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@thoughtfulstarstuff
I looked up, and the stars weren't there.
They landed on the sand. Just beneath my feet, I could feel their glow. "You don't belong here," I thought. So, I picked them up and threw them into the sky, but they flew back to me and stayed inside the little locket I wore as a necklace.
A conversation between little me and 19-year-old me
I was writing in my notebook by the beach when a little girl with a familiar face approached me.
"That looks so tedious! Do you really love writing that much?" The little girl asked me. "This pen and notebook are the reasons why I'm here with you now. So yes, I do love writing very much." "Even if no one understands the words? Even if no one else reads them?" she asks again with a curious smile. "Yes, even if no one understands, and even if only you can read them. That's all that matters because I do it for you," I replied. "That's lovely. I feel safe being here with you now." Her face was radiant and hopeful, so different from the person in front of her. I nearly cried because I forgot how cute her little warrior face looked with those squinted eyes, furrowed eyebrows, and that playful smile. It's a shame that I've left her alone in the dark for too long, yet she still looks at me with love even if I cannot look her in the eyes. I am ashamed. She takes my hand and leads me forward. "From now on, we walk together."
The sun was starting to set. And for the first time again, I am terrified by what lies ahead but will do anything to protect this little hand in mine.
I am terrified of this fondness
But I cannot pull away any longer
The farther I go
The more I gravitate back towards you
I tried to run away as fast as I could
So that we never collide
Only to realize in the end
I've been running in circles
Orbiting you
Like Enceladus on Saturn
Helplessly, but devotionally
Never fazed by your greatness
Will you let me stay?
Walang paraiso.
Napadpad ako sa isang isla. Hinintay kong tumila ang ulan at kumalma ang mga alon para makapunta sa kanila, ngunit hindi ito nangyari. Nandoon sila sa kabila, nagsisiyahan. Sinubukan kong sumigaw, maghintay, at magdasal ngunit walang nangyari, walang sumagot. Mabuti na siguro 'yon sapagkat baka 'pag sinubukan nilang lumangoy papunta sa'kin ay malunod lang sila. Kaya natuto akong sumayaw sa ulan, tumakbo, lumangoy at lumayag nang mag- isa. Nagawang tumayo sa sarili kong mga paa; mula sa sarili kong lakas na hindi ko hiningi sa iba. Nais kong marating ang malayang himpapawid kahit na mag-isa. Ayoko nang magmakaawa pa sa mga taong nagbubulag-bulagan lamang.
At kapag may sumigaw at humingi ng tulong mula sa nag-iisang isla, hindi ako matatakot na tumungo sa kanila dahil natuto na akong lumangoy sa kabila ng takot kong malunod. Pinagtatawanan ako ng mga taong nagsisiyahan sa kabila at tinatanong kung bakit ko raw kailangang gawin ito.
Para raw akong tanga.
Ngunit mas mabuti na siguro ang tanga
kaysa sa mapagkunwari.
The curse of being an empath...
Why do I weep easily for others but not myself?
As I rest my head on my pillow, the pain washes over me once more. Scratching and leaving marks on every part of my body. I cannot cry. My thoughts drift to the countless individuals who always have to endure these demons day and night. We pass by many shattered souls on a daily basis, yet why do we still feel so alone by the end of every day?
It saddens me to think that many of them are just little ones longing for reassurance that tomorrow will be okay. I then cry for them. If only I could hug all the lonely children in the world so that they never grow up to be adults they hate. Even though I cannot cure my own sadness, maybe I can help others ease their own.
"How to Be a Better Adult and Promote Generational Healing Instead of Trauma: From the Perspective of a Child"
Some older people would probably tell me I should just shut up. They'd say I'm too young and idealistic and that the 'world hasn't hit me that hard yet' for me to say things. I think you should hear what I have to say. Not despite my youth, but because I am young. Youth is a reminder of the important things we forget as we age.
"You don't have the right to hurt people just because you're in pain", especially those that you want to love and who had nothing to do with your misery. Tough love is not the same as ABUSIVE and NEGLIGENT "love." Tough love allows you to feel and express yourself to be strong. Tough love teaches you that vulnerability is not a weakness. Abuse and neglect, in whatever form they may take, are not love. They leave scars that we may never even notice are a part of us until we're adults, and they reveal themselves in how we handle our current selves and relationships.
