writings and mixtapes

Ph based artist 👩‍🎨

[mixtapenumber16]

Thinking Of You By Katy Perry It is that heavy, suffocating weight of being physically present but mentally miles away. You are sitting there, maybe having dinner or watching a movie, and the person in front of you is doing everything right. They are kind, they are there, and they are trying. But every time you look at them, you are actually looking for someone else. You are constantly comparing the way they laugh or the way they hold your hand to a ghost that refuses to leave the room.

It feels like a betrayal of the present. There is this hollow ache in your chest because you’re performing the role of being in love, but your heart is stuck on a loop, replaying a different ending. You find yourself tracing the outlines of a memory while someone else is trying to build a future with you. It is the guilt of wishing the person you are with was the person you lost. You shut your eyes just to feel a second of a warmth that isn't actually there anymore, and for a moment, the illusion is so perfect that the reality you wake up to feels like a cold shock. There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes from living two lives at once. One that is cisible and "happy" and one that is private and grieving. You wonder if they can see it in your eyes, the way yuou drift off, the way your smile doesn't quite reach the corners of your face because you're busy wondering where the other person is and if they ever think of you, too.

It's not just missing someone; it's the tormenty of the "what if" that never quite died. You're trapped in the comparison oyou can't win. You want to be fair, you wantr to move on, but your mind keeps wandering back to the one who got away, making the person right in front of you feel like a placeholder. It's as lonely, quiet kind of heartbreak., sitting in the dark with your eyes wide open, realizing that no matter how hard you try to love what you have, you are styill reaching for something that's already gone.

[mixtapenumber16]

the moon has always felt like a quiet witness. it hangs above everything without asking to be understood, glowing softly even when the world below feels loud and restless. some nights it looks full and certain, other nights it disappears into shadow, but it never truly leaves. it just changes.

i think that’s why i find comfort in it. the moon does not rush its phases. it allows itself to wane, to thin into a fragile curve of light, to become almost nothing before it grows again. there’s something deeply human about that rhythm. we are not meant to be whole and shining all the time. sometimes we are meant to dim, to rest, to gather ourselves in the dark.

when i look at the moon, i’m reminded that distance does not mean disconnection. it feels far away, untouchable, and yet it pulls at the tides. it moves oceans without ever raising its voice. maybe strength can be quiet like that. maybe presence does not have to be loud to be powerful.

the moon doesn’t compete with the sun. it simply reflects what it is given and turns it into something gentle. and maybe that’s enough.

[salutour]

[mixtapenumber16]

I found out my friend died, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel yet. The news landed, but it didn’t explode. It just sat there. Heavy. Still. Like my mind hasn’t caught up to the meaning of it.

I keep thinking I should feel something clearer like sadness, anger, or shock but everything feels muted and confusing instead. Moments of normalcy slip in and that makes me feel strange, like I’m doing grief wrong. Then it hits me again out of nowhere, not as pain exactly, but as disbelief. Like this shouldn’t be real. Like they’re still just somewhere else.

It’s unsettling how death rearranges your thoughts without asking. Suddenly I’m thinking about time, about how fragile connections are, about how casually we assume people will still be here tomorrow. I replay small memories I didn’t know mattered this much until now. Ordinary moments that feel heavier because there won’t be new ones to replace them.

What gets me most is how final it is. No more catching up later. no more future version where things line up differently\. Just a full stop where I wasn't expecting one and I don't know how to hold that yet

I'm not trying to understand it all right now. I don't think I can I'm just letting the thoughts come and go, letting the feeling be undefined. Grief doesn't feel loud, it feels disorienting. Like walking through familiar places that suddenly don't feel the same.

I think this is going to stay with me in ways I don't notice right away. In how I think about people. In how I measure time. In how careful I am with moments I used to rush through.

I don't know what this means yet. I just know something shifted. And I'm carrying that with me now.

[mixtapenumber16]

Some days I’m proud of how I’m handling it. How I don’t let the feeling run me into the ground. How I keep my distance where it matters, even when part of me wants to lean in just a little more.

Other days, it takes effort. Real effort. I have to remind myself why I’m choosing restraint. Why I’m choosing steadiness over impulse. Caring quietly is harder than it looks. There’s no release in it. No clear resolution. Just patience and self-control, over and over again.

I don’t think this makes me noble or strong in some impressive way. It just means I’m trying not to lose myself in something that doesn’t have space for me. I’m trying to care without disappearing into it.

