Introverts are not snobs

I am secretive. I am a snob. I am heartless. Whoah. The last word might have been too much.

I prefer you call me “mysterious” — that was how I was described by one of the boys in my class back in high school simply because I don’t tell much about me or anything.

It is not that I have no story to tell, it is just that I am not used to talking to a lot of other people. But trust me, I am not a loner. Nor I am sad. I am fine.

I grew up befriending my little sisters and my parents and yeah, in school I was too busy with perfecting my ABCs to actually play with other kids so I just go home.  Not much time for play because I was already tired. And weekends? Two days off-school work! Not off school, I mean school work when you are not actually in school. That kind of off-school.


But one thing people do not usually understand is that I am always the silent one because more than talking, I love to listen. Listening allows me to know more, see more, and laugh more. When you throw a joke at me it’s not likely I would punch back because my brain is acting too slow to actually think of a line.

If Psychological tests are reliable, I always end up being an ISFJ. Introverted. But as an introvert, I am not antisocial, it is just that… OK, the next thing I’m about to say might blow up everything for me but let’s say for example, if life were a chess game, I would never be the pawn.

So, the next time people say I don’t smile enough, or I am a snob, they must know that I just probably have delayed reactions. Don’t be hurt. It is nothing personal.

Introverts love people. But not all the time. (Insert a wink here. LOL)

I love people. I am just always unconsciously uhm, lethargic. 

Coffee, please?
And oh, a good book to read.
By the window.
As it rains.


That is a perfect weekend activity.

Oh wait. I have yet to finish the book I’m reading.

Time alone.
But give me a hug when I say so, all right?


The Philippines is a false hope

I had known the Philippines all my life and I take pride of myself being part of this country no matter how much racism is splattered all over our identities because we were formerly indios but I don’t care.

What is important is an individual’s heart more than the color of his skin, however, this country that have nurtured me for so long is also the place I feel alienated in.

Extra judicial killings. Demise. Justified execution. Death. Regardless of what modifier you attach to these words, killing can never be tamed nor lessened to something acceptable. Because it just isn’t.

As a citizen, I do not see this as a fault of the current President but since Pres. Duterte took the seat, the archipelago seemingly became a rebirth of a gladiator spectacle: people are being shot dead here and there and the news lambasts the claim we so much take pride of: that we are the only Christian country in Asia.


I am not maligning the current president. What I meant by mentioning his name is to point a time reference. I am also not pushing for hatred for religion but what I am saying is that we are the country that promotes prayers,  love, family bonding, hospitality, and all the rightful words written on textbooks about Filipino culture while in fact,  right now, the Authorities on such discourses and Institutions who have a huge influence on what can become acceptable to our beloved society appear indifferent.

I fear the killings and the what seems to be silence among people and the joy some civilians express because allegedly criminals are being killed.
This is because we hear other sides to the story: that there are innocent ones. But no, non innocence never gives the right to execute.

I fear for myself and for the people who are benign who could be mistaken and wasted for. I am terrified that the happy streets that used to hold colorful parades will be covered in bloodshed and that vigilantes will flee and terrorize the young independence we celebrate and that our Filipinism would be short lived. I fear that the Diaspora would be encouraged rather than reversed.

I am afraid of how people think: that no justice should be served and outright killings is justice. I am afraid that the cleanliness we see is just superficial because at dusk, guns will roar and rule anytime of the night.

I fear the Philippines is no longer an abode but just a place to stay in. I fear that even when people plan to spend all their life here, would think otherwise.

And let us ask ourselves, we say no to short dresses, extra marital affairs but we nod our heads to summary executions? Have we turned to be a nation that chooses one that is more convenient for the law to be implemented? Have we forgotten what we really sew the flag for? Or are we making plans? What is taking too long?

Let us ask ourselves, when we speak of a country, this country, wouldn’t we cringe at the point where we say “Bayan kong Pilipinas?” (My country, the Philippines).

If thinking about the news forms a lump in your chest, then know that intimately you are bothered. Deep in your acceptance of the facade of the so called triumph over crime it is sparking in you a flame of false hope.

Do something. Call the attention of people who should be called for. If this generation can instantly pursue campaigns on the most trivial of matters by using the technology they are accustomed to, then raise your voice. Use your platform.

