Category Archives: The Avenue

My real-life stories I can never forget, needed to share and that contribute big impact to my life.

Its Loneliest Tick

Its Loneliest Tick

“There is loneliness in this world, so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of the clock.” — Charles Bukowski

It’s the intangible sensation that creeps beneath your skin, surfacing out, thrilling your nerves with unbearable chill.  It’s the undefined emotion that sculls your fear through the waves of your mind.  It’s the unsolicited presentiment that rooms into your thought, clearing all your mind’s furniture of sanity.  It’s that moment when hope abandons you, as fear torments you.

It’s dark.  Night-dark.  Casket-dark.  Darkest dark your vision could ever recognize.  It fuels the forever restless engine, sitting, rusting down the pit of the unmapped space of your heart.  It unlocks your forced-lock fear like vampires disturbed and awakened from their deep sleep down the deepest part of the dungeon by a single drop of fresh blood.  It skulls into your mind picture after picture of fangs, claws and misshapened shadows.  It shrinks your heart into an impossible fold where you cringe yourself in fear and sorrow.  You cower yourself exceedingly small as you keep watching over crawlies underneath your bed.  It feeds from your loneliest memory of the past.

It ticks, and it never stops.

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Posted by on March 24, 2017 in The Avenue


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Hanging Up: When Friendship Hurts

Hanging Up: When Friendship Hurts

I was so aware of my slippers making steps as I tried to gambol down the staircase.  The house looked alive as the lights were switched on, but this undeniable feeling that it’s now dead was all over the atmosphere; like a curse was all casted upon it.

As soon as I opened the front door, the cold night breeze welcomed me, which made me wrap my arms around my shoulders.  I squinted while raising my head up the sky for the cold breeze was hurting my eyes.  The wind wasn’t blowing that strongly though, but its coldness was drying my eyes, causing pain, making them feel tired.  I kept making slow full steps away from the door as I kept glancing around, looking around, watching the leaves from a nearby tree smoothly sway with the breeze.  Its lusciousness kept the night renewed.

Despite the coldness of the night, I still kept walking away from the door, heading towards the gate.  As I reached the forever open gate, I made a long sigh to drop all the worries off.  The breeze was starting to go even colder as the night was about to go off, to give way to sunrise.  It’s early dawn and though I had just rested for few hours, I still felt like I never had.

How strange was this feeling that everyone in the house was already asleep yet, here I was, standing outside, withdrawing all my emotions off, keeping my heart cold to numb the pain.  I thought it was okay, but why did I feel differently all in a sudden?  Why did I suddenly drown when I thought that I finally had a grip?

The steady blow of this early morning air was cool enough to hurt my cheeks.  I was now getting conscious of my eyelids making folds everytime I blink.  My eyes were still growing dim and tired yet, my brains made them awake.  I wanted to take them back to bed and shut them forever yet, there’s something in me asking me to stay a little longer.

An unsolicited feeling of loneliness slowly invaded my heart like that of a nullity of shock as my emotions slowly deformed me in this relentless, formless melancholy.  It’s pinching my heart, crumpling it into a hundred folds. I was now starting to get numb about my very existence being out here as early as dawn, earlier than sunrise.  Then a sudden thought entered my mind.  So soft like that of a whisper of a friend who happened to be YOU, asking me to come home.  The more I noticed it, the more it turned louder like music played with cymbals and drums.  Or, maybe I was just not hearing it, afterall.  Probably!  Yet, probably, it’s your silence and your casual vacancies that I’ve been hearing all along, deafening my ears, getting even louder as the days had gone by.

Helpless about this situation, I just simply blinked my eyes as I raised them to the sky.  The waning Moon was still abroad so I still had to say, Hi!  It’s always been my late night companion.  It’s always there to listen.  What’s strange was that, it just felt exactly the same!  Circumstances differed but the pain felt exactly the same.  This pain when your friendship is having a hard time surviving its own crisis.  Time never heals everything.  That’s what I believe in; unless you go along with it.  Yet, this time, I don’t know if I still want to go along with.  I thought all was okay.  I just thought so.  I think it’s okay if I want to draw lines.  I think it’s okay to drive off the crowd.  I think it’s okay to cherish this pain for now because honestly, they still hurt.  I want silence.  I want peace.  I think it’s okay to show that I’m still not okay.

