When all that’s left is silence,
there is nothing you can do
but to endure the cacophony of voices in your head
at two in the morning
in the middle of that cold dark room.
One tiny voice tries to scream
to keep the sanity inside that head
but the million other voices
seem to think otherwise.

When all that’s left is silence,
your senses seem more alive.
You can feel the darkness creeping in to your soul
freezing everything inside of you
as its claws touch your heart.
And even though the heart pumps more blood
to keep you warm as a sign of protest,
the darkness wins and you fall in to the cold pit
especially made for you.

When all that’s left is silence,
you begin to lose sight of the light.
You become trapped in an abyss
where not a single sign of hope is visible.
And no matter how you cry,
how you howl or scream or shout,
nothing will answer you back from all your whining.
Nothing at all, even your echo will be afraid
to reverberate within the emptiness.

When all that’s left is silence,
the past slowly walks in and fills the emptiness
with all of those moments, those memories
that you have been trying to erase with utmost effort.
Yet here they are, endlessly haunting you
and trying to bring back the excruciating pain
from the wounds you thought already healed.
Tears roll down your cheeks quietly because you already know
that crying out loud makes no difference.

When all that’s left is silence,
you suddenly find yourself bare and unarmed
in a duel against the scariest of foes.
It is ‘You of the Now’ against ‘You of the Then’
fighting for the right to be the ‘You of Tomorrow’.
Opening old wounds, creating new ones,
not realizing that neither one comes out unscathed.
In the end, the ‘You of Tomorrow’ will similarly be
scarred and scared of living.

When all that’s left is silence,
there’s nothing left to hold on to
as if every one you love has left you behind
empty, frozen, and unimaginably broken.
You hear voices screaming your name along with words
that make you doubt yourself even more.
All you are left with is a small piece of self-worth
that you keep in your pocket to push you forward
yet swiftly vanishes on the palm of your hands.

When all that’s left is silence,
you’d feel numb and beat and sore
from fighting your inner demons within the edges of your mind
as they burn your soul until it leaves you behind.
As always you find yourself alone and cold,
up against the things that scare you the most.
You even wonder what keeps you fighting,
you question yourself how you win each match
and end up facing a new day to live.

When all that’s left is silence,
you try your hardest to calm yourself down
so that sleep can finally embrace you
and tuck you under your warm blanket.
Only to be interrupted a few deep breaths later
as the sunlight creeps through the window sill
shedding light once again to your once cold dark room.
You open your tired eyes and reach out for your mask
trying to hide yesternight’s battle scars.

When all that’s left is silence,
you ask yourself, ‘What else can I do?’,
thinking that there’s no purpose to be in this world.
At the end of each day you find yourself
in the same state, so detached from reality.
Routinely putting your mask on and off
and continually fighting your inner foes,
you ultimately conclude that maybe it’s time
to finally succumb to the quiet.


Flat Tire

Side by side on a wide almost empty highway, Hope and Bliss drove together once more. Their engines started awkwardly upon leaving the crossroad where they met, but now they drive slowly but more comfortably with each other.

Fate passed them by so fast causing turmoil on their joyride. Hope suddenly stopped bewildered as if he got into a crash. Bliss stopped and helped him get to the shoulder. They found out that Hope got a flat tire. It made Hope sad because he just recently used his spare tire. Now he cannot go on. Bliss started her engines and zoomed out of sight. Hope thought that maybe she has gone to look for help. He stayed there in the wide empty highway waiting for her to come back.

Minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days. He has been endlessly counting the stars at night and dreaming of rain during the day. One time he cried out her name but she never answered, not even a soul was in sight. A few more days passed, someone drove by and saw Hope listening to his stereo trying to look cool under the heat of the midday sun. Prudence stepped out of his car and asked if he was in any trouble. Hope responded that he was just waiting for someone to come back, he did not need any help. Prudence kept him company for a while and talked about their adventures from the past. But the time for him to leave had come, and so Hope was alone once more.

He has witnessed many sunsets and sunrises as he waited for Bliss’s return. Seldom, he sees cars passing him by, some stop to offer him help but he turns them down and they leave him be.

One night, as Hope was again counting the stars in an empty night sky, a familiar engine sound filled the emptiness of the highway. He looked around and saw a big car pulling up the shoulder near his car. Storge came down and, unlike everyone else who saw Hope, asked what he was doing and if she can join in. Hope told her he was trying to hunt for stars. Storge thought it would be fun to do something weird for a change — seeing that the night sky was empty as if the stars were intentionally hiding — and insisted she join in the fun. Hope thought it was okay and so they gazed upon the empty sky and tried their hardest to look for stars.

Storge started to tell Hope of stories about crossroads and other places she had been to. He thought she was retelling his own story because of the similarities they have. After Storge’s story, he told her about his. Silence has dawned upon them after Hope has said his piece. Storge stood up and went to her car. Hope asked where she was off to. All she said to him was that maybe their stories are similar, but there might also be a chance that their endings would be different. Hope looked at her as she smiled softly and then zoomed out of sight.

