Tag Archives: writing

An Open Letter to the Fairy Tale Princesses

A response to Madonna Kolbenschlag’s “Exit The Frog Prince”


To whom it may concern,


Once upon a time, we were a fairy tale until we come to the last phrase of our story and realized that “happily ever after” is not the end of all stories. I recognize your pain and anguish and as far as I can see, the most beautiful pain is the one we cannot disguise or hide. But just as like the times when we were strangers, this rooted from the promise of a kiss that rescued you from the promise of frozen time.

Have I not made any move, this would not have happened. Perhaps, I am to blame for I am always lost to my duties instead of spending my time with you that you are led to such conclusions. But I am not going to refute all of those for I respect your own thoughts and for making you feel all of those, I am really sorry. Believe that I did not intend to make you feel that way nor for once did I think little of you. We are only victims of our own preconceived assumptions. Though I am guilty acting through your perspective, I take it as a reminder I will never need.

A man—and I mean man and woman—is always flooded with initial (and in being so) irrational emotions in a tremendous and loaded stimuli such as a kiss upon waking. This appears romantic as the act for your own redemption when it does not mean anything other than that. We did not happen by accident but have you not realized that all good stories end with the saving, a kiss until the last page of the tale? The answer is that the beginning is the only good part. As children, we are obscured from the hardships of reality that we are not told how to overcome it and I believe this has fallen upon you. The princess is saved and she is alive but what accounts for you to think that it will always be the same after the ending of the story? But in regards to the kiss, it does not mean that it is not an act out of impulsive desire but fired by my passion and hope that you are still alive. I may not have known you before, nor have I known your name but seeing you alive after what I have done is something beyond imaginary that exceeds our natural biological responses and I expected that we are more than just strangers. If the hands of Fate willed this then we shall be together beyond happily ever after.

Certainly, generalizations would not help us now. From what I have read from your letter, you are once again succumbing to the social structures delicately made to suffice for the answers we cannot fully grasp; but we can only speculate through what we see. You should have confronted me and know that each and every human being is different regardless of the gender. If I have not yet exposed myself to you, then ask me why I am the way I am. Because everything goes odd after you have started to remove the veil for we do not know all things, and all we do not know, we cannot understand and what we cannot understand, we are afraid of and tend to curse them just because of the simple fact that we do not understand. I may have carried characteristics that have enticed you but all of those things are only the light from my fingertips and are too far from my very core. Men are not living bold individuals that what you see is what you get. Men are people too, and I recognize that also with the women and by people, I meant different by nature but equal in capabilities. I do not want you to think of me as unfeeling as a generalized man should be. Only that I am not as expressive as you are because if a woman’s force is emotions, then I refuse to confront you with emotions for nothing good will come if you fight force with force. Wars do not determine who is right and gods do not favor those who is virtuous and true. These are the follies of man. And I refuse to live by the words of the others.

I want that the same for you. I do not want to define yourself through what you see in me. Because I want to be with you as you who are supposed to be. I do not intend to mean that “you as what the society wants you to be” but I want you to be free in my arms because a woman is not supposed to be limited by being her and I want you to experience that from me. I am doing this to make you by your own doing. I only hope that this freedom I am gladly offering would not be taken as an advantage but I am only here, standing up waiting for you to stand by my side as I watch you lay down wailing and complaining about inequalities but rather you must see yourself from the eyes of another to know where you are and what you have really been doing. All I am giving you is a chance to liberate yourself for I have taken away that bonds from you and all you must do is realize it. Is this not a help for what you want to be? The world cannot be changed unless we initiate the change that it needs—the minds of the people. I am making us the Adam and Eve of this century and we will learn from the mistakes of the people that came before us. Do you not want that? If I have given up my masculinity, would you also give up your femininity? Besides, what do those two concepts even mean? Must we conform to the fact that we understand the human condition of gender bias because we created it? And if so, I believe we need a change within ourselves to find peace with one another. I offer you a different view of the world. I am opening not only doors and windows but even showing your mind what could be. Every single word secretly paints a fairy tale of when we melt into one.

A man is no more than a woman. The social structure has conditioned our minds to think the way they do. The only conclusion I have led myself into is that you have not realized the person I am for I am different from the rest. That is why you look for answers in the places where my tracks are nowhere to be found. I understand that. I apologize for the times I was not by your side that you may have tried to look at me through different men and equate your thoughts and compare them to me as you try to ask yourself the questions that you have answered yourself in which I provided none.

