itsnotmandatorybee

[itsnotmandatorybee]

May 17, 2025

Saturday

9:43 PM

”Nexus”

Puzzle, polen, giddy, I

Monterey, qadi, pebble, rye

Random words in constant line

Overdosage sickening; eye?

Chin, chin, droop, flamingos, stye

Honking after drinking wine

Silences in capsules, vy

Incognito blocking, my

Rainbow in bookcover, ply

Clandestine meet—is it right?

Gaining and losing might fine,

Stop, wait, go—what are these signs?

Wearing my Achilles heel

Triangle: a shape of square—

Illusion, illusion, illusion!

Park the tip of the pen on the pad

Lose the count 'til count lose its sound

Won't count the star, even the key of pound

And... swat... the cripple 'til I found...

the tick, tick, tick; the hoof, the moan

a day in a life to heal,

and to moarn.

[itsnotmandatorybee]

May 9, 2025

Friday

11:43 AM

I always know it's absurd, but I am thankful for my insecurities, and the way it won't make my senses awaken even I'm still young to know of much of everything, yet too old to be incapable of weighing the general rule of living a wonderful life: to enjoy and have a good, memorable one.

It's threatening to put myself in a narrative wherein I need to compose an explanation or a pun to make my answers plausible yet too unsersious to be taken seriously—yet, I wish I can be honest, but it's good to switch a conversation so it won't come through, like, so on and so forth, hide what I feel the need to be covered.

For the past few months, I liked myself looking old, dull, unspoken—it's over fleeting I won't hurt myself with razor blades anymore, like, look how my beard is—I found myself looking like Shaggy-yaggy from "Scooby Doo"; I'm on a certain pace I have to embrace my active volcano era wherein I have to be angry whenever a certain person tells me to shave, but they won't get the point that I'm not caring about my looks—after all, they don't know the list of whys: why I have to make myself feel ”ugly” and be confined with it, and why I should not feel sorry.

Every single strands of my hair acting like a thread on my chin is a constant reminder that I'm leading to adulthood which is a bit scary but there's no control about it unless I'll step out and wait for a truck to hit me 'til I make it to the trending CCTV footages posted on Facebook monitzed by vloggers, or be on the national television... enough! This won't happen—neither there's a way to skip a minute to bend a pattern that basically makes the clock tick until it reaches 12 or it's when I have to realize that I have no references of what I need to talk about—what I just want to say is that there's no shortcut to make it to an unexpected or an expected age you'd like or not like to reach it.

If I made myself happy without a hair, I can make myself happy with a long hair. It's always the matter of choosing what I think what's best for me.

It's the beard and moustache that saves me to not get involved into certain dates and hangouts, that my goal is to look like a caveman so there's no potential messages I might do in case I had my clean cut. It's a way to protect myself so I won't go anywhere over the weekend and I'll have an excuse if a friend asks to have a coffee and suede-like conversations which are often unsettled, and I'll feel the same exact scenarios when I'm wasting time shaving and painting my arches only to be frowned and disappointed of my stupid friends' stories happened ages ago, and when I'm clinging to beg for something new, all they have to say is "nothing".

Having this sense of being ugly has nothing to do with my gaslighting moments. In fact, it brings joy and peace when I'm not obligated to be pleasantly appealing to the eyes of people; it makes me a human when they don't require to be what I want to be me.

I just want to feel different.

[itsnotmandatorybee]

April 27, 2025

Sunday

9:51 PM

I have this insane, bold move to remove people out of my life, not because I don't trust anyone; it's more of ”I don't trust my instincts if something bothers me," and there's no way to get this out of my chest, and I'll realize that the best thing I can do is to temporarily distract myself 'til I can forget what I'm thinking... it's tiring sometimes, to tell you frankly; I am tired of doing this repeatedly. I thought it'll give me peace of mind if I'll ignore 'em after I have blocked 'em... but it's really a different story, and I don't know why our mind does the trick: when I wake up in the morning, I am certain to do my things until there's someone that pops up in my head out of nowhere—stupid mind, I swear it's involuntary. Then I'll think of ways not to play with the fire by simply ignoring it; there's no other way to sway back and forth as if I'm running out of time—most of the time I feel like there's no enough time to have a self-reflection time more than those captivating moments I think it's pleasurable to write that I waste time about a minimal hour or two. (Yep, it's a goddamn time.)

Here are some reasons why I hate people:

1. They're there when they need you the most; I'm non-existent after getting what they want. (Closest of my friends knew I'm not a people pleaser but it's not common for me to bring up most of exhaustion—but why do I always be the one to make the initiation of sending messages, or worse, going to someone's place for the sake of getting those rough things only to end up with a total mess.) Examples are people I barely knew or not at all lending money or a freeloader friend. (It's a crap.)

2. It's a courtesy call for them to hear me say a bubble about a sensitive thing I don't want to talk about; they'll have an aghast look when I started to crumble and they'll conclude I'm a bad person for not apologising or getting myself excluded of something that is not good to be talked about under a sensitive environment. Regardless if it's about a work-related burnt panini or a hot mushy potato exclusively shared by a common friend inside the coffee shop, whenever I had this demand to say what I think they'll make them uncomfortable, I always wonder why won't they ask first if it's okay to share what is "normally un-shareable"? Examples are my gender preferences or my opinion about anything and everything under the sun. IYKYK.

