if you scream loud enough

will everything be silenced?

if you explode into a burning fire

will all the smoke clear away?

if you sweep into a battle guns blazing

will you win the war?

if you walk around in an iron shell

will you let anyone in?

if you drink a bit of poison every day

will you notice when it’s all you consume?

if you draw a line in the sand

will you let it be crossed?

if you preach nothing but hate

will you let yourself love?

if you wish the world to be as it was

will it ever change?

if you turn a blind eye

will you ever see?

if you hide from a catastrophe

will you be at peace?

if the world decides to end

will it be able to begin again?

~jo~

to those who reside as aliens

and then i started sobbing.

not even the dramatically beautiful-yet-so-despondently-tragic tears trailing down cheeks sobbing,

like snot and plugged sinuses i can’t breathe because my chest is shaking violently red faced and absolutely ghastly sobbing.

to those who reside as aliens.

oh, God.

i told my sister that i felt like i plateaued in my faith on the phone a few hours ago, which is a little weird even for me to say as a self proclaimed romantic nihilist, because for me to have faith would mean to accept that something and someone matters, and that’s a black hole of words i don’t have right now.

the truth is of course, yes, they do. someone does.

i just…

i have been an alien for a very long time.

residing as one for a couple years give or take. living and feeling, reluctantly accepting for… what feels like my whole life.

alien.

i joke about it and it sears itself into my soul so much that i forget anything else.

alien. don’t belong, don’t belong, don’t belong.

i guess i just assumed this was universally accepted so i… didn’t bother checking with God about it? or? you know?

dude i haven’t been to church without zoning out in a year, this is rough even on my ears.

but like, at some point in this freakishly hot night i’d decided to read through the bible app.

because totally, that’s what you do in 100 degree heat when you’ve been half-religiously avoiding the social distant services starting back up because you know, you know, you know, that you’ll just sit there and you may as well sit anywhere else.

so

you sit in your hot room with two fans running and then you decide to read a bit of the bible.

t-to pass the time.

how the heck does God not give up on my pathetic self, i don’t know.

but i turned to 1 peter and boom

there

to those who reside as aliens.

and then, in that second of reading and rereading in disbelief i think some wall of casual apathy and suppressed fears broke.

it was like he was speaking to me.

to those who reside as aliens.

God wrote a letter to an alien and invited them home. he got it. he crossed space and time and technological difficulties to let me know.

dude.

i still can’t stop crying.

i don’t plan on writing any enlightened christian gospel living posts anytime soon, and to be honest, i’m aware how often i toe the grey area of agnosticism.

but in this space and time, in this lonely messed up ugly weird strange insert words your parents would not want me to say, the fact that i am seen and loved and accepted in totality by God has captured my full attention and left me speechless. (well, speechless enough to write about it. what a hypocrite.) and maybe that is enough.

to those who reside as aliens.

i asked God for proof that existence mattered, and he didn’t just follow through, he whacked me personally and said that i did.

wipe your tears, they say, you will start to heal.

i know not everyone reading this looks to faith for the peace they seek, that there are many many places that offer what we all search for, and it’s not my place to insist on any specific way or attitude or time. that’s not what this is.

this is to those who reside as aliens.

i hope you find it, like how i accidentally stumbled on it at an ungodly hour of the day.

(that’s hilarious, the ungodly hour bit. it would seem that i met God at this time. amazing.)

~but God i want to feel again, jo~

until i can’t think

red and white wall with graffiti

“Individuals with ADHD often become quickly immersed in one salient emotion and have problems shifting their focus to other aspects of a situation.”

