mybrainosns

[mybrainosns]

Come Inside Of My Heart // primarily descriptive essay

if you asked me how i felt whenever the song “Come Inside Of My Heart” came on shuffle, i’d probably say this.

I’ve always struggled with showing love. I learned early on to keep things to myself. When my feelings were either too much or not enough. To love people in silence, hoping they’d somehow understand what I couldn’t say out loud.

“I love you but I don’t really show you” 

It’s not that I don’t feel things deeply. I do. In fact, sometimes I wish I didn’t feel as much. I convinced myself that showing love out loud was something I wasn’t built for. That sincerity didn’t suit me. That my version of love was meant to stay tucked beneath the soil.

So I love quietly. Through hesitation. Through backing away before things get too close. I’ve loved people by convincing myself they deserved someone easier to deal with. I’ve spent so much of my life unsure if I’m too much or not enough, and then apologizing for both. 

Maybe it started when I ended up 2,000 kilometers away from my parents. They’ve never failed to show up for the big things. Always present, in the moments that matter. But that kind of distance does something to you, It makes love feel like a low-maintenance duty. I’ve always known they love me, and vice versa even from afar. But somewhere in that long-distance understanding, I started equating love with restraint. And the thing I never realized until recently, is that this kind of love doesn’t always translate to the people within my reach. Not everyone will feel what I fail to say out loud, because loving quietly might have made sense across 2,000 kilometers. But it doesn’t always work in the same room.

For a long time, I thought love meant constantly proving my worth, like I had to convince someone to choose me over and over again. I walked through friendships, almosts, even family matters with the quiet belief that i was optional, someone easy to overlook, easy to replace. I thought if i became the most convenient version of myself, I’d be worth keeping. if I stayed soft when I wanted to be angry, quiet when I wanted to demand questions, small when I wanted to be seen, maybe then i’d be worth it. 

Then someone definitely proved me wrong

He didn’t come in with grand gestures, but with a kind of secureness that made me feel safe. With him, He made me feel like vulnerability didn’t have to come with a warning. I stopped bracing for disappointment.

You didn’t ask me to prove anything. and you didn’t treat me like I was someone you could look at only when it was convenient. you made me feel like I wasn’t a second choice. Like just maybe, I could exist fully flawed and still be loved anyway. 

You’re the first boy who’s ever made me feel safe. like I don’t have to look over my shoulder. Like I don’t have to rehearse every move to make sure i’m “enough” with you, I don’t feel like I have to perform. i don’t need to post us or prove us or explain why it’s real. It just is.

You’ve been patient with the parts of me that still flinch whenever I feel that things become too good to be true. The part of me that keeps waiting for the silence to turn into distance. But it never does. I think the most beautiful part is how you’ve held space for those things without trying to fix them. And because of that, I’ve slowly started to actually believe that maybe love doesn’t have to require walking on eggshells to feel seen.

"Come inside of my heart If you're looking for answers"

If I could let him see inside my heart, maybe he’d understand what he has done for it. How he’s softened the walls I used to guard so tightly. How your calm presence has done more than any love letter or dramatic gift ever could. But since I can’t, I write it here. paragraph by paragraph, the way I’ve always known how to love: through words, hoping that maybe in these messy words, he’ll find the answers he never asked for but always deserved. You didn’t do me a favor by saving me like a damsel in distress. You just stayed. And maybe that’s the real blessing.

“Oh baby, forgive me if i hurt you”

And maybe I do mess up sometimes. I know i can be distant, defensive. I know the way I react to love isn’t always gentle. Sometimes it’s survival, when I say things I don’t mean, or I retreat when i get overwhelmed. But it’s never because I want to hurt you. i’m just still learning what it means to be loved the way you love me.

and yet, you still stay like it’s as easy as breathing.

— for a special someone ror

(no proof reading, there's definitely typos. tinamanad na 'ko bye)

[mybrainosns]

Performative for Who? #iaintreadingallat

Where do we draw the line between self-expression and self-display?

