HWTL

A Love Meant to Leave 2: The Pandemic Anomaly

2025-06-15T20:00:00.000+08:00

They say love used to be tougher back then.
You had to court—like literally show up with flowers and prayers, climb gates like Spider-Man, impress a father sharpening his bolo, and survive the laser eyes of the tita who smells like Vicks and disappointment.

Now?
Just swipe right and pray you’re not talking to someone who cropped their ex out of a 2014 photo but forgot to crop the trauma.

I didn’t ask for a TED Talk, but in the quarantine facility, everything was communal property: the soap, the gossip, the unsolicited life advice.
The guy beside me, older, married, and spiritually possessed by the ghost of a Nokia 3310, started waxing poetic like he was applying for a slot in Maalaala Mo Kaya.

“Wala kaming ganyan noon, yung swipe swipe? Akyat ligaw kami. Pakilala sa pamilya. Kahit umuulan, dadalaw ako…”

I nodded. Politely.
Half-agreeing, half-wishing a butiki would start a full-blown telenovela on the ceiling to distract me.

But let’s be real: I couldn’t argue.
Dating had changed.
And there I was—lying on a folding bed with a busted foam and government-issued hopelessness—swiping not for love, but out of boredom, low serotonin, and chemically unverified hope.

But this isn’t a story about quarantine.
And it’s not just about how lonely it got.

This is a story about how that loneliness cracked something open—
And accidentally let something real crawl through.

Anomaly? Maybe.
Accident? Probably.
But love? Well…

It Almost Didn’t Happen

I matched with her without even meaning to. Just another swipe. Just another name on a screen. I was jaded — worn out by the dating app circus: perform your greatest hits, flex your resume, your abs (if applicable), toss out a few witty lines and hope she laughs enough to overlook the existential dread behind your selfies.

She messaged me. I replied.
Sort of.
Then I vanished. Not maliciously — more like a ghost who forgot it was haunting someone.

She later told me she was this close to giving up on me on Day 1.

“Sayang,” she said.
She liked me already. And I ghosted her for hours. Classic.

But the truth? I wasn’t playing cool. I wasn’t busy. I was just tired.

Tired of pretending to be more impressive than I was.
Tired of showcasing intelligence to girls who couldn’t volley back.
Tired of selling myself like some discounted weekend bundle at Lazada.

So this time, I didn’t try.
And by not trying, maybe I accidentally did the most honest thing I’ve ever done.

When I finally messaged back, it wasn’t anything grand. Not personal. Just... stuff.
Random thoughts. Nonsense, really. A flight of ideas with no landing gear.
But she replied. Every single time.
Fast. Curious. Effortless. Like someone who didn’t just want a distraction — she wanted me in the distraction.

And that’s when the sly little ego inside me — the schemer, the antenna that twitches when someone’s locked in — perked up.

“Oh? We got a real one.”

So I tested it.
Called her on video.
And there she was.

Not a model. Not an influencer. No filters. Just real.

She wasn’t trying to impress me either.
She looked like someone who’d just survived a war — because, in many ways, she had.
She was a frontliner. A pandemic soldier. Bone-tired, eyes heavy, still in scrubs.

But when she smiled?

Man.
It was like someone opened the curtains in a dim hospital ward.
Like sunlight through a cracked window.
Like the trumpet of an angel... or maybe it was just my province Wi-Fi behaving for once.

She lit up.
And suddenly, everything we’d said in those chaotic hours felt real.

That moment — that smile, on that pixelated screen — was when I knew:

This wasn’t just another match.
This was anomaly.

The 9 PM Pact

I felt like I accidentally swiped right on someone the algorithm didn’t intend for me to meet. Like the app glitched… and sent me someone real.
She wasn’t a “type.” She was a presence. First-time in love, barely in her 20s, yet already more grounded than half the emotionally unavailable women I'd matched with before.

Within 12 hours of talking to her, I knew this wasn’t your usual “hey haha wyd” that fizzles out faster than a birthday candle in a storm. Because I knew the pattern.

You match, you click, you fall into the rabbit hole of six-hour calls like there’s a prize for emotional nudity.
Night 1: Childhood trauma.
Night 2: What your mom did to you in third grade.
Night 3: Existential dread and your sad Spotify playlist.
By Day 5, you're already virtual live-in partners, and by the weekend?
Boom. You ghost each other like it was all just a shared fever dream.
Sound familiar? Yeah. It's practically a TikTok trend.

But this time? I wanted to resist that modern madness.

I wanted to preserve the mystery. Sustain the spark.
Not because I was being clever, but because I was finally tired of burning too bright, too fast, and getting ghosted by my own expectations.
So maybe cutting out our convo at 9 PM wasn’t such a bad idea.

She was a hospital frontliner — a radtech pulling pandemic shifts, while I was just out here counting quarantine days and trying not to spiral over whether a lion could beat a tiger.

She needed rest.
I needed pacing.
So we made a deal.

9 PM. No matter what.
Even if the tea was boiling.
Even if she was mid-sentence about her dramatic cousin’s love life or her high school nickname.

Snip. Curtain call. Fade to black.

Was it romantic? Not sure.
Was it effective? Oh, absolutely.

It wasn't manipulation — it was preservation.
Not a leash, but a lighthouse.
A way to keep us from sprinting into the same emotional walls we both quietly feared.

She appreciated the restraint, the rhythm, the idea of not trying to wrap all the lumpia in one night.

We shared the same logic as in that McDonald’s movie:
“Good things come to those who wait.”
And we did—till the next day, every day.

I wasn’t curbing desire.
I was building value.

Every day had its flavor:

Mornings were light roast — coffee convos, random quotes, little “how’d you sleep” check-ins.
Afternoons were trivia, memes, life hacks, and “did you know you can boil eggs in an air fryer?”-level nonsense.
Evenings were prime time — like that Rosalinda episode where she finally met Fernando Jose (I know, I went too far back on that one… sorry na agad, nostalgia hits weird sometimes).

And then always — 9 PM sharp —even with questions still hanging, fade to black. Done. Bukas ulet.

She passed the test I never told her she was taking.
And that pause — that space — that discipline?

It made the anticipation marinate.
We both became Pavlov’s dog — hungry for the reward that would unravel the next day.

We weren’t clinging.
We were choosing.
Quietly. Consistently.

The Girl Who Stayed in the Room

She wasn’t the loudest in the chatroom.
Didn’t flood the convo with emojis or weaponized “hehe”s.
No thirst traps. No “hey” every five minutes to stay relevant.

But she stayed.
Like a well-written line that didn’t need to be bold to be remembered.

That’s the kind of girl she was.
Not a fireworks show. More like a lighthouse — constant, understated, quietly saving ships.

She didn’t come in guns blazing. No dazzling monologues.
But when the digital dust settled, she’d still be there.
Soft-spoken. Tuned in. Like the last light still on in a quiet city.

Kung may award for “Best in Replying Without Making It About Herself”, she’d win with a unanimous vote and a standing ovation from every emotionally unavailable man who's ever texted a wall.

And here's the kicker — she never tried to be impressive.

No flexing, no philosophical TED Talk monologues about life.
She didn’t curate her replies. She just... showed up.

Fully. Honestly.
Like she didn’t need to audition for affection.
Like her presence was enough — and damn it, it really was.

I was used to two kinds of people in chats:
The show ponies who tried too hard and burned out by Day 3.
And the passengers, who barely said a thing and let the convo rot.

But her? She had this rare gift of pacing.
She wasn’t rushing toward a climax.
She was walking. Beside me. Matching my tempo, heartbeat for heartbeat.

If I were a song, she didn’t skip to the chorus.
She played the intro.
Listened through the awkward instrumental.
Heard the cough in the background and smiled.
Because she was the kind of person who stayed through the quiet parts — the ones most people pretend don’t exist.

And maybe that’s why the 9 PM rule worked.
It wasn’t a restriction to her — it was a rhythm.
A beat we both somehow agreed to dance to.
No push, no pull. Just a quiet choreography.
And in that soft discipline, something powerful was growing.

We didn’t say it, of course. That would ruin the magic.
But somewhere between the cut-offs and callbacks,
between the silly debates and slow reveals…

We weren’t just chatting anymore.
We were building something.
And she was still in the room.

The Comet That Didn’t Mean to Stay

It was one of those eerie lockdown nights — the kind where even your dog looked like he was processing the global crisis. No karaoke. No tricycles. Just curfew sirens in the distance and the hum of anxiety through the walls.

Around 7 PM — prime time for nonsense — she mentioned her birth year: 1998.

I flinched. Not because of the age gap (we were already past that existential minefield). But because... 1998 meant something.

“That was the year after Hale-Bopp,” I said.

“Hale what?” she asked, head tilted in curiosity.

Game on. I leaned into full nerd mode.

Told her about the comet — this beautiful, massive celestial beast that streaked across our skies in ’97. I was ten. Standing in my grandparents’ yard, arms itching from mosquito bites but eyes glued to the heavens. It wasn’t just a ball of space ice — it was a presence. Something cosmic, vast, older than everything I knew, flying past my sleepy little town like it had somewhere better to be.

She was quiet, then. Not distracted — locked in. The kind of silence where you know someone’s traveling with you in their head.

So I said, half-teasing:
“You were born the year it left. Maybe that’s why you showed up like one, too.”

She laughed. Called me dramatic. I said no — I was being mathematically accurate.

We weren’t just chatting. We were crafting metaphors in a collapsing world. While others were counting COVID deaths and watching Netflix, we were talking comets, myth, and whatever fantasy could keep the shadows at bay.

I told her Haley’s Comet was coming back in 2061.
“I’ll be 74,” I said. “You’ll still be younger, but old enough to guilt-trip me about forgetting our vitamins.”

She laughed again. But she didn’t move on.

And in that moment, I wasn’t trying to “lock her down.”
I was offering a strange, poetic version of the future — one where we were still weird, still curious, still us, long after the world stopped burning.

What she didn’t know — or maybe she did — was that the comet wasn’t just astronomy trivia.

It was my anxiety, disguised.
My fear of losing something I didn’t want to grip too tightly.
My attempt to say:
“I won’t hold you captive, but I’ll be here. Still watching the sky.”

And here’s the sick irony:
I made that promise without realizing how prophetic it would become.

Years later, I’d write about her again.
And yes — she’d be gone by then.
And yes — I’d still be waiting.

When the Exit Is Already Planned

You ever feel the punchline land wrong?

Like, you're mid-laugh and then suddenly you realize… the joke was on you?

That's how it started — a slow ache disguised as banter.
She’d throw a jab. Something light, even flirty. “You’re too good at this. Baka madami ka nang ka-chat dati.”
And I’d laugh, of course. That’s what I do. I’m good at turning daggers into confetti.
But that laugh would die in my throat later, when I was alone.

Because beneath the tease... was a test.
Beneath the test... was a truth neither of us wanted to unpack.

We were building something. Or at least, I was.
And when I say building, I don’t mean flirting or wasting time.
I’m talking architecture — late-night scaffolding made of vulnerability and restraint.
That 9 PM rule? The patience? The pacing?
That wasn’t randomness.
That was me, trying not to fumble something sacred.

And then she dropped it — Dubai.
The word hit like a fire alarm in a museum.

She said it casually at first, like she was mentioning a grocery run.
“Baka by next year, Dubai na ako.”
Smile emoji. No fanfare.

My brain paused.
Dubai?
As in not here?
As in a different country where time zones stretch and connections fray and people like me get reduced to messages “seen 4 hours ago”?

I wanted to ask — When did you decide this?
Was it before you called me your safe space? Before we made Hale-Bopp jokes and built rituals like our own little religion?
But I didn’t.
Because I’m not a beggar.
And she wasn’t being cruel.

She was just doing what she’d always planned to do.
And that’s what made it worse.

Because I thought — stupidly, maybe — that love, or whatever this fragile, glowing thing was between us, might rewire the trajectory.
But nah.
I was never the plan.
I was...the pause.

The unexpected pit stop before the great escape.

And it stung harder because I knew her heart.
I knew about her father — the cancer, the quiet grief in her voice when she talked about him like he was already fading.
I knew how she carried her family on her back like she was twice her age.
I knew her joy was rationed, like electricity during brownouts.
So I understood why Dubai made sense.

But understanding it didn’t make me bleed less.

That night, something cracked.
She made another joke — something about me getting too attached.
I replied with a wink emoji and silence.
Because if I spoke, I might say something real.

I was already spiraling.
Not yet drunk — but I felt it: that sharp thirst not just for alcohol, but for numbness.
That urge to find something that hurts less than this slow-burn heartbreak.

Because how do you mourn a future that was never promised?
How do you cry over someone who hasn’t left yet — but already packed?

So I stayed quiet.

She changed the topic.
Laughed a little too hard.
And in the tiny gap between her sentences… I heard everything I needed to.

Not a goodbye.
But the preparation for one.

The 9 PM rule just started to be a countdown.

A Love Meant to Leave (But Fought to Stay)

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what I was walking into.
This wasn’t a forever kind of setup.
We weren’t soulmates — we were a phenomenon,
a rare alignment of two pandemic strangers
who probably weren’t meant to orbit each other this long.

We were a guava tree growing in a forgotten lot —
accidentally planted by a bird,
nurtured by storms,
never meant to be permanent.
But still, it grew.
Gave shade. Bore fruit.

And then there was her:
The comet I never expected to witness.
Blazing. Beautiful.
Gone before the world could deserve her.

She never promised forever —
but she never stopped showing up.
Even when the days started blurring,
even when our conversations lost their novelty
and became ritual —
the 9 PM curtain call still held.

We kept showing up for it.
For each other.

And somewhere along that tired calendar,
where the days all looked the same
and the silence outside our windows screamed of the world falling apart —
I fell in love with her.

No fireworks. No big confession.
Just… a slow decision, made daily.
Every time the clock refreshed,
and the date changed,
I chose her again.
No matter how far,
no matter how doomed it all felt,
I chose her.

And maybe, deep down, I still hoped —
That before Dubai,
before her flight and her farewell,
we could meet.
Even just once.
Even just enough to prove to the universe
that we really did exist.

She had every reason to fade —
a future she didn’t choose but had to follow,
a life her family mapped out
long before I ever logged into that app.

But she didn’t fade.
She lingered.

And I?
I didn’t resist the pain.
I welcomed it.
Because loving her, even from a distance,
was better than forgetting her at all.

So yeah, maybe we were both just rebels.
Fools who saw the fire exit
but stayed for the burning house anyway.

And when it ends —
because it will,
like all rare things —
I won’t call it wasted.

I’ll call it sacred.

Coffee, Mountains, and Other Versions of Goodbye

That morning, we both had coffee in hand.
Mine was strong and bitter.
Hers? Probably sweet, with too much creamer—the way she liked it.

The sky behind me was unusually clear—one of those rare, cinematic blues that seemed to apologize for all the gray we'd endured.
I showed her the jagged line of Bicol’s mountains, their peaks still wrapped in soft morning mist.
It was beautiful.

But what I remember... was her smile.
Not because of the view, but because I shared it with her.

God, I fell in love with her again.
Just like I did yesterday.
Just like I knew I would tomorrow.

She smiled — that kind of unfiltered, quiet joy that made the call feel less like a screen and more like a window.
But then... she turned her camera briefly.
When she came back, the smile was still there—but worn differently. Like a coat that didn’t fit anymore, but you wear anyway because someone expects you to.

That’s when I saw it.

Just a flicker. A quiet fade.
The kind of shadow you only notice when you're already in love with the light.
She didn’t want me to see the weight she carried.
The exhaustion. The anticipation of the life she was heading into.
The version of tomorrow that didn’t include this call, this view, this us.

Still, she stayed on the line a little longer than usual.
She stared at the mountains with me, then whispered,
“I wish I’m with you right now.”

She didn’t even look at me when she said it.

And I didn’t panic.
Didn’t beg.
Didn’t cling.

I just took a slow sip and said,
“In time, my dear. In time.”

Then she waved. Said something soft like “Ingat.”
And the screen went black—the kind of black that feels heavier than silence.

I stared at my reflection in the monitor, still lit by the glow of her absence.
Still holding my mug.
Still hearing the echo of her laugh lingering somewhere in the corners of the room.

And that’s when the thought slipped in—
uninvited, quiet, and devastating,
like guilt in a quiet church.

Maybe one day, someone will build on that guava lot.
Maybe they’ll never know something once bloomed there—by accident, by magic, by survival instinct.

And maybe in 2061, Halley’s Comet will streak across the sky again,
and if I’m still here, I’ll look up and whisper her name like a prayer.

Was she the tree that bloomed where no one looked?
Or the comet that stayed longer than it should?

Maybe she was both.
Maybe I was too.

And maybe—despite the clock, the silence, the looming departure—
we were still choosing each other, in quiet ways, every single day.

To be continued.

The Ghost of the Past and the Recurring Facebook Deactivation

2025-06-01T11:38:00.004+08:00

I’m doing good—no questions about that. Over a year sober. Physically fit. Mentally stable. But something still doesn’t feel right. It’s the ghost of the past that continues to haunt me.

A few years ago, I went through a breakup so devastating it almost ended me—literally. I was lost, confused, and ashamed. And what made it worse? It all happened in my 30s. People assume you’ve got life figured out by then. I didn’t. Not even close.

I had been overstimulated for years—constantly distracted by everything the modern world throws at us: social media, mindless content, digital noise. None of it helped. They didn’t solve my problems; they just numbed me to the storm building inside. That was when I realized how vulnerable and mentally weak I had become.

The first step in rebuilding myself was obvious: quit alcohol. It had been the main culprit behind most of my missteps. But the deeper I went, the more I saw how the internet—and social media in particular—was quietly eating away at my focus, patience, and peace.

I took action. I slowed down and eventually shut down my accounts for prolonged periods. And here’s what I discovered:

Realizations from Logging Off

Instant gratification is a dangerous drug. It makes you crave validation, convinces you that your worth is measured by reactions and comments. You chase that high, but it crashes—hard. And when it does, you feel empty, without even knowing why.
The addiction is subtle. Scrolling endlessly becomes a reflex. You feel “busy” but go nowhere. Each post gives you a dopamine hit that lasts a second, then you’re back to the void again. It weakens the mind, erodes patience, and warps attention. I realized this loop needed to stop.

Just today, after keeping Facebook active for a little over two weeks, I deactivated it again. My sleep, which had been solid for months, started to slip. My focus at work dipped a bit too. Sure, my social life got a boost—but nothing deep. Just exchanges of surface-level validation, traded like currency.

To be clear, I’ve built a solid foundation of discipline. I don’t spiral like before. But the triggers are still familiar. So I asked myself: why put my hard-earned peace in jeopardy for something so unnecessary?

So here I am again—back in late-2000s mode. Offline. Unreachable. Free.

The Deeper Ghost: Love and Loss

But it’s not just the overstimulation that made me deactivate. There’s something deeper—something older.

Facebook was the medium that gave me the greatest love of my life. And staying active on it is like lingering at a tombstone, constantly visiting a graveyard of something beautiful that’s now gone. That’s exactly how it feels.

Though my desire to reconnect with her has faded over time, it still pokes at me. Each reactivation is like turning a doorknob I’ve promised myself to leave alone. At first, there’s excitement. But then the memories rise—uninvited, unstoppable—and I spiral again.

Apparently, I still love her.

Choosing the Hard Path

There’s no rule that says, “Just go with the flow. Everyone’s online. Why resist?” No. When I quit alcohol and committed to fitness, I had one clear goal: to reclaim my mental health. And I’m applying the same mindset to my digital life.

I’m not rejecting connection or trying to live in complete solitude. I just believe in taking vacations from overstimulation. I believe in facing boredom. Facing internal struggles. We don’t need to always distract ourselves from what hurts.

Sometimes, the best way to heal is to look straight into the pain—without filters, without scrolling past it, without numbing it down.

