It’s not too late to get back on track.

Quit trying to straighten out your life before you give it to God. Give God your crooked self now, and let Him figure out what to do with it. Jesus built a movement on lepers, prostitutes and tax collectors. He can work with what you’ve got, and straighten you out in the process, but you have to be willing to stand before Him, sins and all, and say: ‘I don’t know why you’d want me, but if that’s what you’re asking for, here I am.’ – Unka Glen

It’s post-first-senior-semester and I am wondering on all my life has come to. I feel old, ripe, and rotten. I remember being an adult in a teenager’s body; so mature and wise for my age from all the experiences I’ve been and all the conversations I’ve had with God. So many questions that have already been answered and locked away for me to easily take but now I’m just so lost and lonely and alone; officially an adult but just a brooding teenager inside trying to get my life back and piece everything together to fit the reality I want to live. I have been so lost so long, so afraid of being unfound that all I really do is wait for that bang; the big finish in the middle that’ll let me know that all of this misery and waiting hasn’t been for nothing. But I guess that’s the problem. All I really do is wait without wanting enough, or acting, and I’m trying so hard to fix myself before searching for Him– trying to do everything alone thinking I can do it when maybe it’s time I realize that maybe God wants me broken. Maybe He wants to be given the opportunity to love me as I am and fix all that’s crumbled inside me. If it’s anything I learned, I realized that God doesn’t stop loving you. Even if you don’t love yourself or ignore Him every time He knocks, good things keep coming and so will His love forever. His love isn’t based on conditions, on whether you love Him or not or whether you even acknowledge His presence. I guess it’s the constant and I guess it’s why I’m trying so hard to fix myself without His help. Just to try to prove that maybe, I can do it alone. But I am tired of waiting and of this brokenness. This misery and fear that keeps me hidden in my room, preventing me to experience all the things I have yet to experience. I am 20. I don’t want to waste any more. I want to be the person I want to be. I’m just so afraid of finding everything too late.

I am a sinner and I am broken and I am human but I’m no longer doing this on my own. Each step of the way I’m going to try to offer it up to God. Maybe all God wants is me and it’s time I stopped lying to myself and facing what’s there. It’s difficult looking myself in the mirror lately. So much brightness and opportunity down the drain at the strange face now staring back at me that I have forced the mirror on backwards, just so I don’t have to see. But acceptance is the first step, and I’m not giving up. It’s time I stopped waiting. Here’s to offering myself up and hoping that somewhere along the way I’ll be my very own miracle.

It’s time for me to open.

Beat the odds.

Three minutes until three in the morning and I have early class in a few hours but here I am, spending my time on what I do best: inspiration. I decided to shed a new light first and foremost in my external surroundings, aka my room since it’s where I am most and printed cut out inspirational block quotes and words. I need a change within me and plenty of people usually say that it begins inside but trust me, sometimes having an outside influence helps a ton.

Time for new changes, beginning with a no longer clean block of wall.

It looks a bit messy but it is art nonetheless. Every single day before I leave the door for daily life, I’ll be struck by the bright colorful cubes of remarks to remind me of the kind of person and the kind of life I can have. Like a friend said, “work on yourself; time will pass by that before you know it, you’re already there– the exact point you wanted to be months ago but never dreamed of reaching.” It begins with an act. And ultimately I realized that it has to begin with me.

Majority of the days I spend lying in bed, crying myself to sleep or fantasizing about better conditions; situations I actually want to find myself in. Little did I realize that I have an entire other life in my head and the actual one I am living is dissipating into concrete waste. Back when I was bright, I had a strong sense of control where I would stop myself from getting worse– the voice that screamed “don’t do that to yourself”; I guess I was my own guardian angel.

Now I’m my own little devil and I’m struggling back to grace, and then I realize that maybe grace has been reaching out for me all this time. Moments when I feel soft knocks in my soul, somebody asking to come in, to let Him take the wheel of what I’ve become and drive me to safety. I hope the knocker never tires for I’m about to budge soon. Do a full on U-Turn as long as I’m moving. I guess all this time, all I’ve really been doing is wait. But it’s time to move. I’ve been waiting for a push or pull somewhere but nothing has come and I’m exhausted on standing by, the dawn burning out. Where is the sense in waiting if I don’t know what I’m waiting on? Where is the sense in being if I can’t be me in my fullest most authentic potential? It’s time I got there.

