Bored Immigrant Poetry

A Quiet Nudge

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Good Morning, God!

When the Divine wakes me up.

my alarm clock shouts off at three
I lay still, like I always do,
to reflect on where I’ve been
what I’ve done, who I’ve met,
but then I’m forced to morph
back to feel nothingness
this time… or is it peace?
at four fourteen, a quiet nudge
wakes me up…

… making sure I won’t be late…
though I’m an hour late for my
morning routine, I’m calm… so
eerily calm that an angel
still manages to make me
enjoy my breakfast… I get
ready and catch my bus
on time… what are the odds
of me making it… getting
through my day, experiencing
a realm where I meet my soul
all around me…
… calm and grateful!

Calm and grateful!

next morning, a quiet nudge
wakes me up at one thirty three,
way too early, with only less than
four hours of sleep… though I feel like
I have already been away too long,
mastering knowledge that I have
already known…

… so I rush back to meet myself again…
at a place where time forgets its existence…
then my alarm clock intervenes, shouting
off at three… I lay still, like I always do…
to appreciate each breath… each breath
where poetry ignites from places that
I am yet to get to know… no matter
what, one thing is for certain…
it is calm and grateful…

calm… calm… so eerily calm…
and grateful!

Good morning, God.
Good morning, life.
Good morning, peace.

Good morning.
Whether or not
the world is at ease.

My Reaction: Has Will Smith been cancelled?

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

POP CULTURE

Will Smith’s Reputation

That’s the question floating around. Fans are wondering. He hasn’t appeared in anything for so long.

I’m a “former fan”
who first fell in love with him
in the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,
who danced with her two left feet
to “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It”,
who fell in love with him even more
in heartfelt films such as “Seven Pounds”
and “The Pursuit of Happyness“,
who found him charming and charismatic
in interviews,
who was taken aback when he became
the first A-list Hollywood celebrity who
graced the Social Media sphere back
in the day —

— why, hello, YouTube! Now you’re
flooded with Hollywood-ish Content Creators,
thanks to Will Smith!

who never gave a big “F” about his
personal life —
“do what you gotta do behind the curtain, dude!”
who always thought of him as one of the most
sparkling personalities who had ever lived,
who always had a kick out of his riotous core,
who was enamoured by his exuberant
speaking voice,
who —

yes, I was all that.
there were times when I would sense
arrogance and ego bubbling around
but who was I to judge?

he’s human, his name has weight
he’s a creative genius, he’s supposed
to wallow in madness
he cannot be boring
boring is synonymous with death
in the entertainment world after all

he has to entertain
he feels the need to entertain
it’s squirming in his bones
that’s how his blood circulates
that’s what “made” him
Will Smith

until the big slap!
on “the biggest world stage”
it felt like a betrayal
my heart shrank
my “imaginary relationship”
with him ended at the exact
moment

Will Smith suddenly disappeared
without warning
without a proper goodbye
without a piece of appreciation
to leave behind

from then on,
I couldn’t look at him
the same way anymore,
I would even cringe
each time I would hear
his name,

there was something
“unforgiving” about
that slap!
it was as if he showed me
as a fan what his heartbeat
truly sounded like,
what his soul was made of!

like I said,
I could care less about
his personal life
or what he was doing
behind the curtain —

but when his “humanity”
floated out of his
conscience —
that was another story

be famous
be outrageous
be enraged
be yourself

just don’t be a d*ck
when you know
the rest of the world
is watching their
heroes being honoured
for being “extraordinary”



Red Moon Impact

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

POP CULTURE

How the blood moon has helped me today

Uncover the captivating phenomenon of the Red Moon and its impact on nature and human emotion during its occurrence.