Alcohol-Free Day 400: Ekis si RED

2025-05-25T13:23:00.002+08:00

Eksena sa Tindahan

Me: Te, pagbilhan nga!

Red: Uy tol, kamusta ka na? Runner na 'yarn? Haha! Fresh talaga pag tatakbo pa lang e, 'no? Mamaya haggard ka na naman. Bonding na lang tayo—di ka pa mapapagod. Tagal na natin walang bonding eh. Di na kita kilala, tol. Seryoso na ba talaga 'yan?

Me: Sa nakaraang apat na raang araw, wala kang tinanong sa’kin kundi ‘y
an. 'Wag mo akong gaguhin sa linyang “di mo na ko kilala.” Halos araw-araw tayong nagkikita—di mo lang matanggap na di kita pinapansin.

Red: Tsss... Ang talim mo na magsalita ngayon, boi. Napaka-walang utang na loob mo. Sino ang sumama sa’yo nung down na down ka? Sino ang dumamay sa’yo nung lahat tinalikuran ka na? Sino ang nanatili sa tabi mo nung kailangan mong makalimot?!! Yumabang ka na nang husto, pare! Ganyan ka ba sa kaibigan?

Me: Hindi tayo magkaibigan, at alam mo 'yan. Lahat ng naibigay mo sa’kin, binayaran ko rin—at may interes pa. Nung one time na sinasabi mong sinamahan mo ko, asan ka nung muntik na kong mabangga ng sasakyan? Asan ka nung nagbabadya na ang gout sa mga binti ko? Asan ka nung nagrerebelde na atay ko? Asan ka nung mukha na kong butete at palaging masakit ang tiyan? Asan ka nung dugo na ang iniihi ko?

Higit sa lahat—ASAN KA NUNG BUMIBIGAY NA ANG MENTAL HEALTH KO?!!! Andito ka pa rin sa tindahan at tuloy pa rin sa pagyaya sa’kin sa letseng “bonding” na 'yan! Langya ka. Buti sana kung maisasama kita sa hukay. Pero tulad ng ginawa mo sa mga mahal ko sa buhay, sila lang ang sinundo ni kamatayan habang chill na chill ka at pinapanood ang pagpanaw nila. Tang-ina ka. Hindi tayo magkaibigan.

Red: O, bakit ako sinisisi mo? Di ako nagkulang ng paalala sa’yo—“moderately,” nga 'di ba? Nag-aral ka pa mandin, pero ang obob mo sa part na 'yan? Pare, ginawa ako hindi para demonyohin ka kundi samahan ka, at tulungan kang makalimot paminsan-minsan. Nao-offend ba ako tuwing sinasabi n'yong “naabuso ako?” Ako lang ang inaabuso na hindi nagrereklamo. HAHAHA!

Bakit ako ang mananagot sa mga naging isyu sa katawan at isip mo? Kasalanan ko ba na wala kang disiplina? Mga tropa mo, tropa pa rin kami hanggang ngayon kasi di tulad mo—hindi nila ako inaabuso.

Me: Correction—“HINDI KA PA NAAABUSO.” Nung tropa pa tayo, kabilang ako sa sinasabi mong “matino pa, kaya pa, may disiplina pa.” At alam mo na kahit unti-unti na kong napupunta sa adiksyon at pagkalulong sa’yo, sinasabi mong “moderated” pa rin ako.

Wag mo akong gaguhin. Karamihan ng tropa mo ay in denial lang! Mga nagsasabing OK pa sila kahit lulong na sa’yo. Ilang dekada mong sinabi sa’kin na OK pa ako. Nung bata pa ko at malusog, sinabi mo rin sa’kin ‘yan—na “moderate lang.”

Sinabi mo ba sa’kin na isang araw, maaaring ma-depress ako, mangailangan ako ng instrumento para makalimot, at maaaring “maabuso” kita? HINDI! Kasi naka-tadhana kang abusuhin—at alam mo 'yan! Bakit ka mao-offend sa bagay na kasama na sa paglikha sa’yo?

Red: Aba! Hindi ko hawak ang mga isip n’yo! Ako ay isa lamang instrumento na magbibigay sa inyo ng kaginhawahan ng pakiramdam, at dadalhin kayo sa lugar na wala na ang mga alalahanin n’yo sa buhay. Bakit ako ang sisisihin mo? Pare-pareho kayong may sariling utak, so bakit parang kasalanan ko?

Me: See? E di inamin mo rin. Dahil diyan, totoong ako ang may hawak ng sarili kong pag-iisip—at HINDING-HINDI na tayo magba-bonding ulit. Itaga mo 'yan sa bato. Hindi ko iko-kumpromiso ang ika-400 na araw na wala na ako sa kontrol mo.

At hayaan mong klaruhin ko sa’yo: Tapos na akong tumakbo. At itong “freshness” na sinasabi mo, kahit pagod ako—ay dahil matagal na kong NAG-QUIT sa’yo!

Red: Ok. Ang akin lang naman e... miss na kita, pare. Isa ka sa mga madaming masasayang memories na nakasama ko. Mga wacky moments mo na ako lang ang nakakaalam. Pero kung ayaw mo talaga—well, good luck.

As you can see, wala na akong laman ngayon. Meaning, may mga tropa pa rin ako na tumatangkilik sa’kin. Di ka kabawasan. HAHAHAHA!

Ate: Hoy! Kanina ka pa nakatitig d’yan sa bote ng Red Horse. Bibili ka ba? Haha!

Me: Ay, sorry te. Pagbilhan lang ako ng katol. Pwede akin na lang ‘tong basyo ng Red Horse mo? Gagawin kong stand ng katol.

Ate: Sa dami ng deposito ng bote na hindi mo na kinuha sa’kin noon, ‘yong iyo na 'yan. Haha!

Red: Stand ng katol, ampotah...

Me: Oo, pre. Magkaroon ka naman ng silbi.

Where Echoes Learn to Kneel

2025-05-03T23:39:00.000+08:00

He walks beneath the hush of stars,

a ghost of vows the wind still keeps.

Each step, a psalm in battle scars.

Each silence—where the sorrow sleeps.

They said “Move on, the past has died,”

but how to mourn what’s still alive?

A phantom curled up deep inside—

no grave for that which did survive.

She lives in him, like ancient ink

etched on the marrow, not the skin.

No prayer can scrub it out, no drink

undo the war still fought within.

Two years have passed—or maybe less,

for time plays tricks on souls that ache.

He counts his days by tenderness

he fakes by laughing wide awake.

He did not beg. He did not plead.

He simply bore the weight of grace.

Not out of lack, nor selfish need,

but just to never lose her face.

He’s changed—by storms, by fire, by steel.

He’s not the man who lost her then.

He’s built of something raw and real,

but still too soft to speak again.

Some nights, his pride climbs high enough—

his chest swells with a lion’s heart.

He swears, “One message should be tough…

just one could tear the night apart.”

But no—his tongue becomes a stone.

His hands, they freeze above the screen.

For peace is earned, not merely known,

and words, once spent, can’t stay unseen.

It’s not that he has lost his fire.

It’s not that he’s too shy to call.

He walks with poise, with pure desire,

and power sculpted from the fall.

He’s learned to tame his brightest flare,

not out of fear—but discipline.

He’d rather rot in silent prayer

than trespass where she once had been.

His poems—his pathetic reach.

His rhymes—the cries behind the mask.

This verse? A graveyard he can’t breach.

His courage? In the strength not to ask.

She does not call. He does not write.

And still, she echoes every night.

In words unsaid and songs unheard,

in memories blurred but still upright.

He honors peace the way monks vow

to drink the storm and feed the flame.

He walks alone beneath that plow

of “I still love, but won’t reclaim.”

And though the world may never hear

the ache behind his silent art,

he writes her name in every tear

he hides beneath a sculpted heart.

A man who chose the sacred pain

of loving loud without a sound—

to never speak, to not explain,

yet worship all she left unfound.

He could return. He has the means.

But in his silence, there's a creed:

“Disturb her peace? By no machines.
I’d rather bleed than plant that seed.”

A man in love with silence still—

a myth, a whisper, half a plea.

He walks beneath the weight and will

to let her go…

and never be.

Black Saturday and the Death of My Main Character Syndrome

2025-04-21T14:12:00.000+08:00

It was 4:00 a.m. on Black Saturday. Everyone woke up early to pack for a picnic at the nearby beach. I was in Batangas with my relatives, along with my brother. The previous night had been rough—I was once again put in the spotlight for not drinking alcohol. I had to explain myself, as my uncle wasn’t used to seeing me just sitting in a corner, engaging in the conversation with only a glass of water in hand. I've been sober for over a year now.

“So, today’s probably going to be another round of convincing these people why I chose not to drink,” I told myself the moment I opened my eyes that morning. Still, I got out of bed feeling carefree, choosing not to overthink it. If people insist on their opinions, I’ll let them—but they won’t make me relapse. That’s my conviction.

The beautiful landscapes of Batangas offered me a chance to reflect even more deeply. It was a gorgeous morning, and the sun was rising as we made our way to the nearby beach. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before—something I expected, since I rarely sleep well anywhere other than my own bed at home. But the lack of sleep didn’t prevent me from arriving at some meaningful realizations. While staring at the mountain ranges, three thoughts came to me:

Be Present – Back in the ’90s and early 2000s, we didn’t have smartphones constantly distracting us from the moment. All we had were each other—real-time conversations that fostered meaningful exchanges. I realized that whenever a chance for conversation arises, it’s an opportunity to sharpen the slowly dying art of communication. Genuinely respond with a mind unsaturated by the hundreds of random internet images and videos. Put away your phone—or whatever your distraction of choice is—and embrace the present moment, whether it’s connecting with people or simply admiring the scenery around you.
You Are Not the Center of the Universe – Stop the Main Character Syndrome (MCS) – The world doesn’t revolve around you. Stop perceiving others as mere background characters in the story of your life. That mindset leads to thoughts of superiority, which, in turn, trigger an ongoing need for validation. Narcissism grows in silence, until eventually, you operate on a covert mission to gain praise just to feel better about yourself. How messed up is that? And it all starts from thinking others don’t compare to your supposed level of “self-improvement.” You’ll end up becoming manipulative and controlling just to bend everything to your liking—turning into a full-blown asshole. The worst part? You might not even notice it at first. But eventually, everyone else will—and that’s how you become a certified "Karen."
Listen More. Acknowledge More – To overcome MCS, you need to genuinely listen to people. Acknowledge their thoughts and respond in the moment. Really process what they’re saying. Come up with responses that satisfy their input enough to move the conversation forward naturally. If you always steer the discussion toward your own preferred topic—just because you think it’s more interesting—you’re acting like an MCS brat who believes others’ ideas are dull and that your input will magically “save” the vibe. Not only are you robbing yourself of the chance to learn something new from others, but you’re also hijacking the flow of the conversation for your own ego.

These three realizations hit me hard—because they reflect my own struggles. Sometimes, when conversations feel boring—when I’m not getting the validation I crave or don’t feel heard enough—I grab my phone. I scroll a little just to distract myself, then rejoin the talk, barely hearing what’s been said. I pick up a few lines, rephrase them in my own words, and pretend I was listening the whole time. That’s messed up. Some might say it's normal in today’s age of constant distraction, but it wouldn't hurt to put our devices aside and truly be present.

Whenever I sense the connection is getting dull or pointless, I try to rescue the moment by tossing in some “intriguing” topic—usually something about myself. Classic MCS behavior. I end up sidelining others just because I get bored easily and assume I have better ideas than they do. It weakens my ability to truly listen and build genuine relationships. All because of this unconscious hunger for validation—at the expense of the very lessons I claim to reflect on.

Moments later, we arrived at the beach. I noticed how serious my reflections had become—I wasn’t my usual self. I was quiet and filled with a strong desire to act on those realizations. We settled into a simple cottage by the shore, but I didn’t initiate or join any conversation. No one talked to me or attempted to engage. That hit me. Turns out, most of my social interactions happen because I start them. I’m often the talkative one.

But it was okay.

The silence brought peace. It gave me more time to reflect—this time, with the tranquil beach right in front of me. As I sat, hypnotized by the calm sea, my uncle eventually broke the silence by offering me a drink. I politely declined. Usually, whenever I refuse alcohol, I feel compelled to explain. But this time, I didn’t. I acknowledged the offer with a smile and simply said, “I don’t drink anymore.” That was it.

I stayed in the circle, listening to their stories without interrupting—unless asked. When I did respond, I kept it minimal. I didn’t hijack the discussion. At one point, I felt the urge to grab my phone. The conversation wasn’t about me, so it didn’t spark my interest. I thought about playing a video just to subtly show my disinterest—like, “Go on with your booze talk, I’ll entertain myself.” But there was no signal. I couldn’t load anything.

That brief moment of frustration exposed how quickly I was ready to abandon my own reflections. I felt like a hypocrite. So, I put my phone away and turned back to the conversation. This time, without distractions, I really listened. I absorbed what they said, processed their words, connected them to my own experiences, and formulated thoughts I was ready to share—if given the chance. And at that moment, all three of my realizations finally bore fruit.

The most rewarding outcome? I learned things about my uncle—my late father’s sibling—that I never knew before. By actively listening, I was able to ask questions that came naturally and were relevant to his story. That led to even deeper insights about our family. If I had stayed in MCS mode, I never would’ve learned these things.

The highlight of the conversation was discovering that my uncle is going through a relationship crisis within the family. He has wounds that remain unhealed—wounds he might not even know how to address. Or maybe he’s simply numb. That, right there, is why listening matters.

So I kept listening. I asked questions—not about myself, but about him and our family. He opened up freely. I could sense his relief, like a weight being lifted. I never once stole the spotlight. The conversation flowed naturally, like water—uninterrupted. It was a beautiful moment.

By the end, I felt an immense sense of satisfaction for successfully putting my realizations into action. There wasn’t a trace of MCS in that exchange. It felt good to strengthen my bond with my relatives simply by acknowledging them—and not by trying to explain why I don't drink. In the past, I would’ve gone into defensive mode—explaining the science and philosophy behind my choice, trying to look smart and rational while subtly making them seem like drunken idiots. That kind of toxic superiority complex that people sometimes develop when they’re “bettering themselves.” I used to be that guy. But not anymore.

This time, I took the mockery—even the emasculating jokes from my uncle about how a “real man” drinks—and simply smiled. I offered a short apology that I couldn’t drink and left it at that. And because of that humility, I gained something far more valuable: insight into his pain, his struggles, and his humanity.

That, to me, is what being a real man looks like—not whether you drink or not.

I wasn’t required to stay in the drinking circle—and for the first time, I didn’t feel compelled to. The usual urge to linger, to earn laughs or nods, to soak in that unspoken validation... it just wasn’t there anymore. It was strange, but freeing. I began to sense that maybe I wasn’t needed in that space—and instead of feeling excluded, I felt light. For someone who once fed so heavily on approval, this quiet detachment felt like growth.

More importantly, I was starting to appreciate others—not just through the lens of how they saw me, but for who they genuinely were. That alone felt like a turning point. But I suppose my social battery had drained quicker than usual, so I quietly exited the conversation and wandered off to the sea.

I waded into the water, waist-deep, and paused.

Reflection found me again. The silence of the open sea cradled my thoughts. This is liberating, I remember thinking. I had never appreciated the ocean quite like I did in that moment. There, with no distractions, freedom poured its full meaning into me.

I took a deep breath, filled my lungs with the salt-tinged air, and dove in.

What followed was one of the best days of my life. I swam, unbothered, unhurried, unchained. Lap after lap within the allowed area, until exhaustion crept in—but even that felt welcome. I wasn’t swimming to prove anything. I wasn’t swimming away from anything. I had simply fallen in love with the water again.

No alcohol in my system—just the occasional sips of fresh water when I felt thirsty, then right back to swimming. I didn’t even bother with sunblock. The moment had momentum, and I didn’t want to interrupt it. That kind of immersion—body, mind, and soul—felt sacred.

As I swam continuously, a memory from long ago came rushing back: summer of 1998. I was just a boy when a fishing boat, left unanchored, began drifting away. I remember people shouting from the shore, but no one acted. I dove into the sea, fear coursing through me, and swam—hard. The boat kept slipping farther and farther. My muscles screamed. I truly believed I wouldn’t make it. But I kept going—pushed by something more than strength. Willpower. Youthful defiance. Maybe a deep sense of duty.

And somehow, I reached it. Somehow, I pulled that boat back to shore.

That same willpower, buried beneath years of distraction, came alive again that Black Saturday. As I swam with nothing but rhythm and breath, I felt like that boy again—untouched by performance, uncorrupted by ego. Just pure movement. Pure presence.

It was Holy Week, after all—and without planning it, I had found my own kind of spiritual retreat. A return not just to silence, but to self. A sacred pause from the noise I used to chase.

I’ll treasure that moment, and I’ll try to replicate it whenever I can.

No more MCS.
No more narcissistic hunger.
Just presence, peace, and genuine connection with the people I love.

820 Days

2025-04-08T22:58:00.000+08:00

You showed me meaning, gave my soul its spark,

Lit up my world when it was cold and dark.

You were — and still are — the breath that I take,

The calm in the storm, the dawn when I break.

Though I don’t see you like I used to do,

You linger near, like the sky holds the blue.

In dreams, we walk with fingers entwined,

Two hearts once lost, now perfectly aligned.

Your smile — it haunts me, soft and coy,

A fleeting trace of joy I miss.

The mary calm before the storm,

A love that burned with quiet bliss.

I hear your voice in the wind’s low hum,

Like the beat of a song I wish would come.

The touch of your hands still lives in my skin,

A warmth I long for again and again.

We laughed like children, wild and free,

And in those laughs, I found all of me.

Your mood swings danced with mine like fire,

Yet somehow, love kept lifting us higher.

Even the flaws — they shine in gold,

Our tangled hearts, the stories told.

The jokes we cracked, the looks we shared,

Those fleeting glances that said we cared.

You were the merry in my madness,
The joy that eased my morning sadness.
And though you’ve gone, and time won’t stay,
Those traces linger, come what may.

It’s been a while since you walked away,

But my love still blooms in quiet display.

Like a star that won’t give up its light,

Still burning strong in endless night.

You’re a comet — rare, heartbreakingly bright,

A streak through the soul, too fierce for flight.

I may never again see you face to face,

But you've carved in my soul your sacred place.

Some days I forget, then a scent, a sound,

Pulls me to where you're still around.

Not all love survives, some remains in pain,

A whisper, a wound — a beautiful stain.

Sayonara, my only true love — my muse,

May fate be kind if we ever get to choose.

And should we meet again in another life,

I swear to love you without the strife.

I’ll treat you right if time rewinds,

And hold you close till life resigns.

That vow I make beneath the sky,

To you — the only truth I can’t deny.

Wherever you are, if you look above,

Know there’s a man still drunk in your love.

He cannot lie — there’s no disguise,

You're the one he’ll never revise.

You are sacred history in his book,

An untouchable place no one else can look.

Even if the story reached its end,

You remain the chapter he’ll never amend.

Some stories end, but leave a hue—
Of joy that time can’t quite undo.
You were my storm, my peace, my song—
A merry ache that keeps me strong.

The Lollipop: A Cautionary Tale of Sweet, Misplaced Hope

2025-03-04T21:13:00.000+08:00

Back in 2010, when people still tuned in to FM radio and Bluetooth file-sharing was peak technology, I wrote this story. At the time, I thought it was profound—a tale of love, longing, and unspoken confessions wrapped in a metaphor as sweet as a lollipop. Looking back now? It’s a mix of pure cringe and a flood of memories I didn’t ask for. But hey, nostalgia has a funny way of making even our most awkward moments feel worth revisiting. So, here it is—raw, dramatic, and dripping with the emotional intensity of a guy who thought love was best expressed through candy.

