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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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hopeless romantic

One day at a time, anxious person

We will never be enough.

For people who walk hand in hand with anxiety, it will always come as a surprise when someone tells us that we are the missing puzzle in his or her life. Everyday we spend precious seconds tiptoeing, walking on thin glass — afraid that one wrong move would break our hard-earned peace of mind. For us, it will always be a question of why. Why me? Why leave? Why stay? We keep a long list of why’s on our pockets so whenever we feel like we took a bad step and notice the slightest change, we know what to start asking. Why did his tone dropped a little lower? Why is she touching her ears? Why did it took him extra 2 seconds to answer?

People say that we should learn to trust others. But, truth is, they are not the problem. We can hand them all the trust we have, but we can never fully trust ourselves. We will never be a good enough reason for anything. Not smart enough. Not kind enough. Not talented enough. Not pretty enough. Sooner or later they will realize that we are the not the missing puzzle. We are the puzzle. And that is the hardest thing.

But keep going.
Keep breathing.

One day at a time, anxious person. 🌻
MS

Carousels

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All my life I’ve suffered from motion sickness. Take me on a car or bus ride and I’d know right then what’s bound to happen. Once, on a van ride home, I tried to withstand it. A few kilometers passed and I started feeling weird as if the butterflies in my stomach wanted to break free. My throat went dry and the air left my lungs gasping. One, two, three. I started counting. I thought I’d make it to ten but I was already throwing up at five. Experts said motion sickness is caused by mixed signals sent by our inner ears and our eyes to our brain. Well whatever it is, curse it.

There is a reason why I love long walks and hate the rides. But carousels are an exemption. For ours was a carousel ride. Your love took this heart round and round and round. You sent my butterflies flying in an uneasy state. My inner ears and eyes were sending mixed signals to my brain. My ears — they heard my scream and told my brain this needs to stop. My eyes — they’re drawn to you and told my brain it is time that needs to stop. Unable to comprehend, the air left my lungs gasping. One, two, three. I started counting. But then you held my hands and I lost count of the numbers. The world stopped turning and the hour hands paused.

I love the carousel but I also want it to end. I want us to go north to see the beaches, south to hike the mountains. I want a destination not just a merry-go-round. I want commitment not just falling in and out of love. But if you ask me on a carousel ride, I’d still take it. I’d withstand motion sickness until you decide to make this a journey instead of running round and round.
MS


Facebook reminded me that I wrote this piece two years ago this day. In 2017, I attended the two-day Cebu Literary Festival x Komiket event. Back then, my world was only limited to the four corners of my room or the pages of my books. It was a crucial year of existential crisis, all bottled up for so long. I struggled to find purpose and failed. It felt like I was functioning on auto pilot every single day and the only thing that would separate me from a robot would probably be poetry. Reading through my old poems, I could see how I was in a chaotic emotional mess. A hopeless romantic. An anxious human being trying to recreate her world through words. This piece is just one of those. I wrote it while listening to spoken word artists performing in front of me. In my mind I wanted to take the stage and express. In my heart, I just knew I can’t.

PLOT TWIST: Fast forward to 2018, I found myself onstage stuttering to the words of Pasabta Ko Palihug, a spoken word in my local dialect. Time flies! 😀

Snippet: Another ‘what if’

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What if love is not just about falling? We romanticize so much this act of tripping, slipping, losing control and crashing into another person that we forget that love isn’t always a downward act. It is should not be qualified as sacrificial to the point of self-destruct. Because you see, the beauty of love is not only seen in our collapse, but in how it builds the best version of ourselves. It’s not just about what we give up but how we lift our person up.

“I’ll take care of myself for you and you’ll take care of yourself for me.”

Isn’t that a beautiful thing?

 


I was skimming through my unpublished posts when I came across this draft. A while ago, I had a conversation with a friend on whether or not we should quantify love by the amount of material, time, attention, effort, and sacrifice we give and receive. We had opposing opinions on the matter but it made me reflect a thing or two about relationships. This is one of those what ifs.

My Universe in Verse

According to current thinking, the observable universe is about 93 billion light years in diameter. I am no astronomy expert and the likes of Edwin Hubble would probably disagree when I say that there was a time when the universe molded itself into the right shape to fit just two people.

That day we hiked the trail to the peak expecting to find the place crowded with campers. But it was uncommonly empty. Right then my selfish side wished that no one would ever come. Coelho must have known that when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it. Because no one did arrive. We had the billion-star accommodation all for ourselves.