ignite my truth, let it all glow
shine on my path, let my strength flow
I am transformed, I have grown
as I walk tall, things become known

so here’s what has happened today
a cautionary tale that may sound funny
I’ve stood up for my self with integrity
I’ve protected my dignity with humility

they’ve asked me to come in for a training
without pay, nothing has sounded reassuring
they gotta see how I’d do the job first
before they’d decide to quench my thirst

they know what they do is illegal
they think they’re high and mighty
enough to ruin people’s morale
and get away with it like alrighty

my extensive experience does not matter
it’s neither honoured nor respected
this employment practice is to shatter
the spirit of those who are desperate

a guide suddenly has intervened
courage has encapsulated me
all of a sudden
a firm voice has come out of my soul
saying, “I’ll pass, but thank you for the
opportunity,” – and I’ve found myself
on a roll

their faces have melted before me
shame and guilt, what a disbelief
they’ve watched me walk away
sighing and smiling in relief

I’ve gone home without a bit of regret
proud of myself, a burst I’ll never forget
confident that something better awaits
… somewhere… somewhere…
Fate opens its gates!




How are we doing?

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Do you at all feel we’re all connected? I do.

When I disconnect from the world, this is what happens. No question.

what am I here for?
to understand something profound;
there’s no ‘I’, there’s ‘we’;

like the waitress taking my order
is also me
I’m sitting beside myself, a stranger,
on a subway train
if I hate my boss, I must also hate myself
just as much

the moth that appears from out of nowhere
could be me looking for an adventure while
still living for its remaining days; it’s fully
aware of how short its life is, so why not
take risks?

all living creature; folks, animals,
even the trees–
those with a heartbeat are all ‘me’.

sages say we are all connected,
everything is all connected
we are all one.

if my heart suffers, the world around me
becomes miserable

if I cause harm, I feel a horrible pain
soon after

how I treat myself is also how
I’m being treated

so I have learned to be more gentle
and more kind to those with a
heartbeat because…
… the heartbeat is me.

I imagine being a moth to
remind myself all the time.

I feel my heart, not forcing myself to
understand it all fully… for life always
finds a way to make me listen in
time… loud and clear…
better be ready.

For now, we’ll just have to keep on living.
We must.
To meet each other along the way.

Let’s meet each other along the way.
So how are we doing so far?

How are we doing?

Disappearance

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

The Remains

A lazy Saturday plunged into deep reflection.

I disappeared to seek myself
somewhere… somewhere…
whether I belonged or not
I knew deep down I was there

wherever my pulse would take me to
however the sun rose and set before me
whenever I thought of paths; past, present, future
whatever flower was laid at my feet
to set me free

when I found out the truth
I laughed out loud
I heard myself
I was so proud

nothing was real outside of me
they were all simply an extension
or a mirror of how I treated myself
in my own kingdom

all was lost
what remained was
an expression

Reconnecting

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

The Divine will Reveal Your Time

I wrote this in the first quarter of 2025 while hitting rock bottom.

as the world bleeds
they stay wide awake without
their souls to keep
as all minds light up
they put themselves out there
like hermits of the night
who walk around
with senses
like Beethoven’s symphony
number nine

time exists
it either heals or
wounds life away
even God cries
over His mistakes
the sweet songs
have been silenced
now what do you do?

What do you do?
You’re fine.

time is there
for you
with you
hiding away
until you’re ready
for its truth

things only become real
between three and five
as hearts and souls
miss the sunrise
while in my wintry room
I feel the warmth of sunshine

As the old pen works
to reconnect with my
divine.

Dear South Korea, I have a list of serious problems with you and your “K” pop culture

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

PERSONAL

Who do you think you are?

As a Filipino, I have never been a fan.

Disclaimer: this is not a “hate” writeup. This is snagged out of my own perspectives, personal encounters, and observations long before internet citizens and especially the “SEAblings” have erupted and risen up. I do not intend to jump into the chaos. I just thought this would have to be a good time for me to lay down all the cards that had been buried in my chest since the first hype of K-Drama in the Philippines. So here’s my hot sauce on South Korea and its “K” pop culture.

