One thing in the book that tweaked my curiosity the most was the science known as Noetics. It basically aims to prove ancient mystical knowledge using modern technology and science, focusing primarily on the untapped yet powerful potential of the human mind and how intangible thoughts can affect physical entities. Telekinesis i
mmediately popped in my head when I first encountered this. Just imagine if a thought has a certain mass. And as we all know everything that has mass has a certain gravitational force. It basically pulls anything that has mass towards it. But what if all people think of the same thought, hence the thought increases in accumulative mass, and therefore gain a gargantuan gravitational force and pulls entities in the physical realm. I can’t exactly picture how it works but it’s really mind boggling don’t you think? And what if I tell you that even a soul has mass? Very curious indeed.

I have a feeling the Christian community will have their brows raised once again because the Holy Bible was put in a pedestal in this novel. This novel is bombarded with a lot of Bible passages. Also it explains certain Biblical events di
fferently as compared to what the Church had taught the masses. Some topics include the Apocalypse, The End of the World, miracles, and the Bible being the ultimate cipher book.

I highly recommend this book but if I were you, I’d wait for the paperback version due early next year.


pre-halloween scare

HIS IS LUCAS finally having the time to resuscitate this blog. I haven’t been able
to update because I voluntarily gave away my laptop in exchange for a portable media player. Well, my Tita needed it more than I do. It’s just frustrating not being able to vomit words straight into a computer. And thoughts easily dissolve into thin air when I attempt to put them into writing using pen and paper. Luckily, I’ll get my laptop back after two months. Besides I have all the time in the world. Oh wait. Time doesn’t exist in my world, does it?

Halloween was still Halloween. I mean it’s always fun to have a family gathering in a cemetery, meet up with friends, and scare people with hideous masks. But ‘fun’ was not the right word to describe what happened the day before Halloween. It was ‘terrifying’. My father was caught up in a bad car accident. He was traversing the length of SLEX, when one of his tires exploded and a bus crashed against his car straight into the driver side. I was at my grandmother’s house when my sister told me the terrible news and added that my father refuses to get medical help insisting just to stay at home. I was suddenly reminded of those exaggerated dramatic scenes in telenovelas where in a protagonist dies in someone’s arms, bleeding, saying his last words. In a flash, I filled a bag with medical supplies I could use and went home.

My m
ind was racing, moving on a flash-forward, with images so revolting that I felt nauseated. It was one of those moments when I could actually say that I am scared. I couldn’t deny it because I could see it on my own eyes when I looked at the rear view mirror. And once again questions attacked the last remaining part in my head that could make sense of what’s happening. I tried to block them away. I saw years of regret in front of me and billowing unspoken words that had made a gap between me and my father. That was when I said to my self—He can’t die.

I saw the wrecked car as we got near to our destination—severely damaged with an enormous dent that practically bent the car from the middle. A total wreck. No one could’ve survived this. The car finally stopped.
Breathe Ron. Clear y
our head. Don’t panic. As a nurse, trying to save someone’s life is challenging but when someone personally significant to you is involved, it’s a whole different story. It’s very hard to compartmentalize the personal from the professional stuff. But as a medical practitioner, you’re not allowed to panic or make mistake because whoever needs your help, that person's life is at stake. No room for mistakes. And the more reason I got scared. I broke into a run, my heart hammering my throat, and my lungs mimicking a brown bag being used by someone suffering from acute hypercapnia. And then it hit me. How did he manage to go home. Refusing medical help?—that is so stupid?!!!

I arrived at the threshold frustration and fear churning in my gut.

“Ano, Conicks?”
I heard my father say my weirdest nick name, with a crooked smile that practically said ‘Whew! That was close.’

Relief rushed over me like cold water in a very hot summer day.

“Akala ko mamatay ka na eh!”
I exclaimed feigning the urge to bang my head on a wall. My father survived a car crash with just a few shallow scratches, cuts, and a sprained wrist. I insisted that he get himself checked by a physician. He still refuses till now.

We both are.


the wrong choice

''If you could be anywhere? Where would you be?
Answer: It doesn’t matter, because wherever you go, you’re still falling.''

-- Paul Harris, The Rule of Four

HE WAS SITTING ON A BENCH by the bus stop. He wore his faith, faded like the rugged jeans on him while waiting for a bus to arrive. Behind him was a vast open space of golden fields of barley. Facing him was a dark patch of concrete highway stretching to the both ends of the earth. And beyond it was another bare and wide space of uncertainties extending towards a horizon that married the endless ocean of the azure blue skies over his head. He felt like he was in the middle of nowhere; almost insignificant against the billowing possibilities surrounding him, taunting him. But in that moment he couldn’t do anything but feel small and wait. The bus wouldn’t arrive fast enough.