I don't know how long this will last. I don't need to. For now, I'm holding the feeling where it cant hurt me more than it already does. Letting it exist without letting it take over.

And maybe that's what growth looks like for me right now. Not moving on. Not letting go completely. Just staying upright while carrying something heavy and not dropping myself in the process

[mixtapenumber16]

I care about her more than I probably should. More than is safe for me. I can feel it in the way my thoughts drift back to her without permission, in how easily my mood shifts depending on the smallest things. It’s not dramatic, but it’s real, and it’s heavier than I let on.

I know this level of care puts me in a vulnerable place. I know it gives something too much power over me. And I don’t blame anyone for that it’s just what happens when feelings grow quietly without a place to land.

So I keep its contained. I keep it steady. I don't let it spill into place where it could hurt more than it already does. I don't act on every impulse or let the feelings decide my behaviour. I hold it with discipline, not because it's wrong but because i know myself.

There are moments when it feels like too much. When caring this deeply makes me feel exposed, like I’ve handed over something fragile without meaning to. But I stay grounded. I remind myself that feelings don’t have to be acted on to be real, and not every care needs to turn into something shared. I'm choosing strength here, not the loud kind, not the kind that portends it doesn't hurt but the quiet kind. The kind that knows when to pause. The kind that protects itself without becoming cold.

I still care. That hasn't changed. I'm just learning how to carry it in that doesn't break me. And for now, that's enough.

[mixtapenumber16]

I’ve been learning how to love from a distance, and surprisingly, it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels quiet. It feels contained in a way that’s gentle instead of painful.

There’s something peaceful about caring without reaching, about holding affection without needing to act on it. No expectations, no pressure to be seen or chosen back. Just appreciation, warmth, and the quiet acknowledgement that this feeling exists and that’s enough for now.

Loving from a distance feels safe. It lets me admire without unraveling myself. I get to keep the feeling without losing my footing, without overthinking every interaction or hoping for something that might never come. It’s love without urgency, without demand.

I don’t feel sad about it. I don’t feel cheated. It’s just where I am right now. This space where affection doesn’t have to turn into anything more to be real. Where liking someone doesn’t mean I owe the feeling a future. Maybe one day I'll want more closeness. Maybe one day I'll want to reach out and close the gap. But today, distance feels right. It feels balanced. It feels like I'm allowed to care and still protect my peace And honestly, that feels like a good place to be, at least for now.

[mixtapenumber16]

Ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine It's that feeling where nothing actually happened, but it still feels like everything almost did. Where your mind fills in the gaps and suddenly you're attached to a version of something that only exists in your head. I catch myself romanticizing small moments. Reading into glances, pauses, imagined conversations. Turning silence into meaning. It's embarrassing how easily I can build a whole world out of nothing and then feel the loss of it like it was real. There's a comfort in it, though. Being suspended in that in-between space. Where hope isn't loud, just quiet, and persistent. Where longing feels soft and sharp. It's not heartbreak exactly. It's the ache of possibility that never gets confirmed or denied. I hate how much my brain does for this. How it replays things that never happened, how it creates closeness where there isn't any. And yet, part of me doesn't want to stop. Because those imagined moments feel warm. They feel safe. They feel like something to hold onto when reality feels empty or exhausting. It's lonely in a subtle way. Wanting something without ever reaching for it. Feeling connected while still being completely alone. Floating somewhere between hope and acceptance, not ready for either one. I think that's why it hits so hard. Because it's not about love, it's about longing. About the space between what is and what could've been. And sitting with that feeling staring at the ceiling, letting your thoughts run until they hurt just enough to feel reals.

[mixtapenumber16]

I still want to pursue my hobbies. I still want to create, to learn, to keep moving toward the things that make me feel like myself.

Some days it’s not a lack of passion, it’s my own head getting in the way. There are moments when my thoughts won’t slow down or line up, when even wanting something feels heavy.

I’m trying to understand that about myself. To know when to fight and when my body is just choosing flight without asking me first.

This is me learning how to stay. How to push gently instead of disappearing. How to keep choosing the things I love, even on days my mind makes it hard.

[mixtapenumber16]

Some days survival feels less like living and more like barely staying afloat. You wake up, stare at the ceiling, and wonder if it’s worth it — if all this noise and ache inside you will ever quiet down. And yet, somehow, you still breathe. You still exist. You’re still here. That, in itself, is extraordinary.