“For many people with ADHD, the brain’s gating mechanism for regulating emotion does not distinguish between dangerous threats and more minor problems. These individuals are often  thrown into panic mode by thoughts or perceptions that do not warrant such a reaction. As a result, the ADHD brain can’t deal more rationally and realistically with events that are stressful.” – some article i found from ADDitude

“nothing is wrong. everything feels wrong. that’s what’s wrong.” on mental disorders (simple explanation), our favorite weez

well.

that doesn’t make this easier.

if anything, it could very well make this.

worse.

worse like groan a little and rock back and forth for an hour because it would’ve been nice to have known *before* all this happened. stare into the abyss and not imagine dragons waiting to take me away because i still have homework worse. scrolling through instagram and feeling overwhelmed worse. so much worse that it feels scary to address the worse because what if it gets worse

i’m trying the breathing exercises and they’re kinda helping, but they just make me feel dizzy and have a bit of a headache. and i already ate so it can’t be that. and i don’t have anyone that actually know know what it means to have a mind with a million tabs open and one sound coming from all of them in unsion

“oh! no! oh! no! oh! no!”

and what do i say to the tabs?

“you’re! not! real! you’re! exaggerated!”

and then what? lie because everything in the world is going

“oh! no!”

and me saying it doesn’t make it more or less true?

i hold no power as to the truthness level of a situation, and that scares me more than the actual situation. i’m not sure what to think about that, and i’m not sure if i *can* think, because then it’s like

realize that everything i’m processing and experiencing will always be received by hypersensitive, maxed up senses,

leading to questioning everything i hold dear and i speak up about being actually important or just important to me,

then leading into panicking as the things and people i love don’t get better and don’t get anything at all and the world and the governments and how itchy my left eye is,

then trying to shut my phone off before yet another cry of how the people who need to listen won’t listen and are just trying to maintain order and calm, and how can i blame them when i’m trying to do the exact same thing, but the difference between me and them is i’m actually trying to change for the better and they only want to surpress the cries,

oh the room is cold now, oh, there’s a bag of groceries where the table is, that’s not right, oh no, a million little things are inscrutably different than how they were yesterday and oh no that is not okay, not okay, not okay!

sometimes it ends in a meltdown and sometimes it ends in long periods of feeling nothing after feeling everything for so long

but everything seems to set me off today, like

all the lovely things friends write and put up and share

and all the mean things the outside does and the bills they pass and the doom they bring to make everything great again! no you’re not you just want you to be great again

and that someone brought me crackers and now i feel priveleged because nobody else asked for crackers

and then lonely because nobody else asked and i feel like i can’t go home and i don’t know where home is

and i know that i don’t know but it doesn’t make up for the fact that i don’t know

i want to save the world. and i also want to save myself. and i have to make peace that having both is okay. that i am okay.

that even with all the unokayness it will be okay, because we’re just humans and everything we see is filtered through the confines of our minds, and that’s why when we’re united it doesn’t feel as lonely as it tends to be, but *why* is so much, why is there so much why

why

why

perhaps… perhaps feeling, and caring is a superpower that… that i can’t control yet? and therefore… and therefore the opposite, to be normal, to be apathetic, is my weakness?

but then…

but then…

when does it stop?

~then i try, try to deny, jo~

mudbloods, but make it worse

flag of Philippines
do i have my own photos? yes
am i still using these unsplash stills? yes
do i have issues? oh yeah

there’s a caste system in everything. the philippines is only one of many countries that employ one.

it starts with what we associate with success and fame and the “It” goal: being white. sometimes this can be replaced with being american on a good day, sometimes it’s just anyone with unbelievably fairer skin. either way, this ingrained goal, despite not actually being stated, is why the skin whitening industry is so successful and why most representation of filipinos is unbelievably lightskinned. or, in nicer terms, “fair.”

then it breaks down into being mestizo, which is a fancy colonizer way to say having mixed blood. if your genes are good and you’re “fair” then you have a pretty secure grip on the societal ladder. if you don’t, at least you have a “fair” parent. having mixed families is, for some reason, romanticised and fetishized, which isn’t cool, but somehow nobody talks about that? anyway.