  • Your conceit reaches up to hell level. Your skin isn’t special. Fix your hygiene first.
  • The audacity to call other South East Asians names when you can’t even blast them out in English.
  • Your TV drama series are unrealistic and inauthentic. Your stories are formulaic and boring. You make any scene look emotional when it’s like watching dramatic cartoon characters in slow motion.
  • You live and study English in the Philippines and yet you demean Filipinos behind their backs. (Yes, I overhead you. And no, I am not flattered that you always mistake me for being Korean as well.)
  • Also, you live and study English in the Philippines because it’s a lot cheaper than hauling your life over to the US, Canada, England, and perhaps even Australia and New Zealand.
  • As soon as you find out I’m Filipino, I can feel the shift of ‘human’ treatment in an instant. Your ignorance tells me how damaged your character is and how low your education level is.
  • Give us a break with your Pop Music already! You have never invented a genre at all. Black People created all these genres that the world has been consuming all these years. They’re the “real idols” and the “Kings and Queens” of R&B, Jazz, Hip-Hop, Rap, Pop, Blues, any fusions. The argument must end here now.
  • If you got nothing nice to say about other races, shut your mouth. Or has your mouth gone under the knife, too?
  • Your beauty standards cannot be categorized as anything remotely “human”. Would you rather look like cartoon princes and princesses or what?
  • The truth is your economy will tank without the support of South East Asia and you’re too goddamn proud to admit it.
  • You will never understand the concept of “exotic beauty” because your arrogance limits your mind.
  • You have a toxic pop culture that worsens mental health crises in your very own corners.
  • You’re not a “high-end” society and culture. You’re a cartoon show with constant publicity stunts to alert the world of your “vain” existence.

Needless to say, these are only meant for bullies and pricks. And you know who you are.

Mic drop.



TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Seven

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

ttc

What a Day!

A full-circle chaos that ends with a divine miracle.

after communing with my beloved tree
and whispering my wishes for the day,
my early morning bus pulls up,
I plop down, breathe in and out, and
put on my 528Hz sound,
three lone passengers on board,
including myself, still zoning our way
back to sleep,
it’s a cold, dark Friday morning,
the bus rhythm is like hope that will
never back down,
its lights whisper, “wake up, enjoy the ride,
keep your heart open for the day ahead.”
more sleepy spirits get on board along the way,
I close my eyes as the music stings down
my spine and into my veins,
then the bus squeaks to a full stop!
lingers… lingers on…
as if waiting for an unexpected finale
of a ‘life show’… while its engines
zing on… like a flatline tone…
now, we’re all wide awake, wondering
what’s going on,
yep, we’re getting abandoned,
so we get off to wait for the next bus,
in this cold, dark early Friday morning,
yawn… yawn!

after being frozen for ten minutes or so,
we finally get rescued,
and so… we’re clocking back in to life,
a short day that feels like a roller coaster ride.

going home time, wow, what a day!
the plot details can sneak into a
full-length story,
yet I’ve survived it all, now what can
go wrong?
the bus at York Mills Station looks
friendly and strong.

as the trip takes off, my sensitivity flares up,
how the test of faith plays a part,
not once have I ever budged,
I remain obedient and calm,
God Almighty, please, show me a sign
that this would have a good ending
tonight.

lo and behold, by the time we roll down
along Don Mills, the driver announces,
“This bus is switching to 95B going to
U of T! This bus is now 95B going to
U of T! If you’re taking 95A, you can
catch the one right behind us!”

three of us are forced to swirl out…
into the freezing, gloomy evening…
the traffic display before us is
unbearable to watch…
95A is stuck behind two white cars,
just about five metres away from
our delirium…

one lady takes a chance,
she scampers off to meet the bus…
it welcomes her on board, and I get
rattled… so off I run, hoping to hop
on, too…

and just as I’m about to catch it,
the driver’s face distorts with a scowl,
he drives on quite aggressively,
missing the right stop where we
were patiently waiting at for him
to pull up,
so I pace my way back as my body
goes numb,
I say to the other lady,
“Wasn’t he supposed to stop here?”
“Yeah, well, he’s an a***ole!” she replies,
grunting.

so for almost fifteen minutes,
I surrender my strength to the
freezing evening,
the wind feels like I’m bathing
in iced cold water,
finally, another 95A shows up
like the knight of swords,
it’s jammed with weary souls,
but there’s no turning back anymore,
I must get home…
now!

a beautiful miracle greets me inside,
a vacant blue seat that appears to have
only been anticipating for my arrival,
I take my seat and pray…
… what a day, what a day…
What a day!
I’m going home okay,
I’m safe and free.