I’ve always wondered what they meant when they said that the universe is infinite. Were they referring to the cosmic wonders from without or to those from within? That night we measured trajectories — not of falling comets but of falling hearts. At daybreak, I caught a momentary silhouette backlit by the rising sun. My sunset man. And what astronomers have not observed is this: sometimes all the mysteries of the universe is found in someone’s hand.

the wide universe
seized to be scientific—
poetic, it was

MS

 

 


In response to dVerse’s Haibun Monday: The Picnic hosted by Gina who challenges to share some picnic themed poems.

Here’s one of my favorite memories with one of my favorite people. The title is inspired by The Universe in Versean annual celebration of science through poetry hosted by Maria Popova at Pioneer Works and The Academy of American Poets

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse

Worry Not

ours was forged by something greater than hands intertwined. remember how time has showed us how small this world is? from poetry, paperbacks, and people, we found each other on the same path. it took years but what is meant to be will always find its way, so they say. so i need you not to worry.

when i find myself
alone beneath the cerulean sky
i will walk without a sigh, carrying thoughts
of mountains, coffee, and your smile

when you find yourself
waking on a midnight as i drift away
in sleep, a deep slumber that you can’t reach
those are dreams of you i’m chasing

when both time and zones
seem to divide and pull us apart
i promise you we’ll get through it
we will navigate the world of adults

ours isn’t perfect and we haven’t figured everything out yet. but we will— piece by piece, day by day, night by night. we will learn and grow together… and separately. because what is meant to be will always find its way. and the universe is on our side.MS

I dare not change

woman sleeping on bed under blankets

I weave stories even in fabric
Seams laced with tell-tales
Of yesterdays, todays and tomorrows

Coffee stains
Wrinkled sheets
Lipstick on sleeves

From collars to buttonholes
I know their stories— wrote them
Even when all is said and done

I dare not change
MS


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes hosted by De who challenges us to play with the word, “change.”

As I read this over and over, I can’t help but think I could have written this bottom to top. Well, I dare not change. Either way, here’s a little something. 😉

Photo Credit: Unsplash

Head over here to join the fun!

dverse

 

 

Remember, remember

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Remember, remember, the fifth of November. Leaving home by the faint light of the rising sun. Its streaks bathing the canopies with hazy gold, as your feet forged their own path. Clambering down the slope of soil, a long bed of rock awaits. Into the very womb of nature, you walked the forested trails.

Remember, remember, the fifth of November. You fancied seeing him for the first time. Curious as a cat on how he’d talk or react if you ever say poetry or love. “He won’t arrive,” you surmised. Indeed, he was nowhere to be found. And so you remember this day as a matrimony of both happy and sad.


Borrowing this phrase from the English folk verse, The Fifth of November. This one’s for the soul who let me watch V for Vendetta and introduced me to Guy Fawkes. The very same one who didn’t show up a year ago on this day. 😂😊

Pretender

It’s 9:52. The night is young yet the house is full. People are coming in and out of the front door. On a dim corner, behind the gate, a man is throwing up.

“I need a drink,” he thought of storming in but stopped at the sight a familiar face.

Five years— she never changed. Laughing with her head back, he guesses her black shirt still carries a statement. Like “Down With Big Brother” or “Go Queer”.

“Don’t,” the word came late and before he knew it, he was walking towards the one who got away. The dice is rolled. Fuck what ifs and the mutilated could-have-beens.

“On the worst-case scenario, at least I can act as drunk fool.”


Took this photo on a poetry night at a local coffee shop here in Cebu. The place was filled with too many hopeless romantics that night.

Eyes Scream

We tend to eat ice cream every time it was cold out. Like that one night I let you try Moonsky & Sunny. You could not decide which flavor so I chose coffee and chocolate mint instead. Beneath the moon and sky, I gave you a sunny smile. You laughed when you realized I was waiting for a feedback. It tasted great, you acquiesced. The next time we ate, you picked the place. I remember getting lost and strolling quite a distance. You kept saying sorry and it was the first time I told you how I love long walks. And so we did. Seven kilometers long. There was also this one night you told me about a funny man who sells dirty ice cream on the street. We found him along the honking and crawling cars. A man in his 30s wearing a slim-fit white t-shirt and faded blue tight jeans. This time you waited how I’d react. Did I tell you it hurts to suppress a laugh? And how could I miss last night’s sundae? Down with cough and cold, you said you it was nothing. Stubborn man. You talked your way out with politics, laws, and secrets. And I found myself in silence— yet again. Eating my ice cream, in muted words, my eyes screamed: damn how I love this human.

Moonlit silent nights
Memories of you and I—
Burning senses, sigh
MS


In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Sounds of Silence hosted by Dwight Roth who challenges usto write a poem about the human condition that eludes to silence, especially the sounds of silence. What is being said when nothing is spoken and no sound is being made?

Head over here to join the fun!

dverse

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