the more melanin you have, the less you’re seen as equal to the “It” goal, or seen as equal, or even seen in general, and it’s this weird horrible phenomenon of internalizing colonial thinking that’s led filipinos to either:

favoring the system

or

favoring the exact opposite, which spurns anyone who isn’t pure filipino.

enter the anomaly that is having both biological parents mixed themselves, growing up in a different country, absorbing three cultures without really knowing where they come from, and finally, going back to the place it all started, and being unnaturally, atypically, ungodly, different.

enter me.

i don’t say all of this to the old guy sitting on the plastic chair by the street though. his confused reaction at my sudden spout of words would just confirm my point, and despite knowing it solidly for about all my life i’m not ready to hear it from another person. so i don’t say any of that when he says

“are you chinese?”

do i LooK like i want to scream, but i realize that i probably do.

“ah, my dad’s filipino, my mom’s chinese,” i answer.

i’m lying. my biological parents have so many different elements in both their dna, chinese included, that just transferred onto me. genetics people, genetics.

but i can’t bring out a punnet square and clarify to this interesting wrinkled person who eagerly waved at my camera just a few minutes ago, not to someone that probably doesn’t even know what genes are, not to someone who doesn’t know, period. easier for him and me.

that last bit’s a lie too. this sucks.

it’s a cruel world, one in which my skin isn’t dark enough to be oppressed and not light enough to be fetishized, in which i’ll still be asked if i have an accent or where i come from or applauded for having perfect english, in which i am a surprise because i’m not like “the others” but that just makes me an other. is that really much of an improvement?

being a token diverse person in the eyes of those who haven’t yet come face to face with the reality that a person can be so complex in every single sense of the word isn’t the worst thing ever, but it… isn’t fun. and it makes connecting with what little of this culture and of being a person of color i can call “mine”, because none of it seems to be, really.

like i can’t infringe on the specific opportunities for one people group despite not having those for mine either, or go to community centers created for priority neighborhood kids despite growing up one.

i don’t have any happy conclusion, but i imagine hermoine and all those other kids must’ve felt the same struggles in their weird fantasy world, somehow, in some strange way, must’ve related to not belonging. i don’t know much about fantasy worlds, so don’t kill me.

all i do know is we all have a bit of that magic in all of us, especially in the mixed and the barely there and the very much there that it makes no sense to divide ourselves by arbitrary lines that get blurred every single time.

and i wish i could answer this guy when he asks

“where do you come from”

and i wish i didn’t have to answer this question again.

~hey guys it’s me, the biggest disappointment you know, jo~

all lives, blue skin

people gathering on street during daytime

i see you.

i see you, all of you, splattering bright blue paint against the blazing yellow words that cover the same streets that have been washed of its blood red stains.

i see you, white and black and rainbow, walk the streets triumphantly insisting that all lives matter, all lives matter, all lives matter, NO, ALL LIVES MATTER. ALL OF THEM.

you yell this in the face of the very lives you have literally just declared matter. you shake your fist at children who are declaring themselves to be proud of their skin, who are raising their fists and demanding that justice be served. you rip banners, you scream, you shout, you applaud the “protectors, the good guys”, you cry for general importance and to make america normal.

can you not see yourself?

can you not see the anger and fear and hate that passes through the masks you don’t wear, the very visible disease that accompanies the invisible virus we have already lost lives to. apparently your insistence to be heard trumps the need to not be sick.

one of the more passionate of you did. not. stop. yelling.

