ataskacore

[ataskacore]

Self-awareness is one killjoy bitch

Why is doing the right thing so hard?

i love coffee. but i know exactly how coffee affects me. i know i can’t have it first thing in the morning because it’ll spike my sugar. i know i can’t have it late at night because i’ll lie awake overthinking all my life choices. i know too much of it will mess me up even if it tastes good in the moment. and yet i still find myself reaching for it every chance i get, convincing myself that this time it’ll feel different.

just like coffee, knowing what something does to you doesn't automatically translate into self-control.

people talk about self-awareness like it’s some grand epiphany— like once you “understand yourself” everything clicks into place and you magically start making better decisions. but what about the part where you become fully aware of your own patterns and still, somehow, keep walking straight into them?????? it’s not enlightenment. it’s pretty much like watching yourself do the thing you swore you wouldn’t do again, in real time, with full HD clarity, and no option to skip the scene. it’s like a nagging voice in your head, commanding you to do this, do that, not this, not that, that way, this way, not now— not him.

“i say that i hate you with a smile on my face” — favourite crime by olivia rodrigo

i got off the phone with (redacted) tonight.

we wanted different things. oooh ok. i get it. wish he had been more clear about that from the beginning.

but he kissed my forehead and told his mom about me— surely, i wasn’t being delusional.

on the phone, i told him everything. every disappointment, every expectation, every feeling i had been trying to swallow whole and pretend didn’t exist. i cussed him out. we laughed it off. he apologised. i forgave him. the funny thing is, he wanted to watch a movie with me afterwards.

he explained to me why he was basically avoiding me for the past week.

i told him everything. every disappointment, every expectation, every feeling i had been trying to swallow whole and pretend didn’t exist. i cussed him out. we laughed it off. he apologised. i forgave him. the funny thing is, he wanted to watch a movie with me afterwards.

and for a moment, i was still considering it.

that’s the embarrassing part.

not what he did. not even what happened.

the fact that despite everything, a part of me still wanted more.

i texted my best friend after.

sometimes you need someone who loves you enough to grab you by the shoulders and wake you up.

because this is becoming a pattern. i am too sabik. too eager. too desperate. ew!

i yearn for love in a way that borders on hunger.

i keep searching for it in places where it was never meant to grow.

i become attached to emotionally unavailable people and then act shocked when they are, in fact, gasp emotionally unavailable!!!

the connection felt real.

i had so much fun.

i don’t think anyone was pretending.

i don’t want to hate him, even if what he did was shitty.

but i’ve realised that a lot of my heartbreak comes from repeatedly touching the same hot stove and convincing myself this time it won’t burn.

i have to learn when to stop.

i have to learn how to say no, even when every part of me wants to say yes.

but if i’m being honest, maybe i’m addicted to love.

and right now, i want to relapse.

i want to send the text.

answer the call.

watch the movie.

entertain the possibility.

i want the tiny hit of dopamine that comes from believing maybe this time it’ll be different.

it’s like wanting that shot of tequila.

wanting that cigarette (i don’t even smoke!)

wanting that cup of coffee!!!!!!!!

fully aware of the consequences…

fully aware of how the story ends…

and still craving it anyway :(

but trust me, i don’t actually wanna self-sabotage.

i want the high.

i want the rush.

i want that fleeting feeling of being chosen.

desired.

wanted.

even if it only lasts a moment.

and that’s the scary part.

because eventually you realise you’re not chasing the person anymore.

you’re chasing a feeling.

validation.

attention.

possibility.

the fantasy of being truly loved.

known.

understood.

i know how ridiculous this sounds because i’ve done this before.

i know exactly how this works.

i’ve seen the movie.

i know how it ends.

and yet every time, i convince myself this one is different.

that maybe this time the butterflies mean something.

that maybe this time the chemistry is enough.

that maybe this time i’m not just romanticizing a guy who was sweet to me for a while.

i’m like a gambler who keeps walking back into the casino saying, “okay but statistically speaking, i have a good feeling about this one! i'm about to hit the jackpot!”

meanwhile the slot machine is actively stealing my savings.

you would think i would’ve learned by now.

you would be incorrect.

and here’s the thing i hate admitting: i have learned. so why repeat the same mistake?

kasi marupok ako 🎶 (just kidding 1/2)

sometime ago, i went on a date with someone who was basically my ideal type.

you know when you meet someone and immediately think, “oh no.”

not because they’re a red flag.

because they’re exactly what you’ve been looking for.

he was adorable. sensitive. clingy. passionate. career-driven.

the kind of person that makes you wonder whether god or the universe finally got tired of pranking you.

the date wasn’t even that long.

but it was so cute.

we clicked.

the conversation flowed naturally.

we laughed a lot.

there was chemistry.

at least, enough chemistry for me to leave thinking, huh. maybe there really is something here.

