#oh my god i can'ttttttt

[ode2rin]

YOUR POST-ARGUMENT RIN FIC IS THE EXACT WAY I IMAGINE POST-ARGUMENT HAPPENS WITH HIM I CAN'TTTTTTT I LOEV IT I LOVE IT I LVE IT

i was thinking HARD abt what fic were you pertaining too 😭 i almost forgot i wrote sumn like that oh my god. thank you thooo hehe 💟

[celosiaa]

Submission by @entitynumber5: Hi Connor, I hope you’re having a WONDERFUL birthday and that you get to take a break from studying to do the things you enjoy and just have the lovely day you deserve!!! For this morning’s “write what I like” sprint (trying a new method of getting it all out before I have to put the brain into study mode), I wrote a lil something about 🎃 spooky season birthdays 🎃set in the Emmaverse… which turned out kind of long and a bit sappy. So there is no pressure to read it! I just love these characters :’) the working title is “Martin and Jon get proven wrong by an adorable five year old”.

Content warnings: brief mentions of blood, alcohol and minor injury (in relation to Martin working a Halloween paramedic shift); food.

Emma is obsessed with birthdays. Just not her own.

She turned five in May, and no matter how special they tried to make the day—with rainbow layer cake and carefully-selected presents and a visit to the roller-skating rink with her best friends—she didn’t seem half as excited as when it was someone else’s birthday. She would hardly sleep the night before friends’ parties. She spent hours wrapping the presents she picked for them with ribbons and bows and even confetti stuffed inside the paper. The only time they could encourage her to practice the piano for her weekly lessons was when she played the Happy Birthday song over FaceTime for her friends’ birthdays that were during school holidays.

The only thing Emma seems to have held onto from her own birthday is the notebook given to her Georgie and Melanie. Martin seems to remember there being two: one with little cartoon ghost drawn in the front by Georgie and the other with a scribble of the Admiral by Melanie. But Emma only carries the one around with her everywhere, and Martin is starting to doubt his own memory about there being a duplicate.

She has it with her now, as they sit outside the lecture theatre where Jon is currently teaching. In the too-big chair beside the door, her legs swing as she holds the notebook very close, staring intently at its pages while she wriggles her fluffy purple pen in thought.

“Daddy,” Emma says, in that voice that means she has a Very Serious Question, “When is your birthday?”

Martin is still a little dazed from nearly a week of night shifts. It’s the first time in six days that he hasn’t been working or sleeping at this time in the afternoon, and while walking with Emma to Jon’s work to surprise him at the end of the day seemed like a nice idea in practice, he really wishes he was lying on the sofa. They could be watching Peppa Pig for the thousandth time. Or getting started on dinner, which he isn’t going to let Jon make after a long day of teaching. He’s been mentally calculating how many hours it is until he can go to bed, how many tasks he has to do before then.

This feels like a selfish thought, though, and he pushes it aside quickly in favour of smiling at Emma. “My birthday?”

“Yes,” Emma replies, still very grave, “That’s what I said. At school today, Miss Jones made us all put stickers on the big calendar on the wall for our birthdays. I wrote down all of my friends’ birthdays.”

“That’s nice.”

“And now I want to write down yours.”

“Okay, well, my birthday is next month.”

Emma frowns. “Next month. That’s…” she counts on her fingers until she seems to reach the answer she’s looking for. “October?”

“It is!” Martin grins. “Well done.”

Emma’s little frown doesn’t ease. “What day?”

“Well, do you know how many days are in October?”

Emma thinks. Shakes her head.

“There are thirty-one days in October,” Martin tells Emma, “And my birthday is on the very last day.”

Emma nods and returns to her notebook, slowly enunciating the words as she writes them down: “Oc-to-ber three-one.”

Martin wonders if Emma realises his birthday coincides with Halloween. Besides birthdays, she still doesn’t seem too interested in dates, no matter how many times her teacher makes her write them at the top of every page in her workbook. And during previous years, they celebrated Martin’s birthday the day before or after Halloween itself, so they can separate the two events, although perhaps she doesn’t remember.

Before Martin can ask, the door of the lecture theatre opens and students start filing out. Emma puts away her notebook and pen, her frown of concentration replaced by a glowing smile as she waits, bouncing excitedly in the chair, for her Baba to notice them waiting just outside.

*

“Jon,” Martin whisper-shouts as he tiptoes into the house after his shift, hoping he doesn’t wake Emma—but that his husband knows it’s urgent. “Jon, Jon, Jon.”