3. People are expected to be forgiven without thinking the level or impact of what it caused to me; they're unaware (which I make them be awared of) it damaged my morale and then they'll be mad or puzzled because I overreact. (I swear, this is one of the worst things ever.) For god's sake, nobody's perfect—I'm all aware when I need to say sorry or when there's a period of time to wait before I apologize whether in some sort of efforts or write a letter—depending of what I think the best ways are to communicate, but... oftentimes, a simple "sorry" won't be enough to cover a wound; it's uncommon but real enough to make a period turn into a gigantic, perfect circle—if they're the ones who caused the problem, then so be it. (Gotcha.) Oftentimes, I don't want to hear their explanation not unless they'll do everything to make things right and start all over as if nothing happened. (Gotcha.) PEOPLE: IT'S NOT EASY TO FORGIVE. Not because I heard a song about forgiveness doesn't mean it applies to me as a person. I had to admit that I'm rough, cold, and hard as stone, but I have acceptable reasons why I NEED TO, NOT BECAUSE I HAVE TO. It's not easy to make up my mind to weigh in the traumatic experience I had versus the good moments I spent with a person—it's the bad one that resorts me into conclusion that it's not enough to make another good moment to someone's unworthy to be given a second, even a million chances. A couple of times it happened that once is enough. Remember, there's physical chance and chemical change. If a burnt paper turned into ashes, there's nothing you can do to revert it into paper. So does forgiveness: it can't be given to anyone; for forgiveness can be a threat for people to normalize bad things to be made repeatedly. (I won't give any examples; I have a personal journal working on.)

4. People are simply bad. It's not true that the Mercury retrograde's the one that makes me irritable. It's actually the dumb people who can't be nice. While it's true that you can't expect everyone to be kind, at least don't make your little sobber sh*t contaminate the good tomatoes in a basket. I let people rant: I let people be the main character of their own if that's what can make them feel better, but it's a common code to be remember that you're not everyone's teacup. A bad day's a bad day, but you're unrequired to ruin someone's good day because you haven't got one.

5. The gaslighters aren't gaslighting when I turned off the fire. I'm talking about the previous "romantic" relationships I had. I'd rather believe I can kiss a toad to make me my prince than repeating this phrase all over again: IT'S A TRAP.

[itsnotmandatorybee]

March 24, 2025

Monday

11:17 AM

Ito 'yung iilan lang siguro sa mga sinulat ko na 'di pure English. Gusto ko lang i-express kung ano man 'tong bumabagabag sa akin sa nakalipas na araw. Sa ngayon, 'di ko aakalain na mabigat pala siyang bitbitin. Masaya naman ako kanina, pero bigla akong nakaramdam ng pagkadismaya. 'Di naman siguro 'to takot tulad nu'ng mga nararamdaman ko sa mga nakalipas na taon—o baka mali ako—pero narito 'yung pagkabahala, na dumating ako sa edad na 30 eh wala pa akong mararating sa buhay.

Napakapayak ng sitwasyon ngayon. Nakaiwas na 'ko sa gulo, nakatakas ako sa loob ng bahay na 'yon. Malapit nang magtatlong taon mula nu'ng lumisan ako ro'n. Dala ko 'yung pagkabahala habang sinusubaybayan ko 'yung Bundok Arayat sa labas. All I really wanted was to reclaim myself—I'm bringing myself back: at some point, masasabi ko na nagagawa ko naman. I had the books with me, I had a journal standing by na pwede kong sulatan.  I had my Instax and Polaroid. Kaya lang, napag-isip-isip ko: yes, I reclaimed myself—I somehow devoured myself with the foods I loved and went already to different places—but the question is—what comes next? Is this what they really called as "existential crisis"? Hindi ko naman nafi-feel na napang-iiwanan ako dahil 'lam ko namang higit ang pinagkaiba ng sitwasyon ko sa mga tao at this age, pero seryoso—why I feel like I have to be ashamed of myself? 

12:03 PM

Nakapunta ako ng mall nang wala sa oras, at bumalik rin agad sa apartment. Wala naman akong gagawin ro'n—makulimlim sa labas. Mas mainam. The weather is therapeutic for me, dahil 'lam ni Lord na hindi ko gusto ang summer. At some point, nagpapasalamat ako kay Lord dahil 'di niya ako pinapabayaan kahit ako lang ang mag-isa na humahamon sa buhay. Kinakailangan kong maging matatag. 'Di dapat ako masyadong nagpapaapekto sa kung anuman 'yung nangyari sa nakaraan—kay Vlad, maging sa mga ibang bagay na matagal nang natuldukan. Kung anuman 'yung nagpapasakit ng ulo ko, nasa isip ko lang. 'Di dapat manaig ang demonyong tumatakbo rito.

Sa pagkakataong 'to, minabuti ko munang humiga. Nagtimpla ako ng iced tea para kahit papa'no kumalma ako't lumamig ang ulo. Magiging panatag rin ako.