(I don’t know how to begin my initial thought without sounding like I’m trying to sound smart, especially with that article ahh title. )

[ 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘺 ]

Lately I’ve been thinking about how much of what I do is actually for me. In a time when social media is marketed as a creative outlet or a soft lens into our personality, I wonder: how much of what we’re seeing is a real reflection, and how much is just the costume?

per·so·na

/pərˈsōnə/ noun

the aspect of someone's character that is presented to or perceived by others.

It’s not like the concept of persona is a new thing. One quick Google search tells me that in the late 20th century, film scholars used the term “star persona” to describe how an actor’s public identity extends beyond their film roles and into symbolism, until it eventually becomes part of pop culture itself. Today, it’s evolved into something more digestable to comprehend: the social mask we present to the world, a version of ourselves crafted for public life.

But honestly? I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with having a persona. We all perform a little, don’t we? It’s safe to assume that we all have a persona- I mean i wouldn’t act my authentic self around someone I barely know, in some way or another you can say that having a persona helps acting as guarded walls for the unfamiliar. Though not to be confused with outright being fake or a social climber posing as the Marie Antoinette of instagram on social media, both intriguing topics to tackle, but no thats not what I’m deciphering today. 

I want to talk about where this performative act we all fell victim of, stemmed from.

You might’ve seen the TikTok meme about the “performative male.” You know the type —Clairo fan, Faye Webster listener, probably drinks matcha and calls himself a feminist (because God forbid a man doesn’t fight against period cramps). He carries around a pretentious book like it’s an NFT of his emotional depth. And believe me, I myself witnessed a male schoolmate of mine buy the first random book he saw, to use it as an accessory, quote word for word “to attract smart shyt” in tagalog— I laughed. I’m not judging. But it also kinda stayed with me.

Because I’m no hypocrite. I’ve been online long enough to know I’ve been guilty of being performative too. It takes one to know one rightt. From vague notes meant for one person, to curated playlists (I don’t even listen to honestly) that scream “pansinin mo ‘ko look at my underground music taste” I get it. We all want to be seen, but under a flattering light.

Though who are we really out here trying to impress or deceive?

I’ve seen people repost “woke” content they clearly haven’t researched, just to join the dominant opinion. Or romanticize their relationship on 15 seconds ig stories to hide the actual mess happening offline. Or share a quote about healing while internally spiraling. Performative vulnerability. Performative activism. Performative aesthetics you name it. Even the #coquette era felt kinda performative (and lowkey problematic) when you think about it, like are you really romanticizing your girlhood, or just staging it for the carousel?

It can be labeled down to the most simple “non-problems” and maybe none of that is inherently evil. But at what point does the performance start replacing us? Who are we curating for? And is it worth what we lose when we bend ourselves to cater an imagined audience?

I might not have the ability to construct a well-written conclusion and solution to this analogy of mine that everyone would agree on. Nonetheless, since this is a reflection essay that I am practicing writing for, I guess I want to leave this as a reminder (to myself, mainly na): no amount of clout, aesthetic, or online applause is worth abandoning your identity for. You don’t need to be a character. You don’t need to be a niche archetype you saw on tiktok. You just need to remember who you are when you’re not trying to be seen.

And yeah, maybe this whole blog post is a little performative too. Maybe I’m just dumping my thoughts into these practice essays to feel less alone in them. But that’s the point—I’m practicing and observing. I’m figuring it out too, so no pressure, just thoughts.

I know this is a surface-level take. There’s a lot more to unpack here, especially when you get into the psych stuff behind why we feel the need to impress (even subconsciously). This is really just a first attempt at writing things down, so take it with a grain of salt. not trying to be insensitive or pretend i know everything, promise.

(p.s; ofc you’re wondering why tf do u care so much about what others want to post dj, what if you’re being performative as well with this whole essay dumping ahh blog — e pake mo ba kaya nga thoughts e, we aren’t here to hurt or call out people, just me capitalizing on my silly thoughts to improve my writing under the pressure of posting it even if no one sees it just to improve teehee. Also none of the examples here apply to me personally —I loaf my partner.  I luv learning before taking sides. We’re aiming for noo shell of performance in this household. hehe)