Jon emerges from the kitchen, wearing a pair of yellow washing up gloves dripping soap suds and a look of alarm. “What’s wrong?”

Martin ushers him back into the kitchen and shuts the door as quietly as possible, hoping it won’t wake Emma—or, worse yet, the cats, who will sit outside any closed door and cry to be let inside no matter what activity they were engaged in before.

“Martin,” Jon says, “What’s going on?”

“They just released the shifts for the next few weeks,” Martin replies, “And I’m working.”

“Well, good. I should hope so.”

“On my birthday.”

Jon’s expression merges into one of comprehension: Emma. And her newfound obsession with birthdays. “Ah.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t suppose you could swap shifts with someone?” Jon asks.

Martin sits down at the table, lowering his head into his hands. He wants to shower, change out of his paramedic uniform, but he knows he won’t be able to focus on anything else until they’ve had this conversation. “No one’s going to willingly take a Halloween shift. For a start, Andrew is terrified of clowns. And people are usually drunk, and it’s actually really hard to tell the difference between real and fake blood.”

“We could celebrate the day after,” Jon says, taking off the washing up gloves and sitting opposite Martin. He reaches across the table to take Martin’s hand. “I mean, you were born five minutes before midnight. It wouldn’t be a lie so much as a… slight shifting of the truth.”

“Jonathan Sims.” Martin gapes across the table at him. “Are you suggesting we lie to our daughter?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No, Martin,” Jon says again, “I’m simply suggesting we separate your birthday from Halloween, as we have done every year, and not draw attention to the fact because our daughter is currently obsessed with other peoples’ birthdays.”

“And it might upset her if she knew we were actually celebrating on the wrong day.”

“Exactly.”

Martin sighs. “I don’t know. It feels… sort of wrong.”

“Apparently, children under the age of seven have no concept of the passing of time and—”

“Did Tim tell you that?”

“No.”

“Oh, god. It wasn’t Helen, was it? Please tell me you haven’t been having philosophical discussions about parenting with Helen again.”

“Martin,” Jon interrupts, “It was in the parenting book you gave me.”

“Huh. I don’t remember that chapter. Oh, god, maybe I should re-read it. The whole thing. Beginning to end. I—”

“Martin.” Jon squeezes his hand. “You deserve a day of your own. Tim and Sasha already agreed to take Emma trick-or-treating on Halloween. She will be focused on that for most of the day; she’s already talking about how excited she is. Let us spend the day after that treating you to all the wonderful things you deserve on your birthday—and every day.”

Martin manages a small smile, although every instinct inside of him is telling him not to accept Jon’s proposal. Not because he is worried about the ethics of manipulating their daughter’s concept of time—although this is a concern, too—but because he doesn’t want Jon to feel like he has to do any of this. To make a whole day about him, even if he takes great pleasure and care in doing the same for Jon on his birthday.

“Thanks, Jon,” Martin murmurs.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Now, why don’t you go and have a warm shower? I’ve put the hot water on so it shouldn’t run out while you’re in there this time.”

Martin smirks. “Are you saying I smell?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Martin presses, teasing now. “Because I did have to treat a farmer who’d been kicked by one of his cows this evening.”

“Okay, alright, yes. Yes, you smell. Please go and have a shower.”

Martin laughs and gets up from the table. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“That really is disgusting, Martin.”

“It’s actually a pretty funny story. About the farmer, I mean. He’s fine, by the way. I’ll tell you about it when I’m out of the shower.”

Jon shakes his head. “Why today, of all days, have you abandoned the notion of showering before you sit down at the dinner table?”

“I had something important to tell you!”

“Fine. Alright.” Jon shakes his head again. “Now please have a shower. For your sake as much as mine.”

“Love you,” Martin sing-songs as he exits the kitchen. He hears Jon’s gentle laugh chase him into the warmth of the bathroom, where Jon has put on the radiator and left him a fresh towel. He smiles, feeling his love for Jon balloon in his chest, and settles into the sensation being home.

*

Martin’s Halloween—and birthday—shift is so busy that he barely has time to check his phone. Tim has sent an album of photos of him, Sasha and Emma out trick-or-treating, dressed as Mike, Sulley and Boo from Monsters, Inc. Jon has been updating him on the number of trick-or-treaters who have visited their house (fifty-four, as of ten thirty p.m.), and how Iris and the cats are holding up with the constant ringing of the doorbell.