Bern, kapit lang. Marahil ay naiinip ka na sa kakahintay—pero kung ipagpapatuloy mo lang ang ginagawa mo't 'di ka nakagagawa ng anumang makasasama sa 'yo, magiging mainam na mamuhay nang payapa. Hindi mo kinakailangang umagos sa mundo at maging tulad nila. Darating ang araw na ikukumpara mo ang sarili mo sa iba, pero alalahanin mo na marunong kang makuntento. Iyon ang pairalin mo. Matututunan mong maging okay kahit 'di na ganu'n kasaya.

Vlad, magpahanggang-ngayon, nasa puso't diwa pa rin kita. Sa mga panahong sisikat ang araw at makikita kong bughaw ang kalangitan, ikaw ang naaalala't maaalala ko. 'Lam kong isinusumpa mo ako dahil sa mga maling nagawa ko. Hindi ko mapapatawad ang sarili ko—pero sapat na sa akin na meron akong natutunan mula sa 'yo. Masaya ako na nakilala ka kahit saglit lang. Hindi ko matututunang magmahal kung wala ka.

[itsnotmandatorybee]

March 2, 2025

Sunday

7:14 AM

(From a journal fragment)

Don't get me wrong—I count the days before when I'm all excited to wake up even I know how tough the day is—it is just I allowed myself to be with the people who are always believing in my potential. With all the poems and that situation I wrote a dark one to be passed during our Creative Writing days and all the faculty members were asking me how I am—it's easier to say that my own potential's somehow gone. Things went rough, relationships suck, situation's rough, inner demons flock—I guess what I'm trying to say is we need to acknowledge, whether it is based on our choices or it's our commitment to learn—I don't really know how to expound this futher, but isn't it good that we can compose out of the blue without giving a shit? That whenever I force myself not to think of summer 2021, well, I have to think of it all the time since that was the time when I was so happy. It's hard to describe what those are moments because I have no photographs with me before, but they're all collected in my mind.

I wish I have Milo with me, but what I had are soymilk and crab and corn soup—I mean, I don't want it imagined, but everything has to change.

I wrote something from Sylvia Plath, and it goes like this: "You are plunged so deep in your own very little whirlpool of negativism that you can't do more than force yourself into a rote where the simplest is incapable of thinking." I'm trying to understand what it actually means 'til I came to a point that thing's somehow surreal—that we're furious, we can't think of the nicest, or think of the nicest but it is compared to what we're experiencing today, and hence we say, "I want to go back to my old self when we also remember that the world still have lots of things to offer." If I can't get enough on the cycle of missing how life has to be, is life on the other side worth living? That it's strange how our minds capable to believe on the things we believe but it also contradicts what others tend to believe in—like the good is bad if forced, the easy is hard for others to comprehend, to be silent is to be deafening loud when we're not sure which person who we should trust which is why we choose not to utter words and let things feeling pending 'til you can just forget about it, and after a year or so, it's coming back and you had no lesson to be applied to cure what should've been taken care of before.

No matter how I need to excel myself pn something new, there's still a part of me that sways back and forth to believe that the sweetest things I had in my life is why I kept simple things collected in the happenings I stored through writing—it's possible enough to pause to collate all the wonderful things happened and what should've been fixed for improvement. In my glory days I am not anxious to describe the rules of survival; now it expands and I was drowned as there's too much water on that pool and I need my head above to breathe.

It makes sense that my mantra this year is to wait: acknowledge what the passengers dealt before you think of what makes you angry before the jeepney arrives where you can sit back and wait for a couple of hours to make vacant spaces full before going to your supposed destination. It's more of waiting for the right moment you have to chuck the fork in your skin to realize that there are no worthy of past things and people from the past to lean back. I'm not asking for too much; I only need a time to analyze what those are written before I say my comments.

That I don't know why my font suddenly changed. Maybe this is a part of my old self—the old Bern has to say to me 'cause I am tired to keep a journal, and he's there to decode what I feel.

What stays are bad. What and who left are good. I have to embrace what is bad for me to have an identity. Otherwise, I will not know what exactly should I label myself. Weird. Freak. A total nincompoop.

—Bern

[itsnotmandatorybee]

February 22, 2025

Saturday

6:25 PM

To Piolo,

I never hesitated to put my feet on the ground while my heart says I want to go home. Even if I have no glasses on I knew it was you—I can't see no changes. Perhaps, yes, everything. Nevertheless we're both strangers passing on that unknown road. I should've stayed at the nearby coffee shop but how can I possibly do that if I am sick; of course I won't let myself throw-up again.

To Piolo,

Those bunches of flowers keep on falling while I keep myself busy scanning my instant films. On the back of your plain dark gray T-shirt are curiousity and not of those lines from Taylor Swift's "Today Was A Fairytale", and I swear to God I saw you to remind myself of the word "sonder" that I wrote, snapped on my fridge using a magnet, and removed a couple of weeks ago. Maybe I should write it again. Maybe not. I don't know.

To Piolo,

You were the one that makes me discovered carbonara for the first time it was cooked when we're still pupils at Mrs. Chit's homeroom. It's the recipe I am following up until now, but I'm using dried mushrooms instead of those in cans. Still, thanks to you.

I remember when you're a bit disappointed when I brought unripened bananas and our banapple shake is a disaster, but of course it's my fault and fairly enough Mrs. Chit was convinced even the taste is odd; at least it's not stale.

