Crybaby

I’ve always been a crybaby. I am emotional, sensitive, and yeah, weak.

I cry over things that are shallow and I cry over things that cut through the skin. I cry over movies and I cry over songs. I cry over people I don’t know and I cry over the ones that matter most. I cry over happy thoughts and I cry over sad memories long past. I cry over cotton candies and I cry over a cup of coffee. I cry whenever I think or laugh or walk or run. I cry over almost everything…

Once I have heard, that those who laugh over the simplest things cry over the simplest things. The ones who are easy to make laugh are also the ones who are easy to make cry. And I guess it’s true. Because you can make me laugh by just pulling out an old joke or a weird stunt, and you can make me cry by just a word or even the lack of it.

These past few days, I’ve been crying a lot. Confusing as it is to me, I have no definite answer if you would ask me why. There are so many things running through my mind and I don’t know which of them triggers the flow of tears that run through my cheeks. Some things are beyond my control. Count my tears in. Because no matter how hard I try to divert my mind to the more important matters at hand, it’s as if my eyes have a life of their own. And no matter how hard I try to use my eyes to see the bright side of life, it is blurred with tears and there’s no way it can figure out which side of life is bright, or is there really is?

I want to stop crying. I want to stop thinking. I want to stop remembering. How could it be possible that I continue to cry, think and remember when I have stopped living? How could it be possible that while my world has stopped spinning, the world around me didn’t even notice? How could it be possible that my sorrow did not even alter someone else’s life?

One day, I will get back with my life. Maybe by that time, I’d still be a crybaby. But after this, I shall arise stronger than ever.

For the love of a sister…

Thank you is not enough to tell you how grateful I am for having you as my sister. Because even if at times, and there has been many, that I have been a burden to you and made you feel unloved, you have showed me that no matter how prideful you are to other people, you can forget that and express regret even if it’s not your fault.



A thank you everyday is not enough to pay you back all the things that you have given me, and most of all, your love which is inexhaustible.

You have dreams of your own but you have set them aside so that I can achieve mine. And though it will be easy for you to chase your own dreams without the extra load you are carrying, you have never given up on me and have carried me all along.



I can’t thank you enough for giving up your own happiness for me. Because you are the only one I know who can do that for me. Though at times I fail to make you happy, I have always wanted you to be.

I am sorry for taking you for granted before or making you feel less important over other things or people. I am sorry for being selfish and arrogant, when you have been selfless and humble. I am sorry for being the thing that stopped you from living the life that you have always wanted. I am sorry that you have to settle for something less than what you deserve because of me.



You have been with me, helping me chase my own dreams, always making sure I don’t trip. With every bump and fall, you have always been there to heal the cuts and wounds, and even the broken bones. For everything that you are giving me, you make sure it’s better than what you have. You have always been there picking up the pieces of whatever I have broken. I will make sure all your efforts will never be futile. One day, I will make it big. Not just for myself. The bigger part of it is rightly for you.

The Architecture of Breaking Down

Even at this time, I am retrieving myself through the rubble. The retrieval operation may take long, even longer than it should be. In the end, I failed finding myself through the cluttered, chaotic place… for the rubble is me: the once picturesque building has now fallen down into fragments of concrete and steel.

Once upon a time, I was robust like no other, standing with considerable pride and confidence. I felt like no one can ever break me down, for I was made of concrete and steel, resiliently bearing all forces acting upon me.

The architect might have fallen short of education and experience he needed. Or the contractor could have committed an error in the construction. Or, maybe… the force was too strong -- out of this world -- and nobody ever thought of its possible occurrence. Whatever the cause might have been, it’s beyond the point now.

I have fallen down, like a soaring bird that suddenly came crashing down.

No longer can I feel the touch of the wind or hear the discreet sounds of airplanes’ flight.

No longer can I see the horizon or the sun or touch the sky and see the clouds slowly move.

No longer can I see the world from above.

Today, rubble as I may be, a chance to be rebuilt is all I need. A chance, a small fighting chance. To carry on with life even if there seems to be no other reason but that chance. To carry on even if it’s the only thing you’re holding on. Rosetti was able to rebuild Ferrara, Leonardo made Milan better after undertaking civic improvement projects and many architects made projects of remodeling and rebuilding. But neither Rosetti nor Leonardo can rebuild me now.

One day, I shall be able to rebuild myself from these fragments, without an architect, without a contractor, without you. Independent, dignified, pompous – I will be the tallest skyscraper in the world and you will look up to me. Then I shall see again, the beautiful world from above.