I am safe.
I am free.

TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Six

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

ttc

Humanity Spy

The entire humanity in one glance.

he’s Black, proud, unbothered… oozing with life,
he’s wearing a golden winter coat; grubby,
dreamy, apologetic in a way… though attached
to it must be an intriguing story,
his grimy braided hair looks just as
prominent as the golden winter coat,
his hands tell a once lived life; dirty yet strong
and alive–holding a basketball that feels
loved and protected after all the pain
and injuries it must have endured,
his face is open, gleaming, though his
dry lips seem to tremble,
he walks in with the posture of a king;
calm, head held high, then takes his seat
as he breathes out a grateful sigh,
he feels at home for a moment… in the
middle of a dreary pack, drooling over
their phones…
while he observes and listens, like a
“humanity spy” being assigned by
his ancestors.

two male buddies, one black and the other white,
spark up a conversation about music and holidays
just inches away from him,
it’s a genuine exchange between two friends
whose low yet sincere voices travel
far down the moving train,

and the young Asian woman who’s sitting
across from me examines herself in her
smart phone camera, lets her hair down,
and criticizes her look more,

while the guy sitting next to me
flicks through videos, one after another,
as fast as his bored thumb can go;
his attention span has already died long ago.

Now, what’s the “humanity spy” thinking
as he witnesses this world tidbit in real time?

I wonder.
I can only wonder.
Perhaps the golden winter coat and the basketball
know something sacred about us that is only
revealed to the select few.
Oh, well, what do I know?
What do I truly know?

Why I Finally Decided to Start this Creative Journey at 47

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

PERSONAL

Society’s Silent Killer: Creative Stagnation

Who cares what I actually do for a living!

Don’t we all only live once? I wake up every morning wondering about what I would be doing in the ‘afterlife’. Must I plan it out now that I have just turned forty-seven years old? Oh gee. Hmm. Let’s be serious about this.

It’s stupid of me to brag that I am a polymath. You know, someone who’s passionate about a lot of things but can’t really tell the difference between a career jackpot and an endeavour that just deserves to be kept behind the curtains? One creative interest caresses a heart, another is a drum beat of fun, and there’s another one that can be defined as just – ahem – “casual hookups”.

One minute I’m plunged back into making music, then the next minute I’m obsessed with crafting a story for a new book. Not to mention the “in between” dedications; street photography, cinematic videos, updating a blog site, poetry, screenwriting – you get the picture of how scattered and doomed my life has always been.

But here are the ‘practical’ and ‘essential’ industries that have paid my bills since moving to Canada in 2008: restaurant, hospitality, retail, and facilities services. Then almost two decades later I end up with a lump in my left shoulder which has to endure itself no matter what – all because a doctor visit terrifies me.

I’m lying in bed as of this writing; reviewing my life as if I’m at the Pearly Gate, arguing with God over Him entrusting me with all these sparks that have been wallowing me around in wild delusions, understanding what matters most, organizing my priorities, and being kind to my heart.

Having a poignant realization of “my soul purpose” forces me to confront my mortality. What would my legacy be? Who am I to God? How would I like to be remembered? What gives me emotional fulfillment? How would I die happy?

I don’t even know what my ideal life looks like. I know I have been hiding. I put something out there and then I stop caring. I dim out. It’s like I’m asking the universe to keep it alive in obscurity instead.

But wait a minute now.

I am still alive. Is it too late yet? I’m not sure. All I know is I’m going to keep on writing and creating even if no one cares. I must never give up now – I mean after all these years? Come on. I must only surrender to the “creative magic” that God may have given me at any given moment.