On his break, Martin quickly texts Tim to watch his glucose levels and not to forget his insulin (to which Tim replies yes, sir with a number of yellow heart emojis). He also texts Sasha to say she can take home any of the Skittles they get on their expedition, since they’re her favourite but Emma hates them. He tells Jon he loves him and to give Iris a pet on his behalf and that there’s some spare sweets under the sink, if they’re running low. Then it’s back to work.

The shift passes quickly, in the end. There is so much to do and no time to think about anything other than their patients. He does get given a toffee apple by someone dressed as a Minion at a student house party, and he narrowly avoids getting his face painted by twins who are the same age as Emma while his team are checking their mother’s twisted ankle after a fall trying to get to the door in time for a last-minute delivery of sweets. It’s not an awful shift, but it is, like always, exhausting and difficult in the same measure as it’s rewarding and hopeful.

By the time he gets home, all he wants to do is sleep. Emma is tucked into bed, fast asleep, while her nightlight projects solar systems onto the ceiling. Jon, too, is sleeping soundly with the cats for company. Iris barely looks up from her bed when he comes inside, but she gives a little wag of her tail each time he passes down the hallway to shower or get a drink of water. There’s a plastic pumpkin full of Emma’s sweets on the table, next to the empty bowl that had once been full of treats to hand out to their visitors.

Martin’s smiles—it looks like a night well-spent for his family—and this thought carries him through an exhausted shower before he crawls into bed next to Jon. Jon must be tired, too, because he doesn’t stir. Martin makes a mental note to check his joints aren’t playing up from all the getting up and down from the sofa during the trick-or-treat visits.

Sometime later, Martin wakes to the soft click of the door as it opens. He squints against the light bursting around the edges of the still-shut curtains, expecting to see Jon tiptoeing to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Instead, Emma is creeping inside, holding a tray of pancakes while Jon follows behind, balancing two cups of tea.

“Happy birthday!” Emma says, as she places the tray down on the bed next to Martin. “We made spooky pancakes!”

Martin rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up fully. He glances at the alarm clock next to the bed: 11:42 a.m. He’s been asleep for just over six hours, but it somehow feels longer and yet not enough. “It’s not—”

Jon clears his throat.

“Oh. Oh, thank you, Emma! These are wonderful.”

The pancakes are, indeed, spooky. Emma has used a pumpkin cookie cutter to shape them and then drawn on funny faces with fruit and syrup. No longer responsible for balancing the tray, Emma looks at Jon, a little uncertain, and Jon nods in encouragement as he places their cups of tea down on the bedside table.

“I made you a present,” Emma says almost shyly.

Martin smiles gently at her. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Emma.”

Emma pulls something off the tray. It’s the second notebook, the one Martin thought he’d imagined, wrapped in a glittery silver ribbon and some confetti streamers. She offers it to Martin, and he takes it carefully, holding it as if it might fall apart in his hands.

“You can open it,” Emma tells him seriously.

Martin unwraps the ribbon. Emma takes it from him, along with the confetti, perhaps to reuse for another present. Slowly, Martin cracks open the notebook to the first page. There is Georgie’s ghoulish sketch, alongside a new inscription in Emma’s handwriting: Sorted Poems By Emma K. Blackwood-Sims. For Daddy’s Birthday. October 31.

Martin feels something tender and soft unfurl in his chest, until he’s certain he is going to cry. He begins to flick through the pages, but Emma says: “Wait!”

Martin stops. “What is it?”

“Look.” Emma climbs on to the bed, elbowing her way into the space next to him, and reaches across Martin to open the notebook on the first page again, where her inscription is. She points at her name.

“It’s meant to say assorted poems,” Jon says, “But neither of us were sure how to spell it.”

Martin laughs, the sound a little wet and shaky with the tears he can feel building. Jon hates spelling. It’s his least favourite type of homework to help Emma with.

“Look,” Emma says again, “I wrote my name like yours!”

Martin smiles. “Blackwood-Sims? But that’s your name, too.”

“No,” Emma insists, “Emma K Blackwood-Sims. Like you! Like a proper poet.”

“Oh,” Martin murmurs, “Oh.”

He’s sure he and Jon will laugh about this later. Martin doesn’t actually have a middle name. Emma does, but it certainly doesn’t begin with K. But right now, he feels tears on his cheeks as he takes in his daughter’s hard work.