“YEAH! WELL I HAVE A HUSBAND! WHAT DO YOU HAVE?”
“EHH! WELL I HAVE A HUSBAND! WELL I HAVE A HUSBAND!”

you wave your phone, puff your chest with the words “gays for trump” printed across it, shape your face to personify total derision of the person behind the screen that is recording you, begging you to state your thoughts in peace.

sir, i ask you of all people, is it possible that despite who you are partnered with, that you do not understand what it is to love?

the whole lot of you walk away with blue hands, saluting the blue shirts, just now attributing yourself to colors. you walk in shooting view of the photographers who come to these displays of human confusion to capture it for history, and in this moment that will last for the ages,

you smirk.

when you are noticed, you smirk because you know that you will be seen.

when we’re noticed, we just make sure we are the best representation of who we are and where we come from in case that’s the last time anyone ever sees us.

can you not see?

you worship the ones who will not hesitate to pound people to the ground, to spray tear gas into kids who just happen to be there, who, if suddenly told by the powers that be that their next victims were the all lives matter people, would not hesitate to treat you with the same cruelty that you gleefully advocate for against the people who are trying to put it all to an end.

you choose to get your hands smeared in blue paint. you are not born in an unalterable dark pigment from head to toe, you do not walk out of the door knowing that you will forever be seen not for your mind or your heart, but how much or how little melanin is in your body. you can wash the paint off, you can take the uniform that is stained with the sweat and blood of another soul away to be cleaned. skin is not so easily maintained.

you put on the blue, you put on the power, you choose that, and in doing so, you let your humanness hide under your colors. we are laid raw and bare and brokenly human in ours.

i feel sorry for you.

i am sorry that i have to use words like “us” and “them, “you” and “we”, because it is undeniably certain that you do not want to seek justice, love mercy, or walk humbly with God, with your fellow humans, or even with yourself. and i pity that very much.

let me correct your sign for you.

you are currently saying that all lives matter. what you want to say is “I MATTER! I MATTER! I MATTER!”

that’s the root of it, isn’t it my dude? you are terrified of the idea of anyone else mattering except yourself.

how sad.
how pathetic.
of course you do.

but not solely you.

here is what all lives matter looks like:

arresting the cops that killed breonna taylor. addressing the very obvious inequalities in every aspect of our society. acknowledging the same heart problems that are in you are in me too. dancing in the streets with no fear of being pulled over or being shot at. holding hands with friends and unmaking enemies. no fear. no shouting. peace. joy. a coffee shop that won’t be vandalized or run out of business where people can learn to connect and thrive. smiles on people’s faces. growing bipoc businesses. to walk into a church and not be treated based on the corners of eyes or the color of skin. to know the same love and call to healing from Above is meant for us all.

can you see the possibilities? can’t you see it?

of course not. you can’t even see me. you don’t want to. you want yourself. what you know.

you chant for blue and blindly watch as black dissolves to red.

did you forget that last color runs through your veins too?

~everyone’s pushing, everyone’s fighting, jo~

yearning

low-angle photography of man standing on stone with arms wide-open statue

“i just want to be *Held”

“can you imagine *human touch*”

“i would kill for a *hug*”

the following was taken from the nsfw channel of a chaotic server i mod, which was created for discussing how to write murder and other dark topics but instantly veered from gory character motives to spoilering the desire to be able to interact with humans for comedic effect.

it’s been rough lately.

most of us haven’t gone out in months, myself included. most of us aren’t in the best of situations physically, mentally, or spiritually. most of us are anxious, and sad, and creating messy characters and plots and stupid jokes is how we cope. most of us are vibing. all of us are alone.

someone (who absolutely shredded me to pieces with a connected series THE PAIN) said it best.

“everyone’s baking and protesting, and we’re stuck here yearning.”

11 people instantly reacted with the f emoji.
to, you know, pay respects.

i mean, are they wrong?

i think about that, today, after waking up and showering and getting my favorite shirt and get a meal of crackers and salmon lox cream cheese. yearning. hhhhhh imagine that.

i’m listening to rend collective’s latest album and my chest (as foreign and dysphoric as it feels) is throbbing with… with relating. with singing. with truth. with desire and fear and so much yearing.

i haven’t talked much about faith as much as i have the world in which faith is so desperately needed, not because i don’t believe it’s not important, but it’s been so, so long since i’ve had any kind of community or sense of belonging– and not just with, like, faith, with every single intricate dang part of myself.