For a moment he watched his hands, and traced the lines that ran across his palms. Fate was written all over their skins, ready to be realized. He closed his hands tight and it felt good. For a fleeting moment he was in control of his destiny and the person he wanted to be was in his grasp, etched deep and unfading. Cotton clouds occasionally stained the sky above sometimes forming into familiar faces he knew—his face included. And he watched them all traverse the wide spread of the air eventually disintegrating into wisps until he couldn’t recognize them anymore. The wind had swept away his face.

Very slowly, he opened his closed fists in way like there were fragile-winged butterflies in them he wanted to set free. And then a muted noise reached his ears. It grew louder and louder. He could hear the crunch of loose asphalt against rubber. There was a hiss of an opening door and a booming sound of a horn that shattered the calm silence. The bus had arrived. But he didn’t expect that climbing aboard was far more difficult than waiting for it.
He stood by the bus door—ajar and inviting, his hands on the frame, and unable to find the courage to lift himself up. Seconds flew, awkward and pressure-filled. His eyes brimming with confusion met the bus driver’s.

Are you coming, son?

With head on a bow, he filled his lungs with air and let go of the frame. He stepped back and gazed back into the driver’s fatherly eyes, ever wondering if he would regret the next words from his mouth.

No. I think I will take the next bus.

The door closed with another hiss. The large tires started to move. And he watched the bus vanish into the horizon. He looked up to the heavens and look for familiar faces. There weren’t any. He imagined himself sitting on the bus, watching hills roll, grass-scented air caressing his weary face. Could he have risked everything and rode the bus till the end? He looked up again and there it was—the face he longed to see, smiling at him.

And then he ran as fast as he could, his shoes biting good on the rough surface of the road with the wind crashing brutally against his face. He closed his eyes as he sprinted towards the horizon, praying the opposing air could blow away the ghosts in his head and the cramps in his legs. But it was too late. Because like a snail in a race against all the fastest creatures of the world—he just couldn’t outrun himself. He couldn’t outrun gravity. And in that moment he realized that horizontal motion is an illusion—that he needed to move just to convince himself he’s not on a free fall.


what i should have said...

"I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened of anything. The more I suffer, the more I love. Danger will only increase my love. It will sharpen it. It will give it spice. I will be the only angel you need. You will leave life even more beautiful than you entered it. Heaven will take you back and look at you and say: Only one thing can make a soul complete. And that thing is love."

--Michael, The Reader
I LIKE YOU. And more than that, I feel like I'm stepping beyond the lines of just liking someone. I maybe be too young to understand what love really means, but I think this is it. If this is not love then I don't know anymore. But I will never think. There's already too many questions in my head. I'm just gonna say it and let it hang. But I will never spend the rest of my life thinking and not be with you.

I'm going to jump, and scream I love you as I fall.


the hermit came out of his shell

ND AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE A GAZILLION YEARS, I finally had an opportunity to actually have a social life. I attend to my sick grandmother (A nurse is required to take care of her since she breathes through a tube in her throat and she eats through a tube in her stomach-- tubes everywhere) for 12 straight hours without sleep starting from 6 PM to 6 AM and I usually spend the rest of the day usually by sleeping or watching TV series on my laptop. My life has been pretty boring and monotonous that I sometimes feel miserable. Wait, I am always miserable!

So yesterday morning, just to save myself from depression due to lack of human contact, I went out despite of the fact that I am restless and bags burdened my eyes. I decided to watch the movie Fame. As I wait for a jeepney to take me to my destination, there was this strange feeling of bliss. I got to experience once again the chaos in the streets--people scouring, the annoying traffic, the open air and skies. Yeah. it's that bad. I am a hermit. For months my world revolved in a small room that smelled of urine and disinfectant.

10:30 AM-- I arrived at the movie house and I got very disappointed. The mall will not feature Fame. Alone and feeling pathetic (I mean who would go to the cinemas at 10-ish in the morning?), I reached for my cell and texted PJ and Ego almost pleading for us to meet up. And I was glad that I did because we had a blast. I missed hanging out with them. It's always nice to chill out with crazy people!

We ended up window shopping for cool clothes. Shopping for clothes is not my thing but if you're friends with vain people, I think it'll rub on you somehow. We ate at McDonald's--my treat (See? SEE!?)

After 4 hours of catching up, we said goodbye and I went back to my world of monotony.

6 PM-- My shift started and I felt so tired and sleepy. Sometimes, I wish I could fast-forward my life to 5 years from now. Because sometimes, I feel like I wouldn't miss anything even if I


twist and turn

Questions twist

And turn

In my head—

Unsolved riddles




For answers

Hiding in shadows

I couldn’t follow

uestions turn

And churn

In my gut,

Burns the edge of my heart—

A sick carrousel ride

Of fate unkind

That binds

My will to walk

And talk

And think

And love.