The sun is peeking through the horizon, it is about to wake. Hope stared balnkly at his flat tire as he tried to absorb the words Storge left. Slowly, he paced toward his car and touched the trunk cover. He took a deep breath then started pushing his car forward. He pushed harder and harder and a while later his car started moving forward.

No more time for counting stars in an empty night sky. No more voice to call out for Bliss to return. Hope was empty and lost, he was all dried up. As the last words of Storge sank deeper and deeper to his mind and slowly dripped to his heart, he began to feel numb. Now, all his mind could ever think of is to push the car forward to wherever he may find help all on his own.

Heartbeat Of A Tin Man

Tin Man

Tin Woodman a.k.a. Tin Man

There he was, rusty and hollow. His body made of tin. Alone, chopping wood like he always does. Suddenly, he felt an ache by his knees. He picked up his oil can and poured on them. He can walk nimbly once again.

With his hands tightly gripped on his axe, he chopped and chopped and chopped more wood. For he knows not what exhaustion is, something his tin body can easily shrug off. He can work round the clock stopping only to pour oil on his rusting joints. Alas he might never get tired, but he could never stay nimble forever.

Once he knew a servant girl who he had not seen for a long time. In his faint memory of her, he knew there was something he had for her. His mind does not remember what it was. He only knows how to chop wood, but it cannot be that. No one, not even a tireless Tin Man, would want to chop a sweet young lady like her. He thought hard, as hard as his mind can. There was something he had for her a long time ago. He admired her.


He heard a strange hollow sound. But then silence. His mind returned to the idea he remembered earlier. Admiration. He admired someone long ago. How one admires another person, he is mostly uncertain. For this Tin Man had no heart.


There it was once more. That hollow clicking sound he cannot seem to find wherever it was coming from. He took his oil can and poured heavily on all his joints. Maybe he’s getting more rusty and creaky resulting to these hallucinations. Or maybe not. Because again, there was nothing but silence.

Once more he reminisced that beautiful lady he knew way back when. He remembered the way her lips curved upward which made her face brighten up like the crescent moon at night. Maybe that was what admiration is. The way someone’s face seem to bright up the darkness with just one smile. He was unaware that while drowning in his deep thoughts his lips began to curl upward, too.

Click-cluck. Click-cluck.

He took hold of his oil can and poured on his joints once more. Funny how thinking about what admiration was has made him creaky somewhere he can’t determine. As the black oil gushed down the nozzle of his oil can he remembered the deep black eyes of that wonderful lady he once knew. The way she looked at him — that only time she truly looked at him — felt like they were in a world where no one else existed. Suddenly, there was fluid flowing out of the Tin Man’s eyes rolling down his cheeks, but he never noticed.


He was surprised of what he found. His lips were smiling though his eyes were welling up with tears. He found himself in an unfamiliar scenario, something that would endlessly boggle a Tin Man’s mind. Maybe he had poured too much oil that they’re flowing out of his eyes, he thought. But now, that hollow clicking sound did not stop. It kept going and going, faster and faster. He leaned to the left and then to the right, trying to listen where it was coming from. The sound has become more intense, he thought, that his hollow body seems to vibrate because of it. His joints, creaking but nimble, shuddered as the sound grew not louder but stronger.

The Tin Man gasped and jumped in surprise. That sound, that hollow clicking sound growing stronger in each passing moment, was coming from inside him. Inside his hollow metal torso, the sound began escalating. His mind could not find peace because of this unfamiliarity. He was doing his routinary job as usual but this never happened before. The one thing that differs this time was the thought of that young lady and of…of…admiration.

His world seemed to stop. He seemed to have comprehended the situation now. Yes he became a Tin Man, but he never lost his heart.

Suddenly, he found himself running towards the place where he first met her leaving his axe and oil can behind, not worried of being consumed fully by rust. This time he knew, his newly resurrected heart will keep him nimble until he reached her. Soon, he will find bliss.


Hope and Bliss drove together on a wide highway. An exhilarating joyride no one can ever erase from their memories. Hope has always longed for belongingness and he found it in Bliss. She stayed with him for a long ride and made Hope the happiest person in the world.

But they came to a triple fork on the road, two narrow strips of land and one wide enough for two yet filled with uncertain dangers. As in life, decisions have to be made and their naive minds — or maybe just Hope’s — have lead them to part ways. Although a promise has been made, since then it felt like the journey has ended.

As Hope traveled along the road alone he has driven to many other places. He took a left on a one-way street and went down a steep slope. Turned around and around in U-turns and paid a good sum for toll fees. Throughout his journey he has traveled along different roads with different people, but most of the time alone. However, things changed all so suddenly with one fateful encounter.