I have gotten to the point when I’m torn into half.  I have gotten to the point where all these little pebbles, which I endlessly crunch in my hands, now slowly dusting off like dead leaves dramatically falling on the ground as Summer gave way to Fall.

I still keep hearing your sweet voice calling my name from behind as a light clattering of plates interfered coming from a distant dining window.  It kept on pinching my heart as I inhaled this desperating air rising up in the night.  All my wishful thinking drowned me in the river of my own tears.  The pain had gotten heavier as I stayed here even longer.  The air had gotten warmer as I stepped on this broken bridge.  I was now moving away further from the deck where I could glance on the dining window.  I now heard nothing but the monotonous awkward sound of an empty night.

As I kept waiting right here in the dark, a sudden loud thunder broke out as heavy rain poured down on me, washing all my troubles yet, my hands were still burning like Winter fire.  They’re starting to age as my eyes were now turning pale.

Then I got destructed by the warmth I suddenly felt on my face, and thought that I needed to touch it, in which I did, then found myself surprised about how wet my face was.  I was crying.  I didn’t know I was already crying, and that just pulled me right off from my momentary trancé.  I took a long sigh after finding myself back on my spot, right here, right now, standing by the open gate; and, that it’s cold because it’s Winter instead of Fall, and that the rain was just impossible to break out.

There was this heavy feeling that’s trying to surface from within; trying to push itself up to burst.  I’ve been fighting it until I can no longer hold it back, so then I just closed my eyes and simply let these warm big tears stream down my face.  The feeling was so relieving.  The feeling was so unnerving.  I thought I needed to cry, so then I did.  Feeding one’s loneliness could sometimes be the best feeling in the world.

So, I think it’s okay.  I think it’s okay not to be okay sometimes.  For now, I just want to stay this way.

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Posted by on January 11, 2017 in The Avenue


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The hissing of the crickets.  The whooshing of the leaves.  The light from the post.  The damp street.  The cold night air.  The whole essence of being there.

They all never matter now.  Being down here in expense of losing the world just never pays a fair shot.  There’s never a fair shot.  One time or another, you just have to come out in clean slate.  One time or another, you just have to make a choice for this world is one big phenomenon, same goes to life.  You can’t stay indifferent forever.

Despite the world, alone is still the most familiar word.  It just never runs out of room.  It gathers everyone in yet, it doesn’t help one feel better.  It just feeds one’s heart with sorrow and pain  until everything crashes down leaving one’s self helpless and desperate.  It breaks one’s every wall, destroys one’s every dream, corrupts one’s very own sanity as it continuously settles depression in the heart.  Worse is, most of the time, it’s contributed by those who hang around.

Fuck this world off and fuck you, you, and you!  You think this is subtle enough?  Think again!  You just created a world of mass hysteria for we will all drown in your different faces of selfishness.  If I have to die, you’re just too already late.  If I have to suffer, I guess, I’m not the first one.  If I have to lose everything that keeps me sane, I’m most willing to.  I’d rather settle in my own self-defined sense than to share the cruelty of the world you all created.  I’d rather stay this way forever for in my reality, you all don’t exist.  You will never exist.

You were never much of help anyway.  You were never there the day I died.  You all got reasons to pass all the burden right on my pouch.  You all got ways to leave everything behind forcing me to keep putting my life on hold just so you could live yours.

One day, you’ll just see me right down the cracks cold and stiff.  One day, you’ll just feel the coldness you caused my heart.  One day, you’ll just have me too late.  One day, you’ll just realize how fuck you all are for contributing a lot to my depression.  One day.  Just one day.  Then you’ll realize how deep the wounds in my heart really are.  You’ll realize the severity of the scars you engraved on my skin.  You’ll realize the horrific world you all just put me into.  You are the imbalance of my duality.  I just wish you never exist.