The songs of love make you feel but does not give any answers for they are fixated by the notes and lyrics and does not change over time. The songs of men, yearning for their beloved as they utter words of loneliness, rejection and incompleteness without the other. But love is not complementary and love must be whole in package within a person. Begin to love yourself first. Make time for yourself and be you, stay that way and no one can ever break you. I am not supposed to be a brick and you are not a house that would crumble when I am not there. I want to see you happy for being yourself and doing what you want for I deserve not any of your radiance once the sun starts to set. Love is the promise of beauty and immortality shared by two lovers that are complete by themselves and therefore transcend beyond completeness together. A good fabric cannot be made if one thread can easily snap in such little force but it needs the completeness in itself to create a magnificent whole.

The words of endearment such as angels, Muse and others are only spoken to women to feel good of themselves and must you not elevate yourselves and free from the false necessity of those words? The treatment of men to women is a delusion—for it is an illusion shared and experienced by several people—and setting them to a pedestal is entirely needless if we all want to be equal. If women feels unimportant, suppressed, or marginalized then they must realize themselves as an equal counterpart to men but not to the point of having domination to the world for the idea that patriarchy is dead. Our minds are lagging behind time. We are still conditioned to the thinking of the past for it may have been an evolutionary product that our ancestors think this way because it has been instilled in the minds of several generations until we have come into existence. Now we must remove that medieval mindset and realize the actualization of our time. We do not need a separation of sexuality apart from our biological structures as male and female. Boundaries do not keep anybody out, they just fence us in. There is no need to act a role or wear the clothes one has to because society told them to do so. Liberation is not achieved through another but within the self. To survive is to recondition the self’s mindset and be released from these social structures. To be complete in one’s own sense. And this is how I see everything.

You can hate me. It only means you do not understand. But it does not show that you are right nor am I. And I can only state myself in defense for you are blind to my thoughts and I am to yours. We search for higher ground when we start to feel that we are about to drown. Only to realize that it is not the water where we are drowning but to the air we are breathing. We are asphyxiated by our own thoughts and we cannot actually see the same thing because we are not looking at it in the same space even we are at the same time. We only have perspectives that would move us to tell others what we experience to glorify our existence. Recognition brings us happiness that is why we seek it to others but I stand to my ideals that happiness is the “italization” of experience to the things that would soon fall into decay and we as humans are no exception. Start to be happy in yourself and magnify those experiences and live life to the point of tears for tears are the orgasmic release of emotions that cannot be contained in the moment by consuming oneself to the flames of joy, being burned to ashes and be reborn like the phoenix, and I want you to carry its beauty as you experience to fly with brilliance, to die, and try to live again. I intend to let you experience this beauty in aesthetic arrest that we will discover the world in awe—defined as a strong feeling of fear or respect and also wonder—, the sublimity of the world through nature and this is the experience that I want to share with you but only when you have built yourself as a complete whole and release yourself from the bindings of the social structures, then we can start to go on through this journey. We have already cheated death so many times. If we are going to die, why not cheat it again tonight?

I may not have rescued you but instead, I disturbed you from your sleep. But do you agree of the beauty that ripples form only when there is disturbance in the water? Within that context, I know you are not whole such as a child with no sense of self desires his toys to make himself full or “occupied” for the time being. There is the sense of dependency upon objects that makes him whole but the moment that object is lost, the child will wail and is also the one who is “lost” for the object defines himself and such as a child looks for other children whom he also thinks “mirrors” himself. But I cannot mold you into what I desire for I respect your individuality and only if you would want to come with me. I am not as a prince as what they tell me but I am more of an artist beneath this armor, swords and shield you see but really, not all knights in shining armor can make your dreams come true. I am still a kid in aging skin; a hypocrite trying to grow.

I do not desire for you to live as a housewife but live an entirely different life apart from others—a life of a human being. From the start, I had set you free that even your heart will treat your ribcage not that of a prison but a newfound home for in these interpretations and meanings we define ourselves and for what you accuse of me as a man not being manly enough, first realize why cannot I?



Lost in your eyes,


P.S. Forget about tonight. Tomorrow will be here so soon and we’ll be busy singing, “The wicked witch is dead!”



“Soon, this will be just an awful memory.
Will I ever be able to sleep again?”
– Curse of the Virgin Canvas, Alesana

Last night, you didn’t sleep.

Your messages were answered

by mechanical silence.

On the day of the first

when people bring back

the memories of the dead.


Last night, sleep was a poison.

In which I slept and fed upon

and it crawled through your anger

and ate our soul like a knife

splitting everything in two

and blurring our sight.


