Tag: writing

Dog

Dog

Posted on by villaalexisf

(Trigger Warning: pet loss)

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On the first year of my Bipolar diagnosis, we adopted our first dog – a Shih Tzu / Lhasa Apso mix. He had white fur on his body but the tips of his ears were a gradient of gray. When we got him, I could hold him with one hand, eyes so innocent (eventually: manipulative), fur so soft, paws so pristine, and possibilities so vast. 

During the pandemic, I whispered to him, “Please don’t die, not right now.” The quarantine ended, we’re all free to travel wherever we want. I got greedy. “Please don’t die. Please live forever.” He didn’t. 

My dog died on a Tuesday. How do I process grief that I’ve been dreading for the past 15 years? I could see his silhouette or smell his shampoo if I close my eyes hard enough. There’s a void in the house – pet bowls missing from one corner, a dog bed from another, and all seven kilograms of him buried at my Father’s ancestral house in Batangas. 

Friends say I should write about my dog, immortalize his memory with words. I cut a chunk of his fur and I placed it in a small jar, an emotional support fur that I couldn’t bring myself to look at. I just want to hug him one last time, in his youth, not when we were about to send him away: stiff and lifeless. His paws stretched out and his limbs like a stick that wouldn’t fold. 

I’ll write about you, Lupin. Life got a bit more difficult so I’d like to imagine you’re having so many great adventures across the rainbow bridge. 

You’re finally reunited with Puccini and you’re together and running around. You’ll finally get to meet my paternal grandparents, I know they’ll love you. You can play with Jen again. Say hi to Brett for me. Sit by Lola’s side until we get there. 


Lupin (October 9, 2010 to July 7, 2026)

And This Is Why You Must Write.

Posted on by villaalexisf

If you’ve outlived a loved one, 

It’s their remnants in the mundane 

The freshens each hurt. The dust 

Collecting on their shoes, the absence 

Of footsteps on the stairs, and the silence 

Of each evening. Youth left with the last time 

You opened the front door. Keys fumbled through 

The lock and we wasted the years humbled by 

The unkept dreams of childhood. I am fully

Functional but not really. I forget the shape

Of his eyebrows when frustrated and his grin 

When victorious. From where I sit, he is still 

There, tucked within journals and poems

I wrote to keep him alive – through this

He will outlive me. 

Through All The Things You Cannot Change

Posted on by villaalexisf

You sleep like a child. Start the slumber induced 
Time warp to breeze through the inevitable 
Like a montage. The mundane you cannot escape: 
The long commute home, reckless conversations, 
Basic hygiene, forced pleasantries, society’s fun-filled 
Pendulum. Power through and pretend you’re too tired. 
You are not exceptionally exhausted, just perpetually so. 

Let’s make believe you are in charge of your life. 
Stuck and in awe of people who have everything 
Pieced together and crumbling at the same time.
You are not trash but you’re no one’s treasure either. 
With your fingers you can feel the earth, your eyes 
Can process photons, just sensory spares of the universe,
Dwindling and disassociating. Don’t ask me 
If I feel the same way. I’m too distracted to notice.

Colors and Calm

Posted on by villaalexisf

You deserve the deepest hues

At whichever wavelength your monsters 

Require. I live your myths before fully 

Grasping the lore, even argue with sphinxes 

To preserve it. I’ll let you go

As easily as conscience goes.

You can calm the experience through 

Verses or claim it as an afterthought. 

I’d fondly regret on days when 

Everyone else has denied me and go 

Back to where we were blinded by 

Rose colored spaces – only to awake

As mundane and monochrome.

Yet, I’ll live as you can no longer.

How I Feel About My MFA Thesis:

Posted on by Dyne

Ahead of the tapestry, a weaver 

Does not philosophize about the thread.

Shed. Pick. Beat. Repeat. Not relishing 

In completion, only fixating on

pushing the weft into place. 

And yet, here I am, blocking 

the stark sunlight with the promise

of a curtain. They lift and lower with 

Control. Altered tension breaks 

The monotony of color. Rhythmic but 

Not musical. I celebrate at every beat, 

Grin at each syllable that’s stuck 

In the drafts formed by fleeting discipline. 

Unable to finish. Unable to let go.

Escapism, Privilege, and Reading

Posted on by Dyne

Hello! How’s everybody doing? Hope you’re all doing well… or at least coping enough to get by.

I went to the grocery store to get supplies because I’ve been thinking of making Japanese Cotton Cheesecake for weeks now. Anyway, when I did get the ingredients, I decided not to bake. Looks like the cream cheese will end up on my toast instead. Hehe.

Metro Manila dramatically changed over the past few months. It’s unsettling. Poverty is unsettling. Privilege makes me feel guilty. I’ve been working remotely since January, I quit my job in the academe because of my ‘promotion’ (or lack thereof). I started working in a startup and saw how an employee deserves to be treated. Not everyone can leave a dead end job. I‘m in a constant state of guilt and paranoia – oscillating between toxic positivity and impending doom.

any ARMYs here?

So why didn’t I bake? Because I picked up a book and read. I’m still reading Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Dispossessed. I think it’s been a month since I started reading it and I’m still at chapter 4. The pandemic didn’t help my reading habits. It completely ruined it. I guess, it’s just one of the small things that went down the drain. But I’m trying. I’m listening to the audiobooks while arranging my island in Animal Crossing. Which reminds me: you might want to add me. Here’s my friend code: SW-0443-0198-5228.

please add me!

After a few paragraphs of Le Guin, I picked up my Switch and played again. It’s one of the few things that make sense right now. I mean, I know that it’s starting to become unhealthy. It’s the purest form of escapism right now that has the least potential to harm. But still escapism nonetheless. But you can escape with your friends. Hihi. That’s the best part.

Let’s pretend the pandemic isn’t happening as long as we have adorable background music.

Reading gives me the same feeling. Or at least, it used to. My reading habit went downhill when I started looking at it from an academic point of view. During my undergrad in Physics, there was a clear demarcation line between leisure and study. I love literature but I’m also working hard for my MFA degree, where does leisure begin and academics end? I can’t read anything without thinking in terms of ‘how can I write like this?’ or something like ‘how can I use this structure in my work?’

So there, what used to be an escape for me became something I am escaping from.

too tired to function

Please take care of yourselves! Love, Dyne 💜🥺