(oh hah guess what i’m writing about that talk about projecting babyy!)

and it’s like how can i claim to talk about truth and God and uhm, being a light when i’m literally in the darkness, you feel? but i’m sure you do. it’s july 2020, and we are all tired, and governments are not doing their jobs, and people are broken, and my goodness, how alone we must all be right now.

creation groans, and so we are literally crying for something more, for something real, for something true, to look into someone’s eyes face to face with no threat of disease stopping us, for justice to be served.

there are names and names and names of people who are gone and it’s not right and it seems like everyone is finally waking up and realizing how broken and wrong the world is and we’re yearning, crying, for anything right, and man, i have clue what to make of that. like, i have to take tutoring for algebra, i’m not mentally equipped for answers. i don’t think any of us are.

but we yearn to do something good anyway. but there are people right now chanting and learning and educating and fighting for right and they’re doing amazing and there are a bunch of people signing up to teach me and a bunch of other lost, nerdy kids how to sing, how to dance, how to dream this summer, there’s stars and there’s sun and there’s a spotify playlist that is streaming truth and beauty and goodness and how, how can anyone look at this world and not realize what it could be, what it was meant to be?

my God really made some amazing things, and yes, they’re so messed up now, but even with their serious flaws they’re beautiful. that is wild. that is so wild. can you not feel that?

if the hate that fueled all these horrible people (read: all of us) to do what we’ve been doing for centuries was replaced with hearts, with love, with holy sacred rightness, what would the world look like?

idk man, but it must be… beautiful.

so i’m here now, filled with a violent urge to create. and sing. and write and fight and scream and care. and to be cared about.

it must be only heaven where one can be at peace and to be among peace.

but if, through what i do and who i am and the amazing people i know, just a tiny bit of heaven can be brought to earth, well, it won’t take away the desire or the yearning.. but maybe rather, remind us that we’re not hoping for nothing. there’s something, there always was Something. and that’s faith fren.

i wish i could knock on the door of every person in the server, in my chats, in my neighborhood and tell them that. i only know how much i would die to hear those words said to me.

oh, and also *hug*. that’s very important.

~we are the strong, we are the brave, we are the dreamers, jo~

world history

The figures rose slowly out of the mist and I knew for an instant that we weren't the only ones in this war.

10:30 am, mondays, wednesdays, and fridays.

world wars.

i hate that class so much.

the teacher’s fun. she’s exciting, she’s relatable, she’s easy to listen to, i respect her. she brings the past and the present together and shows what the future could look like given what it already does. she doesn’t make me wanna fall asleep. she’s no nonsense and fun about it.

i hate that class.

the other students are literal nerds. they talk about weapons and theories and concepts, 7 to 19 year olds sparring against each other intellectually on the drastic effects of something that happened long before any of us were born. i like talking to them. i like their thoughts. i like my classmates.

i hate that class.

we talk about leaders and men with terrible childhoods who chose to become terrible, these people who should never have even been given a platform gaining power over the common folk who just wanted a better life. we talk about control and unhealthy, faulty mindsets. we see that the headlines of the 1900s aren’t too far off from their modern, digital counterparts.

i hate that class.

we study mentalities. we see fear against people who are different, we see opinion grow public, then political, then governmental, then hate and aggression and fear and isolation. we see stars being sewn, we learn about the ghettos being built, the distrust and the distaste and the turning tide. we hear the words internment camps. we see people being forced to leave for who they are. we can’t tell what year this level of hate and racism started and ended because let’s be real, did it really ever end?

i hate that class.

for every battle, we discuss death count. 12,000. 2000. 345,366. a million. two million. the only thing that stops those numbers from just being numbers are pictures, are words, are medals and memories that are going away too. we talk about which battles had the most damage. the most kills. what’s too much? what’s too little? we talk about europe still mourning the loss of a million people. we haven’t even fully counted our dead. all over the world.