Adam was the kind of guy who believed in grand romantic gestures but had the subtlety of a fireworks display in a library. A small-town boy who had watched one too many 90s rom-coms, he believed that consistency was the key to a woman's heart. And what better way to prove his dedication than through a daily offering of a single lollipop?

Alice, his unsuspecting office mate, was the lucky recipient of this sugar-coated affection. At first, she thought it was just a quirky habit, like someone who always wore mismatched socks or insisted on drinking coffee from a chipped mug. She accepted each lollipop with a polite smile, assuming Adam was just being friendly. Meanwhile, Adam saw that smile as a beacon of something deeper—something meant to be.

As the lollipop ritual continued, they grew close in that casual, coworker way—sharing inside jokes about their boss’s weird obsession with paperclips, exchanging stories about childhood, and occasionally teaming up to survive grueling overtime shifts. Adam, however, was operating under a different reality: he saw these moments as proof that Alice was warming up to him, that the lollipops were working their magic.

Valentine’s Day was approaching, and Adam decided it was the perfect time to unveil the truth—his feelings, his unwavering devotion, and the reason behind the lollipops. But he wasn’t an idiot (or so he thought). He wouldn't blurt it out over a casual lunch break. No, he needed the moment. The right ambiance. The perfect confession. So he did what any hopeful romantic would: he asked Alice out on Valentine’s Day. And she said yes.

In Adam’s mind, this was it. The culmination of weeks of effort. The lollipops had done their job. The universe was on his side. He imagined the grand reveal—Alice gasping in shock, overwhelmed by his heartfelt confession, maybe even shedding a single tear as she realized that she had loved him all along.

Reality, however, had other plans.

On the fateful day, Adam was buzzing with excitement. He had everything ready—maybe even rehearsed a speech in the mirror. But just a few hours before their “date,” Alice casually dropped a bomb on him.

“Hey, Adam, I almost forgot to tell you—I’m actually going out with my friends tonight.”

Boom. Silence. Internal devastation.

Adam blinked. Laughed nervously, as if she were joking. But she wasn’t.

“Oh, and also…” she hesitated for a moment, “I won’t be coming back to the office after today.”

Boom again. Double explosion. The lollipops had failed. The universe had betrayed him.

Alice left, completely unaware of the wreckage she left behind. Adam stood there, lollipop in hand, feeling like the human embodiment of a tragic movie ending—but not the cool, cinematic kind. More like the ones where the hero gets hit by a bus right after delivering a heartfelt monologue.

He never told Alice about the tiny love notes hidden inside each lollipop stick. He never told her that, from the very first one to the very last, he had been saying I love you all along. Maybe she never saw the signs. Maybe she did and ignored them. Maybe she was just being kind, accepting his gestures without thinking too much about them.

Adam would eventually move on, but the sting of that day would linger—because nothing wounds deeper than a love story that never even started.

And so, Adam would carry this lesson with him, hoping that, next time, he’d find a love that didn’t require decoding hidden messages inside candy. But for now, he’d sit there, reflecting on the past, wondering if he’d ever meet someone who would love him back before the world ran out of lollipops.

A Love Meant to Leave

2025-02-28T00:08:00.006+08:00

The Goodbye That Held On

The park where we always hung out felt different that midday—quieter, heavier, as if the trees and the wind knew what was about to happen. The usual laughter of kids playing, the distant chatter of vendors, the rustling leaves—all seemed muffled, like the world was bracing itself for the inevitable.

We sat on our favorite bench, the one under the old acacia tree, where the shadows stretched long, swaying gently in the breeze. I could hear the faint chirping of birds, but even their songs carried a note of sorrow. She stared ahead, lost in thought, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the wooden bench between us. I studied her profile—the curve of her jaw, the way the afternoon sun painted golden hues on her skin. She was beautiful, painfully so, and I hated how much I loved her in that moment.

She took a deep breath before speaking.

"Tama na siguro to… Let’s end it here."

Her voice was calm, measured—but I caught the hesitation, the slight tremor she tried to hide.

I clenched my jaw, forcing a steady breath. I knew this was coming, but hearing it still felt like a blade slicing through my chest. “Why now?” My voice barely came out.

She exhaled, like she had been holding in something too heavy for too long.

"Kasi kung hindi natin tatapusin ngayon, lalo lang tayong masasaktan." She looked down at her hands. "Alam mong aalis ako. Alam mong mahirap ang long-distance. Ayokong dumating sa puntong mapagod tayo, masaktan tayo, mawala tayo nang hindi natin namamalayan."

I stared at her, searching for something—doubt, regret, anything that would tell me she wasn’t as sure as she sounded. But her eyes were steady, unwavering, even as they glistened with unshed tears.

"Ganun na lang?" I whispered.

She turned to me then, offering the softest, saddest smile. She reached for my hand, gripping it just tight enough for me to feel how hard this was for her, too.

Her words felt like an anchor pulling me down, but they also carried a strange weight of truth. She was always the more rational one between us. Still, reason didn’t make it hurt any less.

For a moment, we just sat there, staring at the cracked pavement beneath our feet, as if looking for answers that weren’t there. Then, impulsively, I reached for her other hand, lacing my fingers through hers. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she squeezed back—a silent acknowledgment of everything we had been, everything we still were, even in this moment of breaking apart.

"Can we fight please? Kahit para sa mga natitirang months na lang…Please." I admitted, my voice raw.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she just stared at me—deep, unwavering, as if searching my soul for something unspoken. Her eyes softened, not with pity, but with something else. Understanding. Maybe even approval.

I took it as a yes. As confirmation that she felt the same way.

A slow smile crept onto my lips, relief washing over me like a tide. If she wasn’t saying goodbye yet, then maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to hold onto.

The wind stirred around us, rustling the leaves above, carrying whispers of something unseen, something just beyond reach. The world continued, indifferent to the weight of this moment, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that fate was pausing—watching, waiting. As if this wasn’t the end. As if something greater was set in motion.

We sat there, hand in hand, letting the silence stretch between us, no longer heavy but charged with unspoken possibilities. My heart ached, but not in the way that signals loss—it was the kind that precedes something profound, something yet to unfold.

Because love, even when tested, has a way of rewriting its own fate.

Borrowed Time

With just five months left, I resolved to make every moment count.

"On one condition," she had said, her eyes locked onto mine, her voice steady yet gentle. "This time, I take charge."

A protest stirred inside me, but I swallowed it down. I had lost her once before because of my need to control everything. This time, I would not make the same mistake. "Alright," I said, voice firm. "You call the shots. I’ll follow. No more second-guessing you. No more trying to mold things into what I want them to be."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Then let’s do this."

And just like that, we found ourselves in a new chapter—one where I let her lead, and I followed willingly.

We went on memorable motorcycle road trips, chasing the sun, pretending that time wasn’t slipping away. She defied the conservative expectations of her family, sneaking out just to be with me. And I loved her for it.

We were reckless, madly in love, running against time. I rode for hours after my night shifts just to see her, despite my exhaustion. The risk never mattered; the only thing that did was reaching her. I would speed through the highways, dodging the early morning traffic, my hands gripping the throttle like my life depended on it. And in a way, it did. Every ride to see her felt like chasing a dream that was slipping through my fingers.

She, my angel, had once been the one manipulated, restrained by my selfish love. Now, she was teaching me what it meant to be free—to love without domination, to surrender without losing myself. And it was liberating.

We found joy in the simplest of moments—late-night drives, getting drenched in the rain, stealing hours in places where no one knew us. The thrill of sneaking her past curfews, of knowing we were defying the rules just to be together, made every second electric. She was willing to break the rules for me, to bend time itself so that we could stretch the days we had left.

I should have felt victorious, knowing she was breaking away from everything she had always obeyed just to be with me. But instead, I felt humbled. I saw what love truly was—not possession, not control, but a force that made someone want to choose you, again and again, despite everything.

For the first time, I despised the man I had been—the one who once sought to control her, who feared losing grip of what he thought was his. And for the first time, I truly admired the woman she had always been.

She was my light. And I? I was finally learning how to let her shine.

It was a honeymoon phase (again) with an expiration date. I cursed fate for being so cruel—why let me love her this deeply, only to take her away?

A Moment Suspended in Time

One particular memory remains etched in my mind.

It was October. She was processing her papers in Pampanga, and I had taken her there on my motorcycle. The moment I took off her helmet, something in her stopped me in my tracks. She glowed—an aura so powerful it knocked the wind out of me. A cruel reminder of what I was about to lose.

As she walked away, time seemed to slow, like one of those dramatic shampoo commercials where every movement is exaggerated. She turned her head and smiled, the kind of smile that haunts a man forever. It was beautiful, magical even—just like the first time we met. But this time, the magic was laced with sorrow.

The moment she disappeared into the building, my tears fell. Silent, heavy. I clenched my jaw, trying to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to consume me, but it was no use. My hands instinctively reached for a cigarette, lighting it with the urgency of a man who needed something to hold on to. The smoke curled around my fingers, masking the scent of impending loss.

A nearby vendor, an old woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes that had witnessed too many sad faces, observed me. She sat behind a wooden cart, peeling boiled eggs with methodical precision. Her wrinkled hands barely trembled, as if she had long accepted the stories of heartbreak that will follow next on these emotional scenes. Her gaze lingered on me—not with pity, but with knowing.

I exhaled smoke and let my head drop slightly. This place wasn’t just a government office; it was a threshold to uncertainty. Every person who walked through those glass doors carried a silent question—would they return to the ones they loved, or would distance turn them into a memory?

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and straightened my posture, nodding at the old lady in quiet acknowledgment. She had probably seen hundreds like me—men and women left standing outside, watching their futures slip away through an automatic door.

I threw the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath my shoes. If she was going to leave, if fate had set this course for us, then I would stand here and take it like a man. No begging. No breaking down. Just this—one last, silent moment suspended in time.

The Fear of Letting Go

I loved her with every tick of the clock. But one day, as we sat eating street food at the park, she voiced her doubts again.

She wasn’t sure if we could survive the distance. She suggested we end things on our own terms before she left—as if preparing for fate’s cruel design. Her words shattered me. For months, I had been collecting all the positive energy in the universe, like Goku gathering a Spirit Bomb, believing we could overcome anything.

I tried to hide my disappointment, but something in me cracked. I used every ounce of persuasion I had, begging her to at least try. She looked me in the eyes, then simply said, "Sure." A single word, a single syllable. No reassurance. No promises. Just an uncertain agreement.

I should have seen it—the way she hesitated before taking another bite, how she wiped her fingers more times than necessary, her gaze dropping to the ground too often. She was fighting her own battle, but I was too consumed by my own fears to notice.

That night, I rode home lost in thought—so much so that I nearly got hit by a speeding car. The driver screeched to a halt inches from my motorcycle, his furious curses slicing through the air. "Are you trying to get yourself killed, you idiot?!"

Maybe I was. Maybe I was an idiot. An idiot for clinging to something that was destined to end. An idiot for letting anxiety cloud my judgment. An idiot for not realizing that I wasn’t the only one afraid.

My fingers tightened around the handlebars, my knuckles white with tension. I revved the engine, hard, as if the force of acceleration could drown out my thoughts. The city lights blurred as I sped away, my pulse roaring in my ears.

By the time I reached my apartment, my hands were trembling. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor, my helmet still clutched between my fingers. I had spent the entire ride cursing fate, cursing distance, cursing the cruel joke of falling in love with someone only to have them ripped away.

But in the quiet of my room, reality settled like dust in an abandoned house. This was happening. And all I could do was brace myself.

I exhaled shakily.

If I was going to lose her, I would do it standing tall. No more begging. No more desperate attempts to force destiny’s hand.

Just me, facing what was coming—whether I was ready or not.

Gifts of Time and Memory

December arrived, and my apartment, for the last time, became a haven filled with her laughter, her scent, her presence. It was where we had built memories, where she danced barefoot in my oversized shirts, where we had spent lazy mornings wrapped up in each other.

That morning, the scent of delivered Korean food filled the air—warm bowls of ramyeon, crispy kimbap rolls, and tteokbokki swimming in spicy sauce. She sat cross-legged on the floor, taking tiny bites, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

I handed her a small box. "Open it."

She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid, pulling out an analog wristwatch. She blinked, tilting her head like a confused puppy. "You know I can barely read these things, right? What is this, Titanic? Are you about to tell me time is endless?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "More like Interstellar—time is relative, especially when you’re far away. But this," I pointed to the ticking hands, "this keeps moving, no matter where we are. Just like us. The watch will keep ticking until the battery dies—unless we choose to stop it."

She frowned, clearly making an effort to decipher the watch face. "I swear, this is like trying to read ancient text. I’m a Gen Z, okay? I need numbers."

I laughed, leaning in to adjust the hands for her. "Consider it my final lesson in patience before you leave."

She grinned, slipping it onto her wrist. "So basically, every time I struggle to read this thing, I’ll think of you?"

"Exactly."

Then, she pulled out a bag and handed me something in return. Shirts—plain, different colors. No fancy logos, no cryptic messages. Just her way. Simple, yet thoughtful.

"Color-coded memories?" I mused, running my fingers over the fabric.

She shrugged. "Something like that. Each color is a phase of us. The bright ones for the crazy, stupid times. The dark ones for the tough days. And the in-between ones… well, that’s for whatever comes next."

I swallowed hard. It was more than just fabric—it was a timeline, a reminder of everything we had been, and everything we were about to be.

I pulled her into my arms, inhaling the familiarity of her hair, of this moment that was slipping away too fast. "I’ll wear these until they wear out."

She didn’t say anything. She just hugged me tighter.

That morning, we didn’t talk about the goodbyes waiting for us. Instead, we just existed, two souls wrapped in time, trying to hold onto something that was already fading into the horizon.

A Love That Could Have Been

I barely remembered how we got here—how I grabbed her wrist, pulled her onto my motorcycle, how she fought at first, then clung to me as I sped off into the night. I ignored her protests, ignored the roaring in my head, ignored everything except the desperate need to stop time, to stop her from leaving.

The city blurred behind us, neon lights shrinking into nothingness, swallowed by the storm rolling in from the horizon. My hands trembled against the handlebars. My heart slammed against my ribs, adrenaline and terror twisting inside me like a fever I couldn’t shake.

I wasn’t letting her go.

Not like this.

"Bumalik na tayo!" she shouted over the deafening roar of the wind and rain. "Ano bang ginagawa natin?!"

I gritted my teeth, pushing the throttle harder, faster—like outrunning reality was even an option.

Lightning split the sky above us, illuminating the empty road ahead. The first drops of rain kissed my skin, gentle, fleeting—before the heavens cracked open and drowned the world.

Her grip around my waist tightened, fingers digging into me—not out of fear, but out of surrender.

I swerved off the highway, pulling into a waiting shed by the roadside. The motorcycle skidded to a stop, tires slicing through the rain-soaked pavement. I killed the engine, chest heaving, pulse erratic.

The tin roof above us rattled violently under the downpour, each drop hammering down like the ticking of a clock I wanted to silence. Beside us, a lone streetlight flickered, casting a dim, uneven glow on her soaked figure.

She stood there, drenched and breathless, her wet hair clinging to her skin, her lips slightly parted—as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Thunder growled in the distance. My breathing was ragged.

Her eyes locked onto mine, dark pools of emotion I couldn’t quite read. Anger? Fear? Love?

"Sabihin mong mahal mo talaga ako!" I demanded, stepping closer. "Sabihin mong hindi mo ko iiwan…"

Her lower lip trembled. She whispered my name.

I grabbed her hands, pressing them against my chest, forcing her to feel the chaos beneath my skin.

"Tang i**..." My voice broke. "We can run. We can leave everything behind. Just say yes!"

She swallowed hard, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps. I saw it—the war inside her. Duty or love. The life she had built or the life I was offering her.

Her hands, still trapped in mine, trembled.

Then, she shook her head.

"Mahal kita, pero…"

No.

I gripped her tighter. "Walang pero. Just you and me. We can make this work. We can—"

And then—

She kissed me.

Hard.

The kind of kiss that steals the air from your lungs, that makes the world tilt, that says everything words never could.

The storm howled around us, rain soaking through every layer of clothing, but she was warm against me—so warm that I almost believed this could be real. That love alone could rewrite fate.

Her hands slid up to my face, her touch feverish, desperate, clinging—like she wanted to believe it too.

For a second, I thought I won.

For a second, I thought love was enough.

The rain pounded around us, lightning flashing across the night sky, illuminating the way she looked at me—like I was her entire world.

And then—

Darkness.

I gasped awake, my chest heaving, my fingers clutching at the sheets like I had just lost my grip on everything.

The room was silent. Empty.

No rain. No motorcycle. No her.

Just the slow, suffocating realization that it was never real.

I let out a shaky exhale, dragging a hand down my damp face.

It was just a dream.

But the desire to stop her? That part was real.

For one reckless, selfish moment, I had really considered it.

I had really thought about ruining her future—about taking away everything she had worked for—just so I wouldn’t have to lose her.

And that was the worst part of all.

Because even though I would never do it…

A part of me still wanted to.

A Christmas Apart

A week before Christmas, something inside me began to crack. Doubt seeped in like poison. She hadn’t given me the level of reassurance I craved—not in words, not in touch, not in the way I needed. She wasn’t distant, not exactly, but something about her felt quieter, lighter—like she was already learning to exist without me.

The way she checked her phone less. The way she no longer asked where I was or what I was doing. She was preparing. Softly. Silently. She was detaching.

And if she could, then so could I.

I convinced myself that I had to beat her to it, that I had to build my own walls before hers were fully in place.

So I made a decision.

I chose to spend Christmas with my mother. It was the logical choice, wasn’t it? The woman who had always been there for me. The one who might not have many Christmases left. The only woman who would never leave me.

She didn’t protest, as expected. She didn’t question it. Maybe she understood. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she thought I was simply being a good son. Maybe she saw what I was trying to do—the way I was silently rebelling against my own promises, breaking under the weight of losing control.

I didn’t know. I didn’t ask.

I just got on my motorcycle and rode to our province, a few hundred kilometers away, trying to outrun the feeling that I was making a mistake.

And while I drowned in my own self-inflicted torment, she sat alone on their porch, staring at the watch I had given her.

Checking the time.

Waiting.

Wondering if I’d at least send a message.

But she wasn’t the type to cause trouble. She wouldn’t demand answers. She wouldn’t lash out.

Instead, she endured the silence.

She endured me.

The ache of waiting for something that never came.

Then, at 11:27 PM, just before Christmas Eve, she sent me a message:

“What happened to you?”

I saw it. I read it. And then—I seen-zoned it.

I could’ve typed a reply.

I could’ve said, "I miss you."
I could’ve said, "I love you."
I could’ve said, "I don’t know how to handle this. I don’t know how to let you go."

But I didn’t.

I just stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before locking my phone and setting it down beside the half-empty bottle of redhorse.

The coming days were filled with half-hearted conversations, forced exchanges that barely felt like us. My replies were short, empty—just enough to acknowledge her messages, but never enough to make her stay.

"Kumain ka na?" she’d ask.
"Oo."

"Anong ginagawa mo?"
"Wala."

I wasn’t ignoring her. Not completely. But I wasn’t holding on, either.

I was answering, but I wasn’t talking.

I was present, but I wasn’t there.

By New Year’s Eve, I was fully drowning.

Alcohol numbed the sharp edges of my thoughts, but nothing could erase the truth.

I had done this to myself.

I told myself I was doing the right thing—detaching before she could detach from me.

I told myself this was better. Safer.

But as the countdown to midnight echoed through the house, as the fireworks exploded in the sky, as laughter and celebration filled the air, I felt nothing.

Nothing but the crushing weight of absence.

Nothing but the deafening silence where her voice should have been.

I made it through the night in a haze, stumbling between consciousness and regret, until finally, the first morning of the new year crept in.