Emma reaches for his face, patting away his tears with the palms of her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise,” Martin replies, sniffling in an attempt to draw back the tears, “I’m happy. And I love you so, so much.”

Emma frowns. “Will pancakes make you feel better?”

“I’m alright, Emma. I promise. These are happy tears.”

“Pancakes always make me feel better,” Jon announces, climbing onto the other side of the bed and sliding back underneath the covers. He settles Emma down in the middle of them, handing her a mug full of juice. She doesn’t drink tea yet, but she doesn’t like to be left out when they do, so she has her own mug.

“These look wonderful,” Martin tells them, arranging the tray so they can all reach. Emma takes a plate and hands it to Jon, then does the same for Martin, before grabbing the final one for herself. “You’re getting very good at pancakes.”

“Baba said we can learn French toast next,” Emma says.

“Wow. That’s big.”

Emma nods. “It’s more difficult than normal toast.”

Martin chuckles. “It certainly is.”

They distribute the pumpkin-shaped pancakes between them. While they eat in bed, they tell each other stories about their Halloween night. Jon talks about the costumes of the people who visited their house, how many compliments they got on their pumpkin carving skills. Emma narrates her trick-or-treating adventure with Tim and Sasha. Martin shares the safest tales of his nightshift, the funny costumes he saw and the extravagant decorations at the parties they visited.

Martin is exhausted again by the time they’ve finished the pancakes. Jon insists on taking their empty plates back to the kitchen and making them another cup of tea, while Emma snuggles against Martin’s side. She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I know it’s not your birthday, Daddy,” Emma whispers.

Half-asleep until now, Martin grunts himself awake. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“I know it’s not really your birthday,” Emma tells him, not moving from where she’s clinging to his arm, “Your birthday was yesterday. On Halloween.”

“Oh, Emma, we—”

“It’s okay,” Emma says, “It’s like when we had a party on Saturday even though my birthday was on Wednesday because I had school.”

“Yeah.” Martin stokes his hand through Emma’s hair. “It is a bit like that.”

“I still get to say happy birthday.”

“You do.”

“But can we have a party on the right day next year?” Emma asks.

“For your birthday?”

“No, for your birthday.”

“Oh.” Martin laughs. “Yes. It might not be a party, if I have to work again, but we can do this. This is lovely. Thank you for being so thoughtful. And I’m excited to read your poems.”

“Baba said they were good.”

“Well, that’s high praise indeed.”

“It was fun.”

“That’s good. That’s what matters most when you make things.“

Emma wriggles around until she’s grinning up at him. “Can I read your poems now?”

Martin sighs, barely supressing a laugh. This isn’t the first time she’s asked. “Emma.”

She sticks her bottom lip out, pouting in a way that breaks Martin’s heart to the point where he can never turn her down when she’s looking at him like this. “Please.”

“Alright,” Martin gives in, “I’ll read you one tonight. Before bed.”

“Yay!” Emma’s grin grows even wider. "Thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank you. And I love you very, very much.”

“Love you, too.”

They settle back down. Martin dozes a little again, a smile on his face, as he thinks about telling Jon later that their daughter very much does understand the concept of time. There really are some things parenting books don’t prepare you for—like the way his love seems to grow with each day he gets with Emma and Jon, even when he thinks it’s impossible, that he already loves them more than any person can.

Some things are gifts even when they are not given as such, and Martin is beginning to allow himself to think of his life with his daughter and his husband as one. He didn’t ask for it with words or lists. He doesn’t know, even now, if he deserves it. But it’s his. And he will treasure it always.

Not featured: Martin realising what he’s agreed to and frantically trying to find a non-angsty poem he can read to his five-year-old daughter. Jon thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

<3

[mvssmallow]

[buddietomytarlos]

9-1-1 S4 Ep 8 Thoughts

Thoughts under the cut to keep them from clogging up the tag :) I’m late but I’ve been slacking on all my shows idk why I just lost the will to watch live lmao anyways even though no one cares here’s my thoughts!

- LEAH PIPES!!! She’s such a great actress, and I’m still pissed at my fellow Klaroline’s from TVD sending hate and I think 💀 threats smh it’s so dumb she didn’t deserve any of it

- “It’s like we’re hostages on this damn plane.” LOL SHUT UP!?!??! Imagine being an actual hostage on the plane. All of these people are so fucking annoying please tell me people aren’t actually like that… also speaking of the faculty on the plane where the fuck is everyone else???

- Who’d be dumb enough to go down a slide with champagne… which is bubbly and one wrong step and you’ll pop your eye out.