I think we can learn to work through ourselves better, no matter our age. Of course, it will never be easy. It might even take a lifetime. Our pain may not be our fault, but the love we give is all in our hands. We just have to learn how and to whom we ought to give it.
If you say, "Children today are too sensitive," I urge you to think again. Are we too sensitive? Or are you just incapable of vulnerability? Are we too soft? Or has your pain hardened you so much that you cannot allow an ounce of empathy or love to enter your life and change your mind?
Children may not understand everything, but they can listen, and we hope you can too. As we grow older, we may also believe we understand everything better and tend to diminish or underestimate what our youth have to say. That "their problems are nothing compared to what we've gone through". We have gone through bad things that made us 'tough', and so do we want them to experience the same or worse? Of course not. Our intention is to teach them to be tough because, surely, the world is tough. But we must also take into consideration that using the same approach and experiences we had to impose our idea of "strength" on them is not always the answer. We are all different people living on different timelines. What works for you may not work for another. Through healthy communication and enabling safe avenues for it, we can be able to understand and foster respect for each other to make things work on both sides.
In reality, pain is not a competition; we just tend to make it one. The fact that we experience it as humans in various forms and intensities is valid enough for us to listen to and tend to it so we do not pass it on to others, especially children. Our strength is not entirely measured by how much pain we endure; instead, it is also measured by how we sit with them and handle them so they do not attack, consciously or unconsciously, the innocent ones and people we love, as well as ourselves.
As a young adult who is learning to listen to their inner child, no, I am not "too sensitive". I am merely capable of expressing and showing my feelings and opinions with care, just as a human being should. I may appear to be idealistic, but I know the world isn't perfect. It can be cruel, so cruel, and unfair, because, believe it or not, I too have seen and experienced it. I have been caused pain by people who couldn't work through it themselves, and I don't want to blame them. I just know I never deserved it, and I have the right to feel and talk about it. I too have had instances where I hurt people I love and care about just because I couldn't face the mirror and look myself in the eye. I'm sorry. I will do better.
At such a young age, I am learning to process these things to avoid being the conflict in relationships I want to nurture in the future. I want to work through my issues to be a better adult. To be part of a generation that knows how to face their shadows so that they don't go around throwing their pain into the world and diminishing the light that remains in it.
With love,
S
đź«‚words and art by me
image text translation: mom, dad, please let down your weapon for I am not your enemy
I never make promises. It all started when I was a child. I don't trust myself or other people enough to believe in something like that anymore. I know my limitations and weaknesses well enough to stop myself from making such a strong decision. But I do say, "I'll try," and sometimes these words are more powerful than an "I promise." Because it is the best someone can do, but they still choose to do it anyway for you because they care.
"I'm sorry I can't promise you, but I will try my best." I know this may not be enough. I hope you understand.Â
Ang Baso sa Mesa
May naiwang baso sa mesa
Kinuha ko ang baso at inilagay sa hugasan
Ako'y lumingon,
Laking gulat ko nang makita
Andoon pa rin yung naiwang baso sa mesa
Sometimes, I stay up all night because something in me won’t stop talking. And so, I write. I write so much so I can speak and hear myself clearly. And I pretend everything is peaceful, even just for a while.
I then realize that it can be a curse to be able to call out shadows from within and allow them to illuminate my dimly lit room in the middle of the night. For they spill ink on the blank pages of my paper and sometimes I am afraid I might drown in them. But it is also a gift that I know I shan’t conceal any longer because I believe, that somewhere out there, there is a soul that speaks the same language as mine.
I suck at dancing, but I'd do it with you.
To be perceived yet remain unknown
081723
I was cringing and a bit teary-eyed when I found this piece of paper at home.
Back in 6th grade, our homeroom teacher asked the class to get a sheet of paper where we would write the positive and negative traits we see in each other. It was an activity to self-reflect based on what we think about ourselves and how others perceive us. I already knew that for me, this was a bad idea. I was afraid of the words I might find on my piece of paper after the activity, despite knowing exactly what they would be.