which was a big deal.

because after one particularly devastating heartbreak, i had basically sworn off love.

i told myself that i would never fall in love again, never get married, never have children, and if i ever decided to date again, it would be approximately five years from now.

very normal, very reasonable reaction, right? absolutely not the statement of a woman who had just been emotionally obliterated, hahahahahahahaha

soooo going on that date felt surprisingly brave.

it felt like a leap of faith. it felt like hope.

proof that maybe my life wasn’t destined to become an endless montage of situationships and character development.

and the worst part?

the date actually went well.

a few days later, i saw him again.

briefly.

maybe thirty minutes.

a micro-date.

a trailer for a movie that would never actually be released.

and somehow it made things worse.

because i left with butterflies. actual butterflies.

the kind i genuinely thought had gone extinct!!!!

i remember walking away feeling so happy.

like, embarrassingly happy.

for the first time in a very long time, i was excited. not obsessed— just excited.

i was looking forward to seeing someone again! and that felt significant.

which is why what happened next caught me completely off guard.

a few days later, he sent me a message saying he’d rather stay friends.

and the worst part is—

i already knew what to do with that information.

i agreed.

i understood.

i even meant it.

and then a couple months later… i still hung out with him.

because apparently, my emotional intelligence and my decision-making do not occupy the same room at the same time!!!!!!!!!

which is honestly the most humiliating part of this entire story.

it wasn’t even that i was in denial.

i knew.

i fully knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

and yet i still showed up, still laughed, still let myself hope in small, stupid ways that maybe proximity would change something.

like if i stayed close enough to the situation, the ending might rewrite itself.

it didn’t.

ok fine, people are allowed to change their minds.

people are allowed to realise they’re not ready.

people are allowed to decide they want different things.

none of that was the problem.

the problem was that i was absolutely devastated.

and honestly, the level of devastation was a little embarrassing considering the amount of time we’d actually spent together.

if you looked at the facts of the situation, you’d probably think i needed to get a grip.

and maybe i did.

because logically, i wasn’t mourning a relationship.

there was no relationship.

i was mourning potential.

i was mourning the possibility of what could have happened.

i was mourning the version of the story that existed entirely inside my head.

the embarrassing part is how quickly my imagination got to work.

i had already started writing lore.

not serious lore.

just little things.

songs we’d write together.

whether he’d get along with my friends.

whether i’d get along with his.

future conversations.

future memories.

future inside jokes.

all of this after what was, objectively speaking, a very normal amount of interaction.

which is why i can’t even be mad.

what was he supposed to do?

keep pace with a woman who had already mentally produced season one of a television show starring the two of us?

sometimes i think my imagination moves faster than reality.

i get asked out, and i’m already planning the next date in my head.

they don’t text back, i go insane.

i remember staring at my phone wondering what i did wrong.

was i too eager?

too available?

too enthusiastic?

did i overshare?

did i accidentally reveal that i am, in fact, a deeply uncool person pretending to be mysterious online?

did he stumble across some interview and immediately decide i was not girlfriend material?

i wanted a reason. a concrete explanation. because explanations are comforting.

if i knew exactly what went wrong, then i could fix it.

but he did explain, and he was so kind about it.

so it’s confirmed— i wasn’t the problem.

and but maybe that’s the problem!!!

nothing was wrong with me.

sometimes somebody just likes you, but you don’t want the same things.

sometimes somebody just likes you, but they’re not the one.

but maybe that’s the problem.

sometimes nothing goes wrong.

sometimes there isn’t a lesson.

sometimes there isn’t a villain.

sometimes somebody just likes you, but doesn’t like you enough to keep you around. to make you their girlfriend.

sometimes somebody just likes you, but they’re not the one.

sometimes a person only occupies a few weeks of your life, but the future you imagine with them occupies far more space.

and when that future disappears, your brain processes it like a real loss anyway.

that’s what nobody warns you about!!!!!! it’s like a punch in the gut.

you grieve something that never technically existed.

which sounds ridiculous. and maybe it is.

but i think a lot of us have done it.

i think what makes all of this harder to admit is that my life is actually pretty full.

i have people who love me. friends who answer my calls. work i care about.

dreams i’m actively chasing & working on. most days, i am genuinely fine(?).

but every now and then, usually late at night, i become aware of the absence of romantic love in my life as if there is a hole in my soul.

out of nowhere i’m reminiscing, feeling a striking pain in my chest.

i rewatch memories like cctv footage in my mind.

and suddenly it’s all i can think about.

i don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting love.

i don’t think yearning itself is a flaw.

the problem is when the yearning gets so loud that it starts making decisions for you.

sometimes i think yearning might eat me alive.

it’s dramatic, i know.

but maybe yearning is dramatic.

i don’t think i’m doomed.

i don’t think i’m broken.

i think i’ve just reached that horrible point where i can no longer pretend i don’t know what i’m doing.

i see the pattern now.

which means every choice from this point forward is a conscious one.

i can still save myself the trouble.

i can still avoid the heartbreak.

i can still walk away…..

but god, it hurts.

and god, it’s so boring!!!!!