I woke up to the stench of alcohol, the dull throbbing in my skull, the heavy ache in my bones.

And before I could stop myself, before I could even think—

I whispered her name.

Not my mother’s.

Not a prayer.

Hers.

And just like that, regret hit me like a truck.

I had wasted precious time. Time I would never get back. Time that was slipping away faster than I wanted to admit.

I could see it now—how I had clung so tightly to my pride, pretending to be indifferent when I was anything but. How I had let my need to prove a point overshadow the truth.

I had spent holidays trying to unlove her.

And just like in the movies, where the protagonist realizes his mistake at the last minute—

I grabbed my keys, threw on a jacket, and ran.

There were still days left before she would leave.

But time was still of the essence.

And I wasn’t going to waste another second.

A Love That Refused to Fade

I packed my bags and rode back to the city. Exhausting travel but I was really eager to make up with her. When I finally saw her, I half-expected her to be distant, to continue preparing for detachment. Instead, she stood before me, looking like she had already made up her mind.

And then, before I could say a word, she spoke:

“Let’s survive this my love. Let’s hold on.”

For a second, I thought I was still dreaming.

She wasn’t asking. She wasn’t uncertain. She was sure.

I stared at her, trying to process what she had just said. Just days ago, I was convincing myself that I had already lost. That she had already started to let go. That I had no choice but to accept it.

But now… this?

I wanted to ask her why. What changed? Had my absence over the holidays shaken her? Had she realized something in the silence? Or was this something she had known all along, something she just needed to say out loud?

None of that mattered now.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Okay,” I said. A slow, disbelieving smile spread across my lips.

She smiled back, and just like that, the weight on my chest lifted.

The war wasn’t over.

And this time, I wasn’t fighting alone.

I pulled her into my arms, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, her heartbeat steady beneath my fingertips. She smelled like home, like every moment we had ever shared.

"You know this isn’t just my dream, right?" she whispered against my chest, her voice trembling. "It’s theirs too. I worked so hard for this—not just for myself, but for them." She pulled back slightly, just enough for our eyes to meet. "But that doesn’t mean you’re not part of them… because you are. You’re my strength. You’re the reason I know I can do this."

I nodded, even as my mind betrayed me with images of pulling her away, of taking her hand and never looking back, of running to a place where time couldn’t touch us, where no one could ever take her from me.

But that wasn’t love—that was fear.

And I loved her too much to chain her to me when she was meant to fly.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to steady. "I know," I said, though my heart was crumbling with every word. "And I’m so damn proud of you."

She searched my face, as if memorizing me, as if she knew this moment would replay in our minds long after she was gone. Then, she whispered, "Then stay with me. Until I have to go."

I exhaled, grounding myself in the weight of her words, in the fleeting time we had left. “I will.”

I reached for her hand, tightening my grip—not to hold her back, but to hold on.

"We will survive this. We’ll hold on."

I brushed a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering at her jaw. "I love you."

That night, we laughed, we talked, we existed in a bubble where nothing else mattered. And in those fleeting moments, I allowed myself to pretend. To imagine a world where she didn’t have to leave, where we weren’t bound by flights and time zones. Where I could hold her forever.

But love, real love, wasn’t about possession. It was about letting someone soar, even if it meant watching them fly away. And as much as it hurt, I knew one thing for certain—whatever happened next, she would always be mine in the moments that mattered most

The Last Goodbye

On our final night, we sat at our favorite pares stall, a place that had unknowingly become a witness to our love story—where we shared memorable meals, traded laughter, and found solace in steaming bowls of broth. The scent of garlic and beef filled the air, the clinking of utensils blending with the murmurs of other late-night diners. It was just another night for them. But for us, it was the...last.

She was radiant, glowing in a way I hadn’t seen before. Her braces were gone. The moment I noticed, I let out an exasperated chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Wheww… bakit ngayon mo lang yan pinatanggal?" I groaned, half-laughing, half-devastated. "Ang unfair."

"Why?"

"You look so much better without those braces. Why just now?"

She grinned, flashing that perfect, newly freed smile. "Para may dahilan kang hintayin akong bumalik," she teased, sipping her mami noodles playfully.

But the joke stung. Because there were no guarantees. No promises of return. Only the silence between us and the ticking of time slipping away too fast.

I took countless pictures of her, capturing every angle, every expression. As if freezing these moments in my phone would somehow keep her with me longer. Every giggle, every flick of her hair, every glance—it was all too much and yet, not enough.

Then, as if sensing the storm within me, she leaned forward slightly, her lips forming the words “I love you.”

No sound. Just the delicate motion, a secret between us, something meant only for me.

My breath hitched. She had no idea what she had just done.

Or maybe she did. Maybe she knew exactly what effect it would have on me—that it would be the last thing etched in my mind before everything changed.

I wanted to stop time. To hold her in that moment forever. But I couldn’t.

I clenched my jaw, swallowing hard as I fought against the tears welling in my eyes. But it was useless. She saw right through me.

My vision blurred, the weight of everything crashing down at once. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold it all in, but my chest tightened, my throat burned. I was losing her, and there was nothing I could do.

She didn’t speak. She just stared at me—her eyes deep, unreadable, yet knowing. As if memorizing me, just as I was memorizing her.

My breath hitched, and I let out a weak, trembling chuckle. “Shet… napadami yung chili oil ko, my love.”

And then, just like that—the dam broke. My tears finally fell. Heavy, unstoppable.

She exhaled shakily before reaching out, taking my hands into hers, gripping them tightly.

“I’ll be back in three years, my love. You wait for me.”

Her voice was soft, but resolute. A promise. A plea. A prayer.

I nodded, quickly grabbing a tissue before my emotions spilled out in ways I wasn’t prepared for. I nodded again, forcing a small, fragile smile as if that could stop the ache in my chest from spreading.

My fingers trembled as they reached for her wrist, encircling the glass of the watch I had given her. A reminder. A tether. A piece of me she would carry across the world.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.

But she knew.

She had to know.

The nods. The way I looked into her eyes. The silent promise lingering between us.

I will wait for her.
I will wait for her.
I will wait for her.

Ang Sulat na Natengga sa Draft Items

2025-02-22T18:16:00.001+08:00

January 2024 was the last time we spoke, and it felt like the universe whispering the final lines of a story I wasn’t ready to close.

I was drained—physically, mentally, emotionally. After almost 400 km on the road with no sleep, I rang her phone with nothing but the weight of everything unsaid. Despite her busy schedule, she was gracious enough to answer my call, though I sensed it wasn’t out of warmth—but ultimate closure.

When I heard her voice, it was like stepping into a familiar storm, one I had already been swept away by too many times. I knew this was it—the last time our worlds would ever collide. She sounded tired, not just from work but from everything that had led us to this point. And though she had already warned me that she had nothing left to say, she still agreed to listen.

So I spoke. I poured out everything that had been choking me for months, knowing full well that words wouldn’t save what was already lost.

But before I get into that last conversation—the moment where everything I feared became real—let me take you back to where it all truly began.

The Last Goodbye

In January 2023, at a coffee shop we often visited, we said our final physical goodbye. After five months of what felt like the calm before the storm—the most stable, peaceful stretch of our relationship—the moment I had dreaded finally arrived. She had to leave the country, to chase a future that had no room for me.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t a betrayal. It was something we had both known would happen. It was inevitable. A reality I had agreed to long before, back when I thought I was strong enough to handle it. But as she stood there, ready to walk away, every ounce of that strength crumbled.

I had already decided that she was the woman I wanted to spend my life with. And yet, in the cruelest twist of fate, that same love—the love I had taken for granted for so long—was now the reason I was about to lose her.

I wanted to fight. I wanted to throw away every agreement, every logical reasoning, and just beg her to stay. I wanted to tell her that her dreams didn’t have to take her away from me, that we could build something here—something worth staying for. That I’d take on her burdens, that I’d work myself to the bone just to keep her close.

But I knew the truth.

I couldn’t compete with what was waiting for her. The life she had spent years working for, the opportunities that would finally give her everything she deserved—I was nothing against all of that. I was just a man in love, armed with nothing but desperate words and an empty promise to fight a battle I had already lost.

So, I did the only thing I could. I swallowed the lump in my throat, took her hand, kissed her for the last time, and looked into her eyes as I whispered the final “I love you” I would ever say in person.

She didn’t cry. She never did. She had always been the stronger one between us. But I saw it. The weight in her eyes. The silent acknowledgment of everything we had been, and everything we would never be again.

And me? I broke. I shattered right in front of her. I wept like a man being stripped of his soul. Because in that moment, I knew—I wasn’t just losing the woman I loved.

I was losing the only version of myself that had ever felt whole.

I rode my motorcycle home, but I wasn’t sure if I’d ever really make it back. Not to who I used to be. Not to the life I thought I had.

Somewhere on that endless road, through every stopover where I had to wipe my eyes just to see, something inside me stayed behind.

And she took it with her.

The Rock Bottom That Followed

After she left in early 2023, I spiraled into the worst state of alcoholism I had ever known. My health, especially my mental state, collapsed. I hit rock bottom. She endured so much of my mental decline, carrying the weight of my self-destruction until she finally broke.

She ended our long-distance relationship.

At first, I acted as if I was okay with it. I even agreed, pretending I understood. But after a few weeks, reality hit me—we were really done. This wasn’t just another fight. There was no “fixing it later.” No grand comeback.

That’s when things got even worse.

My alcoholism was at its peak, and every bit of weakness I had tried to hide was laid bare. I had no discipline, no self-control, no dignity left. And the worst part? She saw all of it. She saw me drowning, but she had already given me a thousand lifelines before. This time, she let go.

And that’s when the real desperation began.

I tried to manipulate her. I played mind games, twisted words, and clung to any ounce of hope I could fabricate. And when none of that worked, I did the worst thing imaginable—I threatened her.

Not because I ever wanted to hurt her, but because I wanted her to feel what I was feeling. I wanted her to see the damage, to see the wreckage she had left behind, as if that would make her stay. But she didn’t. She finally chose herself.

All because I couldn't accept that she was tired. That she just wanted peace.

And so, in January 2024, when I was at my lowest—after months of begging, after every attempt to pull her back into my misery—she finally agreed to hear me out one last time.

I still remember everything about that call.

I was exhausted. I had just come from an almost 400 km motorcycle ride, still running on no sleep. My body was breaking, but it was nothing compared to the weight in my chest.

She answered.

Her voice was calm, but distant. She sounded drained, the way a person does when they’ve been carrying something too heavy for too long.

I started with an apology—one she had probably heard a hundred times before. I admitted everything. That I was an alcoholic. That I was out of control. That I had been selfish, manipulative, and blind to her needs. That I had made her life a living hell instead of being the man she deserved.

She listened.

For the first time in a long time, she really listened.

And I let everything out. I told her I was going to change. That I was going to fight my demons, rebuild myself, and become someone worthy of her love again.

Then I asked her the question I was afraid to hear the answer to.

“Do you still have feelings for me?”

She sighed. And after a long pause, she said it.

“No. Wala na.”

That was it. No sugarcoating, no hesitation. Just the plain, brutal truth.

And at that moment, my world shattered.

I had been holding onto the idea that somehow, deep down, she still felt something. That maybe, just maybe, if I tried hard enough, I could reignite whatever was left. But she had already closed the book. I was the only one still flipping through the pages, searching for an ending that didn’t exist.

She said she had nothing more to say.

So I said my last words to her. A goodbye that I knew, this time, was final.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

The Cycle of Relapse & Redemption

After that final conversation, I swore to myself—I would change. This time, for real.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

But the truth was, I had no idea how to start. I was still the same wreck, except now, I had nothing left to hold onto. The very person I was trying to change for had already walked away. And so, I did what I always did when things got unbearable—I numbed the pain.

I told myself I could handle it. That I was strong enough to fix myself. That I didn’t need help. But the cycle was relentless. I'd manage a few days of sobriety, convince myself that I was getting better, and then fall back into the same pit at the slightest trigger. Streak, relapse, streak, relapse. Every time I clawed my way out, I’d slip back down, deeper than before.

Then came March 2024.

The month I finally stopped fighting.

Alcohol had sunk too deep into my system. The battle was over. I had lost. So I gave in.

I let go of my goal. I had no support system, no real motivation left—so why the hell was I still trying? The first two weeks of March were the ugliest, most destructive drinking sessions I had ever put myself through. I didn’t need a reason. I didn’t need company. I drank in the morning. I drank before sleeping. I drank just because I was awake.

I lost my job. My life was in absolute ruins.

And then came the worst relapse of all.

It was late at night. The alcohol had burned through whatever self-restraint I had left. My mind, already drowning in self-loathing, convinced me of one last, desperate move.

I grabbed my phone.

I typed out every hateful, violent thought my broken heart had kept bottled up. Every resentment, every blame, every ounce of self-pity disguised as anger. And then, I hit send.

I wanted her to feel my suffering. To see the wreckage she left behind.

But she didn’t even give me the satisfaction of a reaction.

She blocked me. On everything.

She erased me from her world for good.

And that’s when it hit me—the final, devastating realization.

It wasn’t the drinking. It wasn’t the pain. It wasn’t even the breakup.

It was me.

I was the problem.

It took losing the last shred of respect she had for me to finally see it. I wasn’t some tragic hero in a sad love story. I was pathetic. A weak, entitled mess who thought that just because I was hurting, I had the right to drag her down with me.

And for the first time, I didn't feel anger.

I felt disgust.

Not at her. Not at the situation.

At myself.

And that was the moment something shifted.

For the first time, I wasn't drinking to forget. I was drinking because I had nothing left to believe in—not even myself.

And when you hit that level of rock bottom, there are only two ways out.

You either stay there. Or you claw your way up.

I chose to fight.

But it wasn’t some dramatic, overnight transformation. There was no grand redemption arc, no sudden burst of motivation that made me throw away the bottle and start over.

It was slow. It was painful. It was dragging myself through hell, one agonizing step at a time.

I didn’t know where it would lead.

But I knew I couldn’t stay here.

The Final Realization

Now, in 2025, after staying consistent with my alcohol-cessation goal since March 2024, I found myself revisiting our last conversation. And with that, I toyed with the idea of reconnecting with her.

Because why not?

After all, I had done exactly what I said I would. I had changed. I was alcohol-free, mentally stable, and even physically stronger. The wreckage I once was? Gone. Replaced by a version of myself I could actually be proud of.

Wasn’t that the whole point?

Didn’t I promise her that one day, I’d come back as a different man?

And if that day was here… didn’t I at least owe it to myself to let her know?

So, I wrote a long letter.

I poured everything into it—every milestone, every hard-fought victory, every ounce of self-discipline that got me here. How I had let go of my pride, my ego, and my selfish ways. How I now understood exactly what went wrong, how I could finally say with certainty: I am not the same man you walked away from.

It was my testament. My proof.

And if I was being completely honest?

It was my plea.

For another chance.

For days, I obsessed over it. I reread the words. I edited, reworded, second-guessed. It was perfect. It had to be. Because if there was even a slight chance she still had something left for me, this—this letter—was the key.

Or so I thought.

Then, the moment of truth.

I hovered over the send button. And I stopped.

I hesitated.

Then I hesitated again.

And then the questions hit me.

What do I really want?

Is this truly about love, or do I just want to be validated?

Have I really changed… or am I just playing a more refined version of my old self—someone who still thinks he can control the outcome?

And then, the hardest question of all—

Who the fuck am I to her anymore?

I had been so busy constructing the perfect version of her in my head, keeping alive the goddess-like figure I had worshipped for years. She had even started appearing in my dreams.

But in reality? She had moved on. She had built the life she always dreamed of, and she was still rising.

Meanwhile, just because I had managed to put my life together, I was suddenly claiming the right to step back into hers?

Was I justified in sending this letter?

Would it be a wasted chance if I didn’t?

Or was this just another desperate attempt to rewrite the past?

I stared at the screen.

The cursor blinked.

The answer was right there, wasn’t it?

And yet, I still wasn’t sure.

The Final Test

One day, on my day off, I hopped on my motorcycle with no clear destination. The weight of my own thoughts had been paralyzing me for weeks, and I needed to do something—anything—to break free from this cycle.

So I let my instincts take control.

I let the wheels carry me to the places we once called ours.

The first stop shattered me.

I parked outside, staring at the entrance like it was some haunted relic from my past. A year ago, I sat at that farthest corner table, drowning in heartbreak, burying my face in my hands so no one would see the mess I had become. I had lost her. That was where it hit me the hardest.

Now, I was back.

I forced myself inside, ordered the same coffee, and sat at the exact same spot. I thought I had built enough armor, convinced myself that I was unbreakable now.

I was wrong.

The moment I looked at that empty chair across from me, it all came flooding in.

The way she stirred her drink absentmindedly. The way she rested her chin on her palm, half-listening to my ramblings. The way her presence alone made the whole world feel still.

She wasn’t here anymore.

And yet, she was everywhere.

I clenched my fists under the table. My jaw tightened. I fought it—I really tried. But the tears came anyway.

I still love her.

All this time, I thought I had rebuilt myself. That I had turned my pain into fuel, sharpened myself into someone who could look back without breaking.

But here I was. Still breaking.

Still her fool.

I needed one last test.

So I made one final stop—her family’s house.

Her mom greeted me like nothing had changed, like I was still welcome. And in her eyes, I saw something I didn’t expect. Not judgment. Not resentment. But pride.

She looked at me—not as the wreck I once was—but as the man I had become.

"The changes you've made," she said, smiling, "I'm so proud of you."

A mix of emotions hit me. Gratitude. Sadness. A desperate need for validation.

And then, she said it.

"You should message her. Just check in. See how she’s doing."

The invitation was there. An open door.

This was it. The moment I had been waiting for. The chance to prove to her that I had truly changed.

I felt my heart race. My hands trembled slightly.

I could do it.

I should do it.

And yet—

I took a deep breath and forced a smile.

"It's all good now. I don't want to disrupt the good things happening in her life."

And just like that, I let go.

Or at least, I told myself I did.

I rode away from her house that day with a strange mix of emotions—pride, regret, relief, and a sadness so deep it settled into my bones.

I had the opportunity. I had the right to reach out.

So why did it feel like walking away was the real victory?

Why did it feel like—after everything—I had finally passed the test?

Or had I just wasted my last chance?

I don’t know.

I still don’t know.

Moving Forward

I’ve made up my mind.

She deserves her peace.

And I deserve mine.

I could spend a lifetime wondering what could’ve been if only I had been stronger when it mattered most. If only I hadn’t drowned myself in vices. If only I had fought for us the way I should have—when I still had the chance.

But I can’t rewrite the past.

What I can do is let her go, wish her well—genuinely—and keep rebuilding myself, not for her, not for anyone else, but for me.

The letter? It remains unsent. Not because I lack the courage to send it, but because I no longer need to. It will stay with me—not as a burden, but as a testament to how far I’ve come. A symbol of my vulnerability. My failures. My redemption.

It reminds me that if I could overcome the worst version of myself, then I can push even further. That this is only the beginning.

One year of change does not erase decades of mistakes. I still have my lapses, my triggers, my moments of weakness. But whatever good comes from this new life, it’s mine to reap. And nothing feels better than knowing I am finally free from my own worst enemy—myself.

I love her. Maybe I always will. But love isn’t about possession. It isn’t about winning.

It’s about gratitude.

For the time she gave me. For the lessons I had to learn the hard way.

For the happiness she allowed me to experience, even if it wasn’t meant to last.

And if this is the price of true love—wishing the best for the one who left, not to control them, not to drag them back, but to genuinely want them to be happy—then I will pay it in full.

So, I walk away.

Not because I’m giving up, but because I no longer need to hold on.

She was never an opponent to defeat, nor a prize to reclaim. She was a chapter—a beautiful, painful, unforgettable one. But the story moves forward, and so do I.

