Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul






Tagu-taguan maliwanag ang buwan
Giggles, titters, and silly laughs
Wala sa likod, wala sa harap

Little kids restless and eager to play
‘Pag ka bilang kong tatlo nakatago na kayo
Run swiftly as the wind; find a place to hide
Climb the mango tree
Crawl behind the shrubs
Hearts beat faster
Breaths held like forever
Close your eyes
And wish the seeker won’t find


Day 18: Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that incorporates “the sound of home.” Think back to your childhood, and the figures of speech and particular ways of talking that the people around you used, and which you may not hear anymore. Coax your ear and your voice backwards, and write a poem that speaks the language of home, and not the language of adulthood, office, or work. Happy writing!

Taguan is the Filipino version of the game, Hide-and-Seek. One player is randomly chosen as the it while the other players then hide. The it goes to search for them. The game ends when all of the players are found. The player who is first found will be the new it (the searcher) in the next round.

J is for J’adore


J’adore is a French phrase that is literally translated as “I adore”.

In order to say “I adore you”, one would say “Je t’adore”, which is <Je> meaning “I”; <tu> meaning “you”; and <adore> meaning “adore”. You drop the “u” in “tu” because adore begins with a vowel.

One day, out of boredom, I decided to revisit my past. And by ‘revisit’ I meant looking through the pages of my old notebooks— my hilarious handwriting, the doodles at the back of each notes, those check marks and ‘x’ marks.

Then I found it.

Deep beneath the heap of test papers, was my twelve years old diary— all dusty and fading, I couldn’t help but laugh. Scribbled on its pages were words and clauses that once screamed how once upon a time, a girl adored a boy.

June 12, 2006, when you started to be the main entry in all of my ‘Dear Diary’.

Dear Dairy, I saw someone today.
Dear Diary, I saw him again.
Dear Dairy, Who is he?
Dear Diary, Finally got his name. Dexter.
Dear Diary, He plays basketball!
Dear Diary, He’s on the Top 5.
Dear Diary, He listens to E-heads.
Dear Diary, Does he know my name?
Dear Diary, He really does know my name!!!!
Dear Diary, He smiled!!!
Dear Diary, He smiled again.
Dear Diary, And again!
Dear Diary, Who’s that girl!?
Dear Diary, I didn’t see him today. Was he sick?
Dear Diary, Please tell me the rumors were lies.
Dear Diary, I saw him today— and her.
Dear Diary, The rumors were true.
Dear Diary, I know basketball now.
Dear Diary, I learned guitar and piano.
Dear Diary, I got an E-heads album.
Dear Diary, I made a poem.
Dear Diary, I topped the exam— well, except Math.
Dear Diary, It’s almost VALENTINES!
Dear Diary, He smiled!!!
Dear Diary, He smiled again.
Dear Diary, And again!
Dear Diary, I saw them, again.
Dear Diary, They held hands.
Dear Diary, They kissed.
Dear Diary, So they’re officially dating.

Dear Diary, What day is today? Oh, Valentines.
Dear Diary, I’m tired.

June 12, 2010 when all entries ended.

I let as sigh of relief and nostalgia, set aside my twelve years old diary— all dusty and fading, deep beneath the heap of test papers. Scribbled on its pages were words and clauses that once screamed how once upon a time, a girl adored a boy in utmost secrecy.


Read more 2016 A to Z Challenge entries here!

Art of Expression


I was once your six-year-old, messy-hair, oversized-shirt, make-believe artist back in Mrs. Grelina’s class.

“Live your dreams.” Our teacher used to say and we’d come to her class dressed as the person we would soon become. One classmate brought with her a toy stethoscope and the other wore polished suit like a business tycoon. Meanwhile, I was the quite boy acting strange and weird because that’s what I thought artists should be like—peculiar.

I remember one day, Mrs. Grelina asked me why I dreamed to be an artist. With a pencil tucked behind my ears, I told her that I wanted to impress everyone. She warmly smiled and said, “That’s a good start. But soon you will realize that art craves to express rather than impress.”

Thirty years later, I stood beside my pride during the Splash of Extraordinary Art competition. A rival artist came and gave a mocking remark. “You’ll never impress the judges with those cows, pal.”

“Maybe. But I bet they’ll never forget these for a long time.” I gladly replied.

Word Count: 175

Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. Thank you S for the photo and PJ for another fun prompt. ❤❤❤

I found myself writing another story about Mrs. Grelina and her class. I hope you don’t mind. 🙂 🙂 🙂

Enjoy more stories here:




Credits: Priceless Joy

The rain poured down hard and the wind whipped sheets of water against the glass. Trees bent with the wind, bowing to a greater power. The sky flashed with lightning, and thunder roared, loud enough to quiver the windows.

You stared at the blurry world beyond the glass. Continue reading “Hiraeth”

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