i hate that class.

we talk about kids separated from their parents, couples torn apart, friends forced away from each other, chainlink fences keeping them apart, fences and boards and huts and cages. inhumanity. communal housing, manual labor, individuality taken away in exchange for conformity, hundred people living, surviving, dying. and there is no end date. there is no end date. only decades and centuries of this existing.

i hate that class.

there are no good guys. there are no bad guys. there is no light or dark. there is no win or lose. there are variations and mixing and the only thing that has remained constant is caring when it’s too late, systematic apathy, a cry for help that goes ignored, broken signs protesting for something that shouldn’t even be questioned. it is timeless and it is painful.

i hate that class.

~thanks! i hate it, jo~

sometimes you just gotta take ‘em by surprise

sometimes you just gotta take ‘em by surprise

i didn’t use to like sprite. because sprite was unhealthy and the dear lord above help the child that caved in to anything even remotely sugary.

but then i became a high school student, and consequently, a failure. (i’m kidding. ish.)

apparently, if you walk around with a bottle of soda in your hand then people assume that you’ve splurged on sprite and therefore don’t use money wisely.

what they don’t realize is that you’ve saved half for yesterday and half for today because despite popular opinion, you actually know what you’re doing half of the time. (the other half is left to the wind.)

it’s like that.

the assumptions will always be like that. assuming.

like, my laptop charger died, right? i have to spend my disney plus money for a charger. wah. but it’s cool. except for the same people judging me for using my phone almost all day.

how… how do i explain that i can study on any device but i actually really need to study?

see? it’s not easy.

it’s not easy to be told that you scowl, “you probably don’t even know it, but missy, you scowl,” which is rather unfair to hear after trying to design a website in your head and solve your jobless situation in a few months. truly unfair.

my face was not designed for public enjoyment, okay? and my mind is chaotic enough without pretending there’s nothing inside it. i mean, shouldn’t they all be happy it’s working?

right?

oh well.

if they must assume that you’re sick because you faze out of the conversation and have a far-away look on your face, then shame on them for not realizing that there is so much to think about. there is so much. can’t they see that?

nobody?

well.

i guess you gotta take em by surprise, buddy.

when they think you’re an edgy shy goth that is the opposite of light and happiness and bubbly good girlness, you just have to remember there is nothing wrong with moon and starlight, fog and shadows, neutral palettes and darker colors. that you’re fun and have a wacky sense of humor that can diffuse stressful situations and you’re a colorful swirled human who isn’t easily understood.

it’s okay, at least those who care the most will understand the best. it hurts but it is good.

and then just

just

take them by surprise.

they still can’t believe you can understand tagalog. i guess you’ll have to reveal your accidental way of dancing to ben platt songs when you think nobody’s looking. and your knack of cracking a joke in under a minute. and all the things that make up messed up, wild, beautiful you.

because it doesn’t matter who you are. it doesn’t matter who underestimated you. it doesn’t matter if you underestimate yourself.

whatever you have, it is still important and loved and valued. okay?

please keep spinning. keep dancing. keep drinking 25 peso sprite. keep being who you are. who you will grow to be.

surprises can be the best kind of thing, y’know?

hope you know.

i’ll raise a sprite to us wildcards.

~didn’t have a dime but i always had a vision, jo~

these overcooked baked goods actually taste decent

these overcooked baked goods actually taste decent.png

the human being was not created for solidarity.

well, snap.

i’ve been thinking.

that’s usually a bad idea, but i’ve been thinking.

i have a whole house to think in now, one whose only constant resident is yours very insane and mentally stirred truly.

like for example, without you lovely people to talk to and read these carefully curated trashposts (this is the wall i’m ranting at, right) i’m essentially shouting into the void. and it feels like that during the gaps when my posts go unread and with no comments, kinda like a text message that doesn’t get seen til the next week. it’s scary, it’s like, “oh no, did they finally cross me off the face of the internet?” (which is bound to happen anytime soon. because. you know. me.)

and then i think about how stupid the idea of me being worried that my internet presence will no longer be missed. it’s silly, really. it’s an unfair standard to judge one’s life by. comments don’t make a blogger.

but man, it sure is nice talking to someone.