I Choose to Keep Pushing Myself To Limits

2025-02-20T21:19:00.002+08:00

Habang sakay ako ng motor ko papunta sa gym pagkatapos ng maghapong paghahanapbuhay, di ko talaga lubos maisip kung bakit ako nagpapakahirap sa pagwoworkout kung pwede naman ako humilata na lamang sa bahay at mag-scroll sa socmed at manuod ng reels at manuod ng youtube or magnetflix or mag-games. Bakit di ko na lang aliwin ang sarili ko sa hundreds of different visuals sa parihaba kong gadget na nakukunsumo ko sa loob lamang ng ilang minuto? Mga impormasyon na di ko naman kailangan pero at least naaaliw ako nakakalimutan ko mga problema ko. Bakit di na lang ako tumulad sa iba na kinukunsumo ang natitirang mga oras sa araw nila na naglilibang at nagpapasarap na lang? Nagpapakapagod ako, nagpapawis at sumasakit ang katawan for what?

Ganito ang routine ko sa halos araw-araw. Gigising nang 4:30, magkakape, magseself-reflection hanggang 5:00 then tatakbo for 20 minutes. 10 minutes bago ang shift ko, naghahabol pa ko ng hininga, naliligo pa ko sa pawis pero nakaharap na ko sa PC at nagchecheck ng emails. Sisimulan ang madugong bakbakan sa mundo ng conveyancing hanggang sa halos hindi na kaya mag-function ng utak ko at kinekwestyon ko na ang mga life choices ko sa bandang hapon. Ikaw ba naman kase ang nakuha pang tumakbo ng ilang kilometro bago bugbugin yung utak mo. Pero di pa dun natatapos ang kalbaryo at yun nga, magwe-weights pa ko sa hapon. Anong kalokohan to?!! Pero kung dati ka pang nagbabasa ng blog ko, alam mo kung saan ako nanggagaling.

Now that I'm approaching at my target days ng sobriety, wala na sigurong mas maangas pa kesa saken. Nakaya ko yun? Isang taon walang inom ng alak? Tapos may pa-running at weights pa. San ka pa? Pero napansin ko, as I get closer and closer to my goal, pababa nang pababa yung intensity ko. Pabawas nang pabawas yung motivation ko. It sucks kase feeling ko ang weak ko na tao na porke feeling achieved na, parelax-relax na lang. So ano magsstart na naman ako tumagay? Maghahambog na naman ako sa mga tropang hindi naman ako pinansin nung nasa proseso ako ng pagbabago. At para maplease sila dahil feeling alone ako sa tinahak kong changes e babalik ulet ako sa laro nila? No way friend! I dare to lose barkada if they are not gonna help my cause. So I choose to keep grinding kahit hindi na ganun kataas yung motivation ko kase its no longer "what keeps me moving?" but "why I'm not moving?" Its all about DISCIPLINE now!

Why the fuck na ang blessed na tulad ko na biniyayaan ng work from home setup na halos walang nasasayang na oras (maliban sa occasional na OTY) dahil matic nasa bahay na after shift e GUGUGULIN ang p*****-i**** oras sa mga walang kapararakan, purong pagsasayang ng oras na mga bagay?!! Tapos ano pag may gout, pag may acute gastritis or hindi na halos makaya ang sariling timbang tuwing kumikilos, maghahanap ng sisisihin? Pag sinusumpong ng malalang anxiety, malalang moodswings, magdadrama at iiyak na lang sa isang tabi? Ikaw na p*****-i** ka na mas piniling mag-scroll at lantakan yang sangkatutak na processed foods sa tabi mo, pasalamat ka kase baka nasa 20s ka pa lang ngayon at kaya pa ng katawan mo. Pero magbilang ka lang ng ilang taon pa at tingnan natin kung paanong ikaw at ang katawan mo ay maghuhumiyaw sa panghihinayang na sana...sana nung bata ka pa, pinalakas mo na ang mga maskels at mga buto-buto mo. At ikaw naman na hindi na bata, ano na? Asa na lang sa medical maintenance? Awit sayo lods.

No slowing down for me. NO ALCOHOL for life? CHECK! HEALTHY DIET for life? CHECK! EXERCISE and ACTIVE LIFESTYLE for life? CHECK! They say life begins at 40? Mine is beggining now. Di na ko maghihintay mag 40. The best time is now. My version 2.0 has just been unleashed and theres no stopping sa path ko for greatness.

"Discipline isn’t about feeling motivated—it's about showing up even when you don’t feel like it. Comfort is the death of progress. Keep grinding." 💪🔥 #NoExcuses #StayRelentless

Alcohol-Free Day 329 -I'm Loving the Process

2025-02-18T21:35:00.003+08:00

Discipline is Freedom, Not Restriction

329 days without alcohol. Almost a year of absolute sobriety.

Some people ask me how I do it. How I don’t relapse. How I stay consistent.

The truth? I fell in love with the process. I rewired my brain to enjoy discipline—not just in fitness, but in every aspect of my life.

Because discipline isn’t suffering. It’s liberation.

When I gave up alcohol, I didn’t just quit drinking—I rewired my brain to function without it. I trained myself to enjoy every sober morning, every clear-headed workout, every moment where I chose control over impulse. The same way I push myself in the gym is the same way I push myself to stay away from alcohol. The process is the reward.

If I waited for motivation, I would’ve failed. If I focused only on the result, I wouldn’t have lasted. What worked? Loving the grind itself.

If we want to develop unshakable discipline—whether in fitness, work, or personal battles like quitting alcohol—we need to master dopamine, mindset, and self-control. Let’s break it down.

Dopamine & Motivation: Why "Loving the Process" Works

🔹Our Brain is Wired for Anticipation, Not Just Reward

Dr. Robert Sapolsky (Stanford neurobiologist) studied dopamine and discovered that the biggest dopamine spike doesn’t happen when we get the reward—it happens when we anticipate it.

Example:

The excitement before eating your favorite meal is usually greater than the satisfaction after eating it.
The anticipation of hitting a PR in the gym feels better than the actual moment it happens.
The buildup to a major life event is often more exciting than the event itself.

If we associate excitement with the process (not just the result), discipline becomes effortless.

In my sobriety journey, the real reward wasn’t reaching "X number of days without drinking"—it was waking up clear-headed, feeling strong, and knowing I was in control every single day.

🔹 The “Dopamine Prediction Error” & Why Goals Lose Their Magic

Studies show that when we finally achieve a goal, dopamine actually drops.

This is called dopamine prediction error—the brain expected more excitement than it got.

Example:

You dream of hitting a 200lb deadlift. You finally hit it. Instead of feeling permanent satisfaction, you think, "That’s it?" and chase the next number.
You stay sober for 100 days. Instead of feeling a huge sense of accomplishment, you think, "Okay… now what?"

This is why many people hit big goals—then feel empty. The real joy was in the journey, not the achievement. We must train ourselves to find fulfillment in the daily grind, not just in the end goal.

For me, every sober morning is a win. Every workout is a win. Every day I choose discipline over indulgence, I am winning.

The "Growth Mindset" vs. The "Fixed Mindset"

🔹 Growth vs. Fixed Mindset

Dr. Carol Dweck (Stanford psychologist) discovered that people with a growth mindset—who enjoy challenges and effort—become more resilient than those who focus only on outcomes.

Fixed mindset people believe talent and success are fixed—so if they don’t see results fast, they quit.
Growth mindset people thrive in discomfort—they enjoy learning, improving, and overcoming struggles.

If we focus only on results, failure feels like the end. If we focus on effort, failure is just part of progress.

In my fitness journey, I didn’t start strong—I built strength. In my sobriety, I didn’t wake up "fully recovered"—I built discipline through daily choices.

Some Wisdom About Discipline & the Process

🔹 Nietzsche: “Become Who You Are”

Friedrich Nietzsche believed that struggle and challenge are what make life meaningful.
He argued that suffering in pursuit of mastery isn't something to avoid—it’s something to embrace.

If we hate the struggle, we’re doomed to be miserable. If we learn to love it, we’ll thrive.

🔹 The Stoics: Discipline = Freedom

Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, and Epictetus all preached that discipline is the key to true freedom.

If we’re ruled by comfort and pleasure, we're actually a slave to them. If we master ourselves, we become free.

Enjoying discomfort makes us unstoppable. If we rely on motivation, we’ll always be weak.

MAG-REALTALKAN TAYO:

✔ Focus on the Process, Not the Prize.

Toxic Mindset:

“Mag-eexercise ako para pag nakita ko ex ko, who you sya saken.”

“Gusto kong yumaman para matahimik na ang mga kamag-anak kong mahilig manghamak.”

“Magpapapayat ako para sa reunion! Dapat ako ang pinakapalung-palo sa lahat.”

Tamang Mindset:

“Mag-eexercise ako for my overall health.”

“Gusto kong yumaman for financial security.”

“Kelangan ko magdiet para hindi hello highblood, goodbye. Importante present ako sa reunion at sa mga susunod pa.”

*Hindi nakasalalay sa validation ng iba ang dahilan para kumilos tayo. Ang matibay na foundation ay idinidikta ng mas malalim nating dahilan sa mga sarili natin.

✔ Micro-Progress = Macro-Results.

Toxic Mindset:

“Wag muna mag-business. Wala pa malaking puhunan.”

“Hindi pa ako mag-aaral ng English hangga’t wala akong full online course.”

“Hindi pa ako magsusulat ng libro hangga’t hindi buo ang plot.”

Tamang Mindset:

“Magsisimula ako ng business kahit maliit lang, at palalakihin ko ito unti-unti.”

“Mag-aaral ako ng English kahit isang bagong salita lang kada araw.”

“Gagawa ako ng book kahit isang paragraph lang bawat araw hanggang mabuo ko ito.”

*Small steps lang kada araw. Walang ibang perfect timing kundi ngayon na.

✔ Rewire Dopamine: No External Validation Needed.

Toxic Mindset:

“Dapat bida-bida ako sa mga gym post ko. More heart dapat. Sayang naman membership at oras ko dito.”

“Gagawa ako ng TikTok video pero dapat mag-viral agad, or wag na lang kung di lang din benta.”

“Pag walang nag-like sa bagong post ko tungkol sa achievements ko, pakawalang kwenta ko.”

Tamang Mindset:

“Masaya ako sa fitness progress ko kahit walang ibang nakakapansin.”

“Gagawa ako ng TikTok videos dahil gusto ko gawin, hindi dahil gusto kong sumikat.”

“Hindi ko kailangang i-post ang lahat ng achievements ko. Ang mahalaga, satisfied ako.”

*Kapag masyado kang nakadepende sa likes, comments, at validation ng iba, madali kang madidiscourage. Ang tunay na self-improvement ay hindi kailangang i-broadcast para lang masabing totoo.

✔ Love the Boring Days.

Toxic Mindset:

“Ayoko mag-workout today, kawalang gana.”

"Need ko magwalwal today bago ako magstart ng boring na alcohol-free lifestyle."

Tamang Mindset:

"Workout is life pa din. Ke tinatamad o hindi, gym pa din."

"Simulan na ang boring na process ngayon. Kung gusto ko, kaya ko at kung magiging boring ang buong 365 days, so be it! 1 year alcohol-free day one now!"

*Hindi araw-araw exciting. Keep trying everyday...keep winning everyday.

Love the Process!

Most people fail at discipline because they see the process as suffering instead of a privilege.

We don’t suffer through the process—we find joy in it. If we learn to love the grind, we’ll never stop progressing.

Discipline isn’t about suffering. It’s about rewiring our brain to love the work. Let's fall in love with the process, commit to it, then marry success.

The Sweet Betrayer That’s Been Playing You for a Fool

2025-02-11T23:10:00.000+08:00

"Self-discipline is saying no to the things that betray you in disguise."
— Probably a time-traveling version of me, warning my past self about sugar.

Alright, listen up, sugar addicts and closet snack hoarders. If you still think sugar is some innocent, harmless treat, you’re in for a reality check. Sugar isn’t your buddy—it’s a two-faced backstabber that lures you in with a dopamine rush before leaving you an anxious, bloated mess. And the worst part? You keep running back, like a hopeless romantic chasing a toxic ex.

Today, we’re putting sugar on trial. No mercy. No sweet-talking. Just the raw, ugly truth.

The Moment I Realized Sugar Was Screwing Me Over

Picture this: It’s lunchtime, and after eating a “balanced” meal, I reward myself with something sweet—because, you know, I "deserve it" (spoiler alert: I didn’t). Fifteen minutes later, my heart starts racing. My energy dips. Suddenly, I’m stressed about things I wasn’t even thinking about five minutes ago. By the time my shift ends, I’m exhausted, irritable, and on the verge of questioning my entire existence.

Science backs this up: A 2017 study found that men who consume excessive sugar are 23% more likely to develop depression. Another study shows that sugar spikes your blood sugar like a rocket before dropping it like a deadbeat dad—leaving you tired, cranky, and craving another hit. Sugar is a scam. A legal, socially accepted scam.

My Sugar-Free Awakening: From Jittery Mess to Battle-Ready

Quitting sugar wasn’t just a diet change—it was an exorcism.

At first, my body protested like a spoiled brat. Cravings hit hard. But once I pushed through, I felt unstoppable. My focus sharpened, my energy levels stabilized, and my mood stopped acting like a gender-swapping crab (yes, some crabs can change gender when needed, just like sugar messes with your hormones when you least expect it).

No more sugar crashes. No more mid-afternoon existential crises. Just raw, unfiltered energy ready to take on anything. Science explains it: Sugar wreaks havoc on your gut, causing inflammation that directly affects your brain. Translation? Sugar doesn’t just make you fat—it makes you stupid.

The Sneaky Little Bitch That’s Everywhere

You think you’re safe because you don’t eat cakes and candy? Guess what? Sugar is hiding in your “healthy” yogurt, your “light” dressing, your damn breakfast cereal. Reading food labels is like trying to decode enemy intel—except the enemy is winning, and you’re unknowingly funding its war against your health.

And don’t even get me started on the social aspect. Try skipping dessert at a party and watch people look at you like you just declared war on fun. The pressure to conform is real, but here’s a fact: Every time you cave, you’re feeding your addiction, not your happiness.

A Time-Traveling Slap to My Past Self

If I had a time machine, I’d go back and roundhouse kick that Snickers bar out of my hand. “You don’t deserve this, idiot,” I’d say. “You think you’re ‘treating’ yourself, but you’re just signing up for mood swings and brain fog. Put the sugar down and eat your kamote instead (or boiled banana or anything whole foods).”

My past self wouldn’t listen. He’d probably laugh, shove another cookie in his mouth, and say, “Relax, bro, it’s just sugar.” That’s exactly why my present self exists—to warn you before you repeat my mistakes.

What I Gained Since Kicking Sugar to the Curb

Now that I’ve ditched sugar, I’m operating on a whole different level. My energy is consistent. My mood is steady. My brain actually functions without needing a constant glucose IV drip.

I feel like a high-performance machine—not some rusty tricycle barely making it up the hill. The best part? I don’t feel deprived. I feel free. Free from cravings, free from crashes, and free from the bullshit lie that sugar is “happiness.”

To All the "Sugar is Life" Deniers

If you're still out here defending sugar like it’s some kind of sacred relic, let me ask you something: Do you feel amazing every day? Do you wake up energized, mentally sharp, and emotionally stable? No? Then maybe—just maybe—sugar isn’t the friend you think it is.

If you’re a grown-ass adult still out here saying, “But I need my sweets,” take a hard look in the mirror. Your sagging man-boobs and energy levels, your sluggish afternoons, your rollercoaster moods—they’re all red flags. Sugar has been playing you for a fool. It’s time to wake up.

Final Roundhouse Kick: The Science of Staying Sharp

Here’s the undeniable truth: Sugar fuels inflammation, hijacks your brain’s reward system, and turns you into an energy-craving zombie. It’s not just about weight—it’s about your mind, your discipline, and your ability to function at your peak.

Winners don’t rely on sugar. They rely on discipline, discomfort, and delayed gratification.

So here’s my challenge to you: Drop the sugar. Reclaim your focus. Master yourself. Because the best version of you isn’t found in a candy wrapper—it’s forged through self-control and a refusal to be played by something as stupid as sugar.

Now, get out there and prove that you’re not just another weak-willed pawn in sugar’s game. Own your mind, own your body, and leave that sweet betrayer in the dust.

Time to Win in Silence: The Humility vs. Entitlement War

2025-02-11T21:53:00.000+08:00

“Discipline is doing what needs to be done, even when you don’t feel like doing it.”
— Unknown (but probably some badass who got tired of excuses)

Alright, listen up Karens of all genders. If you’re cruising through life thinking you deserve a red carpet just because you exist, it’s time for a reality check. Comfort might feel like that cozy blanket on a cold day, but let’s be real: it’s also the sneaky saboteur that makes you soft, lazy, and ultimately, weak.

Entitlement: The Sneaky Sucker Punch

Ever catch yourself thinking, “Hey, I deserve the VIP treatment because I’m awesome”? Yeah, we’ve all been there. But entitlement isn’t a golden ticket—it’s more like a rigged game where the house always wins. I’ve been guilty of it, pushing my ex to fix things because I felt I was owed something just because we once had a spark. Surprise, surprise: that mindset only made things worse, turning love into a power play.

And don’t even get me started on the “I deserve” vibe I carried into adulthood. Growing up with deprivation, I convinced myself I was owed a jackpot later in life. News flash: life doesn’t dole out prizes for past hardships—it hands you work, sweat, and sometimes a face full of reality.

Humility: The Kick in the Pants We All Need

Now, imagine flipping the script. Instead of screaming for attention like a broken videoke machine, what if you just worked your ass off quietly? Take my fitness journey, for instance. I used to flood social media with every flex and PR—until I realized I was just trading sweat for empty likes. I pulled the plug on that noise and started grinding in silence. The result? I built discipline like a boss and discovered that genuine growth doesn’t need an audience.

Being humble means you’re too busy crushing your goals to care about applause. It means realizing that your worth isn’t measured by external validation, but by the relentless grind you put in every single day. It’s about clapping for yourself in the mirror and giving yourself a high-five when no one else is around.

The Perils of Overindulging in Comfort

Here’s the deal: home is a double-edged sword. Sure, it’s a sanctuary, but it’s also a trap. Netflix, YouTube, endless scrolling—they’re like little sweet nothings whispering, “Come on, take it easy.” And before you know it, you’re binge-watching your life away, and that hunger for achievement? It goes to hell.

When you start getting too cozy, you feel threatened. That nagging fear that someday, all this comfort will vanish, and you’ll be left soft, unprepared, and crying in a pile of missed opportunities. Missing a workout isn’t just a physical setback—it’s a mental landmine. The slack gets you anxious, irritable, and opens the door for old, lazy habits to creep back in. And trust me, your mind is a ruthless critic when you let it.

Winning in Silence: The Ultimate Power Move

Here’s the secret sauce: winning in silence isn’t about hiding your successes; it’s about letting them build you up from within. When you don’t need to announce every little victory, you learn to love the grind itself. You become your own hype squad. The truth is, real strength is forged in those moments when you push through discomfort with zero fanfare.

It’s like this: if you’re hungry for validation, you’re never truly satisfied. But if you train like you’ve got nothing to prove, you’ll eventually wake up one day and realize you’ve been leveling up while everyone else was busy snapping selfies.

Dump the Entitlement, Embrace the Hustle

So, here’s my challenge to you: the next time you catch yourself expecting the world to roll out the red carpet, take a step back and ask, “Am I really earning this?” Stop waiting for approval and start working for your wins in silence. Your future self will thank you for not letting entitlement derail your hustle.

Remember: comfort is a seductive liar. It whispers that you’re safe, that you deserve to chill. But the moment you get too comfortable, you’re slowly signing up for a life of mediocrity. Get out there, kick discomfort in the face, and build a legacy that doesn’t need a microphone to be heard.