It’s okay if your victories don’t look like everyone else’s. Sometimes, victory is eating something today. Sometimes, it’s answering a message instead of disappearing. Sometimes, it’s just staying, one more hour, one more night, one more sunrise.

Healing isn’t a straight road. It’s a messy, uneven trail filled with setbacks, tears, and tiny moments of light that barely last long enough to notice. But those moments matter. They’re proof that something inside you still believes in a future you haven’t met yet.

You don’t need to be positive all the time. You don’t need to have it figured out. You don’t need to force yourself to be okay just because others expect you to. You only need to keep trying, not because the world deserves your effort, but because you do.

You’ve survived things that should’ve broken you. You’ve endured storms no one else saw. And even if it doesn’t feel like it, you’re growing in the cracks of your pain.

Please keep going. Even when it hurts. Even when it’s unfair. Even when it feels like no one sees you.

Because one day, you’ll look back and realize that every moment you chose to stay, every night you whispered, just one more day, was building a life you were always meant to find.

You’re not behind. You’re not weak. You’re surviving, and that’s enough.

[mixtapenumber16]

I’ve been thinking a lot since hearing about the passing of Emman Atienza. It’s heartbreaking, not just because she was so young, but because her story feels painfully familiar. It’s a reminder of how many people are silently struggling, how easily pain hides behind smiles, and how quickly the world moves on after calling something a “tragedy.”

I don’t know why, but her passing hit me harder than I expected. Maybe because I’ve been there, not exactly in her place, but in that space where everything feels too heavy and too quiet. I’ve been diagnosed, and every day I try my best to stay afloat, to find a reason to keep going. Some days, I do. Other days, I just survive the hours. It’s not easy. It never has been.

People often think mental health struggles look loud visible, dramatic, easy to notice. But most of the time, they’re quiet. They show up in small things: forgetting to reply, canceling plans, laughing a little too quickly so no one notices the exhaustion behind it. The world only sees the version of us that’s edited for comfort, the one that smiles, performs, and convinces everyone we’re fine. But that’s not the full story. That’s just the fictional version of us people accept because the truth makes them uncomfortable.

And lately, I’ve been crying more often. Maybe because I’m tired of pretending. Maybe because seeing someone else’s light go out reminds me how fragile we all are. How easily words can wound, how loneliness can build even in crowded rooms, and how scary it is to admit that you’re not okay.

I wish people understood that mental health isn’t something you “get over.” It’s something you live with something you learn to carry without letting it crush you. And some days, just existing is an act of courage.

So if you’re reading this and you’re struggling too, please know this: you’re not alone. You’re not a burden. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Trying is enough. Breathing is enough. You are enough.

Rest in peace, Emman. Your story won’t be forgotten. I just hope that, somehow, it helps more people realize how much kindness really matters and how desperately the world still needs it.

[mixtapenumber16]

Day 28: Worlds Within Words (＾▽＾)/

Lately, I’ve been pouring bits of myself into something new—a webnovel. Nothing too serious, nothing too polished, just… fun. A place where I can scatter ideas, spin stories, and see what kind of world takes shape under my fingertips.

There’s something exciting about starting without a clear destination. Each chapter feels like walking into a room I’ve never visited before. Sometimes I stumble, sometimes I surprise myself, and sometimes I just laugh at how weird my brain can get. (≧∇≦)ﾉ

I don’t know if it will ever be “good enough” or if anyone will even care to read it. But maybe that’s the point, it doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be mine. Writing it feels like whispering secrets to the internet void, but instead of confessions, it’s characters, mysteries, and little sparks of imagination.

Maybe it’ll grow into something more. Maybe it won’t. But right now, it’s a seed I’m happy to water, word by word, chapter by chapter, day by day.

And who knows? Maybe someday I’ll look back at these scribbles and realize they were the start of something bigger than I ever imagined. (◠‿◠)

[mixtapenumber16]

listening to daisies feels like holding onto something fragile and soft, the kind of feeling you don’t want to crush but can’t stop turning over in your hands. it reminds me of the way hope grows even in the cracks, how love and longing can be simple yet overwhelming at the same time.

the song carries that bittersweet edge, like remembering a moment you wish could last forever but knowing it’s already gone. it feels like a conversation you’ll never fully finish, a tenderness that lives in the silence after the music fades.

sometimes it’s enough just to know that beauty can grow in quiet places. daisies are small, but they bloom anyway, and the song leaves me with that same fragile persistence, soft, fleeting, and impossible to ignore.

