It’s a Quarter After One…

…I’m all alone and I need you now.
— me to vodka

It was really 1:15 am when I started writing this. I did feel the need for vodka. I need it.

To silence these thoughts. These treacherous thoughts.

I do not want to play games.

Some things are just a matter of yes or no. Yes or no? The truth is: I don’t know… I just don’t know how I (should) feel. But I’m certain I don’t want these foolish, little, guessing games.

I want clarity. I want simplicity. I want honesty. I want you.

And I want vodka.

Very much.

Especially if I can’t have you.



In a way, I put all my romanticism into that one night, and I was never able to feel all this again. Like, somehow this night took things away from me and I expressed them to you, and you took them with you!

— Celine, Before Sunset

After thousands of sunsets, I will still remember.

I’ll remember the charming way you carried yourself, all muscles and yet no airs. The gentle way you held my face as we kissed, something so sweet I had never experience before. The zealous way you swayed with me, especially when that harmonica-driven dance-pop tune played.

Or maybe I won’t.

But I’ll definitely remember you. Tall, tender, thirty. I was young–too young to understand your reality, but old enough to know it was no fantasy. You were my fantasy.

Oh, I know it was real.

It all felt real: the phosphorescent signs, the unintelligible music, the stars so many light years away. I swear, on some quiet nights, I still see the stars we watched from our little world on that shore. Perhaps, I just cannot tell stars apart.

Note from the Night Before

I liked you. I did.
You were so smooth,
I only remembered you had rough hands
when I had read your words a seventh time.
Not to say I did not like it.
Your words tasted like dark chocolate,
melting into my bloodstream,
seizing my veins with these feelings.
Not to say I liked it.

You held my face
between your hands,
and when your stare grew heavy,
I hid my flushed cheeks in your embrace.
There was a thumping
I thought I had heard before,
the one that had been calling my name.
So I said,

In a place I was a stranger to,
with movements stranger to daylight.
Your whispers made me think
I was in a world apart from you,
one I never wanted you to be part of.
In my head. Too much.
I wanted my clothes, I wanted to leave.
But then you said, after puffing and scribbling,
“I have to go.”

Maybe I imagined it.
Maybe we never met eyes,
maybe I was not brave,
maybe you did not like dancing.
Maybe I just dreamt it.
I read your words again.
For the hundred, thirty-third time:
“I’m sorry. You deserve better.
In another time, in another place.

No, I Wasn’t

No, I wasn’t in love with you.
I just loved your body heat next to me.
Not quite a wool blanket,
But like the waft of morning coffee,
Setting my senses on fire.

No, I wasn’t in love with you.
I just loved you squinting in those glasses
With frames same as my own.
I always took off mine when with you.
I felt much more than I saw.

No, I wasn’t in love with you.
I just loved your bulky and shapeless limbs.
Too fragile for my touch,
But your arms could lift me tenderly,
‘Till in them I grew heavy.

No, I wasn’t in love with you.
I just loved that your mouth gave your face soul.
Oft curved, rarely open,
Subtly conveying fleeting feelings.
Like your heart, I imagined.


Thrown Back


On this day last year, I had my first day at Touch DDB as a Junior Media Planner. Today, I stopped by the same office to get my last pay check. I’ve been in my new job for 7 weeks. Wow, time is tricky!

And these days, it’s like time–life, generally–is playing jokes on me. Lately, there have been things that make me ask: why now? Why only now? If not now, when? When is the right time? Will this happen again another time? Oh, time.

I feel thrown back! Thinking about it all gives me a headache akin to the one I used to get when I would contemplate how to not get an F in my college math subjects. But hey, as usual: no regrets, just love.