“aren’t you lonely?” people ask, eyeing me sip an iced tea/mango juice/ death potion of sugar, “being there, by yourself, no friends, no school?”

to which i usually go “but i have fAnFiCtIoN”

look, i lie, okay? i’m not that bad of a liar when i put my mind to it. i like to think i’m good at diffusing a situation by laughing whenever someone’s yelling. i like to think that i give off a vibe that just lets you know “yeah, she’s got this. she’s fine. she’s jo, she’ll live.”

nope.

i’m lonely.

really lonely.

belt-showtunes-at-12 am-lonely.

text-friends-in-the-middle-of-the-night-lonely.

i’ve lived with myself for so long i’m starting to detest my own company.

and i’ve lived with myself for… i don’t know, ever since i used to imagine myself in different worlds? idk, it’s been a while.

growing up i was desperate for attention, to belong to a group, to have the identity of being someone’s friend, of being with the cool kids, the cool group, someone, anyone. and i guess i played the role of a precocious, happy child so well i even started to believe it. bury the feelings of awkwardness and alienation deep down where nobody can see it. mind over matter. if you don’t mind it it doesn’t matter. right? right. totally.

now watch everyone’s taken aback expressions when they realize that, yikes, this kid isn’t the bubbly sweet girl we thought we knew.

watch everyone leave.

i wonder if the people i smiled so hard for even remember that i existed. i wonder if they just see the overachieving good girl of sunday school, or maybe have an inkling of the person i’ve become. maybe? i doubt it. oh well.

i’m good at being in the background. really good. i’m the side character in my story, and it’s like that no matter where i go. here’s jo, she’s just randomly here for no reason. let the main characters run off to their happy endings, i’ll be here, stuck at the plot twist.

but that wasn’t the point. i’m here, living predominantly alone, predominantly on my own, not tied down to a particular place or people or job or anything really. from one borrowed couch to another borrowed couch. not having a name for myself. not having a thing except for myself. i work and then i do school and then i try to help out and i try to be real and i try to make everyone laugh and i do all of these things,

and at the end of the day?

nothing.

nobody.

there’s nobody yelling at me not to slam the door, nobody tugging my top knot, nobody asking me how my day is, and there’s no crashing onto the couch watching dude perfect.

not that… you know, there’s literally nobody.

there’s just nobody for me. you know?

you don’t.

it’s okay, neither do i.

i’ve heard all the tired feelings single people talk about, but i mean, i fall into the peculiar position of being a child that needs human interaction that can’t readily walk up and get it. so. bwah. life is weird.

but look.

i get to blast my speakers, break out a newsies dance, bake biscuits at 3 pm for the fun of it, binge watch biology videos, bike past a trio of goats, and be back in time to write this useless post. freedom is fun. freedom is really fun. being alone lets you do a ton of cool things. because sometimes people are overrated.

there’s a certain thrill you get from realizing you have the house to yourself. from just going up and climbing a cliff without anyone shrieking at you to get your sorry self down from there, what are you, inSANE. there’s something cool about taking a camera and disappearing into a crowd of thousands. it’s one of the most amazing things to be in an airport at 8 pm, board a plane, curl up, and watch the world pass by in the almost sanity of your mind without someone interrupting it. it’s precious. it’s pure. it’s cool. to be able to be anonymous. without anyone’s impressions of you being based on who you’re with or who you are.

there’s a certain comfort in being unknown.

in everything there’s a season. i think.

maybe this is the season of going at it alone, y’know? learning how to get by and not lose your mind watching the stars come out. being able to say “yeah, i totally get it” when someone has a crisis about bingeing all of the office and feeling like it’s all they’ll ever do.

so i burn my biscuits. i work a late shift tonight. i have to watch extra khan academy videos to get this cursed concept into my brain. and it’s cool.

it’s lonely, but cool.

i just hope this season ends soon. maybe with a really cool finale. maybe with me getting the lead in my own story. and learning how to live with myself.

hopefully season two will bring in more relationships and people to be not-lonely with.