You're mostly a pain but I love you.

Yesterday morning I wrote the words “Beat the odds” on the palm of my hands. Beat the odds. Three short, simple but powerful words that affects my core. When I feel like giving up and losing hope, when I want to lash out and scream at people I hate, people who have it better than me, people who are blessed to the point that I don’t feel blessed anymore. God, I used to feel like the most blessed person in the world. What happened to that? When I feel stupid and insecure because people put me down, stereotype me before getting to know me so I don’t even get a chance, no kind of love and I just want to crash and burn, crash and burn because they make me think I deserve it, I’ll say it out loud: Beat the odds. It is more than its self– it’s an entire battle cry. A chance, a shot that rises to the sky when you thought all hope was lost: Beat the odds. To be that one in a million; to stand upright even when all of me buckles under the load of resentment: Beat the odds. To do my best when I am certain the result won’t change: Beat the odds. To not give in to all the hatred that fills my brain, the evil eye that skims upon perfection, the irritation that bubbles up at all I lack: Beat the odds. 

Prepare your armor, keep your head sane and your heart closer–it is a fight for freedom already on the losing side but here we go again: You will beat the odds.

Once more it’s a Dead-End

I feel like my life’s going downhill at every turn; and I just wish I could make everything alright again. I’d never admit this out loud but I am lonely– not in the sense that I am looking for any romantic relationship like every hopeless damsel in distress but just lonely that I’ve cut off my relationships with people and ended up with somebody ugly. I can’t find meaning, my innings are empty. I’ve been misplaced.

Nothing in my life’s particularly beautiful anymore, including myself, and every single day I am facing the darkness, waiting for the grace to be free of this; to be free of me and all I’ll never be.

I’ll never be is what haunts me. A lifetime is awfully long when the word never is at its head.


Please, God. Please.

My silent prayer to God this morning to come back to me, more me to Him. I am being awful at what I do and I want this over just so I can get a fresh start next semester. No faults or flaws, less damages. I’m obsessed that way. Like the moment I screw up, I want a brand new sheet in front of me, unscathed.

But I am wasting every single day that passes by before the golden time arrives, like all I do is wait for the day to end, sit here and pass time excited for the finish. It’s like flipping through without touching the pages. I am unmoving.

Please God, please fix me.

This cannot be me.

I have no will; You’ve got to move me.

Please God, please.


After all– what am I without You?

 Nothing, cries the silent beat of my heart.

On looking at the mirror and feeling like dying.

I wish I could be this skinny again. I hate it that when I look at the mirror I’m not happy with what I see, and it’s not that I don’t accept the way I am– I just don’t particularly accept the fact that I’ve gained weight. Every time dad sees me eat, he tells me I need to gym already which means that it’s even worse than I thought– people are starting to notice, especially my dad. I’ve been so stagnant and lazy, eating and eating and eating without moving to burn off that ew, I am so disgusting when I look at myself. I can’t believe I let myself get this far. It makes me want to go anorexic (see how lazy I am; I’d rather not eat than work out!). But the truth is I have and I can’t deny it anymore by not looking in the mirror and pretending I’m alright, that I’m still thin in my head because I’m NOT. I have to push and give effort on losing weight again and I am so afraid of the struggle that I haven’t even started yet, so afraid of not succeeding that I haven’t moved. Do you see what a coward I am? I know who I want to be but I’m still too afraid of change, not wanting to let go of what is familiar, not wanting to work even just a little bit to achieve. The worst thing that crosses my mind is actually participating in the act and coming up with ZERO results or worse –more weight gain. I just want to start shedding them off already. I want quick results so the sooner it’s off, the sooner everybody gets off my case and the sooner I can start living my life. I have to put this irrational fear out of my mind of not changing. Let me move, and let me change, and let me lose all this off. I have to begin somewhere. God, just please let it work. Please. I am going to try my best at exercise here but please, let my body and the universe cooperate with me too. I AM GOING TO LOSE WEIGHT. May the force be with me.

I am beautiful too!