I’d thought of taking pills

but remedies aren’t solution

to this scene of motion-sickness

brought upon the rides we had shared

up and down to sides and all the way around

in a fun fair of roller coasters every night and day

where the air muffled our screams and cries

six-feet deep below the ground with

one of our feet beneath the hole

as if we are trying to crawl

in our respective caskets

and ready ourselves

as our hearts break

for one more time

again and leave


at piece.


Last night became a summary

of emotions, of laughter and cries,

longing and goodbyes. Indifference, to flight

as I was high above the sky and you

pulled me close after listening to the music

woven by metaphors of day and night

and of suns and moons.


Last night was a living dream,

a disaster and a night mare

that could put us both in an

endless startled gaze.

Stunned and motionless.

Eyes unwavering

as we looked into the distance

That kept us apart

and brought forth

the sleepless nights you’ve had

and come into an argument

I wish I never lacked.

Self-induced Comatose

Let us not try to uncover

The idea behind this poem.

Such words elude meaning

As if a potion for death

After our very last breath.


This could be something else entirely.

Doing away with your interpretation

With nothing, not even my perception

Is gullible enough for these words’ misdirection.


This could be an explosive

To the door of your world of thoughts

Being in itself the meaning

In your own definitive scale.


This could be a pause;

A living poem in a hiatus

To the world we despise

Along with my anguished cries.


This could be nothing

As it’s supposed to be.

However, being nothing

Is being like anything.


Anything this could ever be

Like water taking the form of its container

To be something more than it already is

Escaping from the imagined reality.


As I pass this familiar street

Never has I been so keen with the houses

The architecture, build and space

Like a vision of our future

Confined and safe inside those walls and bricks

Of stones and unchanging wills,

Of ourselves and of promises kept,

A vow, of passing of times sailing the sea

to eternity.

Nonetheless, these houses

Are only containers to the very thing

We’ve built.

It is not love that made us vulnerable

To invincibility, nor the essence

of our very being that coexist with one another.

It is us that was once were two

Separated by distance and lived as fools.

Star-crossed lovers that defied the rules

Unpacking the words and turning them to visible hues.

Everybody can live in a house

But these things we dreamed of,

We already have the chance

Not only to live in a house

But a home – a hope to shine upon.

Same Formula, Different Variables

Constant, unimaginable
Same flow, different road.
The traffic, the lights
The intersection and signs
Are all the same but the day.

Different cars, faces and voices
Echoes bounce back
Different waves, intensity and direction.
The breeze is still but never the same.

Yesterday, today and tomorrow
We walk the same path and follow
The same moments of the past
And thinking the moments would last

But it’s the same thing all over again
Like the hands of the clock on the wall
Circling and circling ’til the end
Telling the same, right but different call.

Lunar Eclipse

Not even the thickest of the clouds

can keep the sun

from burning bright.


Nor would darkness dare to

compete against the light.


…but nobody asks about 

what is in the shadows…


trapped in between…

…a solitary existence behind light.


Struggling to escape from the dark

to be free…

  to be known…

    to be seen…

under the light…

yet, it is.



A poem is like a memory of a dream after waking…


A fragment…

A vignette…

A story marginalized by frames…

…captioned by time.

without a beginning…

a middle…

or end.


And as the river of time passes by,

the strips of memories

scream to                          f a  d   e

yet, it echoes

bouncing back


from your mind

and curiosity, leaving you

wondering about how things

could have transpired.


But you will never                                remember

since it never really matter

and you’re back to this ugly world

because we are bound to                               forget

but never                          surrender.

Manifestations of Reality

If not in these types of manifestations we see life then we see our mirror selves being reflected by other people. Our insecurities that arise with each and every push and pull of emotions whenever you see a certain person, for example someone who is more capable than you are in things that you endeavor. But these things, these chains of perspectives don’t have to be bound by a single force of thought that may gradually elevate itself in an inverse manner throwing yourself to negativity and letting yourself become the thing you used to hate. There is more to see even in a droplet of water sitting by a leaf on the branch of a tree. Occupying that single space with such natural effortless grip of unseen friction between the water and the surface of the leaf. The water droplet, bending the light into little unseen spectrum by the eyes, magnifying your vision by imagination even if your eyes see nothing, the very thing that you can imagine it means the thought is on the hands of possibility.

If life can be seen as repetitions or patterns in nature then we can fully see life in its own beauty. Aesthetics teaches us that beauty and meaning are product of unified objectivity and subjectivity. There must be a standard for such things and it is where art draws the line. However, the basis of judgement is not synonymous to appreciation. Judgement brings us to the point of decision where we conclude whether an object is a work of art or not. Whether if it transcends you to another realm or successfully meet the standards that are raised to qualify a thing as art. Appreciation comes from the audience and not to the art itself. To the subjective perspective of the person consuming the aura the art tries to create. In these notions we see that there are actually patterns that persist within nature that help us get along with our lives and living it without noticing these repetitions lead to lack of life appreciation and judging our life as dull and uneventful.