Comfort Betrays Us When We Trust It

2025-02-10T22:03:00.002+08:00

“We don’t rise to the level of our expectations; we fall to the level of our training.” — Archilochus

There’s an undeniable truth that few people dare to acknowledge: comfort is the enemy of strength. The moment you embrace ease for too long, you start to decay—physically, mentally, emotionally. We like to tell ourselves that we are at our best when we are at peace, but the reality is, true growth happens in the fire, in the grind, in the moments where every part of you wants to stop, but you force yourself forward anyway.

These thoughts have been drilling into my mind tonight, especially as I push myself to stay consistent in this fitness-driven, alcohol-free lifestyle that I’ve chosen. This is my battlefield, and I refuse to retreat.

Discomfort: The Path to Strength

“Be comfortable with being uncomfortable.” — David Goggins

This isn’t just some motivational mantra—it’s a way of life. The strongest people I admire—Goggins, Jocko, and other warriors of discipline—live by this creed. It’s not about merely enduring hardship; it’s about hunting it down and dominating it.

Physically, discomfort has transformed me. Every burning rep, every brutal run, every moment where my body screams for rest but I push anyway—those are the moments that forge me. Mentally, the pain keeps me sharp. Emotionally, it has made me resilient. I used to be at the mercy of extreme highs and lows. Now, the suffering I choose to endure voluntarily has brought balance, discipline, and control.

The more I embrace suffering on my own terms, the less anything in this world can shake me.

The Threat of Complacency

“Comfort makes you weak.”

There is nothing more dangerous than prolonged ease.

The second I start feeling too comfortable, I feel threatened. Why? Because I know that comfort is temporary. One day, it will be ripped away, and if I’ve allowed myself to soften, I will pay the price.

When I skip a workout, it’s not just my body that suffers. Anxiety creeps in, old weaknesses resurface, and negativity floods back in. I feel sluggish. Restless. My mind starts itching for pointless conflicts, for distractions, for unnecessary noise. But when I push myself to exhaustion? Silence. Focus. Control.

I’ve learned that physical tiredness isn’t just about building muscle—it’s about silencing the demons of complacency.

Your Environment is a Comfort’s Trap

Your environment is either your weapon or your weakness.

Home should be a place of recovery, but I’ve seen firsthand how it can become a breeding ground for weakness. The couch, the screen, the endless loop of YouTube videos and Netflix shows (I quit social media, so that’s one less enemy)—all of it is designed to make you passive.

I tell myself I’m “learning” or “relaxing,” but too much of it leads to softness.

The biggest danger? It’s not just inactivity—it’s the mindset shift. When I’m too relaxed, I become creative, sure—but at what cost? Overthinking. Doubt. Hesitation. And hesitation is weakness in its purest form.

At this point, I know it’s no longer about fear—it’s about discipline. And I refuse to go back to being the person who didn’t care when he missed a challenge. Now, I feel it. I carry it. And I don’t allow myself to accept it.

Balancing Intensity and Rest

“Rest is necessary. Weakness is a choice.”

Yes, recovery matters. But real recovery doesn’t come from mindless entertainment, distractions, or numbing indulgences. It comes from deep sleep. Meditation. Structured recovery.

I struggle with guilt when I slow down, and maybe that’s a good thing. Because I know how easy it is to let rest become an excuse for laziness.

There’s a fine line between resting to rebuild and resting to escape. And I refuse to cross it.

The Challenge of Staying Uncomfortable

There is no finish line. No moment where you “arrive” and can finally relax. Growth is war. And the war never stops.

Every day, I choose to fight. To run when my body says stop. To lift when my muscles beg for mercy. To push when my mind whispers “enough.”

Because in those moments of discomfort, I am not just building strength—I am proving to myself that I will never settle.

So here’s my challenge to you, the same one I give myself every single day:

Find one thing today that makes you uncomfortable—and do it anyway.

See how it changes you.

Because the best version of yourself isn’t waiting in the warmth of comfort—it’s out there, in the fire, waiting for you to step into the flames.

“If you want to be tough, train in tough conditions. If you want to be strong, embrace the pain of growth. If you want to truly live, stop seeking comfort and start seeking challenge.”

— Truly yours.

Good night.

Alcohol free month 11! I'm now writing a book.

2025-02-09T22:00:00.001+08:00

Nearly a year has passed since I embraced absolute sobriety. And today, another test came—one that nearly tempted me to break the vow I made to myself: to never drink again.

What’s ironic? The very person who once pushed me to quit drinking is now the same one nudging me to take a break from this “no-alcohol” streak, as if it was only ever meant to be temporary.

But I don’t feel offended. I don’t feel annoyed. I know it was a sincere gesture, just an offer made without malice. Even I am surprised—my original goal was just 365 days of sobriety. But now? I want more. I want more than a year. I want a lifetime.

“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” – Aristotle

Now that alcohol is no longer in my system, the clarity I experience every day is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I realize I’ve been missing myself for so long. It feels as if, after years of being lost, I have finally reconnected with the person I was always meant to be. And that feeling? Liberating.

I have reclaimed my life. I have a life.

And because of that, I am setting another goal—one that will push me beyond my limits. But before that, let me take a moment to honor what I’ve already achieved.

Physically, this is the strongest, fittest, and most confident version of myself that I have ever seen. And just as I refuse to relapse into alcohol, I have no intention of stopping this “alindog program.” In three years, I’ll be hitting 40, and I want to walk into that milestone with the physique of King Leonidas from 300. Laugh all you want, doubt me if you must—but watch me. I will prove it. Again and again and again.

“The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do.” – Walter Bagehot

Now, for my third goal:

I will finish my novel.

For over a year, I have poured my soul into writing. It’s hard. Harder than I ever expected. I’ve written countless drafts, only to throw most of them away. But after completing the prologue and first chapter, I know—I can do this. Just as I fought for sobriety, just as I built my body from the ground up, I will fight to finish this book.

One year. I am giving myself one year.

I don’t care how many nights I spend rewriting, revising, and throwing pages away. If I can write ten times a week but walk away satisfied with just one piece, that’s already a victory.

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.” – Stephen King

This blog will be my witness. You will be my witness. And above all, I will be my own witness—because I refuse to betray myself again.

I will stay sober. I will stay fit. And I will finish my book.

Mark my words.

Warning to Myself

2025-01-22T17:13:00.000+08:00

10 months na nang sinimulan ko ang alcohol free journey ko at masasabi kong tagumpay ako kahit di ko pa nakukumpleto ang 12 months. Sa ngayon ay parang polishing na lang ng mga magagandang habit na naestablish ko ang ginagawa ko kase di pa rin ako nagpapaka kumpyansa na hindi ako magrerelapse. Unless masolidify ko ang methods ko kung panu ko namaintain ang alcohol free lifestyle, dun ko lang masasabi na kaya ko nang maging alcohol-free sa mga natitira pang taon ng buhay ko.

May concern lang ako na dati ko pang narerealize pero lately ko lang talagang pinagbuhusan ng pansin. Yun ay ang maging complacent o pagiging sobrang kumportable. Maganda ang pasok saken ng taon financially speaking pero katumbas nito ay ang temptation na naman na magpaeasy-easy. Inagapan ko na ang pag-warning sa sarili ko na kapag sumablay ako ng sunod sunod, magiging weak na naman ako at baka maging asshole na naman ako at tuluyang bumalik sa dating gawi.

I have symptoms na naman ng addictive personality ko at ang narcissistic tendency ko ay unti-unti na namang sumisimple sa mga simpleng interaction ko sa ibang tao. Sa addictive personality ko, may mga unconscious behavior na naman ako na lumalabas tuwing nasstress ako ng husto tulad ng desire ko na kumonek sa taong kinaadikan ko, my ex. Kung nakafollow ka sa previous entries ko, nabanggit ko dun how I managed to not even send a tiny hint to her that I'm thinking of her sa mga times na nadadaan sya sa isipan ko. Dahil just because I can, doesn't mean I should. Aside from the fact na wala akong business sa kanya, hindi rin wasto na kapag stressed ako e iche-chase ko yung relief through her (na sobrang nakasanayan ko nung kami pa). Ang golden rule ko sa recovery ay do not rely on anyone but yourself kahit gaano katempting to get a relief sa taong nagbigay sayo ng sobrang comfort dati. Kung hindi kayo in good terms, let go and go on with your life. Period.

With my good shape, good results from working out na no doubt e makikita na sa pisikal kong anyo, I'm starting to look down on people at unt-unti na naman akong nagiging entitled dahil may naachieve na naman ako. Minumura ko sarili ko minsan dahil nangako ako na hindi na ko magiging narcissist pero pag nalingat lang ako o saglit na nakalimot, nakakapanlait agad ako, nakakapagmataas agad ako. I know na minsan e mga biruan lang with my colleagues pero kelangan kong i-work out ang pagiging sensitive. May kanya kanya tayong buhay.

Ang naisip kong susi para solusyonan ang mga nabanggit kong problema ay ang "wag pakakampante" na attitude. I know na broad sya at parang dark kung papakinggan pero ang gusto ko lang sabihin e wag ugaliing maging kumportable kase ang pagiging kumportable ang dahilan kung bakit nagpe-fail ang mga katulad kong nagrerecover pa din. Kaya ilan sa mga strict activities ko everyday to win each day ay ang mga sumusunod:

1. Tumatakbo ako ng alas singko ng umaga - Dati pa ako tumatakbo ng regular pero walang eksaktong schedule. Pero ngayon, tuwing alas singko, hindi na ako pumapalya. Ito ay para makondisyon ko kagad ang katawan ko sa mga shit na maeexperience ko sa maghapon. Sa pagtakbo sa umaga, kahit gaano ka-inconvenient, nararamdaman ko yung disiplina na lalong lumalakas sa sistema ko. Gusto ko tong habit na to kase bago pa lang pumutok ang araw, yung energy ko sobrang taas na.

2. Receptive sa mga hamon sa trabaho - Di na ko pala-complain o kung anupamang kahambugan sa trabaho lalo na pag nahihirapan at puro excuse. Walang madaling trabaho! Kumilos ka at gawin mo nang naaayon sa role mo. Tanggapin mo ang new assignments at wag puro reklamo. Walang growth kung walang challenge.

3. Afternoon workout - Binubuhos ko lahat ng stress ko sa workout kesa mag stress eating at humilata. Oo nakakapagod physically magbuhat at mag-grind sa gym sa oras na dapat nagpapahinga ka na kase tapos na trabaho mo. Pero itong gym ang pinaka number 1 na source ng discomfort na pinaka epektib. Kahit nakapag-cardio na ko sa umaga, itutuloy ko pa rin ang pag weights kase pag natengga ako sa bahay o kung saanpaman na kumportable at nagpapasarap, kung anu-anong kabaluktutan na naman ang pumapasok sa isip ko.

3. Mindfulness pagkatapos ng nakakapagod na araw - Kinukumusta ko sarili ko bago ako matulog at nirerate ko kung gaano ako naging kasuccesful sa kada araw. Small wins pero counted. Then wala nang kung anu-anong kabulastugan, pagkatapos ng pagmumuni-muni, pahinga na.

Target ko tong gawing consistent. So far isang buwan ko pa lang syang strictly nagagawa at walang palya (I'm so proud btw). Pero going sa 12th month ng pagiging alcohol-free ko, kasama kong ise-celebrate ang tagumpay ko sa paglaban sa pagiging average. Average na grabe magconsume ng comfort, tamang scroll sa socmed at kung anu-ano pang kwentong katamaran at procrastination. Well hindi ako average! Palagi kong iche-chase ang discomfort kase proven na effective yan para magkaroon ng growth. Kung hindi ko niyakap ang discomfort, baka hindi pa din ako nakakarecover hanggang ngayon.

Lastly, ang warning na palagi kong sinasabi sa sarili ko...wag na muna akong maghanap ng sakit ng ulo. Mahal ko sarili ko at alam kong capable akong magmahal na muli ng totoo pero sobrang aga pa mula sa previous failure ko. Chill muna ako hanggang I'm as hard as nails na kahit ang rejection o failure sa relasyon ay hinding hindi na ko matitibag.

Hindi ako magrerelapse

2025-01-04T00:22:00.002+08:00

New Year's Eve 2025 nang pagtulungan ako pangaralan ng kuya at tito ko tungkol sa pag-inom ng alak. Para bang diring diri sila na kasalamuha ako habang hawak ang bote ng tubig samantalang sila'y baso ng redhorse ang tangan. Puspusan ang pagkumbinsi nila saken na magrelapse para sa okasyon na yun. Tanging para sa New Year lang naman daw na mas meaningful kung lahat kami ay umiinom. As if hindi pa sapat ang presensya ko na sa kabila ng temptation ng alak na nasa harap ko ay pinilit kong humarap sa kanila bagamat hindi ako umiinom ng serbesang tinatagay nila. Konti na lang at bibigay na ko sa matinding pagkumbinsi nila pero nanatili akong matatag at dinaan na lang ang lahat sa ngiti. Goal ko talaga na kunin ang respeto nila at sila na lang ang mapagod sa pagkumbinsi saken. Nagtagumpay ako at hindi na nila ako ginambala pagkalipas ilang sandali. Na-divert ang usapan sa ibang bagay at parang walang nangyaring nakisali ako sa tawanan nila. May kirot ng konti sa loob ko pero first time sa buong buhay ko na nanindigan ako ng ganito katindi. Personally, I found great pride deep inside at hindi ko nafeel na nabawasan ang pagkalalaki ko bagkus ay lalo pa kong tumibay at naging masculine. Hinding hindi ako pwedeng magrelapse.

Last week ng March 2024 nang huli akong makatikim ng alak. Yun din ang time na lugmok na lugmok ako at gusto ko nang i-give up ang lahat. Sa kagandahang palad, sa pamamagitan ng gamunggong katinuan na natitira pa sa sistema ko, nagawa kong baliktarin ang sitwasyon at simulan ang pagbabago. Di ko na halos madescribe ang pinagdaanan kong hirap at sakripisyo para sa pagbabagong yun. Malungkot at na-isolate ako nang husto. Pero sabi ko, wala akong hindi kakayanin...kaya ko to. For the first time in my life, lumaban ako ng buong giting at di gumive up. May mga time na tumatakbo ako na magkahalong pawis at luha ang umaagos sa mukha ko. Pero laban lang! Pag nagrelapse ako, ginive up ko na din ang natitira pang respeto na meron ako sa sarili ko. Hinding hindi ko yun papayagan. "This fight is personal!" Ang paulit-ulit kong sinasabi sa sarili ko. At sa bawat araw nga na dumadaan, lumalaban ako na parang sundalong nakasalalay ang buhay sa gitna ng battlefield. Itinaob ko ang bawat araw at ipinanalo na may ngiti sa labi. I'm a f*cking warrior and this war is my b*tch!!!

One day, people will see me as someone who didn't give up and chose to defeat my demons. Laitin nyo na ko sa pagiging kakaiba at pagiging mahina sa paningin nyo. Pero ang apoy na patuloy na lumiliyab sa puso ko ay hindi kailanman maaapula ng kahit anong sabihin nyo. Nakasalalay na dito ang prinsipyo ko, reputasyon at dangal ko na hinding hindi ko papayagang mawasak ng mga taong nag-aakalang malalakas sila pero kinakain na ng kahinaan sa kaloob-looban nila. Tawagin nyo na kong weird or nahihibang o anupaman pero lalo nyo lang akong pinapatibay. Hinding hindi na ko maigugupo ng kahit na ano. I'm tough as nails and I'm only getting stronger everyday.

Nasurvive ko mga okasyon nang walang alak - Alcohol-free Month 10

2025-01-02T12:27:00.000+08:00

December 24, 2024, katulad ng mga asong nagtatago dahil sa paputok at ingay, tahimik din akong nakikiramdam sa aking silid kung may tropang kakatok sa pinto para mag-aya ng inuman. Wala akong balak lumabas para paunlakan ang kahit sino. I know this is the time of the year na matetest nang husto ang tibay ko sa temptation ng alak kaya isang linggo bago magpasko, pinaghandaan ko na talaga kung anong excuses ang ibibigay ko. Itinodo ko na din ang work out para ireinforce ang utak ko sa mas intense na focus na kakailanganin ko para hindi magfail sa goal ko na kumpletuhin ang isang buong taon na walang kahit isang patak ng alak na papasok sa sistema ko. Sobrang lupaypay ako sa maghapong exercise na tanging paghiga lang ang nagawa ko. Pagod physically pero satisfied deep inside. Ito na ngayon ang Christmas 2024 ko.

Around 8 pm, may kumakatok sa pinto. Kapatid ko kasama asawa nya at pamangkin ko ang dumating. May mga dala silang pagkain at dumating para mag-daos ng pasko sa place ko. Hindi ko maexplain ang galak na naramdaman ko na nandito ang mga mahal ko sa buhay na naalala ako at hindi hahayaan na palipasin ko na lang ang okasyon na mula pa nang bata ay magkakasama na naming idinadaos. Medyo nahiya ako dahil wala man lang akong share sa mga handa na dala nila. Higit sa lahat, wala akong regalo para sa pamangkin kong taon-taon kong pinapasaya sa mga laruan na binibigay ko sa kanya. Sobrang focus ko sa goal kong wag matukso sa alak ngayong holiday na nalimutan ko pati mga essential na parte ng tradisyon. Parang napaka selfish ko naman na yata at hindi na balanse ang amount ng sacrifice na ginagawa ko. Kaya dagli kong kinuha ang stuff toy na baboy na binili ko last year para ibigay sa pamangkin kong tahimik pa din sa mga oras na yun na waring nahihiya lang magsabi saken ng "asan ang gift ko tito?" Namilog ang mga mata ng pamangkin ko nang makita ang hawak hawak kong stuff toy. Wala syang pagsidlan ng tuwa at di maawat sa pagyakap saken kasama ng di matapos na "thank you tito!". Masaya din ako deep inside sa kabila ng katotohanan na ayaw kong i-letgo ang nasabing stuff toy. Nais ko sanang ibigay yun sa taong minahal ko nang husto sa sandaling nakabalik na sya ng bansa. Christmas 2023 was so rough na sa height ng break up namin, I did crazy things like drinking so much na halos naging mitsa na ng buhay ko kasama ng puspusan kong attempt na i-winback sya na hindi naman ako nagtagumpay. This stuff toy is a reminder of how much I refused to let go of her but now...I'm letting it go. Sa kamay ng musmos at inosente kong pamangkin, mas magkakaron ng meaning ang puffy,pink at adorable na bagay na ito. Oras na para balutin ito ng positibong enerhiya mula sa genuine na saya na meron ang bata kesa idisplay ko lang at iremind ang sarili ko sa naging failure ko sa pakikipagrelasyon. Baka maging katulad pa yun ni Anabelle na nabalot ng negativities at naging haunted.Wag naman...let it be free...let me be free.

Natapos ang pasko na kasama ko ang mga mahal ko sa buhay. Walang alak, pagkain at kantahan lang. Mga meaningful na kwentuhan at throwback sa masasayang naganap. Napuno ng positibong enerhiya ang place ko at simple man ang salu-salo, isa na ito sa mga pinaka meaningful na pasko na nangyari saken. First ever Christmas in a very long time na hindi ako lasing!