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Posted by on November 1, 2014 in The Avenue


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Dying But You’re Not


BEHIND A SCAR is just another raptured scar reaped out by seven thousand never-ending wounds caused by seven thousand never-ending lies all tactlessly came out of your careless mouth. Wounds that forever lurk behind one’s mind igniting one’s misery to endlessly circle the drain like whirlpools drowning one’s heart in unbearable anger and vengance. Wounds that cooled one’s soul and hardened one’s heart. Wounds that endlessly reiterate all your relentless betrayal and abandonment.

HOW WELL DO you think you’re doing? How well do you think you know? Stop before you play back. Hear me scream as you reap my scars off. Watch me grind exceedingly small. Experience the torment of my slow death and the agony that despite the pain, I’m still not dying. Feel the awkward undeformed emotion of rushing death yet, death rushes me instead. Now keep your breathing regular as you whip me with your words. Empty words full of seven thousand lies that arise from your icy soul.

I GUESS YOU just never learned afterall that there’s just nothing more agonizing than dying but you’re not.

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Posted by on October 31, 2014 in The Avenue


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Stuffing Things

Stuffing Things

The Wall of thoughts and emotions.

At times I rise, I fall. At times I fix, I destroy. At times I see things, I get blinded. At times I keep it, I waste it. Everything I hold, I crunch into pieces. Everything I own, I lose. Everything I come up with, end me up thrown into the dumps.

Emotions keep winning me over. Emotions keep driving me off my wall. Emotions keep pushing me off the cliff. A few more. Just few inches more and everything ends. Everything ends where nothing will be left out. Nothing will be left out as everything is already destroyed, all gone into million pieces. All scattered in the air and down on the ground as I collect myself with them in the dust. The more I keep collecting myself, the further my scatter goes. The more I hold a grip on myself, the more I get lost from my very hand. The more I keep running after myself, the further I move away.

So many thoughts yet, so little words. They all stuff inside my head and I just got so little ways of unloading them for everything I thought I am, I’m not. Everything it seems, it isn’t. Everything it isn’t, makes sense. What it is, it wouldn’t be and what it wouldn’t be, it would, you see?

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Posted by on September 21, 2014 in The Avenue


The Walled Garden

THE TRAIL ONCE AGAIN leads me back to this same avenue where there’s just so much to feel which I wish I understand so I can make them go away. They all just come through surfacing from within making it all unbearable tearing me down hard right in front of my very eye. I’m seeing myself breaking down into million pieces. The more I keep picking the pieces of me up, the wider I realize my scatter area is. They’re making it complicated when they’re supposed to be simple. They’re making me once again shut everything out keeping my distance yet, the crowd still seems so just right behind me. And all these racing thoughts and grandiose feelings are just there. They’re all just right there yet, and the fear and all these unbearable emotions push me even off my ground. The more I could feel them, the more I draw myself far far away. The more I withdraw myself from them, the narrower this trail gets. The further I runaway, the closer I get to them until they finally invade me engraving all these familiar pain right onto the high walls of my heart tearing the old scars making up another one. These are all old undying emotions that’s been surfacing from within over and over and over again yet, everytime they come through, they always seem so new like I slowly die everytime I handle them no matter how I’m used with. I need them disappear not me disappearing as they keep on surfacing. I wish I understand. I just wish I understand so I could make the disappear. Forever.

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Posted by on February 25, 2014 in The Avenue


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Stay Regular: Writing Is My Best Therapy!

Quick Tip: Stay Regular:  An entry for regarding a topic, “A healthy blog is like a healthy colon; if you put crap in, you’ll get crap out.”

corporateHow come they were able to make it?  How were the big hitters able to dash through all the way?  How were they able to get up there and stay right there?  When and how did they start?  Who are they all and how many are they out there?

The park is my fastest getaway at night when everyone’s heading home but at daylight, if I get there early, I rush to a nearby bookstore and browse on any book or article about writing.  It’s what I do best.  I’ve been writing ever since I was in high school.  My twin sister started it and now I’m living what we used to be doing together.  I always love writing and I know I’ll never get tired of it so I’m helping myself out.  I wanna learn more about this field and what other methodologies I need to learn and adapt.  I also browse on stories about young writers especially the big ones.  They’re stories behind writing amaze me.  I look up to them and wanna become one of them.  I really love doing this for this is the task that’s closest to my heart.  It’s never taking endless calls everyday, managing people from time to time, nor helping young individuals learn fundamentals of knowledge — it’s writing!  My heart keeps shouting it at all corners waiting to burst.