To Piolo,

You're the one who make me say sorry after I accidentally hit you with my wet dust pan, and I'm furious to see how dirty your shirt was. I had no contentment with my clumsiness, I managed to put a thick card on your bag to apologise so you don't need to be angry at me, or at least compare me to my brother with high intellectuality. I accepted when your friend read my letter as if he's an apostle while the whole classroom felt like it was a tabernacle, and thrown it out in the bin. The same exact bin I am holding whenever I have to collect them and put 'em in a sack. You won't do such a mess... right...?

To Piolo,

Because of you, I learned that there are nine planets, that 8 multiplied by 7 is 56, that the word island is pronounced with silent "s", that your Mom's brownies are the best brownies in the whole wide universe, that I am stupid, useless, a total nincompoop who can't type on a desktop keyboard as what I'm using are only my index finger. That even if I rot, I'll never be as good as you, and your wit, and your dimple, and your strong personality while feeding your mind with lots of books I don't understand, and if I understand, I don't know how to explain it verbally.

To Piolo,

I'm always refusing to see our graduation photos as it really hurts. You can always make that secondhand embarrassment look while Jovie's secretly telling how I looked different on that picture—yes I know—I am aware of that. And whenever I find it not to be jealous of how good the best writers are when it comes to storytelling, if my mind serves right, I had a crush on you. Should I say you're my very first puppy love. I don't mind being wimped out for making this shared, but

for you, Piolo,

what went wrong?

It's not even March yet and Mercury retrograde's haven't started, but what makes me frustrated is how do I need to say what I feel? Of all people, I thought you are great. You might still look great, but, is that so? Are you a devil in disguise?

[itsnotmandatorybee]

December 31, 2024

Tuesday

8:39 PM

If there are few things I need to say before the year ends, this will be it.

While I'm still thinking for a reason why I accidentally broke my aunt's classic cup, I might end up forgetting about it in the next couple of days—or never—as to this moment that I'm writing and thinking of excuses, I started to analyse that this already happened—the darkness inside this room while there are explosives and horns of laughter as the New Year's Eve approach. Not to mention that I should celebrate.

This time, I'll break the pattern, or I might lose my track—again.

Since I don't have a heart to sum-up everything, I'll just drop what I have written a few days ago when I still had the energy to do it. If you'll going to ask me if I'm alright now, well, yes—I'm storing my energy for later. It's never too late to laugh and take a bite.

Cheers.

-----

December 22, 2024

Sunday

1:28 AM

To make things clear and easier for me, I'm writing this stuff not because I am puzzled about the things that happened a couple of weeks ago. I am writing as an excuse to leave the remaining plans at the back of my head as ideas. I should label them as "Things I Initially Planned, I Almost Did, but It's My Angel that Pulls the Trigger Button Not to Do It." Yes—it's quite a long title to describe everyday's situation that is not applicable to a rollercoaster, wheels, Earth, or jeepney. I read and heard so much about how their lives were comparable to those of turles, rats, aspins, and rabbits—indeed, we're animals more than the animals we called animals. Then there was a little punk who can't annotate his writings 'til the moment that he can't digest what he's saying, but he's doing it—it's me—and though as if I'm talking like I am the main character, well, who am I supposed to talk about when I casually mention my wearabouts instead of getting a random checklist to ask some of the simple yet gruesome questions that a normal person like you can lie but I won't 'cause we're not the same? Yes, brutally honest to poke the left side of my brain. I guess it's a tradition for me to write a few days before the year ends, but let's make a stupid twist a pathetic writer can do:

1. How are you doing?

This is a toxic gas I swear I don't want to smell, but the truth lies behind the mask I'm wearing due to the fact I am not going to take it off, not even forever: I AM NOT OKAY. Imagine that waking up every day is a struggle; I need to wait for at least an hour for me to get off my bed and start my business. I am not excited anymore, especially to those repetitive, cliché punchers that I keep rolling in, not to mention the bloopers or behind-the-scenes that no longer make my left pang hanging. It's been hard to try to laugh outside when it's my insides that I need to pay attention to. It's harder for me not to write the good things and bad things that are happening to me as I want to skip this year in my timeline, yet I don't have a choice but to keep moving or else I won't be able to see what would be my #SpotifyWrapped or I'll say I'm stupid not to drawback with others' plans, and I'm involved to be in their sentiments as a part of a whole. It's the hardest to imagine of someone saying "It'll be so much fun if you attended this ****" or "You missed to see this ****" as if I really care—maybe I care, but not the Bern, the real Bern when no one's watching. Long story short, I AM NOT OKAY is simply a nudge to sum-up what occasionally happened this year. From January when I was clinically diagnosed with my dad's cause of death, skipping a concert since I, no, my body chose to stay in a nearby hospital last April, all the way up to the dramas I had with my family until at this very moment that I am silently facing even though I have no face to make myself involved in my member's problems. Jesus.