SELF-AWARENESS IS ONE KILLJOY BITCH!

there is a very specific kind of grief that nobody talks about.

the grief of losing your naivety.

the grief of realizing that the exciting thing and the right thing are often completely different things.

that chemistry isn’t compatibility, and potential isn’t reality.

that wanting something badly does not make it good for you.

it’s the pain of choosing the boring thing. the healthy thing.

the thing that won’t give you butterflies or a story to tell your future children.

the thing that protects your heart.

we all know the rush is exciting.

the chaos is exciting.

the uncertainty is exciting.

but the rush always comes to collect. every single time.

and every single time, it bites me in the fucking ass!!!!!!! i know it will.

that’s what makes walking away so difficult.

i know exactly what i’m walking away from.

and worse— i know exactly why i still want it.

[ataskacore]

The Emancipation Of Ataska

Why Did I Join Vivamax?

WHEN I MADE THE DECISION TO VENTURE INTO MATURE ROLES AND DEBUT MY PERFORMANCE ON THE PHILIPPINES’ HOTTEST STREAMING PLATFORM, I GOT A LOT OF QUESTIONS FROM THE PRESS…

some of them sounded familiar.

most of them were absurd.

“are you a virgin?”

“how far are you willing to go?”

“does filming those scenes ever turn you on?”

“what did your parents say?”

but the question i heard the most was simple:

“why?”

why did i do it?

what made me decide to take that path?

three years later, my answer remains the same:

i wanted to evolve as an artist.

growing up in the entertainment industry is complicated, especially as a young woman. i’ve been in this industry since i was five years old. from a very young age, people start creating versions of you in their heads. they decide who you are, who you should be, and what they think you’re allowed to become.

sometimes they meet you once and think they know you forever.

sometimes they know one chapter of your life and mistake it for the whole story.

as someone who genuinely loves film, i saw the opportunity to take on more challenging roles and push myself outside of my comfort zone. i wanted to explore stories that were messy, complicated, human, and sometimes uncomfortable.

i wanted to be challenged.

i wanted to grow.

i wanted to see what i was capable of.

but looking back now, i’ve realized there was something deeper happening beneath the surface.

it wasn’t just about acting.

it was about freedom.

i’m an aquarius. whether you believe in astrology or not, people always describe aquarians as independent, rebellious, impossible to box in. i’ve always related to that. whenever someone tells me who i’m supposed to be, a part of me immediately wants to question it.

some people assumed my decision was a publicity stunt.

others thought management had convinced me to do it.

but the truth is far less dramatic.

it was entirely my choice.

for most of my life, i had been carrying the pressure of being “good.”

the good daughter.

the good girl.

the girl-next-door.

the wholesome artist.

the version of myself that wouldn’t upset anyone.

and while there’s nothing wrong with any of those things, there comes a point where performing other people’s expectations becomes exhausting.

what many people don’t know is that long before vivamax, i had already experienced what it felt like to have my image weaponized against me.

when i was a teenager, an ex-boyfriend spread false stories about me. he claimed i was a bad girl. a cheater. he implied the existence of nude photos that never actually existed.

i never sent them.

that story was completely fabricated.

at the time, i felt humiliated. violated. ashamed. i felt so betrayed because he was my first love.

but once a rumor enters the public sphere, it develops a life of its own.

suddenly, people aren’t reacting to who you are.

they’re reacting to a character someone else invented.

and that’s what was so frustrating.

here i was, carefully protecting an image, trying to be responsible, trying to do everything “right,” and yet people were still projecting fantasies, assumptions, and narratives onto me.

that’s when i started asking myself:

if people are going to make up stories about me regardless, why am i spending so much energy trying to control how everyone sees me?

why am i giving strangers that much power?

why should i give a fuck?

for a while, i thought the solution was to prove people wrong.

to be even more careful.

but eventually i realized i was still allowing other people’s perceptions to control me.

i was still living in reaction to them.

years later, i came across an interview with rose mcgowan about the infamous sheer dress she wore to the 1998 mtv video music awards.

people treated it like a publicity stunt or a shocking fashion moment. but she later explained that it represented reclaiming ownership of herself after someone else had tried to take that away from her. it was her silent protest.

that resonated with me.

our experiences were obviously very different.

but i understood the feeling she was describing.

when someone spends enough time trying to define you, shame you, control the way people see you, or rewrite your story, there comes a moment where you stop asking for permission.

you stop organizing your life around disproving their narrative.

you stop performing innocence.

you stop shrinking yourself to make other people comfortable.

you simply reclaim yourself.

