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oh, whAt a joy it is to feel lonEly, to wade through the quiet and search for a way out. i walk the beaCh, take the long way home, stretch time so my roOm stays empty a little longer. i sit on benChes, watch strangers paSs, ask the barista about their daY, the elderly man about his doG whom i see every day. i speAk to those beside me on the metro, stealing mOments, borrowing warmth, as if a few seConds of their time could soften the weight of mine.
when you’re loNely long enough, you learn to find peAce in the noise—the rhythM of streets, the choreographed steps of commuters, the birds scribbling shaPes across the sky. you notice the collage of patched pavEments. this city is so loud — i am still leaRning how to be alOne.
Feb 22, 2025
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I’m alone. I’m alone forever. I am the loneliest person to ever exist. I gave myself that title. Sometimes I wear it proudly. Sometimes it breaks my heart. I am missing something and I don’t know what it is. Maybe I never will. I am looking for something that takes my breath away.
Feb 4, 2024
im never more offline than when im commuting. it does get unpleasant, but i have no real alternatives so i stay. i stay with the noise, the waiting, the elbows, the heat. but theres also something in that pocket of time that feels like a sort of gift ? like the city letting you in on something, if youre willing to sit with it long enough. not rly silence bc manila rarely allows for that lol but a kind of stillness that moves alongside the chaos. the kind that doesnt ask for attention, but rewards it
for months i kept noticing these lines along edsa: crescent-shaped shadows on white walls, like soft brushstrokes. id wonder what caused them but theyd slip out of view and something else would take their place: pillows soaking up the morning sun on rooftops, a deflated nemo balloon tangled in trees. and id wonder about those instead. the lines werent a mystery i carried constantly, they just became familiar questions i greeted whenever they returned
one windy afternoon i watched the plants outside the mrt dance - rooted in place, their bodies bent in the only directions they could, in arcs so well rehearsed theyre almost muscle memory. each gust of wind sends them brushing against the wall, over and over, gently eroding the white paint. time passing in small, invisible repetitions. the plants were painting
i later traced the area on my favourite archive google maps haha and slid back through time. i found a coconut tree. in older images when the tree was younger and its leaves hung lower i could see how it once touched the wall. the tree had grown since then, its reach no longer the same. but the marks remained, like a growth chart. a timeline written in strokes only the wind could carry
i think about these lines often, how the body can grow taller and further away but the places it once brushed against can still remember. i try to hold the same feeling in my ceramic practice: a mindful documentation of the in betweens, the soft evidence of something passing through. in that stillness theres something lasting, something that can be held in the hands long after its made. a way of saying: we were here once. and we danced
Apr 12, 2025
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Loneliness prevails! I would much rather live purely in solitude for ever and ever than waste another precious second in the presence of someone who has little skin in the game of knowing me or seeing me. Hearing me! I wonder why you keep me around if all your hearts desire is to hear the sound of your own voice.
It makes no difference if it’s me or anyone for that matter.
For all you know or even care I am merely an ottoman for you to rest your feet on, or a coffee table meant simply to pedestal your various notebook scrawlings and half-read books. I am a file cabinet. I have it here, dated, what you Thought and what you felt about work, or about your friends. ask me, I have it all.
And I loved it. I loved knowing you. I wanted to. I investigated and interrogated. I poured over it all with great curiosity, praying for all my red threads to weave a tapestry of you.
but I can’t remember the last time you asked me something about myself. When the opportunity arises, and god forbid, I Take it, you can barely hold your breath. Its like a shark sensing blood. You just can’t wait to talk talk talk talk talk.
But hey, it’s your life, and baby, I’m just living in it.
Dec 10, 2024
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Feb 24, 2025
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Feb 26, 2025
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the city moves in paTterns.
an unspoken choreography unfolding at every stAtion / every street crossing / every reVolving door. at first glance it is chaos - a flood of bodies surging forWard / retreating / shifting direction with abrupt precIsion. but watch closely and you will see the shapes scribbled by the crowd / the invisible calligraphy traced by hurried footsteps and quiet hesItations.
in the metro - the rhythm is unmistAkable. the doors slide open and the wave beGins. a forward motion / urgent but practiced / an unspoken agreement between stranGers. some step aside with the grace of seasoNed performers. letting others pass in seamless succession. others hesitate. caught for a moment between movement and stillness before being pulled into the tide.
on escalators - bodies align in a pattern dictated by efficIency. one side still. the other in motion. a moving stairway of impatiEnce and pause.
at crossings - the rhythm breaks for a moment. the crowd pooling at the edge of the street like ink waiting to spRead. and then - the light changes and the city exhales. a hundred figUres spill forward. some fast. some slow.
Feb 23, 2025