Questions echo

nd say hello

Then bellow

My name—

You coward!

Feet moving backwards

Toward a past

That will not last

And to lust

Eating your face so fast.

Answers twist

And turn

And churn

And burn

In shadows

I couldn’t follow

Because myself is my foe

And its feet take me

rivers where truths don’t flow.


if you exist in this lifetime, then this is for you


I have taken the most dangerous step and it was worth every risk for it had led me to the lost piece to finally decode the never-ending riddle in my head. You are the comet that I once saw and now that you have found a way to light up my sky again, this time, I will never let go. Everything had fallen into place and I could no longer ask for more. I will no longer move for there is no better place; for the broken road had finally ended with you.

Shine your light to the heavens; paint it with stars from the palette of your hands. You are the arti
st and I am your art. With your brush strokes, I was brought to life in vibrant swirls and dynamic hues. I was alive. Not blank nor empty. I am filled, mouth brimming with love and colors your heart created and mine beat for, plunging my system into an overload; an intoxicating bliss that I wish not to end like an ever sweet reverie.

You make me exist and I love you.

Thank you for giving me a piece of your heart.

Without wax,




I HAD FORGOTTEN THE SCENT OF LOVE and its bittersweet taste on my tongue; the fluttering wings in my gut and the calming warmth I used to feel from an embrace or a kiss. I had cast away the elusive emotion in the deepest trenches of thought, oblivious of remembrance. Nothing remained but the faint traces it had left on my memory; embedded, echoing like a lost whisper in the air I wanted to inhale and exhale at the same time.

Once upon a time, I was struggling to forget but my heart just won’t let me. There are some things that are best left forgotten but the heart remembers things that the mind easily fails to remember. It was impervious to my will of purging my consciousness off of the repugnant memories, but most of all, the beautiful ones; that were reeling in my head on an endless loop, blinding and causing me unyielding pain.
Beautifully painful—it was irony in its cruelest form.

I couldn’t choose what my heart wanted to remember that is why I wanted to forget. Because whichever memory it had decided to keep in its beating chambers, the feeling had always been the same. Those fragments of fading thoughts became a part of my identity. I couldn’t deny nor lie about them. They constantly reminded me of what I had become and who I was. No wonder I wanted to lose myself. I was desperate to shake them away from me; those parts that were hurting so much. Before I knew it, the hurts had already transformed my face—severely scarred and wrinkled to the point that I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.

But time happened and I had succeeded. I had forgotten. Nothing was left except for the fading shadow of a love that used to light up my grey skies; forged by my imagination in an attempt to bring back the sensation to love and feel love. I guess I was just starting to learn that it’s better to hurt than not to feel at all. But now as I lay in silence, witnessing the creeping daylight wash over the absolute shade of the night, and with my hand upon my heart, I am once again reminded and I remembered. I braced myself but surprisingly enough, there is no pain. Wide eyed, I have come to learn—it doesn’t hurt anymore. It feels like letting go. But how I wish there’s a way to know for sure.


conflicted steps

Step one, two

Spell love

With your kiss

That I miss

And then release

My lips goodbye

Then say hi

To the end

Knees bent

On the ground

Feet bound

To last forever

But never

Forget my scent,

Nor lament

The fading shadow

That is I.

Till death not part

From my heart—

A secret place

To find and chase

Your voice

That sings songs

And prolongs

My breaths,

And breaks the line

Of decaying time.

Swift as air

My pulse beats

In the heat

Of your skin

I inhale

In reverse—

A curse

I will embrace

And trace

Back to this night

And your light

Tearing my mind


Step one, two

Say I love you

Then free me from you—

That I will miss

And I will kiss

Only in dreams

After this fleeting bliss.


one hundred and one

WAS NEVER THIS INTIMATE WITH WORDS until I decided to make this online diary. I knew I could write but not like this—wherein I can express myself, in a very subtle way and with virtually no known limits. I realized I could write anything that whirls inside my head as long as there’s a spark of inspiration. No piece of paper will remain blank with a free mind and an ounce of inspiration.

I have a personal connection with this blog. Sometimes, I feel like I am actually more honest with what I write here than what I share with my friends. There’s a different kind of satisfaction in expressing your thoughts, feelings through written words than those that are spoken, or perhaps it’s just the introverted me taking over. Well, this is my other side and I’m kindling it.