[mixtapenumber16]

i keep feeling like life handed me the wrong script. i watch other people’s scenes, love, chances, simple things that look effortless, and i feel the hollow where those moments should be for me. sometimes i imagine a different beginning, a different body, a different name, and a softer life that might have fit me better. that imagining brings a quiet, heavy grief, as if i am mourning not only what happened, but also what never had the chance to happen.

this grief is strange and stubborn. it lives in the small spaces, the parts of the day that should be ordinary but instead feel like reminders. it is in the birthdays that felt like checkboxes instead of celebrations, in the missed invitations, in the private wish that someone had handed me a chance i never received. saying it out loud might make it smaller, or at least less alone. you are allowed to hold that sorrow and still keep going. both can be true.

if you want something practical to try when the weight comes, here are a few gentle steps that have helped others. breathe slowly, count to four as you inhale, count to four as you exhale, and repeat that five times to anchor yourself. write one sentence about what you miss, then write one sentence about one small thing you can do this week that belongs only to you. reach out to one person and say, "i'm having a hard day, can we talk for ten minutes" even if it feels awkward. make a tiny ritual that marks your care for yourself, like lighting a candle, making tea, or walking barefoot for five minutes.

i want to check in with you because this sounds heavy. are you thinking about hurting yourself or feeling like you might act on these thoughts? if you are in immediate danger, please contact local emergency services right now. if you are not safe but not in immediate danger, consider reaching out to a friend, family member, or a local support line. if you want, i can help you write a short message to send to someone you trust, or turn what you just told me into a Tumblr-ready piece. you do not have to carry this grief alone. I am here with you in this message, and i can stay with you as long as you need.

Photo from: @balar (https://www.tumblr.com/balar) https://www.tumblr.com/balar/795508413462380544?source=share

[mixtapenumber16]

Day 27: Quiet Hours, Familiar Screens (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ

Today felt simple, almost uneventful but sometimes those are the days that matter most. I stayed home for most of the morning, books and notes scattered across my desk. Studying felt like a slow rhythm, not rushed, not pressured, just me trying to keep pace with myself. (◠‿◠)

By the afternoon, it was time for the airport run. We sent Mom off to Davao, and though she’ll be back on October 2, the house already feels different without her energy filling every corner. There’s a strange kind of silence when someone leaves, even if just for a little while. A gap you don’t notice until it’s there.

After coming home, the evening drifted into that comfortable stillness I’ve grown used to. No big adventures, no dramatic moments just me, curled up, scrolling through Reddit stories. Some were hilarious, some a little too relatable, and others felt like peeking into tiny fragments of other people’s universes. It’s funny how strangers’ words can keep you company.

So yeah, nothing wild today. Just quiet hours, the hum of routine, and the gentle reminder that not every day needs to be monumental to be worth remembering. Sometimes, just being here studying, saying see-you-soon at the airport, and ending the night with internet stories is enough. (≧◡≦)

[mixtapenumber16]

Day 26: When the Sky Weighs Heavy (´･ω･` )

The rain hasn’t stopped. It’s loud, relentless, pounding against the roof like it has something to prove. Each drop feels heavy, almost too much, as if the whole sky decided to unload everything it’s been carrying.

But even with that weight pressing down, there’s a strange kind of comfort in it. Durable. That’s the word that keeps circling in my head. Like no matter how strong the downpour, the world doesn’t break, it bends, it endures. Maybe I do too.

The air smells like wet earth and renewal. The windows blur, the streets shine, and the storm sings its own rhythm. It’s overwhelming, yes, but also grounding. A reminder that heaviness doesn’t always mean collapse—it can mean strength holding steady under pressure.

So I sit here, listening, breathing in the storm. Feeling heavy, but still here. Still durable. (￣︶￣)

[mixtapenumber16]

so often people cling to what we say, or what we think, as if words and ideas are enough to define us. but if nothing ever lives in the way we act, what weight do those words really carry?

i keep asking myself what it means to be close to someone. is it the warmth of conversations, the late-night confessions, the beautiful beliefs we share? or is it the quiet, consistent presence, the way someone chooses to stay, to show, to be real when it matters?

because love spoken but not lived is only an echo. connection without action is a shadow. and maybe the truth is simple: we are not what we say, we are what we do.