Come New Year, mas naging intense ang challenge ng pag-iwas sa alak. Umuwi ako sa probinsya katulad ng nakagawian at expected na ipu-push na naman ako ng kuya at tito ko na uminom ng alak pag nakiharap ako sa kanila. Pero this time, wala na ako balak magtago. Haharap ako sa kanila ng walang alak sa sistema ko para ipamukha sa kanila ang progreso ko at kung panung sila din ay dapat nang magisip-isip para sa kalusugan nila. As expected, may kahalo pang bully ang naging interactions namin pero naging balat-kalabaw na ko at hindi na nagpaapekto sa mga sinabi nila. Ni hindi na ko nagtry mag-explain. Dinaan ko na lang ang lahat sa ngiti dahil kung hindi pa sapat ang muscles ko at glow na taglay ko para patunayan sa kanila na naging ok ako dahil sa alcohol-free lifestyle, then problema na nila yun. Medyo limitado ang naging interaksyon ko sa kanila at sinigurado kong chill pa din ang paghaharap-harap namin kahit litro lang ng tubig ang nasa kamay ko. Wala pa ring replacement ang pamilya sa festivity na katulad nito at kahit na-cross na nila yung line at nadisrespect nila ako, I have nothing but respect to them at sa mga paniniwala nila. Natapos pa din ang bagong taon na peaceful at meaningful. Hindi na ko ganun kaingay tulad ng mga nakaraang selebrasyon dahil sa kalasingan at pinpulot na lang kung saan saan. Although I had to stay awake until morning to contemplate more on different aspects of life and shield myself more on more upcoming challenges ngayong 2025. Sabi ko, pag napagtagumpayan ko to, I will extend this advocacy to my love ones para sila rin ay magbago. I aim to inspire people and influence sa mas positibong paraan. Ito na ang magiging misyon ko sa buhay.

Sa March 2025, I will kick off the project that I have in mind. Sobrang positive ko na kaya kong talunin ang alak. Konting panahon na lang at makukumpleto ko na ang 365 days na alcohol-free. Napagdesisyunan ko na hindi na ko titikim ulet ng alak at magiging for life na ang misyon kong ito.

My man boobs are gone but why? And strange dreams about a "girl"?.

2024-11-06T23:08:00.000+08:00

To answer quickly, obviously I've been working out and have embraced this active lifestyle that I initiated since I started my alcohol sobriety journey. But unknown to most males, man boobs can even be avoided without exercise if...they avoid alcohol. Alcohol and other substances that deprive testosterone will surely bear to feminine like physique. Let's expound that a little deeper.

Testosterone is a hormone that is being secreted to males in large portion than females. What it does is to boost male characteristics along with other sexual function. There are a lot of ways to boost testosterone naturally which I can tackle in future posts but this one is solely about avoiding vices like alcohol mainly. Why alcohol is a major culprit of testosterone decline to men? Simply because alcohol converts testosterone to estrogen pretty fast and if abused will absolutely boost the speed of this conversion hence the sprout of that female-like boobs that is far from desirable especially in the eyes of the opposite sex. If you've seen the movie "Longest Yard", you may already have an idea how estrogen converts a male to female-like persona. Estrogen as the main female sex hormone while also present in male shouldn't be produced in large portion. But idiots who won't stop abusing alcohol (like me before) decide to trade this undesirable look over the dopamine that alcohol gives them. While drinking may look manly, it's not a sign of strength especially if its already an addiction as aside from the fact that it serves as an escape to most, it also affects the hormone that supposed to help a man become stronger mentally and physically. Some may argue that not all alcoholic drinks have that massive effect to testosterone as beer according to study is the one that can affect the most but in general alcohol is still a bad habit that needs to be kicked out of our life. Now if you're a beer addict like me in the past, maybe start thinking about wearing a bra.

As I've mentioned in my previous post, I've been studying and researching about health and wellness aside from consistently grinding into the gym to not only be aesthetically better but to cure my mental health issues. I couldn't stress enough the benefits I've been getting from this healthy lifestyle that I'm dreaming of becoming a mentor one day to those who like me also wandered off in the wrong direction. Now speaking of dreaming, I've been hitting the right amount of sleep lately and I couldn't be more proud to say that the last piece of the puzzle on how to optimize muscle gain is now associated in my life. Thanks to different materials I came across on how to improve sleep coz they work wonders. My muscle recovery from these epic sleeps is unbelievable and my physique improved and probably reached its most beautiful form in ages. One thing though that puzzles me is why do I keep dreaming about this girl few nights in a row now and I wonder what these dreams mean.

She's by the river, watching her steps through the rocks while she walks as she gazed through the gushing water. I was not too far from her, watching her with her every step and making sure she won't slip onto something or be caught by the raging water. The latter is simply an exaggeration but that's how protective I am. While she's doing her sweet thing and having her moment, I was at the corner beginning to see her as a goddess who appeared suddenly to remind me how lucky I am to be with her. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever come across with and the greatest love I've ever had.

Clearly, what I have just said wasn't my actual dream but simply a memory of a lost love. Seriously though, what made me write about her is because she indeed appear on one of my dreams and we were really happy together as if we never broken up at all. Since that night of her presence in my dream, I always go to bed with a single wish that I see her again, that I get to be with her again. Unfortunately, she still yet to appear so the rest of the "dreams" I mentioned earlier was just kinda clickbait as I only saw her there once so far. I do daydream about her for sure if that counts as a dream too. One of the motivations I have when going to bed is to see her again. That's the only place that we can be together again. It only started as a little wish, now its already habit. Close my eyes, think about her then fall asleep. Wake up without the trace of her appearance to my dreams but that's fine, move on. Aside from techniques I learned from materials I read about how to get good sleep, I incorporated this habit of thinking about her which may or may not be beneficial to me in a long run.

I vowed not to disrupt her anymore and let her enjoy her life. Even the strong urge that comes up to me time to time to shoot her a message to thank her, give some gratitude as I wouldn't be in this better situation if not because of her, I don't dare to do. I've shut down my socmeds for a long time at the height of my desire to check her out and I still do the same whenever I have this urge to even have a glimpse of her. I've been winning that battle and it really helps me out to cope on that lost that I've already shed so much tears with. I remember early this year when we had our last phone call that I was so drunk (I tricked her to talk to me saying I'm sober when I'm not) I cried so hard like a woman and my emotions are pouring down like that water from the river. I looked back to that moment and realized how effed up I already was with probably nothing but estrogen remaining in my system as beer and stress already turned even the last bit of my testosterone to that female hormone which made me so effing emotional. Probably those drunk men who cry out so hard have the same thing going in their biology and that's exactly what I went through. Anyway, I promised her right on that conversation that I'll strive to be better and try to win her back. But my alcoholism was already extreme that after that peaceful goodbye, I ruined everything by sending her hate messages and pure expression of vengeance and darkness. That was actually the turning point on why I chose to be clean and strive to still fulfill the promise I made to her despite the mess I did. I remember she told me that I should do it for myself and neither for anyone nor for her and that's exactly what I'm doing. If you've reached this part of my writing I know you're thinking that I'm torn between trying to get her attention again or just stay still and do nothing and I completely agree with you. Have you lost someone so significant due to your mess and hope that you'll be forgiven and be given a chance again? Trust me, that question started to rise up again in my mind and even though my clarity is already at its fullness nowadays, there are still times that I find myself pondering about that thoughts...unconsciously.

Recognizing the impact of this dilemma on my day to day life, I choose to now be a little bit open about it in my journal. I might write about it few more times until time finally do its course. I also love the idea of revisiting these articles after decades. This humble site of mine that I've been with for half my life has been the witness on different struggles I had and still having and so far, writing here contributes to a large chunk of my recovery. I don't wanna go back to my old habits again and I feel like if I dwell so much on this thoughts, I might lose the battle. So I will hold firmly to my belief that I should not do anything but to stay focus on continuing what I've started. She mentioned one time that good memories should be kept and those are probably the reasons why she still lingers to my mind. No more hate, no more darkness, just pure light and remnants of happy times. Tonight, I shall go to sleep and hope she's there in dreamland again...a place where she's safe and have nothing but joy and love that she and I once shared.

Paano binago ng alak ang katawan ko at paano ako bumabawi? #alcohol_free_month_7

2024-10-29T02:06:00.000+08:00

"Man boobs! Pare may suso ka na. Congrats!"

Yan ang mga katagang naririnig ko sa likod ng isip ko habang nakatingin ako sa salamin nung ika-24 ng Marso ng taong ito. 3 months straight na non-stop na ko umiinom nun. Hindi alam ng pamilya ko na malala na ang mental health problem ko at lalong hindi alam ng mga kaibigan ko ang pinagdadaanan ko. Katulad mo o katulad ng karamihan, nagdaan ako sa pinakamalalang break-up sa kasaysayan ng buhay ko na pinanawan na ko ng pag-asang mabuhay. Literal na gusto ko nang mamatay nun at everytime na nagigising ako mula sa malalang pagkalasing, galit sa mundo at hindi maipaliwanag na negatibong enerhiya ang sya lamang namamayani sa kalooban ko. "Ayoko na magising! Ayoko nang humarap sa mundo!" Hanggang isang gabi nang sa unang pagkakataon ay nailabas ko sa kapatid ko lahat ng itinatago ko sa kaloob-looban ng puso ko, nagdesisyon akong baguhin ang direksyon ng buhay ko. Ang dapat na pamamaalam sa balak kong pagse-suicide nang gabing yun ay napalitan ng muling pagbangon sa pagkakasalampak ko sa darkest moment na yun ng buhay ko. Literal na isinalba ako ng kapatid ko at heto ang iba pang parte ng kwento.

Mahirap ang naging withdrawal process ko. Isinulat ko ang mga dinanas ko sa mga previous blog ko at disaster talaga. Yung tinatawag na delirium tremens o malalang alcohol withdrawal effects ang pinakachallenging na pinagdaanan ko. Pumasok ulet sa isip ko ang pagpapatiwakal sa period na yun kaya nanghingi ako sa kapatid ko ng extra guidance na imonitor ako pala-palagi. Kaya naman halos oras-oras nya akong kinokontak nung first to second week ng withdrawal ko para i-check kung ok pa ba ako. Sa kagandahang palad, nalampasan ko yung stage na yun at dun na ako nag-start na mag-gain ng lakas para sa mga susunod pang mga araw. Dun ko narealize na mahabang proseso ito at nagsisimula pa lang ako.

Sari-saring physical activities ang ginawa ko. Naaksidente pa ako sa bisikleta at one point kaya mas madalas tumatakbo ako. Pag sobrang sakit ng mga paa at legs ko, nagseswitch ako sa paglakad ng malayo. Ang itsura ko nun kung makikita mo sa pic, may man boobs ako at parang gelatin ang tiyan ko na napakalaki. Namamaga din ang mukha ko sa pagkamanas at in total, larawan talaga ako ng basura na nagpabaya sa katawan dahil sa alak at poor diet. Pero hindi ako nagdwell sa self pity o extreme na pagkaawa sa sarili bagkus ginamit ko yun na motivation para magbago.

Isa o dalawang buwan nang mapansin ko yung mga improvement sa physique ko. Feeling ko wagi na ko at dahil may pagka-jollibee ako, nagyabang agad ako sa social media. May umaprub at nagpahayag ng suporta, meron ding nangbash. Dun ko narealize kung gaano pa ko ka-vulnerable at ang stress na idinulot saken ng mga basher ay halos nagpabalik saken sa bisyong ilang buwan ko nang naiwasan. So nilimitahan ko ang pakikipag-interact online at nagfocus sa sarili ko. Tsaka ano ba naman pakelam saken ng ibang tao? Nabubuhay ba ko according sa expectations nila? F**k them! Sa point na yun, nakakuha na naman ako ng bagong fuel na nagpupush saken para magsumikap pa lalo na gawing better ang sarili ko.

Bukod sa exercise, nagdiet na din ako. Kung dati extreme na hindi ako kumakain dahil minamadali ko yung resulta, nagswitch ako sa less carbs. Kamote, itlog, saging na saba at less rice ang madalas kong kinakain. Hindi rin ako nawawalan ng hilaw na sibuyas para tumulong sa metabolism. Hindi na ko nakikipag-interact sa social media at may times na nagdedeactivate ako para maiwasan ang distraction. I was just minding my own business at inadapt ko ang "win each day" mantra na kung saan, pag nalagpasan ko ang araw na hindi ako nakainom ng alak at nagawa ko ang exercise routine at diet ko, panalo na ako. Things become much and much better saken hindi lang sa pisikal kundi maging sa mental health ko.

July nang mapagdesisyunan ko na i-adopt ang intermittent fasting. 16 hrs na walang calories intake. Natuto ako magkape ng walang asukal at mas lalo pa ko uminom ng madaming tubig. Dahil madami na kong oras mula nang mag-stop ako sa socmed, ginugol ko yun sa pag-aaral. Nagbabasa ako, nanunuod ako ng mga lectures about wellness and health. Ginawa kong scientific ang approach ko at hindi lang puro kung ano yung feeling ko. Hindi rin nawala syempre yung philosophy at principles na akma sa results na gusto ko. Dinadahan-dahan ko ang lahat at buong tyaga kong hinihimay yung mga methods. Marami akong natuklasan sa sarili ko katulad ng kahinaan ko sa emotional na aspeto at kung gaano ako kabilis na tumitiklop sa mga bagay na nakakatrigger saken. Ambilis ko mafrustrate at everytime na down ako, dun pumapasok yung desire ko na uminom ulet ng alak. Natuklasan ko na kaya pala ako naadik sa alak ay dahil mahina akong nilalang. Nilulunod ko sarili ko sa alcohol para makaiwas sa mga mental at emotional issues ko imbes na harapin. Kaya hinarap ko yung mga issues na yun at tuwing umaga, naglalaan ako ng oras para mag-meditate. Hindi ako lumalabas ng bahay hangga't hindi ko na-sosolid yung mindset na kakailanganin ko para sa araw na yun. "Win each day!" at everytime na namemaintain ko yung pagiging kalmado at composed sa pagharap sa mga triggers, panalo na ako sa araw na yun.

July din nang naging sunod-sunod ang pagbuhos ng ulan. Natuklasan ko na ang pagtakbo na syang bread and butter ko sa transformation na inaasam ko ang syang pinakaepektibo pero hindi ko magawa dahil sa panahon. Sinubukan kong iintensify ang chalistenics o yung mga workout sa bahay lang pero hindi ko makuha yung endorphin o boost na ibinigay saken ng running. Nagsimula na naman akong bumalik sa mga habits ko tulad ng gaming at panunuod ng series (pati porn) na nagpa-couch potato saken nang malala. Nag-umpisa na namang magform yung mga negativities ko at sa isang iglap ay nararamdaman ko yung nalalapit na failure ko sa mga ginagawa ko. Sa pagiging sedentary ko, bumababa yung testosterone ko na sanhi ng pagiging bugnutin ko na naman at pagiging stressed. Nang bumuti yung panahon, napagpasyahan kong maglakad. Nabreak ko yung record ko sa pinakamalayong nalakad nung araw na yun. Napagpasyahan kong i-treat ang sarili ko dahil birthday ko naman. Pero nang akmang uupo na ko sa coffee shop para umorder ng kape at red velvet cake, natanaw ko ang mga kabataan papunta sa gym na natatanaw ko lang sa kinaroronan ko. Tumayo ako sa kinauupuan ko at sinundan sila. Ilang minuto pa at nakaregister na ko sa gym. Weight lifting ang kailangan ko para i-boost ang testosterone ko at hindi yang cake na yan. Kahit birthday ko, ipinagpalit ko ang cake sa barbels at dumbels nung araw na yun. Umuwi akong masakit ang katawan pero nag-uumapaw ang endorphine at parang nagbabounce-bounce pa ang dopamine at serotonin ko sa biglang boost. Yun ang simula ng gym habits ko.

Simula nung July, naging hybrid athlete ako. Sadyang hindi ko kayang iwan ang cardio kaya tumatakbo pa din ako pag maganda ang panahon. I've never felt so strong in my whole life until these times. Para akong bumalik sa edad na 27 na kung saan huli akong naging active at buffed. Lumabas na naman ang mga injuries dahil sa pagka-aggressive ko sa workout so medyo kinalmahan ko lang ang emosyon ko kase sadyang emotional talaga ako sa kahit saan mapa-positive o negative na dahilan. Nakuha ko yung rhtym ko at tuloy tuloy ang pag-aaral na ginagawa ko kasabay ng pag-execute ng mga pinag-aaralan ko. Sound body is sound mind at more than enough ang patotoo ko dyan.

Sa ngayon, winowork out ko nang husto ang consistency. Walang kwenta na lumalakas ako at nagagawa ko yung workout routines ko kung vulnerable pa din ako sa temptations of all kinds. As I gain physical improvements, I also gain attention from opposite sex pero I can't afford to be distracted. I would take their compliments but thats it then I'll move on. Physical, mental and emotional strengths and goal kong maabot ngayon. Malayo pa pero malayo na. Goal kong maabot ang optimum potentials ko until the 365 days na sinet kong period na sobriety. I want to make changes so I can help others din to reach theirs.

Let's not pour doubts and discouragement sa mga taong nais magbago. Suportahan natin sila at wag natin silang i-down. Ang pinaka enemy ng taong nais ng changes sa buhay nya ay ang kahinaan nya sa mga nasasabi ng iba. Sa era at society ngayon na malaking bagay yung approval at validation mula sa iba, ang pinaka maitutulong natin ay i-boost ang confidence ng isang tao, hindi ang i-bash sya. Dun lang tayo sa reyalidad. I-admit natin na nasa soft era tayo na words hurt so much now than before, therefore, be careful sa mga binibitawan nating salita. Sa mga katulad ko naman na goal pa din i-strengthen yung thick skin nila sa mga criticsms para maabot yung goals, mag-iimprove at nag-iimprove tayo everyday. Shutdown whatever needs to be shutdown kung nakakasagabal saten. Pwera syempre yung mga nagmamahal saten. Wag natin gayahin si Rendon. We want to be a beast but not his type of beast. O siya hanggang dito na lang at baka kung saan pa mapunta. Stay postive at laban lang ng laban! Win each day!

I quit vaping and...

2024-09-24T00:36:00.000+08:00

That's it! I quit vaping and what else can I say? I have to say something right? Otherwise what good is this blog entry if all it has is that broad title. So here's the story:

I haven't been vaping for more than a month now. At first it was just an economic decision as the little piece of s**t just got more expensive in the Philippines and I thought that's not fair. But then I realized its now a booming industry and the government should profit from it even more. Taxes rose up due to different s*it that both government and business sector agreed to impose but I can clearly see that consumers are the main reasons why additional profit must be obtained by stake holders. People got crazy over this highly addictive habit that demand breaks the supply hence business booms. In the background, cigarette and vape companies are having war but that's none of my concern so let me focus on why I simply quit this vice and its not purely due to financial reasons.

Vaping, as its supporters say is lesser evil than smoking. Cigarette has thousands toxins that enter the body that cause horrible diseases. While I agree to this, I concluded that you cannot pick a poison between these two vices are they are just equally evil. Vape has its fair share of chemicals that enter the body when you inhale it once it becomes aerosol. I'm not an expert and I don't need to identify those chemicals from vape products that mainly affect lungs but I can surely say that this vice in its infancy is still being studied just like cigarette in its humble beginnings. Both are just equally dangerous. Now enough of chemistry and their effects on the user's physiological state and let me state my major and personal reason why I quit vaping. (Drum roll...) Mental health is what made me decide to quit vaping. Chemical imbalance inside the body that affects hormones due to excessive intake of nicotine is what made me quit on this yet another horrible vice that I now officially align with smoking and drinking abuse.

I didn't care much about the foreign objects that enter my lungs as I've been a smoker then vaper for decades now.. But since I quit alcohol, I became very wary of things that will alter my mental state due to hormonal imbalance. If you're not aware yet, vapes are packed with nicotine and nicotine is a nootropic drug. Nootropics, or “smart drugs,” are a class of substances that can boost brain performance. A boost in thinking capability is not a bad thing and I can tolerate that not until I learned that nicotine also affects the dopamine and other hormone release such as norepinephrine and epinephrine. To sum it up, if you become dependent on any addictive agents for your happiness, your tolerance will eventually rise up which later on becomes addiction. Unfortunately, there is no healthy addiction and whether its smoking or vaping, you will be consuming foreign substances that your body is not designed to take. Sure our body will adapt and our immune system will catch up until it cannot take them anymore which eventually will cause our demise. Simply because of our unconscious behavior of chasing that hormonal release to the expense of both of our physical and mental health that we endure the damage our addictions bring to us.