2. What's the lesson 2024 brought you?

This is an easier one to answer: STOP. Simply saying to give no energy to someone who can't. STOP in terms of not disappointing myself since if I expect, I need to be responsible to turn it into reality. I somehow managed to write this before, I remember, that making myself stop thinking or stop saying at all to save what all real Bern's gotta save. I'm typically the one who says that I don't want to antagonize the people I cut my strings off, yet the tone of voice is coming from my solar plexus, as if I'm in a bid just to find out that it's not worth the price to win. It's because the failure of not getting involved as a negotiator is sometimes what can save me the most. Yes, I allowed myself to write in Filipino palabok format, and I'll not STOP doing it so because I realized that there's always a story to tell even if I am not talking anymore to the people I'm sharing my thoughts with before.

To STOP is to constantly live a life without dealing with negative forces that pull your trigger. To STOP is to lead the freedom rule across the border and be carefree not to be affected by a camaraderie you've chosen to chop with a symbolic, sympathetic knife. To STOP is to simply say that you accepted to grow while saying "thank you" for allowing it to happen even if it sometimes hurt. To STOP is to get your burdens flushed out to navigate your truck, fastening your seatbelt to continue and move on.

It's the simple mantra of saying STOP had ruled my 2024, and though this is the worst year I've ever encountered so far, I'm still somehow blessed, as I'm proud to say that some of the thorns in my throat are gone. And while there are potential thorns to accidentally swallow after eating the fish caught in the middle of the ocean, millennials termed as years of "existential crisis," I'll keep the hook on my string soaked underwater. I experienced how my boat washed out by a storm and almost got killed by a shark I thought it's a dolphin 'cause I have no glasses on; who am I not to learn how to try and fail again? Before going on a next adventure, I'll keep STOP as a lesson that it's not the pause button that makes life interesting. It's somehow the four-sided square that says, "Hey, it's over. I hope you're happy now.”

3. What are you thinking of getting plans for 2025?

I must say “Death By A Thousand Cuts" by Taylor Swift is a song I stopped to play even though I play it the most because it's too good to be true. When I asked the traffic lights if it'll be alright, they said “I don't know." So do I.

(Kidding aside, of course I have.)

While travelling, I noticed how the light turned red and it stopped the motorcycle I had with a punctual driver as we passed a place of my past I stamped as ”Balete Drive." I just then realised that the traffic lights don't know what to say at all because it's the colors of red, yellow, and green that I need to pay attention to, alongside the other systems on the crust of that road. I genuinely smiled even if I'm scared, yet I am mesmerized not to miss the exciting part of seeing the countdown facing Earth's night sky in DS-Digital font. I just felt like not asking what-ifs for split seconds, for I had this intuition that it's a mess of hanging around with my past by simply fixing it by applying such time I have at the present 'cause it won't make a huge difference. My decision is somehow wrong and somehow right, as it puts me into the realization that I don't need to hurt myself, yet I don't need to be a monster of my own just because I was surrounded and raised by monsters in fancy costumes. While I am trying to enlighten people, yet they think I'm baffling, I have no choice but to slip a note and just call the day a day—it'll be alright. I'm not Superman or a hero in a comic strip with a belt placed outside of what's supposed to be an undergarment, but it's a part of a costume, so our imagination will try to make it work anyway.

4. Any other thoughts before jet lag?

Simply put ”Good Luck, Babe” by Chappell Roan on repeat:

”You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.“

Happy Holidays!

[itsnotmandatorybee]

December 13, 2024

Friday

12:11 PM

And when the predicament in my lungs started to mumble, that's the time I can't utter any excuses. No single tear will be hefty than my torn heart for a reason—because they're preceding. They're all coming back, they're all written word per word. I paused a bit of tune at the back of my throat. I am gasping not for air but for the reasons why I can't let myself stop from thinking about this:

I don't need to say that my weakness is when I saw my toes bent. For whatever reason it is, my weakness is when I don't accept what my weaknesses are. That I won't let my pen swing 'cause I don't want to tell about how my day bad was while asking myself what I should do next. It'll be subjective to tell my friends 'bout my aphorisms yet I'll be simply be disappointed for getting generic responses.

I don't mean to hurt anyone's feelings. I only want to protect what I'm believing what is okay. I understand that it's not sometimes right, but if you know me personally, I constantly say that ”Not all days are about sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows,” and that's fine. It's stripped, raw, and real.

I constantly mending this painful truth for years, it's when every time I wake up, I feel like I don't recognise myself. Plainly I shouldn't be afraid of changes, but who am I to question the boy from my past—my inner cheerful and spiritual boy who's been constantly happy whatever's left on the table. That modest yet positive boy who's been fighting in secret to a cynical, rough boy after testing the waters and mistrust others for the sake of protecting his heart from shrinking—

—for enough reason, I am good and bad, and that's fine. It's stripped, raw, and real.

But then, why I'm letting myself doing the same pattern and be aghast for the wasted time? The answer's hanging on uvula. If I hit it like a punching bag, that's when I can run to no one to share what was my courage to hurt what is hurting.

No matter how leaves change their colors or the moon kisses the darkness, the truth still remains the same...

The predicament will be a chewing gum in my stomach, mumbling. That's the time I can't utter any excuses. No single tear will be hefty than my unsharpened mind for a reason—because, dang, why I swallowed it in the first place?

