sorry i’m difficult person, hard to handle. damage by heart, wounded by soul. it’s going to be tough to deal with my moods. it’s going to be a long run to break my thick, high wall. whenever we have fights if I said “okay” its simply not okay so leave me alone & let me take my time but please never give up on me. I’m sorry I give up so easily. I’m sorry I notice everything. I notice even the smallest change. I know you’ll get tired to understand me. I know you won’t be crying anymore for my forgiveness. I know time will come you won’t be the same person anymore. I’m sorry I’m too sensitive. Too sensitive cus I’m afraid to fall inlove again, afraid I might end up getting hurt again.


Spot Kate Moss.


she’s a goddess i’m not even kidding she’s perfect

(Source: danileeburton)




I literally do not care about your gender, sexuality or skin colour.

I literally only care about whether you’re a nice fucking human being or not.

so basically you’re racist, sexist and homophobic

how exactly could you have come remotely close to that conclusion

(via theurbanfashiongal)

Empty spaces once home

there is a heavy feeling and silence of loneliness on my chest when the car start moving. I was looking out the window trying to grasp what happened a few minutes ago while my family’s laugh echoed the air. It’s not the same feeling when I reach home, when I enter the hallway, when I open the door & scan our room. the baggage that occupied most of the floor area isn’t there anymore, the pink shirts & toys are no longer scattered on the bed sheets. those milk bottles & toiletries that usually placed on the top of the drawer is missing too.

A week ago I went to the yellow house just to get my towel. I know some stuff had moved out but i’m a bit surprised and felt sad to see the remaining. I close my eyes and tried to picture out in my mind what were on those empty spaces. I went upstairs and lie down on my bed. I listened to ‘waiting room’ and cried a little. I think of the days I lived here, there’s so much memories can mold. this home that I ruled, I organized. this home I learned how to handle a family, those bills & due dates, those groceries & what to eat next week, to raise a child, to be a mom, to be a dad, to be a teacher, a nanny & all I can think of.

I think of the ways I managed my everyday life. On saturday morning I will clean up the entire house and on my free time I will lie on the sofa surfing the internet or watching TLC. On sundays, I will go to market. I will bring uyel to puregold and buy for our week grocery. She would rode on the cart & grab yakults & moo’s. I would buy her basic needs such as milk, vitamins & toiletries. At 7 pm we would go to the church and after we would eat to mcdo. When we reach home we would do her homeworks, clean her up & put her to bed. During weekdays, I’m home by 8 or so. Uyel usually watching tv or eating dinner. We would go upstairs at 9, I would clean the room first & read her a book, tap her to sleep.

I remember every single thing about yellow house. Every receipts & placements. Every details. everything. I will miss this home. I will miss to sleep & hug my uyel at night.


my favorite part of ginataang halo-halo.

that boy

I watched you pass through the window, I act like I didn’t see you. I wrote down on my journal the day & nights we shared. I miss those times where you’re a total stranger to me, those times I spend my usual sunday afternoon in this yellow tiny house, listening to itunes & how I watch you pass every afternoon without any feelings or care for you. Everything just happened so fast. I never thought we would come to this point. Now I can’t go back. I’m just stuck up wanting to be in your daily life. We can’t end a day without seeing each other. Its like minutes apart feels like months.I don’t know what normal sleep is for haha.

mornings with mitchy. 👯




There is a word for the thing the llama is doing. It is the best possible word for this phenomenon.  When an animal moves by moving all four feet like this at once it’s called… PRONKING.

I can’t make stuff like this up.

Okay. I’ve seen various antelope do this. I had NO idea llamas did, too!

What… a…. graceful creature

(Source:, via irrevocably-hypnotized)





This one time I painted a living room with a girl.

This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.

But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.

Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.

That’s what love is. Attention to detail.

And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.

But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.

But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:

One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.

And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

I just cried at this

i’m now in tears.

(via disgusted)

homemade bacon, egg & cheese toast ala sunog.