Because life is a work of art. It is the spirit of events that transpires in your very being. It is a living thing in itself that manifests in your body and mind. It is a thing of beauty, of inspiration of nature within the very walls of our skins and inside our bloodstream as the oxygen rides inside your arteries carried by your red blood cells all throughout your system to keep you alive as you go on with your lives and zoom out to see yourself ride public transportation that will take you to work or at school and both both of these worlds sustains life. The life of a human being and the life of civilization, respectively. These parallel universes which are the microcosm or the macrocosm of another in a systemic pattern that create life or the things that blooms and creates a collective consciousness in its own self.

These different realms of realities coexist in a single continuum that we call Life as white light is divided into different colors of the spectrum. The universality of Nature is beyond gods and goddesses. It is transcendence that humanity is capable of. This kind of higher state of consciousness is necessary to be the agents of the Earth and create to be the Gaea’s children for the early Greeks and this thought is highly surprising that we, ourselves exist in different universes in one single motion from the Big Bang until now as we circumnavigate the world and we sit on our cozy couches, everything is happening at the same time.

This is a door to another perspective. Just like how great movies let you hang on your seats and leave you breathless until it ends. You transcend into another realm. Into another perspective with another experience of life by two hours. As you watch everything unravel twenty four frames per second, we have twenty four hours to capture a day. Movies and books are so dense that you just keep everything away for a moment to catch up with the life you have left in exchange for a captivating novel or story because you see the world in an entirely different perspective.

The constant intrusions of nature to art and the ability to see every inch of pattern that describes that this is the beauty we should see. The beauty of process that are the echoes of every final stage of the artform. The process in which the artist sways with madness and consumed by his own reality is where beauty originates. Because in each stroke of the paintbrush and layers of color resides another reality that instigates the art to be. The words and phrases in every novel or poem hides the very thing the writer wish to remain unsaid as secret, kept in every space he put in paragraphs and verses; in between every words that come from a thought is a manifestation of an idea. An idea that was once uncreated, unseen and undetected. So we all begin there. From a single abstract idea by your imagination that was once wasn’t true but is now. Intangible and perfect ideas from Plato’s World of Forms that are now concrete with its own imperfections and beauty. Life is an artform.

Everything else could be a window to another door. And it’s not complicated when you start to see things and be consumed by the patterns when you see it everywhere. Because that’s how nature creates beauty through art.

It doesn’t matter how your life should end but the quality of life depends on how you live it.

Make every step in your process be meaningful and step up to the standards of beauty through art.

Air & Water

The misdirection came to life

with ourselves living between the line

and it has been so clear since then,

it’s what divides us and struggle to be whole again.


We fall with every mistakes

feeding the disturbance away.

Accompanying loneliness

with imaginary friends of the past

with the disease of the old

and hearts tearing apart.


We build a ship and sail away from them

to live in solace and seek happiness.

But the waves aren’t calm.


And the breeze has been turning to storms.

The sky is raging and so is the sea.


The mast has broken

and waters start pouring in.


The ship is dancing

on angry waves and winds

and the surge drives us away

to the sight of isolation

of nothing but skies and seas.

Of cloudy weather and broken wings.


And the disaster has stopped.

The calm is consuming.

Finding a way back to the shore.

Lost in a world we never knew.

Ephemeral Tragedie

Here we are again in an extremely ordinary day and me handing out two pictures to you that looked seemingly the same and very much familiar. It is your latest family picture. You wonder why I gave it to you and what would you do with it. Then I say, “Spot the difference between the two pictures.” You unquestioningly did and took a minute and you stare back at me with those piercing eyes, “There’s nothing wrong with the pictures,” you say. “Look again,” I answered back.

For a second you thought the lights flickered and found an empty space where you think you were supposed to be in one of the pictures. You will notice because you’re the one that fills the back in between your mother and father’s head. There were you. But no. You stared at the picture and found yourself exactly where you were supposed to be. It’s just the flickering of the lights. There is no difference.

But in truth there was a difference. You just convinced yourself that it didn’t happen.

That the moment you saw yourself lost was when you see the very room you were standing in seconds ago and you were looking at it in the picture that was once your family picture. How ridiculous it had been, you thought.

Is the thought really that ridiculous to determine the impossibility of the event? Or perhaps we are not only inclined to understand and experience the glitches of time?

We all have a lifetime to decide…