Bliss was there parked in the middle of the crossroad all alone. When Hope saw her his heart sank. He felt a spark but it was faint, full of uncertainty like the way she smiled upon seeing him. While slowly turning to a halt, he battled the feeling in order to keep himself from exploding. Yes the spark was weak, but it was enough to rekindle that old flame. All over his body, he shook as if he was running down a steep slope with the speed of a hundred and twenty. Finally he looked at her once again and said ‘hi’. Awkwardness filled the empty space between them. They stood there, staring at each other, not minding all the other cars driving by.

A memory flashed in Hope’s mind. The pact they made before the parting of their ways. He wondered, is this it or is this mere coincidence? They promised to drive together again when their paths cross and when both are alone. This was that very scenario but something seemed to be holding them back. What it was exactly, no one knows. But Hope was filled with joy. The spark has become a tongue of fire inside his heart. He looked at her eyes trying to figure out what was inside her mind. He wished he knew.

The trip was long and vicious but it was all worth it for it has given them both an opportunity to grow. Now that they have bumped into each other, Hope wonders if the promise once made will come true or not.

Writer’s Block IV – Endings and New Beginnings

The school term is about to end. Year 2013 is about to end. All of the stress from work will soon end. But one thing is not reaching its end for sure, and that is my 2nd Book Project.

Apparently, NaNoWriMo was not enough motivation for me to finish a few chapters in my writing project[s]. The Christmas season is also not very conducive if one wants to simply make time to write for pleasure. However, I wonder if this holiday break will give me ample time to actually focus on this project, or all the stress from the Christmas rush will dawn upon me and activate hibernate mode.

It is probably because I am not a good writer that I can’t find any good motivation to keep me going. Or maybe because my passion and the field of my current profession exist in parallel dimensions. Probably, I’m just speculating a lot of different excuses in my mind which I can use whenever I rant about not finishing this writing project because I’m too shy to admit that I’m just one lazy bloke who could not afford any time to finish the writing projects I started.

Migraine attacks me like a thief in the night — unexpected and very untimely. Right now, I can’t even focus on writing anything (you wouldn’t believe how much effort I’ve spent writing this post).

On the brighter side of things, a new year is about to come and you know what that means. A chance to start anew with things left behind [unintentionally] during the previous year. I am very bad when it comes to being optimistic, but it wouldn’t hurt to hope for a bright sunshiny 2014 and to look forward to more wonderful things that may come with the new year.

Writer’s Block III

Six months have passed and sadly, I have only moved a few sentences forward with my 2nd Book Project. I started this last May in order to have some sort of creative output. This project, which was mentioned in an earlier post, was inspired by some of the books which I [unfortunately] still haven’t finished. Amazingly, my mind subconsciously reminds me of this little writing project that I randomly open the file in my laptop and browse through it then just stare at the half-blank page.

I feel like a failure now after promising myself to not let anything get in the way of finishing this project, not even myself. Sadly, stress has eaten most of me that I resort to doing recreational no-brainer activities — of course, sleeping is number one on that list.

Pressure struck me since November is NaNoWriMo and I am certain that I can’t finish this novel within the month but my mind keeps nagging me that I should at least try to finish half or even just a quarter of it. I’m no expert in writing. Others may see me as a writer-wannabe who pretends he can actually write some good stuff out of his imagination. Probably there is a part of me who thinks that way that I actually am giving in to this pressure (or am I?).

No, I do not intend to finish this project by the end of the month — though that would be amazing if I could — but I do intend to at least make some progress this November. Maybe I should take away some of my leisure activities and just sit on my bed, turn my laptop on and play around with the keyboard until I end up adding even just one sentence to that half-empty space on my screen.

Writer’s Block II

I am not the best writer there is, I admit. I’m probably not even a writer. But I do enjoy writing. For me, it is a form of art, an expression of feelings and ideas. I have written a lot of things for a lot of different reasons. Articles and editorial columns for the school paper, rants and random posts on my blog, even narratives and fan-fiction on online forums. Writing keeps my thoughts in order when they start flying around my mind in utter chaos.

Recently I have started to write a new story. I still haven’t decided whether it should be a fiction novel or a graphic novel, but I’m really driven to finish this project unlike my first try (which I might need to revisit since I still believe the concept is good). However, I got stuck after a few paragraphs and I can’t seem to find the inspiration to keep moving forward.

A lot has happened to me lately. Wave after wave of misfortune came to me like I’m in Lemony Snicket’s book series. These events have shaken me and I’m quite unstable and out-of-balance as of the moment that I can’t seem to push my 2nd Book Project forward.

Looking at it through a positive lens, I keep myself from falling any further and try to find more reasons to hold on to. I am truly stoked in finishing this project and I do hope that nothing, not even myself, can stop me from doing this.

Hopefully, what I’m experiencing now is just a very bad case of writer’s block which I can just shrug off by going out and taking a sip of coffee, or by consuming a tub of vanilla ice cream so I can continue on finishing my little project.

P.S. If you’re wondering why the title is labeled “II”, you may refer to the “I” through an old post in my other blog.