- IT’S THE GUY FROM THE JET ENGINE?! I lowkey love it when they reuse people they’ve already saved. This guy, and the motorcycle guy. We love it 🤪🤪

- On my second time of watching to finish the ep, why did she not care that she did that to that guy like she was just as cynical.

- “What is it?” “I… quit…” asdfgjkl;

- There was no need to make them sound like they we’re having sex… that was unnecessarily weird.

- “Edmundo” Them role-playing student x teacher………. thank god for his alarm

- Babysitter!Buck.

- “She taught me math.” “Man… and I thought I’d been single too long."

- Christopher always makes my day awhhh I love him

- “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” “Us too!” Buck’s reaction asdfghjkl;

- Maddie choosing to have the baby in the apartment wow I honestly could never, I’d be way too scared

- Chim, Hen, and Eddie betting on the gunman lmao so in character fhsdajkf

- “Jump, jump, jump” is never something you wanna hear from a firefighter lmao

- That man is gonna take matters into his own hands isn’t he…

- DUDE HE FUCKIN PUSHES HIM ONTO THE CAR DAMN

- Athena and May watching Maddie’s pregnancy breakdown fashdjkfa

- Athena talking about her pregnancies 🥺🥺

- AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW NIA TRYING TO BE LIKE HER MOMMY HEN I CAN'TTTTTTT

- Oh that lady opened the door like she’s being held hostage I can already tell. Or did she kill her husband or something…

- Although my curtains are always closed because I’m either watching something or playing games, other people’s curtains being closed is a big red flag… not to mention the random FREEZER in the bedroom

- Why is there meat and shit in the freezer though like that’s such a weird place...

- how he still alive after being stabbed with meat prongs and then stashed behind a fucking wall AND it drying up perfectly like???

- Christopher :(

- when the girls become besties. and as much as I don’t want her and Buck to like become a thing/stay a thing it’s really sad that he didn’t tell her it wasn’t going to be just them.

- Well that crashed and burned quickly

- Oh no… he’s not answering. If anything happens to him-

- UHHHH WHERE’S CHRIS?!?!

- hE WENT TO BUCK OMGG

- The reason why Buddies are so angry at them queer baiting is because of scenes like these that give off “son goes to his other dad for comfort bc they’re basically family” vibes like imagine giving us that and then saying they’re just friends… makes NO sense.

- But on another note what uber would allow a child, alone, to travel?

- CHRIS WISHES HE COULD FORGET HIS MOM 😭💔 AND EVERYONE ELSE GAAHHHHHHHH

- “And until that happens, you still got me. Because I’m not going anywhere.” BYE 😭😭😭

- Maddie and Chim working things out ugh we love healthy couples

- God I thought Taylor was having a stroke on live TV..

- YASSSSSSSS we love it when everyone works together and pushes past their differences and feelings

- II wish everyone would get their vaccines but there are some people like my sister who don’t believe in it smh

- Why did Taylor think Buck'd just be like “nah you shit on me last night idc about you lmao sucks to suck”

- did Veronica ask him to stop being friends with Buck, or something?

- NO THEY CAN’T TAKE NIA AWAY 😭😭😭

[demiemdi]

Blog #05

February 03, 2020

For tonight's entry, I dedicate this one to my sister-like cousin. Ivy, happy birthday.🎈

I have known you for 16 years already. Eversince, we did things together; when we were younger, we used to take baths together and re-enact some popular scenarios in Mara Clara, Agua Bendita, Ina Kapatid Anak and many more while the shower is on, not minding how many minutes we have spend there doing dramas and all. I can never forget those moments, it only proves that, we can't stop time. We get old, and so memories do.

We'd play barbie, watch Bratz and had that "Oh yes" greeting while having that girly bump after a long time we haven't seen each other. I remember using swimwear during summer, we'll only wear them if one of us will encourage the other to do so. My doll house which I received on my seventh birthday, we used to play them, the "lutu-lutuan" games, survivor of the philippines.😂 It so happened that you live in Manila that time and I was still in Bataan, so we usually just see each other occasionally, my childhood friend lives so far, I'm always at home since I was a kid, no doubt I am still. Char.