[itsnotmandatorybee]

December 6, 2024

Friday

9:29 AM

 

I don't know if everything still makes sense. I had this feeling that at any time I'd start to feel empty. Don't get me wrong—I am not overemotional. I am just not happy with what's happening for the last couple of months. I had this sense of getting away with this turmoil by setting aside the years I had in my work in exchange for taking new risks—head or tail, ride or die, X and O. I am really puzzled. I'm not shedding even a single tear or nagging, but this year is wasted. It started bad. The months went bad. My last journal entry sucks.

 I had a stray cat with me earlier while waiting for the pharmacy to open. While waiting, I kept looking around as if I were lost, but I'm not—I can't describe what creeps me in when there's nothing to worry about; or maybe I am in denial and I am out of control up to the point that I ignored my emotion, my commotion, my faith—

—I'm not asking for the remaining days of this month to be calm or okay anymore. This is somehow a part of the realization that I need to absorb rather than squeeze out—that—I need to accept the fact that sometimes we don't know what's going on. That sometimes we might be aware of the things happening around us, but we don't know how we should respond, whether we should be silent or carefree. That sometimes we should just let the thing pass but not forget the isolated, doomed cases that we're encountering that are not yet resolved. That sometimes we recognise what is right and what is wrong, but we decide on what we have to feel rather than thinking twice. That we're not lost; we're not looking for someone out there to find us, seek advice, or get a dictionary to have the exact word to define our nuances.

 

That sometimes, we're bullshit, and we're guilty not to be guilty about this stupid stuff. 

And sometimes, I don't know what I am talking about, like this written thing I'll keep in my Tumblr for years.

 

I believe I experienced this feeling before; the difference is that I can't recall what exactly I did to overcome it. I read my journals a couple of weeks ago, but they're not sinking in my head.

 

Maybe I should keep on saying that I should be disappointed but not surprised, eh?

 

I don't want to end this message by just saying, "Well, let's see; give it a month or two."

 

But if God wants me to do it, so be it. Fingers crossed, I'll play it like a shorty.

Bang. Bazinga. Score. Cool. Dang.

 

E-G-B-D-F.

[itsnotmandatorybee]

December 1, 2024

Sunday

3:15 PM

A few days ago when I and ish-friend Jomar had a little conversation via chat; the last time we saw each other was 3 years ago. I remember of not getting a constant sleep while thinking of Vlad. I remember Jomar's in Clark and complaining of his work but he's on vacation that time. I'm negotiating with buyers who are interested of having my book collections a new home, like, I'm out of mind to do it but I won't let any days missed out.

Fast forward, now he's in Taguig to work and vising his auntie in the hospital during the weekends, while I am casually doing the same routine I am doing during my off.

I remember how simplest those days when I rushed into my tita's kitchen and cooking tocino while she's asking me where will I go.

Before heading to Vlad, I'm with Jomar to have a chit-chat as the moon waves hello. We're happy.

What I remember are those things about law firm I don't think of too much not until I saw myself watching ”Square Off” a few months after Vlad and I lost our communication. So, I cut ties with most of my friends, hence, Jomar's out 'cause how an article or a republic act can mend my broken heart? I'm quite afraid to say my inner feelings 'cause I had this feeling of being misunderstood. After all, if I'll see 'em, I might bummed since I'm used to be with my friends before Vlad's.

I curse Vlad for stealing my morning hiccups 'cause I remember I hated the idea that the sun shines north during summer. I hated the idea of going to 7/11 to buy Cup Noodles as my comfort food 'cause basically that was what I can afford that time, and I had these moments when Vlad and I had to eat Cup Noodles—

—and I don't know why I am so stupid to think of these things. Maybe I am scared 'cause my friend might ask me these things:

1. How I and Vlad lost our track;

2. What happened after 3 years;

3. What I am doing right now;

4. How's my heart

Or maybe Jomar or most of 'em forget it already.

Since Vlad stole my mornings, I had this idea before of writing in the afternoon 'cause I think it can ease my pain. If I hated the idea of going with him outside when the sun rises, I should love the idea of being alone when the sun sets.

I don't know exactly what we talked before, especially when my phone and laptop's dead containing the journals I wrote for years. Maybe 'twas a good score: I don't need to think so much, but, hey, it's new for me not to write so much things whether they're good or bad, or maybe I'm wrong because if I'll had a premonition that I have nothing to hold back, then what's my point of seeing the people or places I had or with before? Isn't that I had this mission of bringing my old self back, then why I need to be afraid of the bad times when bad times are what make the good one's good?

Hmmm...

[itsnotmandatorybee]

October 6, 2024

Sunday

3:11 AM

Things are getting irrational and harder than I ever thought would be. I'm not asking for this month to be better or for people to be kind only to make the day easy-peasy—of course, it'll not. It won't be thrilling without a bad day, anyway.

Just mind your own businesses. Sometimes, not talking about it too much is fine than to overreact into something y'all quite don't know.

By the way, I know three different procedures on how to get rid of bubble gum in my hair: use grease, use baby oil, or cut my hair.

I'll choose to cut my hair, like cutting ties and relationships which aren't worth trying. They'll grow anyway.

[itsnotmandatorybee]

May 18, 2019

Sunday

XX:XX

"Capper"

There are hundreds of choices and few chances

With little hopes, blinded in god's graces;

I wanted to leave for there are no reasons to live

Though escaping without prior action is a soldier without his riffle.

