Let love do what it can do to you

The reason why it didn’t work out for you, is because you settled for less. You thought so lowly of yourself so you didn’t think you deserved so much. You thought that it was better to take a chance, than wait forever for that perfect person for you. You wanted something, and you wanted it right away. You wouldn’t listen to anyone, that’s the mystery of love. It gets people under a spell. No amount of pixie dust or any magic spell could take you back to reality. None at all. If you are under spell, you are powerless. You just can’t do anything but be a cross eyed victim. Now all you have left are regrets and some hopeful attempts at life in between. Hope, at least you got that. Because if you are devoid of hope, then you are nothing but a living dead. Nothing can erase the fact that there is something lacking, a void somewhere inside you that still doesn’t have a name. No, it’s not because it is now over and someone has left a vacant seat next to you. No, it’s not because you have given your all and it has left you empty. And no, it’s not because you hope for a miracle that everything could still happen the way your heart secretly wished it would. There is a void inside you because you haven’t got to know yourself in a way that will not confuse you anymore. What really do you expect love to do with your life? Love is not something that will solve everything and make things perfect. It is not something that will make you whole, less lonely, less alone. 

Instead, let love allow you to hope again, not for wanting that person to be under spell like you were, but hope for love to find you. Do not define love. Let love define you, for all the exciting possibilities that you are right now, for all the limitless beginnings that you possibly could start, for all the countless and priceless lessons that you will learn. Let love find you and mold you into the kind of person that you ought to be. Not broken, not rejected, not taken for granted. Surely you know you deserve better, than any of these.


Love is physiologic. Because the body and mind are a unit, bound together via messenger molecules. The blushing, the butterflies in the stomach, the knees turning jelly, are undeniable proof. Primarily, everything is a mental event, and then messages are transmitted though the heart — believed to be the seat of all emotions.

I believe that love only becomes spiritual when there’s a true commitment involved; when one is willing to deny himself for the welfare of someone he loves; when eternity doesn’t become scary, but something to be excited about; when reason starts to defy understanding.

Well, this is somewhat complicated. Love per se. That’s why we sometimes refuse to admit that we’re in love because we always fear the things that we don’t understand.

But is love really something to be understood? As for me I tried it so many times — dissecting it, analyzing it. I didn’t end up to be a love expert, though. I only got close to wanting to enter hermitage.

“When you live in your heart, magic happens.” I read this somewhere and it instantly brought me to my younger days when falling in love brought me to a fairytale land, and love was a magic want that made everything possible.

I want to live in my heart again. I want to experience love both physiologic and spiritual. I have to work my way back to that fairytale land, work my way back to being a happy person — thinking less, loving more.

If I cannot do that soon, I might as well order myself a coffin.

Dying Fairy

Once in my life I was free to soar, to sing, to shout at the top of my lungs, to think of anything and give life to it like a god growing wings to a worm…I was freer, if not completely free. I didn’t have anything to own, nothing to be concerned about, but myself and my endless wanderlust.

Until love made me a slave of many kinds. My hands and feet got tied with ludicrous obsession to please and perverted desire to get hurt over and over…what have become of me? Never in my million imaginings did I ever think pain could be this addictive. I cringe at the thought of myself licking on my own blood and feeling so alive with its taste.

If only I could find a cave in which I could yield and conceal myself from this world. I am too much embarrassment. My existence is a shame to the rest of the dancing elegantly powerful fairies where I used to belong.

I loathe love and anything that it resonates. It’s like a cancer that has stricken me, leaving me with no other choice but to lie in my death bed and wait till it finally consumes my flesh to rot.

Cinderalla Wannabe

As a little girl I fell in love with the Cinderella story. Being shy and withdrawn, I was always the one left at home and I would imagine “my” fairy godmother wagging her glittery wand right before my eyes and turning me into a beautiful princess. Any moment soon, my carriage squash will bring me to where my prince would be. We would dance and fall in love and live happily ever after.

I grew up hoping for the happy ever after ending. Somehow, I thought planning things carefully would make it possible me. No boyfriend while still studying, no teenage pregnancy, princess should be deserving enough for the prince…all those silly stuff a Cinderella wannabe could think of.

I lived in a dream world. I’m glad I got to love these fairy tales, if only I didn’t insist myself in these make believe worlds. The happy ever after is something that we all must work on, everyday. It doesn’t just come at a particular moment in time and stay there for good. Life doesn’t end at the last page of a fairytale book. It goes on bringing with it more characters, twisted plots, surprising and sometimes scary climaxes.

But I guess no one is too old enough to learn something new everyday. Oh well, yes, I’m not too old enough to read these fairy tales once again and see which part could I try and fit myself in. I’m sure I would know even better.



i am so full of nostalgia these days. i long for the days of my youth, when everything was yet more innocent, more exciting, more dreamy. these days i hardly have time to dream, to savour the liquid peace of rain, and just cry for the mere sadness of the sunset.i have always been so addicted to the poignant poetry of loneliness. and funny, how after years of sticking to the half-truth of being single, i ended up getting married and having my first child, nine months after.well, it’s not that i despised it at all. in spite of some pains which up to this day still pierce my heart,it is absolutely out of the question. about motherhood, i can talk about it and all its wonders forever. it’s just that sometimes, i just can’t help missing the me, the i, the myself, alone in my own secret universe — hidden somewhere inside my heart. in there i cry, i laugh, i sing and dance, i dream and wish, i live as if I were a goddess living in a tattered Greek Mythology book.