First photo was taken at Baguio year 2013 and the second was just recent. It's been seven years already and I'm thanking God that I've shared those years with you. You're sixteen, I'm afraid you won't need me when the time comes. I may not say this everytime but I want you to know that I'm proud of you. You've been a brave girl, you have faced a lot of hardships mostly, all by yourself. I have come up to realize that someday, you won't share me stories the same way you did when we were younger and you were just entering High School. We don't even have that same shirt anymore! Kidding, it's funny how we had that "couple shirt" before, wearing it proudly. And now we both say the same thing whenever we find pictures of us having similar shirts, plus, style! HAHAHAHAHA OC dawgs XD char.

Maybe it's because how our family raised us, that our bonding is beyond strong. You are that one person I won't hesitate to tell everything about, whom I won't have to remind names of people and past events repeatedly whenever I need to mention them again in my chika, the person who won't judge every other stories or decisions I am making, who can bear with both my silence and loudness, and the person who can easily sense what I'm feeling and do nothing about it. Char! You have that attitude, and I have too, so maybe we clicked and had it the best way around.😉

I don't know why I find it funny that you call me "Dem" and the other embarrassing nickname I have in my childhood instead of "Ate" but whatever, I got no issues about it, but it makes me feel you won't respect me and that you'll just roll your eyes whenever you want to roll them. But anyway, you don't do that habitually, so that's totally fine, hehe.

You are my MIBF buddy, but we did not had the chance to do it for the past 2 years because I don't know, you'd tell me you're too busy or too lazy to come or money-less to do so, that's why for two years I do it alone or go with Wilson. Or, maybe because your taste have changed when it comes to books, you're maturing, I can'ttttttt!

Anyway, like the previous blogs, I want to tell these people who are currently reading this how much of a person you are, you're a monster, RAWR HAHAHAHHA! She likes Starbucks, so much!! I remember the first time I tried that coffee, it's because of her. She made me became open of things I didn't know existed, I am not into coffee that's why it never crossed my mind to stop and buy there before, but now, whatever. Still not, but Tim Hortons? It's a yes!! Hello there, WMTBMG!

Want to know more about her? I'll tell you more haha XD She likes Ice cream, knows how to play a guitar, she loves books, achiever at school (valedictorian, flexed 😎), SWIFTIE!!!!! ❤️ A Paramore & 5SOS fan! What else, Adele, Ariana Grande, KathNiel din HAHAHAHAHA for like 8 years, eversince, you won't believe but that's fine, we watched every KathNiel movie together for that past years. We got keychains, magazines, cinema tickets, facebook posts in 2012, but no fancams, no videos nor pictures with them, only by memories and heart. Charot nagdrama sa fangirling life😂

Anyway, most of the time she looks like not in the mood or will just punch you anytime you greet her expression, but she got a kind heart, a soft one. You won't know until she began caring about you, 'cause she's a February baby, toyo gurl you know HAHAHAHAHAHA charot. She loves her family of course, we all do, despite hardships. She dreams about being a cardiologist someday, super brave diba! We are a family of Doctors, dejk. She can paint, she can sing, she can dance Chichiquita, she can look like Kathryn Bernardo effortlessly XD HAHAHAHAHA SANA HALLS!

Above all, she loves me. Yie!!!!❤️ Of course she's my sister eversince I was born in this world and we've know each other since the day she first yelled "Waaaahhh wahhhh wahHhhhh" and up to this day. I've shared her my secrets that no one knows except her, my weaknesses and fears, even the smallest thing that I consider insecurity. I don't know if I can ever meet a person whom I can comfortably talked about everything, just like how I can tell it to this woman everytime. You maybe unaware, but this girl knows you without you knowing her. Maybe because you are one of the people I met or currently meeting? You choose, this one hardly forgets.

To Bilog,

Happy birthday. It's 12 midnight, I have classes later and you do too. But I want to be the first person to greet you though I know someone already greeted you earlier than this early. I can't thank you enough for being my great cousin, I get to be the most real me when you are around while you laugh about how I look stupid with my jokes or how I repeat outfits and not even combing my hair after taking a bath. You are the person who knows me, I do believe that of course, we always had the back seat of the car occupied and share stories during the ride for almost 10 years not counting in the other more times where we talked about people haha, such a chika girl HAHAHAHA.

Always remember that I might not be the first person you run to whenever you feel sad, worried, frustrated, angry or whatever, because I am having that feeling too, but may I remind you in this letter that I am here for you. I'm your ate and that will never ever change. You grow so fast, I kinda miss our bonding before. Anyway, I'm sending you big goodluck in your life, Doctora! Be happy and take care of your heart, okay? Love you bilog, happy birthday.♥️