 “See I just want you to know that you deserve the best

You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful
Yeah and I want you to know                                               You’re far from the usual, far from the usual”

– Lil Wayne, “How to Love”

I’m going to be painfully honest here, not to anybody out there who stumbles across this blog and reads this particular post but to myself. I can’t deny this anymore: I do not feel beautiful. I think it’s particularly hard being a woman because there are the pressures of society that every woman tries to fit in– the idea that women should be beautiful, and graceful, sexy, and alluring that guys have to fall over their feet when she passes by. She’s supposed to exceed a kind of elegance that’s mesmerizing and attractive to the masculine character, and at the same time she has to be strong and confident. There is no helplessness now; no longer damsels in distress on our age and time. But here I am left with the things I have been given: a body that’s bulging out in all sorts of places, fingers too short and stubby for my liking, chicken legs like sausages and bucked knees I can stand on the account that I wear jeans anyway to cover them up, small chubby feet with a massive bunyon to go, and a double chin that’s started to form since I’ve gained weight. I have messy hair on most days, pimples that ascend from stress and spurs of hormones, and a kind of slow awkwardness when I move; far from the kind of motion men seem to be drawn towards. Don’t get me wrong: I used to feel pretty. When I was younger, I had people tell me “you’re so pretty,” and I had a swimming teacher say “you should join the Ms. Philippines contest,” and then there were the occasional foolish boys who had crushes on me, the boy in the park who asked if I was a model, and the European men who hit on me like I was the last woman on Earth. I still feel pretty some days, when I dress up in something loose enough to hide the things I don’t want particularly revealed, but as a woman I want to say that there will be times when I want to wear a dress or a skirt or shorts, wear sleeveless tops and look good in them, and wear slippers that accentuate my bare feet. Here’s something I wish to point out that most men do not seem to understand: women will always want to feel beautiful. It’s the epitome of being a woman: beauty. There are so many beautiful and slim women out there and there will always be days and moments when I feel embarrassed for myself– because I’m not like them, and I can never be. I will never have pretty legs for one thing; it was something I was born with and can never replace. My fingers won’t magically grown unstubby and unshort because these are my dad’s, unless I have them surgically prolonged which I would never result to. To consider surgery just to feel beautiful is wrong in so many ways and I do not wish to go down that road. I want to work on myself and feel beautiful on my own.

I have always wondered why I have never got a guy to be particularly attracted in me, enough that he’d think it’d be worth it if he got to know me and asked me out. I still wonder if I will ever get a guy to want me for me– flaws and all. I have always thought that beauty was a light within you; like a trait that shines through your personality that draws attention. It’s nothing really external; it’s more of in the way you move– a kind of mystery to uncover in a person’s actions and behavior. But again here I am: awkward and stumbling and ungraceful. And I have to remind myself: nobody’s going to love me if I’m not going to love me. I have to learn to love myself, first and foremost, with everything I am and everything I can still be. I think the most heartbreaking thing I am doing to myself is that I won’t even give myself a chance. Here I am a little bit over the weight I should be and I’m still eating and eating without a little effort on exercise or reducing my take in. I am not taking care of myself and being good to myself like I should be. The sad thing is that even I won’t want me enough to work on me and I have to firmly tell myself that this has to stop. I will have to do a little more work than others on being beautiful but I think that’s something beautiful in itself: effort. Like how you can only appreciate it more when you’ve been through the exact opposite of what you’ve achieved. It makes you grow and it makes you better and that’s the thing I am always looking forward to every day; the reason why I haven’t given up hope. I am still in change. I have modifications to go through but I am not yet done; I have ultimately many more things to adjust and revise on myself. I am going to love myself so much that I am going to give myself second chances, every single day I fail or feel like giving up, I am going to stand my ground and tell myself to try again because I AM WORTH IT. I am a beautiful human being in the making and I hope that one day, somebody else will fall head over heels with me and realize it too. I will aspire to inspire and admire: “I can’t be as beautiful as you. But I can be as beautiful as me.” 

Here is my yes to change and to effort and to struggle because like a mother experiencing the agony and the shooting pain for hours upon the delivery of a baby and the tedious months of care before that, a new life is born. Surely I am on my way.