It doesn’t matter where I work or what I do for a living – whether or not I’m making a cent off my writing. None of it matters anymore. I have written wonderful pieces that have not been read before – and I am ready to unleash them now.

Before my life types down “The End” without kissing me goodbye and asking me how.

February 18, 2026 Hot Sauce! – Netflix and Chill

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

PERSONAL

Let’s take euphemisms seriously now

Celebrating a single life.

Single. Celibate. Introvert. Chills up in her own bed to watch Netflix and slurp away a bottle of pop with a bowl of chips. Alone. Most importantly, has never hopped around any dating sites for ages now and has already abolished all ‘romantic’ hopes to find a genuine partner who wouldn’t demand sex when I’m ‘sad’. So no. ‘Netflix and Chill’ euphemism poses as a great insult to my menopausal, sweet existence.

Apparently, these two nouns with ‘the mischievous’ conjunction in the middle are in for some spicy business. It’s all about ‘casual hookups’. Uh, excuse me? Who even has time for promiscuity these days? Who?

No one.

Here are the funny reasons why that I wholeheartedly approve:

  • Women have been busy connecting with their vision boards, ‘law of attraction’ duties, and quantum leap techniques to get to their ‘desired reality’. They worry more about their bank accounts than wasting their time on ‘ludicrous pleasures’ that could only become emotional, spiritual, mental, financial, physical, and psychological liabilities. They are a lot smarter and wiser than you may have even realized. Now I dare you to ask a woman: would you rather hook up or engage in serious mindfulness? Then come back to me if I’m lying.
  • Sexual attraction means spiritual connection. Yes, it’s a weird world now. This is an enlightenment era. Consciousness has ignited to its superlative capacity. Some conspiracy theories can now be proven to be true. Challenge a woman’s curiosity and she ‘may’ consider opening up — either her heart or ‘her legs’.
  • Women measure up their worth with their moral standards. They understand that sex is an ‘energy exchange’ that has spiritual consequences. You can never convince a woman to sacrifice ‘herself’ all for an orgasm — because honestly, she can satisfy herself alone way much better than basking in bed with a man or whomever she even fancies.

So ‘Netflix and Chill’ sounds innocent until ‘euphemism pricks’ have decided that its initial reputation must be as wild as fictional nymphomaniacs.

The nerve.

I can’t.

TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Five

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

ttc

A Painful Irony

An unexpected stranger whoops me into grief.

she limps her way inside the train,
like lifting an aching body,
her backpack adds to the burdened weight,
she has a grey coat on; thick and it stretches
all the way down to her shoes,
her face looks damp, worried, and prayerful,
she carefully glides past me as her
struggling arm reaches for a rail
to hold on to,
I gently tap her,
she turns her head, her watery eyes
direct at me… wondering…,
I can’t look at her anymore after a
second of quiet acknowledgment;
my heart is already in grief,
I get up, and she instantly smiles…
a childlike surprise!
she slumps down onto the seat
and gazes up at me, “Thank you,”
she mutters.
I nod, without looking, without smiling,
without having any thoughts of anything
that are about me and what to have
for dinner.
I’m grieving over a stranger whose
strength is more powerful than mine.

I’m grieving over a stranger whose
strength is more powerful than mine.

The irony of life.

The Feels: Canada vs. USA Women’s Hockey Gold Medal

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

POP CULTURE

Mortal Kombat in 2026 Olympics

A bloodbath showdown.

So the feels:

Checking what my blood is made of. Not important. It’s the special prize I get for living in Canada and lasting this long. No matter what I do, the hype is contagious and infectious. Anyone’s blood will grow a passionate desire for hockey here. It’s the “Canada Effect”, and it’s not even about the sport at all. It’s simply about being a part of the cold nation that may not be as perfect as what the rest of the world believes. But whatever. I have grown to love the country, and that includes cheering for sports teams until my heart and nerves bust out of control.