looking back, that’s what vivamax represented for me.

it wasn’t rebellion for the sake of rebellion.

it wasn’t a cry for attention.

it wasn’t me becoming someone new.

it was me refusing to let fear make my decisions anymore.

growing up, i was obsessed with hannah montana. like every other kid, i wanted to be her.

she was the biggest star in the world.

later, when miley cyrus began shedding that image and stepping into adulthood, a lot of people were shocked.

some were disappointed.

some were angry.

i wasn’t.

i saw someone refusing to remain trapped inside a version of herself that had become too small.

i admired the fearlessness of it.

not because she became provocative, but because she became unapologetic.

she gave herself permission to change publicly.

that’s something people claim to support until a woman actually does it.

there was something unexpectedly cathartic about my own experience, too.

for years, i had been terrified of making the wrong move.

terrified of disappointing people.

terrified of becoming the subject of criticism.

then i did the unexpected.

the thing that was supposedly going to ruin my image.

and something surprising happened.

nothing broke.

my family still loved me.

my true friends stayed.

my career continued.

i still woke up every morning as myself.

the world didn’t end.

it was one of the most liberating realizations of my life.

because once you’ve survived being judged, you stop fearing judgment quite as much.

once you’ve survived being misunderstood, you stop obsessing over being understood by everyone.

once you’ve faced the thing you were most afraid of, fear loses its leverage.

and yet, even years later, i still see comments that make me laugh.

“sayang.”

“sana nag-focus na lang siya sa music.”

“sana nag singer na lang siya.”

as if doing one thing automatically disqualifies me from doing another.

as if people can only exist inside a single category.

i’ve never understood that.

why is it so difficult for people to accept that artists can contain multitudes?

i can be a singer and an actress.

i can write songs and act in films.

i can host a show and release music.

i can play complicated characters while still being myself.

i can be soft and strong.

wholesome and sexy.

creative people were never meant to fit neatly into one box.

somehow, we celebrate reinvention until it actually happens.

we love the idea of artists being multidimensional, but the moment they step outside the role we’ve assigned them, people become uncomfortable.

i think that’s because categories make people feel safe.

they want to know where to place you.

they want a simple answer to the question:

“what is she?”

but i’ve spent my entire life resisting simple answers.

i don’t want to be reduced to a single headline, a single project, or a single chapter of my career.

vivamax was something i did.

it is not all that i am.

just like music is something i do.

acting is something i do.

hosting is something i do.

none of them individually define me.

together, they tell the story of someone who refuses to stop growing.

that’s what vivamax gave me.

it taught me that my career doesn’t belong to public opinion.

it belongs to me.

it also changed the way i approach my work as an artist.

after taking on roles that demanded vulnerability, courage, and a willingness to be judged, every other challenge started to feel possible.

because the fear was never really about acting.

the fear was about perception.

it was about what people would say.

what they would assume.

what they would think of me afterward.

and once i walked through that fear, i realized how much of my life had been shaped by it.

how many decisions had been filtered through a single question:

“what will people think?”

the answer, i eventually learned, is simple.

people will think whatever they want.

some people will misunderstand you no matter how clearly you explain yourself.

some people will project their own fears onto you.

some people will only see the version of you that confirms what they already believe.

and that’s okay.

because freedom begins the moment you stop making your choices in anticipation of someone else’s reaction.

that’s what felt so cathartic.

for years, i felt like i was carrying a version of myself that existed primarily for public approval.

a version that was careful.

predictable.

easy to understand.

vivamax forced me to confront that.

it forced me to ask whether i was building a career or merely maintaining a reputation.

and i realized i wanted more than a reputation.

i wanted a life.

a creative life.

a complicated life.

a fully expressed life.

one where i could continue surprising people—

including myself.

if i could survive that chapter, what couldn’t i do?

i could release an album.

be part of a girl group.

host a talk show.

play a villain.

play a hero.

start a business.

reinvent myself again.

and again.

and again.

because that’s the thing about evolution:

it never really ends.

the truth is, vivamax didn’t change who i was.

it revealed who i already was.

curious.

creative.

independent.

a little rebellious.

and yes, sexy.

someone who wanted the freedom to make her own decisions, even when those decisions made other people uncomfortable.

for me, that chapter was never really about sexuality.

it was about autonomy.

ownership of my career.

ownership of my image.

ownership of my choices.

ownership of my story.

people will always have opinions.

they’ll always create narratives.

they’ll always try to reduce women into categories that make them easier to understand.

good girl.

bad girl.

wholesome girl.

sexy girl.

i’m not interested in being just one of those things.

i’m interested in being a person.

complex.

contradictory.

constantly evolving.

THE EMANCIPATION OF ATASKA wasn’t the moment i stepped into mature roles— it was the moment i stopped asking for permission to become whoever the fuck i wanted to be.

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]

[ataskacore]