Living in miserable world cuts my throat really deep,

Monsters and spirits of mine urged to forever sleep;

Baffled with own thoughts, rushing echoes of goosebumps creep

Death cursed the worried sound of my lip.

The deceitful Lucifer won—I saw no gleam of light

Ribbons and mittens of faith were now out of sight;

I sharpened the pencil then wrote before the golden sun rises,

Ending my autobiography with chemical substances.

Few hours later, the whole room was filled with colors of black and white

Emitting bulbs, blinding lamps, fiery candles shine so bright

Hundreds of tear suddenly flowed in their faces...

...Why do people only care when everything has gone?

[itsnotmandatorybee]

August 20, 2023

Sunday

XX:XX

We departed our ways with ellipsis instead of a period, just how life goes on.

Lately, I found myself having a hard time composing journals, and my last entry was written a month ago. I'm so scared of not highlighting the best things I had these days— even the worse ones—in such way I'm deprived to think of adjectives to describe my own feelings, of what memory should I keep store and restore, of what lost things that I'm starting to reclaim, and everything that's falling under the same category as if life's a quiz and there are multiple choices to make. I assumed there's a part where I skipped, and it made me deteriorated for so long I can't collate the whole stress out, 'stead I gaslighted myself that everything's fine when it's not. Where's the sweet escape?

Exactly 2 years ago, I wrote something in my journal and read it back—'twas a reminder that time's too short, cruel, and tricky like a lethal injection. Had this thought of revisiting Mt. Arayat and look for Maria Sinukuan to complain and ask for assistance, but I find Maria's on her thick and thin, and might not be interested of rocking me like a baby as I might talk about the same longing I had that summer, the same man I'm thinking lately and trying not to pull it back 'cause as what all people say, "some things are better left unsaid".

Later I just found out that he's with another one—an indication of not making it to his list, whereas there should be a summary of me and what of those are experiences that's not worthy to be stored, that's why I'm crossed out—I'm not saying I should act like a Disney princess and be the main character 'cause that's odd, but I must say I'm not anyone and everyone's favorite. And you too might had this egg digesting in your stomach right now, so this is still a win-win situation.

—before hand when 2023's starting, I predicted that this might happen, but I don't know exactly in what way should I be scared of 'cause other than the medicines I had from months and foods I'm cooking are those of weights that I need to carry on. Forcing not to write suicide letters, forcing to wake up and call a day a night, forcing smile with my favorite co-worker enjoying her shift three blocks away, and I said to myself, "b*tch, give yourself a month, keep your hands in your pocket". Then there's my Mom going home and I force myself to go home.

Force. Something's going to happen that I don't want to happen, but it's happening.

Force. Something's I need to do but I don't want to do it.

And this keeps my time running but not in a way I kill myself for good—I kill myself 'cause I had no passion anymore to push myself forward 'cause I promised to that old man I'll try to be at my own pace, at my own peace, but in reality, I can't live without him seeing even in the couple of seconds 'cause it removes my longing for a month, and it's so unfair to think I can't hold his hands, at the 'least I can do is to wait for my glory days to be over!

That I become so sick and affected to those who needs to go away. That this scenario's exactly what he did to me—departed our ways with ellipsis instead of a period, just how life goes on.

Should I care? Should I knock off my feet and feed my ego?

In such way people saying that sex is 150 but the price for rice still goes up. In such way people had inhibitions while I'm trying to be safe. In such way people had no will nor I can't think of any other person like Anne Frank or Morrie Schwartz to be my spirit animal... or I should give up. Or I should be thinking that while the sun's shining, I should get back to wash my cloths and pretend this writing's sick.

I guess ellipsis had this sense to shake yer head before it blast...

[itsnotmandatorybee]

August 4, 2024

Sunday

11:42 PM

People know I like Taylor Swift but never dig into what music I am actually fond of.

People find me stupid for despising my mom when they don't know what the real story is. 

So much in common that many people are mad when I have trust issues but won't dare ask those who've been with me before working with their hidden agendas.

Do people know what my life has been? It's probably yes or no.

Maybe t'was a challenge to hide the side of me—of how compassionate I am when there are times I curse in the wind, of how I love myself when I need to walk out "stead of pretending of smiling, of how I keep things straight but learned to add nonsense words to my writings just for people to skip this post and don't care—

—for which I'm not longing, 'cause if people are really out there to care about me, they should know that it's not only Taylor Swift that's on the playlist. They should understand why I hate my Mom for some reasons I hate myself but I just need to live with it. They should know why it's hard for me to trust the process as anything can go wrong at any instances.

People are people, but

if people can't say something good or personally care about other people,

if people monitize their will without having it second thought that it might harm other people,

if people can't afford to hate other people,

this answer will shock you: do it, but not for god's sake.

You might be hitting a spot to be known as a devil.

And there's me—people labeled me as a devil.

You are mad because of greed. I am mad because I am bad, but Iord knows I'm not aiming for the best. I only need to feel better.

—better in my own good ways.