February 19th, 2026 at 1:10 PM ET – it’s Canada vs. USA fighting for the gold medal at Milano Cortina 2026. I have already got my morning planned out:

  • Have a soft breakfast. The gut is the baby in this situation. It’s going to be a viciously intense game. Can’t miss it by running into the washroom to either throw up or answer a nature’s call.
  • Get the laundry done. It’s bad luck to dump any “human duties” away before a huge, culminating event kicks off. Spirit says, “how does that even compare to the athletes fighting for the country’s reputation?” Right? I know!
  • Meditate. Yes! Feel it firing down the veins; winning, achieving greatness, celebrating, the thrilling atmosphere all across the country, the valour of glory — sounds like an emotional exaggeration but that’s exactly what we all want to happen.

And it has already happened multiple times before. It’s not about greed. It’s not about intimidation. It’s not about making history. It’s not about owning all the prestigious headlines. It’s not about the Canadian blood and the Canadian flag at all.

Stop being so polite. Of course, it is!

But then.

Question: “What do you normally do once there’s a huge sports event like this one?”

Answer: “While it’s happening, I distract myself — doom scrolling, watching pet videos, having a deep dive into anything paranormal — as I take a peek at the scores online only if I can’t resist it any longer. Once the final results are in and Canada wins, I binge watch all the highlights and winning moments for hours until I’m ready to close it out with celebratory music from the 80s.”

Ladies and gentlemen, the feels.

Feb 17, 2026 Hot Sauce! – Day Recap: The Epiphany that Pissed Me Off

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

PERSONAL

Who will I be tomorrow?

I woke up like I was late for an “all year round” party.

my memory mocked me because
I lost some of my fragments,
I nourished myself with rice and sardines soup mixed with eggs —
[–ever heard of it before?– it’s rich and nutritious –]
then I got ready for a life-changing appointment
that would bring back my spark for real

I stood like I sold my soul to the music gods,
I hummed some songs that I recently wrote,
catchy melody, bop pop — playful lyrics —
about childhood nostalgia
and wallowing back in the 80s and 90s
as I was fixing myself —
I knew who I was

then my ever caring and thoughtful landlady
brought me a big chunk of banana bread,
I was a princess, I owned a little kingdom

until I felt compelled to check on a so-called friend,
who blasted about a series of ridiculous interviews
she had to fight through for a job position:
kitchen help at a sushi shop!
“WTF! This is a commoner’s job! Why do they
make me feel like I’m applying to become a
goddamn President?”
I listened as I questioned my moral duties —
the ‘friendship business’ was too much for
my blood pressure to endure so —
goodbye

went to see a master who gave me
my dignity back —
I was a superstar ‘again’, much like in my twenties,
nah, that’d be quantum leaping as dreamers would say,
okay then, soul stripping must now begin

received a message from the wicked witch
of a distant past — asking for her ugly garments back,
the ones I wore that weakened my magical powers,
no response yet as I would rather orb my way in and out
to protect my divinity —
I was an archangel that just won the race against
the dark forces

did a little bit of grocery shopping,
showed humanity, was also shown the same,
went home richer with an eye-catching smile
that calmed some spirits down,
damn it, I was such a beautiful human

got home, devoured supper,
caught up some crushing news,
listened to —

silence, seclusion, peace
all I wanted —

no need for desperation anymore,
make it seamless, that’s what makes it hard
to figure out —
but it’s all worth it for sure

I am a hermit.
I am a poet.
I am a writer.

That’s who I was and will always be.
According to my stunning memory.

No, I didn’t wake up late. I woke up way too early.
Being broken was far more important than ‘feeling’ whole.
Oh yeah? “Will you exclaim that one last time?”
Being broken is far more important than ‘feeling’ whole!

[It is why “you are what you do.”]
[Sorry if such an epiphany pissed you off, though.]

***

TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Four

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

ttc

His Lovely Mother

An adorable seven-year-old boy is excited about his Math prowess.