I quit vaping and now I'm happier. Not only that my pockets can breath from the cost of this expensive vice, my lungs also improve its performance during my runs and other physical activities. Alan Watts said that the meaning of life is "just to be alive" but it doesn't mean that we have to settle to that simplicity. There are million reasons to die and since I adopted the "win each day" mantra, I am no longer afraid to die. My goal is to etched my legacy as someone who turned things around in his lifetime and gave zero f*ck to naysayers. With "winning each day" as the main flavor of my everyday life, it certainly will not disappoint me should my final hours knock. The days that I lived that I can vividly remember, uninterrupted by vices that hinder my clarity will certainly satisfy my whole existence. I know this blog is supposed to be just about quitting vaping and I apologize that it ended this way but in totality, the message that I just want to convey is...let's not f*ck our own system with these mind altering instruments and stay away from vices as best as we can. If you haven't quit yet, find your "day one" if today isn't it yet.

Kabi-kabilang sakit ng katawan! Workout pa!

2024-09-19T01:22:00.000+08:00

I just turned 37 last July at maniwala ka o hindi pero I feel like 27 again! I guess lahat ng pagpapagod at diet na pinagagawa ko since nagstop ako uminom e nagbubunga na. Hindi na mabigat ang katawan ko sa umaga at lalong hindi na ko puro negative agad paggising pa lang. I know na medyo paulit-ulit lang yung ibang sinasabi ko about motivation, being strong etc. Pero this journal really helps me a lot lalo na sa trajectory ng goal ko which is to be healthy overall. Maybe unconsciously nauulit-ulit ko yung content and I'll explain that later. Pero in this entry its more on sharing lang talaga about my routine.

In my past posts, I mentioned a bit about my diet which was mainly low carb. I changed that now with intermittent fasting but with a twist. Although madalas ako mag 16:8, I also do 14:10 and even 12:12 minsan. Sa 16:8, depende sa intensity ng workout ko sa umaga, naachieve ko to nang walang hirap. For example, I will run 3 km sa umaga before work or do pull ups, push ups or ab workouts and considered light workouts lang yun for me so bagay sila for 16:8. Note na isa lang sa nabanggit na workouts ang ginagawa ko na more or less 20 mins lang and hindi masyadong nakakapagod at nakakagutom yun so survive ang long hours until mag-end yung fasting. Pero kapag tumakbo ako ng 5-7 km or nag-gym ako sa umaga for 30 mins or more before work, I go for 14:10 or even 12:12 kase grabe na yung naburn na calories na need ko na magreplenish. Sa kinakain ko naman, wala pa din ako masyadong pili. Tipikal na Pinoy meals na puro taba at oil (haha) pero small amount lang then susundutin ko sya ng either boiled eggs or saging na saba or both para satiated na ko until second meal na kung saan dun lang ako nagra-rice. Wala ako pakelam kung anong pagkain since I cook as well and hindi ako fan ng mga kaartehan. Calories in-calories out and I just make sure na sustainable at simple yung meal ko. One thing lang na binago ko ng husto e sugar or sweets. I dont do sugar sa kape ko at all anymore and while I still eat pastries, sobrang konti na lang unlike nung bago pa lang ako nagquit ng alcohol. Kase for some reason, bigla nagspike up yung hilig ko sa matatamis nung di na ako active sa alcohol.

On some rare occasion lalo na pag sobrang ulan at di ako nakapag-gym or nakatakbo, I do 18:6 or even 20:4 fasting. Though kahit kaya ko magfast ng matagal, I choose not to do it often kase during fasting, your body consumes your stored fats but also your muscles. So dahil nagje-gym na ko, sayang naman kung maapektuhan yung muscle gain ko. Kaya tamang 16:8 lang ako to produce keytones na kakain ng fats ko lalo na sa belly area. Then sa hapon when the whole ordeal of fasting is finished for the day, saka ako magwe weight lifting. I have 2 favorite coffee shops na tinatambayan bago magwork out to get my sugar-less brewed coffee para high na high ang energy ko during weight lifting. Sa gym, with new found friends na mostly younger than me feeling young din ako and kuma-catch up ako sa energy nila. Yun nga lang, payback time pagdating ng gabi kase andyan na yung muscle pains.

Nung mga unang weeks ng work out ko, epic yung body pain ko talaga. I would take a bath with warm water to lessen the pain then have my last meal for the day. I take a lot of protein rich food at night pero regardless yun kung anong protein source. Yung iba ayaw nila ng oily and fatty pero binabanatan ko yang mga pagkain na yan sa gabi kung yun lang ang available na mostly e galing sa carinderia. Our body needs fat and cholesterol for testosterone production and I don't care kung magcarry ako ng extra fat kung para naman sa hormone na yun. I often eat raw onions as well para sa testosterone pa din and for muscle repair para sa mga nadamage na tissue.

Sa next morning, mas malala yung body pain pero I get up from bed no problem. No pain, no gain! Although recently aside sa shoulder injury ko na gumagaling na, wala na ko masyadong isyu sa body pain. Di ko alam kung nasanay na ko or sadyang nakapag-adapt na yung katawan ko. Anyway thats how hypertrophy works and muscles at rest is where they grow so gradually, masasanay ka na din.

Everything I mentioned above, lahat yun ay through mental strength. A friend once asked me pano daw maging consistent sa routine tulad ng saken. Sabi ko, train your mind much harder than your body. The reason why I write almost every night along with my reading and listening to bright minds are because, kahit magbuhat ka at magpakamatay ka sa kakawork out, kung ga-munggo lang yung utak mo at ni wala kang fundamentals ng mind strength, nagsasayang ka lang ng pagod. Train your mind by thinking deeply through reflections and gaining knowledge. This right here, etong pagsusulat ko ng blog, this is my form of reflection and kaya minsan nauulit ko yung content ko is because need ko pa syang ire-iterate sa sarili ko bago ko sya totally ma-internalize. My idol David Goggins said, "you have to form a callus in your mind". Hindi sapat na puro nasa palad mo lang yung kalyo ng pagpapagod mo, dapat magkaroon din ng kalyo yung utak mo. So I might sound like a broken record sometime pero each time I reflect on what I've written here, lalo lang nun napupush ako na maging consistent kase its not enough na naisip mo sya, you have to put them into practice. Now if repetition works for you para maimprint sa utak mo yung gusto mong ipatupad sa sarili mo, ulit-ulitin mo lang hanggang maging normal na part na sya ng sistema mo.With that, let's all be resilient! Sasakit ang katawan natin pati mga utak natin pero hindi tayo titigil hanggang yung pain ay magdala ng resulta na hinahangad natin. Keep working!

Alcohol-Free, Month 6: My running shoes are giving up but not me

2024-09-15T23:17:00.002+08:00

This morning, I just broke my running record to 10 km for just an hour. Its a beautiful Sunday morning with a weather so forgiving that I didn't mind going on a run a bit late. I didn't even plan to run today coz its my rest day from work and gym and cardio exercises but I woke up a bit cumbersome that I need a release. After checking the temperature and humidity which is not that bad for an 8 am run, I went on to see some action on the road. Now my running shoes are showing signs of wear and tear already so as my knees. While my knees can still endure, I don't think my shoes can still go on for a couple of weeks more so now I'm eyeing for a new and better pair. Anyhow, I went on to a light pace for a supposed 3 km run only to realize that I'm already at 6 km. David Goggins recommended to add more than what you originally set and there I ended up at 10 km. My exhaustion was indescribable but the satisfaction was through the roof. I did it again but I gotta spare myself for a day after this coz my body as well as my shoes are already showing signs of pain. Its not that I'm giving up but I don't wanna over train so I'll catch up with enough rest tomorrow.

While I'm at home enjoying my Spanish lessons, my brother came with lots of food and of course, booze. Its not meant for me as he got our friends with him so I ended up just hanging out with them with my few cups of coffee. I am no longer tempted to alcohol and my circle already respects me for being alcohol free. It doesn't mean though that I'm excused to not chip in to this festivity. I had to sing the most songs in the karaoke coz they enjoy my singing (not to brag). I like that I still get to share something on the table in a non-alcoholic way. I feel like Desmond Doss from "Hacksaw Ridge" movie who received military awards without killing a single human in the battle field. I'm in the "inuman session" laughing with the gang and giving my fair share of tito jokes aside from singing while still not breaking my sobriety. I didn't know it was possible 6 months ago but here I am, still believes and still unbent.

Prior to drinking session, I was already exhausted from running and cleaning the house. I meant to catch some nap when visitors came in earlier than expected so I literally didn't catch a break. Good thing it finished earlier so here I am with the last stretch for the day with my journal. I am already aware that whenever I'm dead tired, my emotions pour in. In the past, drinking alcohol whenever I'm super tired bypasses the melancholic phase and I go straight to sleep. Now that I'm not charged with alcohol, I'm left with a great deal of caffeine in my system, struggling to sleep and playing with memories again. Its not secret that the memories of my ex is still the single most recurring thing in my life right now even its already a year that we've been separated. Its not that I'm not trying my best to forget her but I owe her a lot for all these good things that are happening to me right now. So before you think that it's all negative, that's no longer the case. She's now officially the source of my inspiration to everything I do. I extracted all the good stuff that we shared together and all the lessons she imparted to me which I use as a material for my ongoing recovery. With 6 months into this journey of alcohol sobriety, the clarity is unmatched and the emotions while still attack are not anymore entirely detrimental to my progress unlike in the early months. I battled numerous times (and still am) with the temptation of opening up a communication with her again. Unlike in the early months, I can now win over this temptation easily nowadays and I'm very proud of it. Aside from running and working out, writing is also my secret weapon on this consistency hence my countless letters that I never sent to her. Letters that I thought after couple of months of this life changing journey that I initiated would help me win her back like what I used to do during the early part of our relationship. Instead I just keep them to myself and revisit them from time to time to remind myself that everything I said there aren't just full of sh*t and I'm working my way on fulfilling them (also I no longer intend to win her back so that premise is already irrelevant). Like what she used to say, "Do it for yourself. Its for your own good." and that holds true. I feel like we can be good friends should I initiate communicating with her again and she will be the greatest boost on my cause but I'm still a long way to be someone she might be interested with again. Its not that I'm lacking confidence, I'm just trying to be appropriate. The appropriate thing to do is keep the respect I vowed to give her eternally. That respect, that vow mean not to disrupt her, not to interrupt her with her life. I'm very proud that I'm also achieving that promise.

I'm still not decided which running shoes in the market would be the best to match with my running hunger but I guess I have to wait up until my beloved current ones ultimately gave up. I love these shoes, they are a vital part of my cause and thinking about not being able to be with them in the upcoming runs almost gives me separation anxiety. But you know, we have to move on at some point and time no matter how slow will certainly heals. I might put up these shoes somewhere safe when its time for them to retire but I will never forget them and the days we've been together. Wet and dry, dusty or muddy, these shoes never let me down. As I get stronger and stronger, shoes might come and go as I don't have plans on slowing down on my running habit until maybe I reached my plateau. That would probably be at the time when I can no longer use my legs for strenuous activities due to old age. But what is considered "old"? That's a topic for upcoming entries which I would love to explore. For now, have a great day, have a great life and be sure to drink plenty of water and keep your electrolytes on a right level. Let's run!

I hurt my shoulder and its pretty bad

2024-09-08T23:44:00.000+08:00

My goal for fitness has just intensified after series of rainy days that halted my running routine. I decided to go to the gym and lift weights. Apparently, living in a tropical country has its pros and cons. Its rainy season in the country and unless I want to incorporate swimming in my daily exercise, it wouldnt be too bad but leptospirosis is a thing to be afraid of and I won't dare catching it. While I still run when the weather is good, I also now visit the gym few times a week.

A week ago, my rotator cuff seemed to snap and now I can barely move my left shoulder specially for shoulder workouts. Its really painful and very uncomfy. While I'm pretty resilient and already fell in love with pain, working on a bad shoulder may probably just exacerbate the situation and I don't like that. However, shoulder day should go as planned but less intense means less weights for now for the said muscle group. This is not a new thing and I had this problem almost a decade ago when I was actively lifting weights. I guess muscle memory is really a thing that it even recalled my past injury. Its still a totally satisfying experience and each of my gym session is therapy to my ever improving mental health.

Its now going six months since I abandoned alcohol and I cannot stress enough the significance of this decision which is probably the best I had in my whole existence. I feel like a new person now and each day gets more and more beautiful on this alcohol-free journey. I guess it has something to do with the level of my testosterone that keeps going up due to my new non-sedentary lifestyle matched with right diet and ample amount of rest. Speaking of diet, I just became a fan of intermittent fasting which at first was so hard but determination got me now to this point that 16:8 is just a normal thing. I would consume tons of protein rich foods during my eating window and take low carb but satiating staples. My mom sent me a sack of black rice when she found out I'm on a diet and this rare type of rice really changed the game. Moms know best indeed!

While my sleep is still on a questionable routine, I make sure to maintain 6-7 hrs everyday. I am no longer on a night shift job and so night sleep is now a thing. Though I still do some writing before going to bed so I still go pretty late but I make sure to time it and not be carried away with it as overthinking also triggers sleeplessness. Like what I've mentioned in my previous blogs, I'm working on a short novel and its really damn hard but I commit to finish it no matter how slow plus I am really taking my writing craft very seriously. I love writing and I will surely stick to this true love until I get old. Back to my sleeping stuff, my coffee addiction that mainly contributes to my sleepless nights is now tamed. I consume a lot of decaf instead of the regular coffee. I don't know if its just a placebo as they said that decaf still has caffeine in it but it still put me to sleep anyway so I stick to decaf. My sleeping habit is still a work in progress but its already much better than before.

Its getting late and I have to finish this. I really don't have so much agenda on this entry but unlike the ones that I keep in private, I'm publishing this one and probably more as I aim for much longer social media detox moving forward. I mean few of my socmed contacts (who reads) already found my website and I'd rather share to them through this platform more often as they are the ones who genuinely give a sh*t. I relapsed on my socmed sobriety but I admit its really hard to beat that one so I'll reactivate my socmed from time to time. My mom whom is my number one fan always sends her support whenever she sees my facebook story so I will post FB story once in a while. She's a great proponent of good health and she's getting better and better as she gets old. I want to make her proud all the time that her son is striving to be healthier to be like her whom at her age is still exceptionally agile and active. Ma, I love you and I'll see you soon. Hilutin mo balikat ko!

My alcohol sobriety journey and how running plays a huge role on this ongoing project

2024-09-04T02:54:00.003+08:00

As my journey toward a 100% alcohol-free lifestyle continues, all I can do is hope I make it through the first 365 days—and maybe even beyond. So far, so sober. Let me share how I’ve been working to keep this up… and how running (yes, running) has been my unlikely savior.

It all started in January 2024 when I was diagnosed with fatty liver, acute gastritis, and a urinary tract infection—basically the holy trinity of bad lifestyle choices. I was also showing signs of gallstones, probably because I was on a steady diet of pares and mami (I mean, how do you say no to that after a night of drinking, right?).

Despite my medical report looking like a walking PSA for “Don’t Be Like This Guy,” I still kept drinking. Not even a doctor's stern face could scare me straight. But then, my mental health started spiraling down so fast, I felt like I was trying to drink my way out of a black hole—with gasoline. It wasn’t until I hit that dark place where life itself felt optional that I realized: I need to get out… or I won’t make it out.

It took me two months of failing, crying, and trying again before something finally clicked.

If you want to kick something, you use your foot, right? Lightbulb moment. So I decided to literally kick the habit—by running.

That first run? Absolute hell. Like, more painful than a breakup where you still owe the girl money. But then something crazy happened… the endorphins. The adrenaline. That weird euphoric joy that comes with not dying in the middle of a jog. I thought, “Wait, am I actually into this?”

So what did I do next? I ran again the following day. Another painful run. My legs were screaming, my lungs were filing complaints, and I was 99% sure my bones were about to snap like expired chopsticks. I genuinely started wishing my skeleton was made of adamantium.

By Day 2, I was toast. Done. Dried squid. I sat myself down and said, “I earned this rest.” And maybe I did. But maybe… I also earned an excuse.

On Day 3, I didn’t run. I parked my butt in the same chair where I used to drink alone. Big mistake. The craving slithered right back in. I was staring at the table, and suddenly, in my mind, there it was again—ice-cold, sparkling golden beer… looking sexier than it ever had. I swear I even heard Egyptian music playing in the background, like the ancestors were tempting me with ancient alcohol magic.

Panic mode.

"This can’t be happening," I told myself. I jumped out of that chair like it was cursed. Grabbed my shoes. My feet were still sore, but I didn’t care. I ran. Under the blistering heat of the Philippine summer sun, I ran like my life depended on it—because honestly, it kinda did.

With the heat index soaring and the sun basically auditioning for the role of Satan’s spotlight, there I was—dragging my sweaty, slightly crispy body across the concrete road that now felt more like a flat-top grill. Every few meters I had to stop, not to rest, but to check if anyone was watching me like, "Who’s this lunatic slow-roasting himself at high noon?"

It only took me 1.5 km to say, “Okay, this is insane. I’m not David Goggins. I have the right to procrastinate in this kind of weather.” I found shade under an acacia tree and decided to scroll a bit—classic move. That’s when I stumbled upon a video of actual David Goggins. At first, I didn’t care. Just some buff dude yelling online. Until he started cursing like he was personally offended by my weakness.

“You stop when you’re DONE! Not when you’re TIRED!”

Boom. That hit me like a slap from the heavens (or maybe just heatstroke hallucinations). But whatever it was, it worked. My feet started moving again. Every time he yelled, I pushed harder. Under the scorching Philippine sun, drenched in sweat and borderline regret—I ran 4 kilometers. That was the exact moment I unlocked something in me: the beginning of my weird but wonderful running addiction.

Now, every time the urge to drink creeps in—I run. I don’t care what time it is. Rain? Sun? Heatwave? LPA? Doesn’t matter. I run.

Barangay officials even flagged me once for suspicious activity. Apparently, running at 1 a.m. in a hoodie makes you look like a burglar. Fair. But after a few weeks, they got used to me. Even the neighborhood dogs stopped barking. Instead of chasing me, they now just judge me silently like, "Oh great, it’s that emotionally unstable jogger again."

Three months in, I noticed the changes. My body leaned out, my mind started clearing, and I felt… sharper. More alive. Even some of my neighbors noticed. A few of them started running too. One guy even asked me to share my story on his YouTube channel. I told him, “Pre, I’m still a work in progress. Hindi pa ako pang-vlog.” He understood, but kept the offer open in case I ever feel ready to inspire people.

Inspire people? Ako? Talaga ba?

Maybe one day. But for now, I’m just focused on winning my own battles.

Today, I run regularly. I’m faster, stronger, and no longer making excuses. Here’s what I learned: you don’t need a gym membership, fancy shoes, or a structured plan to start. You don’t even need motivation most days. You just need to do it. Doesn’t matter if it’s a walk, a light jog, or a 1 a.m. emotional sprint—just get moving.

And hey, I get it—this isn’t about you, it’s about me. But if you’re still reading this, maybe you’re also going through something. Maybe you’re also finding your own way out of the dark. And wouldn’t it be sweet if one day, our paths crossed and we shared stories about how we turned pain into progress?

What’s even sweeter is realizing that this wasn’t just a phase or a resolution. This is a lifestyle. And in order for real, lasting change to happen—like in my case, kicking alcoholism—you don’t just quit something.

You build a life where that thing no longer belongs.

Temptation will always knock. But self-respect answers the door now. And it tells temptation to f*ck off.

Have a good day. Lace up. Let’s run.