Before looking at my paper as it was returned to me, I observed the faces and reactions of my classmates. They were chuckling and some of them were even joking about the things they wrote about each other. I could see they knew each other pretty well. They had friends and they were happy with their piece of paper.
I then looked at mine and felt relieved… but sad.
I realized that nobody ever knew me because I never really knew who I was. At a young age, I hid behind the façade I put up to be desirable enough and feel worthy of existing. I was referred to as the “good student”, the “smart one”, the “pleasure to have in class”, as they call it. I was also the stereotypical “quiet kid” whom students would ask for answers to homework or tests, and I would guiltily give it to them because I didn’t know how to say no.
I was a shadow of my achievements and the idea of being useful to other people was the only way I knew for me to feel seen.
On the right column of my paper were the negative traits they wrote about me. I was confused as to why I felt somewhat relieved that most of them wrote question marks and “I don’t know.” It was kind of funny and pathetic, I thought. Maybe because I thought the façade worked but deep inside, it felt painful that nobody ever wrote “something”. I wanted them to tell me what they think of me, even if it’s not entirely positive, at least it made me feel seen and that I was a real and actual person.
In the other column, “smart, quiet, good, and kind,” were the most common words they wrote as my positive traits. Words a child would be glad to hear but not for me. I thought maybe some would think I was not grateful enough as someone who was often complimented with such words; I remember in junior high school, they would tell me I was too good or too excellent and I wouldn’t know what to say because that wasn’t how I felt about myself. I saw how others would scoff and say I was pretending to be humble and not be flattered by the recognition but deep inside I was actually confused and would feel disgust every time I’d look in the mirror because I couldn’t see the person they were talking about. Most of all, I couldn’t see myself no matter how hard and long I’d stare.
What they never understood was that I didn’t want to be smart, quiet, good, and kind. I didn’t want to be desirable and easy to everyone because that only meant that I existed to please the world around me. I just wanted to be real and to be me, even if it meant not being appreciated by everyone. Because to be oneself is to be seen and understood by people who truly see your worth, even if they are few. And I think that’s beautiful. Unfortunately, at that time and even until now, I struggle and find it hard to be myself because I am afraid.
I decided to keep that piece of paper even though it was a painful memory to me because I hoped that maybe one day, I get to have “my piece of paper” where I find words that truly resonate with who I am as myself, and who I am to the people that care about me and I care for too. That I can finally look back on that old piece of paper and won’t believe it’s true anymore and I can finally let it go. I also want to believe that I am more than just words on paper and all the things that make me “good”.
This is a love letter to the child who never really became one. The people-pleasers, the good ones, the kind ones, and the quiet ones who grew up to be the loveliest and kindest people to others but themselves. I hope you remember that you do not exist to be validated by your achievements and the standards the world puts up for you. You are more than good, desirable, and perfect. You can be a disaster, a beautiful mess, an abstract and ever-changing being who is capable of many things.
This is also a gentle reminder to the teachers, parents, and adults, who encounter children who appear to be kind, excellent, bright, and “perfect” on the outside. Sometimes, they are the ones who tend to suffer in silence the most. The next time you see them and gaze into their eyes, I hope you don’t ignore their cry for help.
With Love, S
—Thoughtfulstarstuff
Disi-otso...
Disi-nuwebe...
Bente...
Masyado na bang huli ang lahat para mangarap?
Kailangan ko na ba talagang harapin ang katotohanan agad?
The complexity of the human heart
What should I do with all this anger when the only thing my heart wants to do is love?
Loving you is art.
Despite my bad memory and rusty brain functioning, I would love to learn everything about you—your daily routines, things that make you light up, things that make your heart ache, and things that make your heart race. I would memorize every part of you, your beauty, and your features because you are my favorite subject. So perfect yet so flawed and so deserving of love. I will love you through it all.
Isn't it unfair that some people are forced to heal wounds that were never meant to be there in the first place?
I can't stop thinking of what could have been, if you knew what was going on in my mind everytime my eyes locked into yours.
Tinatangi kita dahil natatangi ka.