I offer the vacant blue seat next to me to
a young boy, and he jumps in right away.
Right after, I ask his lovely mother if she
would like to sit as I’m willing to give away
mine, and she graciously declines.
“Now, what would you say?” she reminds
her son.
He glares at me as his eyebrow twitches
with hesitation and disdain, “Thank you.”
I respond, almost in whisper, “You’re welcome.”

And he recites a series of multiplication
equations, then reveals the answers
right off the bat. It catches my teacher’s
instinct, though I taught English once
upon a time.

“You like Math?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he replies, his giddy voice tells me
how he finds the subject to be the wonder
of his universe. “Ask me what five times
four is,” he says.
“Okay,” I say. “What’s five times four?”
“Twenty!” he exclaims in his most
confident tone.
And I’m just as ecstatic as his lovely
mother who then details to me how
obsessed her son is with numbers
and Mathematics, and how much his
brain can analyze concepts.

And the Math challenge continues on
as I give him single-digit multiplication
problems. He nails all of them except for
nine times six, which, in his honest swear,
he admits, “I forgot.”

“He also loves music,” his lovely mother
says while playing on an imaginary piano.

“You play the piano?” I ask the young boy.
“Yes!” is his sharp reply. I sense a ‘Beethoven’
vibe from him.

Before we part ways, I give him a piece of
music nudge, “Listen to Bach and Beethoven.
They’re great composers.”
“Bach?” he utters, crunching the name
out of curiosity.
“Yeah,” I say, “and you’re going to be
a Prime Minister!”

And they get off the train.

No, he will not be a Prime Minister.
He will be even greater.
How do I know this?
Through his lovely mother’s
heart and soul.
The mother’s heart and soul.
Not a stranger’s prophecy.
The stranger being me.

TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Three

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

ttc

Biggest Appreciation

Sometimes TTC teaches us a valuable lesson.

a lanky, young Black man
taking a secure spot in front of me
clasps his affirming hands together
to utter a silent prayer
the funny thing about him is
he has hopped off and hopped back on
to the packed train
nothing odd… if he has jumped off
at the wrong station.

it is yet another rush hour
when every exhausted mind and body
now descends into a deep appreciation
for the place that they call home.

and just as we’re all settled in
and ready to plunge away
an incident occurs… the classic one,
so we’re told to get off
at College Station in no time.

we worm out, confused and in silence,
a woman points at the sign with
a shocking gasp!
the sign reads: Vaughn. (Southbound)
we’re all heading towards Finch! (Northbound)

some brave ones snake their way through
the tensed crowd: where are they going?
I have no idea.

then a brave female commuter announces,
“Guys, this is going Southbound! We have
to keep moving!”
she’s right, yet a young man cackles.

so, we abide, one step at a time to get over
to the other side, we want to make sure no
one gets trampled, no one gets a nudge,
though we’re like a sardines factory
desperate to stay fresh and alive
despite slaving away all day long.

at one point, I accidentally brushed my arm
against a white lady, and she inimically reacts,
“Ouch!”
of course, I apologize profusely as I’m subtly
being pushed from behind.

a Black man dressed in a construction uniform
wants to get ahead as he pins me against the wall,
so I ask him, “You go right ahead.”
“Huh?” he replies, somewhat flustered.
“You go first, sir,” I calmly say as my
chest pounds.

after a long, winding procession to get
over to the other side, I say a quiet grace
for “spaces”.

the first train pulls up, jammed… not breathing!

silly me, I squeeze myself in as some
young Korean girls also fight their way in,
and I find myself being hammered in that I
blurt out, “I’m getting out! Excuse me!”

oh, thank goodness for oxygen! Wow!
I can breathe! I can breathe!

the next train arrives, not as bad as the
first one, the commuters carry a vibe of
“Well, this feels assured somehow.
We’re finally getting home, folks!”

Yes, we are.
At last.
Home at last.

Biggest appreciation for the day;
getting home after a chaotic delay.