Despite that, I cannot deny that it also adds up to my depression for lately, I’ve been craving for it; that I didn’t wanna do anything else anymore but just keep writing.  Even my daily routines were lately affected by my obsession.  Everyday I think about it as everyday, I write.  I never stop writing as I never stop thinking.  How come the big ones were able to make it?  How come they were able to pass through all circumstances?  Is it because they’re normal while I’m not?  Though I’m a Bipolar and I do have extreme mood swings, my writing hobby is never affected.  Actually, I can even write more at times I’m depressed for this is my refuge.  This is my comfort zone.  In writing is where I’m safe.  I can runaway from the world and live in my imagination.  I’m more on imagining things.  I’m more on story telling.  I’m more on description for these things are what I’m usually repressed from.  At times the world just hits me all at once, I run to my fantasy.  I run through my never-ending aisle of imagination.  I’ve even created myself high walls where no one could reach me and hurt me at times I’m so alone.  I’ve even built a castle for my late twin sister whom I used to write together with so she could stay and rest in my heart forever.  I’m so good at imagining things.  I’m good in thinking.  I’m good in planning and believing but I’m not in putting them into action.  I’m not good in realizing dreams.  My real life even sucks for all my undying emotions just surface even now making me depressed and lost focus and will to live my life.  But at times all this happens, I come back to writing and there, I become whole again and as I’ve said, my writing is never affected by my real issues.  They boost up instead.  Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, as soon as life hits me down the cracks, I let my mind drift and create tiny little pictures until they formulate a story.  Once a story enters my mind, I start writing them and my life continues as my depression goes off.

At times I’m depressed and all undying emotions surface from within, my unquiet mind keeps on twirling and twirling like it’s going around in circles going nowhere fast.  Yet, everytime it does that, the only time I’m able to understand these emotions is when I put them into writing.  Everytime I write them, I’m able to determine each feeling that surface one by one and understand how each of them cause me gravitational pull all coming from a certain spot in my heart that runs through in fast circles like whirlpools until they knock me off the shelf driving me off so crazy.  My mind gets captured as my mind thinks all by itself that I can hardly control it.  Yet, instead of repeating what I used to do at times I get depressed where I welcome the thoughts of running my life off the cliff to end everything up, I write instead.  This is my best therapy and I just lately realized that.  All this time, it’s just lately I’ve come to understand that depression can still be won over by doing what I love doing and that’s writing it down for I can very well express myself in writing more than conversing. This is what I’ve been doing for two weeks now and as my close friends observed that I’m getting better.

I should have realized this long ago.  I should have realized this early this year for last month, my depression was severely serious for negative thoughts really entered my mind so fast and easily won me over most of the nights as undying emotions surfaced five to seven times a day and each time they surface, they stay long for an hour to three.  There was even a week when I was seriously depressed from the time I woke up in the morning until the time I was about to go to bed.  I did nothing but kept on crying feeling sorry for myself that I was still alive and that I still woke up.  I kept on hating my mornings for everytime I woke up and open my eyes, a strong undeniable thought quickly entered my mind, whispering, “Oh shit, why am I still alive?”

That was scary.  That was seriously scary.  This time, I’m not gonna let myself keep circling the drain anymore.  I’m all tired of being depressed.  Now that I’m able to find my way out.  Now that I was able to discover my quickest getaway from this avenue, I don’t wanna stay right down there forever.

I’m slowly healing now and at the same time, starting to realize the worth of living.  Well, thanks to my happy pill alternative which is writing, I was able to find my way toward my inner peace.  I was able to find my best way of driving my depression off in an effortless way.  Well, the source is still uncertain though yet, I don’t care.  Not for now.  I’m not on this ground to figure it out.  All I know is that, it’s really in deed helping me out and I just never thought writing is my obsession ever since that turned out to be a very good hobby.


Posted by on February 23, 2013 in The Avenue


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