[itsnotmandatorybee]

June 7, 2024

Friday

7:06 AM

Today's the seventh day, but there are lots of things happening already: a friend passing her licensure exams, my lil' bro's asking me for the first time to help him on his enrollment, my lil' sister's health concern, an almost-delayed payment process, irate customers demanding for good, a batchmate asking for my moral advice, me watching straight men and women's porn, giving a shot to write a journal after 5 months, talking to someone's ex, exchanging thoughts with a friend and her reasonable jealousy, unusual fog outside, zero emergency fund, rediscovering the songs I played during my teenage years.

Though I always label June as my hunting season, it's fascinating to think that there are still plenty of things that are out of control.

It's somehow the situation that I can't afford to share, or I'll never attempt to spill, 'cause I have to make them countless before I collapse.

I'm happy 'cause this makes me feel more like a human than a robot in suit for years. I might be unable to bring my old self back, but I learned a few tips on how I should reiterate rather than keep what's shattering my heart.

For people who appreciated me the most at my lowest, there's nothing I can express but my deepest gratitude for making sure I'll take care of my inner self when I try to despise the Earth as the stupidest planet to live on...

...and for the people I chose to be forgotten, I have the good intention of doing so even if I curse or throw placks. It's my heart that layed me in a hypnosis machine, not to reconcile but to simply underline your names with a blue pen.

I'm not okay, but I'm trying to.

As long as it's raining, it'll be a therapeutic moment to breathe once in a while.

Love,

Bernardo

[itsnotmandatorybee]

April 20, 2022

Wednesday

7:48 AM

To the man I can't resist to be thinking of:

I denote every single moment where I stand between the road we once shared and the lessons I brought in my pocket while making sure that I won't miss what you've said.

I am weak enough to put myself behind those walls where I need to stop looking after you—but I am strong to believe I was wrong of dealing from my friend's food for thought or someone's perspective once I got to take a notch as if I'm an idiot.

These bold, intricate secrecies I once pertained as a "game" later on became swords, killing my little fragile heart a thousand times...

...and I've been missing the part where I no longer know what comes next to your chapter; there might be tampering that's happening in those pages—or in my pages—and no once could guess which one's good, which one's fatal.

Yet, I'm quite sure that there's no other way for "another" to be exactly the same as the way I still remember those happiest and saddest moments of my life with you (at your worst).

Why can't we just be like my favorite stir-fried noodles? New look, same different taste.

I must've been acting like it's still Summer 2021. I'm so stupid.

Hell, yeah. Maybe I should learn more by ignoring me 'til the pain hasten my spirit, and then the world will never change of revolving, and it'll definitely be raining while the sun hits our clothes... and the naked truth in here is that I'm longing for you by then and now.

I hate that I miss you.

[itsnotmandatorybee]

June 2, 2024

Sunday

4:02 PM

—I'm suddenly awake, and the rain starts falling, but it only lasts a couple of minutes. My sleep only lasted a few hours. For sure, this will last for a number of days.

God knows how therapeutic the rain is and how it is associated with my dillemas, as it makes me tend to write even more. A year ago, I'm holding a beer and soy milk in the middle of the wet road while I'm all soaked and self-driven, fast forward to what happened three years ago while I'm walking as my nails turned purple—I'm thinking it'll be hard to make clothes dry faster, but it's quick to get a cup of coffee and loop in the playlist I saved. Moving backwards, my little me tends to hate the sick beat when these tiny drops of water kiss our roof endlessly.

I figured out that there's nothing new; it's the perk of living alone for three years, and I know exactly what to do. The only difference is that I'm having a hard time composing what I exactly need to write—I don't have a heart to recognise my emotional state as if it's one of the millions of emotions that I need to experience... that I'm no smart when it's the coldness that overtakes the role of my fan.

God knows how therapeutic the rain is, and now it's giving me a doubt, but I'm giving Him more chances for me to believe He was right.

It's quick for me to get this thing straight: I'm all alone when it's raining.

Each time whenever it's impossible for me not to open the journals I have had for years, all I write about are my frustrations, my insecurities, my reasons to be happy, my appetite cascading in my stomach, and the fog cascading through my lungs, 'til the moment I admit that there's nothing I can do but to live this way. Don't get me wrong—I'm not sad. People might misinterpret me the way I act, but journals never fail to interpret my apathic soul, contradicting my indulgences not to kiss but to tell.

I remember this line from someone a year ago: “I will stand with you in the rain when I no longer have the strength to hold an umbrella for you.”

This is somehow one of the sweetest words I have ever heard in my life. I never picture myself this way; like, a few weeks ago, I had this co-worker mention to me that he saw me walking in the middle of the night while it was raining. I simply gave him the reason, but there's absolutely more than that.

If I don't have someone to stand with me in the rain when I no longer have the strength to hold an umbrella, then what should I do?

Walk. Just walk. Then get a cold afterwards. Then take a few medicines until I'll get back to my own strength... and get close to what comes next.

If I don't have someone to stand with me in the rain when I no longer have the strength to hold an umbrella, I'll simply stop to think that there'll be someone who can do it for me. I'm used to it.

Regret. Just regret. Until the rain stops afterwards. Then I'll take myself out of the league 'til I can get back on the way home... and try to unlearn if possible.

If I don't have someone to stand with me in the rain when I no longer have the strength to hold an umbrella, I'll think about the days I have the strength to hold one. At least I was capable of doing it in my dog days. At least I was capable of not freezing my memory in time,

and I think it's beautiful.