Usually when I’m inspired to write something, I would just sit by our couch, turn on some music, and start scribbling words, having no idea where they came from nor what they really stood for. It’s amazing how words find you and not the other way around. That is why I get so excited when readers psychoanalyze me through my works. Whenever I write, it’s almost always an opportunity to dwell on my thoughts, becoming fully aware of what I think and feel. I get to reflect and to learn about myself. And it’s really surprising how my words sometimes connect to those who read them. And it’s pretty flattering that certain people here really do care of what goes on inside my convoluted brain. Writing brings about surprises even to the author and I think that is one factor why I am drawn to this. I am a lover of surprises.

A year has passed and the Coffin Rock has finally reached a milestone. I am really proud of what I have accomplished here. (Yes. It’s an accomplishment, keeping this blog afloat despite all the chaotic stuff happening.) Sometimes, I’d browse through my archives and I couldn’t help but feel strangely happy, remembering the times I have spent to write each post (mostly on editing and re-editing), the inspirations and stories behind them and that familiar feeling of satisfaction I get from finishing one. You will not believe me if I tell you how long it usually takes me to write a decent entry. :P

I can say I have somehow improved on my writing skills. I sometimes compare my older posts to my recent ones. But there are still a lot rooms for improvement of course. I’m still struggling with my sentence constructions and tenses and I can go on and on). Anyway, that is one reason why I decided to blog—to enhance my creative writing skills. Good thing there are loads of brilliant writers here I am learning from. I get to broaden my horizon on different writing styles and they are gazillions of them here. It’s nice to have a glimpse of how the minds of other people work through their words, how they choose to express them in so many artistic ways, and relates to the circumstances happening in your my life. Indeed, a story doesn’t exist in itself. My story might be your story too.

To you readers who gave me words of encouragements, shared their views, and gave pieces of yourselves; to Haley and Steph, who supported me with this endeavor, and finally to Ton, who introduced me to this virtual sphere—Thank you.

So what’s next for the Coffin Rock? I guess I’m just going to keep writing in an attempt to deconstruct the reality of things. Life. Love. Myself. I will continue scribbling these chronicles in the hope that someone would get lost in here and find himself.

This is Lucas and you’re reading my 100th post.



THE LAST TWO MONTHS have been probably the most trying times of my life so far. I have been testing my physical limits while witnessing my emotions fester. Placing sadness and despair into hidden compartments within me while brawling with physical exhaustion was indeed hard. But surprisingly enough, I have seen myself rising up to the challenge settled on my shoulders. I haven’t cried a single tear which could only mean two things—that I’m strong and maturing or that I am emotionally sick, stepping beyond the lines into a state of frigidity.

When your plate is filled even with stale food, it’s very easy to forget everything else. Time. Friends. Yourself. You live by the moment, with no thoughts for the future because if you think about what’s ahead and not see an end, the ounce of drive that keeps you going will just vanish. And whatever that is, you have to kindle it like an invisible flame illuminating the darkness in your heart.

I have been struggling to understand the proverb—Everything happens for a reason. And I think God wanted me to fully fathom this in a way I am hesitant to accept. Soon after my Lolo Philip recovered from his respiratory ailment, a series of unfortunate events unfolded. It was then that My Lola Nelia suffered from a cerebral infarct—stroke. And since then I have been seeing death eye-to-eye and neither of us wanted to blink. But he knows I am growing weary, and tired, and I sometimes feel that my heart is going to give in to the pressure, to the lack of sleep, to everything. His stench never left my nostrils and how I wish I could sneeze him out of my system.

My world has been in chaos and the circumstances are taking their toll on our family but I can’t afford to break down and give up. I am clinging to the hope that there is still so much to live for in spite of everything. After a month and a week (and counting), after two cardiac standstills, two surgeries, being tended by twelve doctors, a gazillion medications, a thousand needle injections (and counting) and she’s still here. We’re still here inside this hospital room, breathing the same sterile and forbidding air. But the fact that we are still able to breath in air into our lungs is a realization that we’re still alive.

There is very long road ahead and I have to muster all my strength to wade it even though I am not sure if there’s a good ending to it. Fear licks my heart and the feeling of inadequacy is always on my doorstep. But I think the lesson here is to learn how to keep those things at bay. There are so many ways to endure in the middle of an ill-fated reality, and sometimes it just includes closing a door to everything that will feed the gathering clouds of despair and hopelessness.

I think God wants me to appreciate all the good things when the world seems to crumble down before my eyes. He wants to teach me that hope can be found even in the smallest of things; that it can be in a form of a good urine output, or well coughed-out sputum; a spontaneous eye-opening, a contorted smile or simply a beating heart. God is training me, and disciplining me, because he loves me. He is bigger than I am and I couldn’t help but wonder what plans He had set for me. And I think, to see the end, I have to brave the troubled waters and traverse the ominous paths. I have to walk on, in the hope that a beautiful journey awaits…