Let us not be mere spectators to this prevalent unjust deaths. Moreover, let us not be victims of the terror in this country that is supposed to take care of us.

Adults are tall children

Lawyers I suppose, were children once.

This is the foreword of my favorite book, To Kill a Mockingbird. I like it, the foreword, perhaps because behind the sentence, there is somewhat an implication, or an allegation, that even the toughest of adults we know have soft spots too — their childhood.

I do not have issues with lawyers, it’s just that this statement reminded me of how transitioning from my younger self to who I am now often made me doubt who I really am.

There is no denying  that childhood can be nice as this was when our characters formed  and our aspirations were born. It is the same period when we discovered that the world is a huge playground and that life was simple: eat, drink, play, sleep and the routine goes on as long as it could.

Then one day, without knowing, we are then transformed into another human being — devoid of time concept but evaded by new realities.


We never felt growing old. We were never ready for anything. We just opened our eyes one day and from simple writing of our names on a piece of paper, people suddenly expected more: to copy a sentence, a paragraph, eventually, to compose our own.

And the list of “a-suddens” cannot and will not stop there.  Because life is once a childhood and forever an adult responsibility.

Back in the day, we were taught of the good and the bad and to stick to the rules. But the grown up world prompts  us to always choose between our morality and their morality that we question our self if we are still the same person or worse, if our decisions have  turned us against our good nature.

We had to, not because we are evil, but because we are required. It is as if there is an unspoken rule that we have to conform to whatever is happening around us even when we don’t understand why we do what we’re told and why we choose what we do not really want.

This world will make us choose what is not absolutely acceptable at times just so we can keep the order. Just so we can keep the so called peace. But when we look around we know that what is happening is not human nature. What is happening is not what we desire. What is happening is abomination and hatred that we duly allow to occur just because we have fake standards of what is acceptable and what cannot be.

We turn to become people who speak of the good but stare at the chance to goodness; people who claim that the world is becoming rubbish but go on with our usual coffee and table talks; people who despise crime but reject the essential forms of discipline that should be embodied in the homes to create a law abiding human being.

We are the generation of people who write too well but do nothing. The people who want change but think that alone it is absurdity.

If only each person today can start to stop being afraid of allegations of self righteousness and elitism and can put forward genius ideas and incite global movement, then this world will stop making us inquire within our selves if we are the good or the nemesis in the story.

Apparently, whichever side we choose to listen to, whichever story we decide to write, whichever society we choose to belong, to one other’s pact, we are
both and if we are both the hero and villain, then we are nobody.

The growth of the forgotten child

I guess we all come to a point when we question everything that we are and have been.

We question whether we have made the right choices and if there were things that could be a lot better had we chosen differently.


We always have that. The reservations. The what ifs. And yes. We are all afraid that the security we feel now in our our selves could someday change: that we would wake up one day and realize, hey I no longer like this job, I no longer enjoy this car, or hey, why on earth have I decided I am gonna be forever with this wo/man?

Reservations. Regrets. I guess there could be no difference. Why do we feel sure today and then have doubt’s that may be later we wouldn’t be. Or why do we end up doing the things we do; becoming the icons that we are only to change our paths afterwards.

Have we wasted years? Time we can never get back? Age we can never hold on to? For as fluid as things could be, the despise wrong decisions can present to you could eat up the last bit of decency in your head.

So for  one more time, despite the smile, despite the excitement, ask yourself once more. Is this what I want? Is this who I want to be? Is this what I could spend the rest of my days for?

We ask this not to doubt our life right now and our lives ahead. We ask this because we don’t want to be the other’s failure, the other’s heartbreak, the other’s what if.

I guess in the end, the lesson is we don’t have to rush things just because the current is going there.

We have our own pace, our own time. And in this world that makes you feel more lost than secured, go back to yourself.

Listen to that inner voice you heard when you were little that told you that you can be that and you are this.

That voice is the childhood friend that never lies. The childhood ally that never leaves. That child that you are that you forgotten but please, for the sake of your own happiness, do not listen to someone else’s childhood.

You have yours wrapped with all the greatness that you are and you were made to be.

Run back to that childhood dream. Let that child mature. Do not look at your life using someone else’s eyes.

Go back and choose yourself. And maybe in a few days, you would no longer question the consequences because you have started nurturing your own design to deviate from the others’ perceived image of who you are not.