~oh no, i still don’t care about a love life, jo~

consider this coconut

consider this coconut.png

“you should speak more tagalog.”

oh how the tables have tUrNeD

hi. merie wrote this better.

i’m writing this because i’m sick and tired of creepy old filipino men looking at me and going “ahh yung bata (insert something about me gobbling food like a child starved)” “ehh, do you understand tagalog?”

yeah, mister, i do. and you asking how old this bata is doesn’t give you brownie points. nor does complimenting how mature i am.

(granted, these guys were sexist old dudes who basically thought they owned the place, but they were nasty nonetheless.)

it

doesn’t

ever

end.

“ahhhh so you can’t understand what i’m saying?”

“are you a local?”

“you look filipino, but you don’t act like it.”

“woah, you speak english???”

“wow, you’re so smart for one of your *cough* kind.”

“what are you doing here?”

“so, wait, are you american or what?”

“who are you?”

“who is your father?”

“is your father born here?”

“ah…. ah… so.. so you can’t speak tagalog?”

“what are you doing in the philippines if you can’t even speak the language?”

sometimes i wanna be a mandalorian so i can wear complete body armor and be respected. feared. strong. invincible. nobody could care less where you’re from.

nobody could be so insensitive because they know exactly what you’re capable of.

also, mandalorians wouldn’t have to wait tables. they could fly into space and be amazing and nobody, nobody, nobody would laugh at them for not understanding some order for more beer, because they’re respectful and they know better.

i’m just ranting here i really do like my job waitstaffing when actually decent guests don’t strut their unimpressive stuff at a child who couldn’t care less.

you know what they call people like me? coconuts. brown on the outside, white on the inside. i’m not a coconut.

i’m a terrifying slushie of everywhere i’ve been and therefore that reduces me to nothing.

no country. no culture. no identity.

go back where you belong, well guess what, i don’t even know where that is.

if anyone ever tries to blast america for being racist, take heart. literally almost every other country has their fair share of racism and

it

hurts

all.

yeah, no, i don’t mano. i don’t have an accent. i don’t do jollibee or eat rice with every single meal. sheesh, i don’t even look like a filipina dalaga. i have glasses. like such a white person.

and for some reason it absolutely blows north american people’s brains when they find out that i can speak fluent english, i know every single pop culture reference and then some, and yeah, i’m almost like them.

what. a. CONCEPT.

is humanity so held up on its little cliques that they insist on forcing someone into a label or dropping them entirely when it doesn’t work? is that how it works then? is that the game you want to play?

then i’m not playing.

cultures are unique. cultures are beautiful. but only because of the individual strands that unite it as one whole, shimmery trapestery.

just because i happen to be dyed in multiple colors doesn’t make me a reject.

they laugh because they don’t know. they laugh because they don’t understand. they find the idea of a person existing without a country so hilarious, it’s like they forget that countries aren’t meant to define a person.

small minds exist no matter where you land, it seems.

i should feel sorry for them, right?

i should remember that it could be me laughing and not the one being laughed at.

i should be better than this.

i should prove them wrong i should prove them prove prove them prove i am more than who they think i am

no.

no.

no.

i need to prove… nothing.

not because i have nothing to prove.

but my humanity is all the worth i need. i am who God made me and i am who i need to be. that’s good enough.

they’re not gonna crack this coconut tonight.

~why can’t weee beee friendsssssssssssss, jo~