They Thought I was Pregnant

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

They Thought I Was Pregnant

Bad energies around us can make us really sick. Literally sick. And our body warns us about them all the time.

they thought I was pregnant,
well, I looked like it, oh, absolutely!
my stomach bulged unapologetically,
and I would struggle to hide it,
I didn’t know what was happening
to my body,
all I knew for sure I stuck with my diet,
I consumed the same food,
never a meat-eater except for fish,
is it hormones, metabolism issue?
no idea,
but to hold it in all day long at work
was a real pain,
trust me, the lie I had to muscle up
just to survive a day went above and beyond
my courage measures,
though I couldn’t spare myself from
speculations and mockery here and there,
how embarrassing and painful!

until I discovered I was sick,
my spirit was dying,
my sensitive emotions flew off the handle,
I buried the world’s suffering inside of me,
I stole away other people’s diseases and
planted them into my energetic field,
I participated in toxicity,
I engaged with cruel mouths and cruel minds,
I breathed in a room full of hate,
the gossip-mongers, the evil eyes–

once the culprits were realized,
I did all the work to heal myself,
I disappeared,
I stayed quiet,
I went back to solitude,
I reconnected with my angels,
I made sacred deals with God,
I redeemed my soul–

And you know what happened?
A rebirth.
A glowing rebirth.
Getting terribly sick was
meant to happen after all.
Now I am more powerful than ever before.

It’s funny how toxicity, when tolerated, warns
and tries to kill us all at once if we’re not
careful.

The White-Collar Who Trips Before Me

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

The White-Collar Who Trips Before Me

The class system in society gets real in front of us sometimes.

my work requires me to move my bones,
my muscles, and my spirit enormously
until the only essence that’s left is
hearing how my breath whispers
gratitude to the Source for still keeping
me alive and gifting me the power
to feel, write, and heal.

Breathe.

yes, they see me, they feel me,
some say hello, some walk past me,
others pretend I don’t exist,
others pause for a little
heartwarming exchange.

Breathe.

in between runs, I do my tasks in the lobby;
it’s a routine, it’s sincere, I give it my all,
I’m attached to it, it’s soulful in a way
as I get to think and examine the rush
around me–
the atmosphere, the chatters, all the
superficial corporate games, humans
being humans in the midst of survival.

Breathe.

one of those tasks is the escalator;
I would politely instruct the incoming
traffic to go right ahead first, but if
they’re still far back, I get on with
my job… some exchange lunch updates,
some whine about work and their mates,
others wear their faces long, and there
are those who seem lost.

Breathe.

but they know I’m there, minding my
own business quietly… giving them their
own space, giving them their way,
giving them their time… there’s mutual
respect, though tension is thrown at me
sometimes and perhaps even discomfort;
“This is supposed to be a place for people
of intellect, for those who actually run and
shape the world, for power and authority.
We cannot stand seeing you around here.
Go away!”–is what I would hear time
and time again–at least it’s what my
instincts would hear on some odd
occasions.

Breathe.

what I hear from his mind,
“Oh no! No no no no! You can’t treat
me like that! I’m way much better
in life than you are! You’re old, Asian,
a woman, with a job that you’re only
qualified for because you’re dumb!
Get out of my way! Get away!
Get away!”

Breathe.

so he sprints up the escalator,
wheezing–

Breathe.

–trips on his way up that his dignity
crumbles right before me.

Breathe.

And I stay calm.
So calm.
Unbelievably calm.
Regardless of what I see and hear;
I’m as calm as the quiet lake,
the sleeping owl,
the kindest forest.

Wild.
Breathe.

Forgetting and Remembering

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personaL

Forgetting and Remembering

How my memory plays tricks on me all the time, and why do I always catch myself in odd situations?

you know, a bunch of odd moments
and little miracles happened last week;
me being a witness, me wallowing
in expanded self… personally lived
experiences.

I thought my memory could record
and store them in real time, like a vault
waiting to be opened.

it’s a shame that I had forgotten most of
them… as if my memory decided to rejoin
the significant events of my past instead,
clamouring while reflecting… reliving
without judging… forgiving while
understanding…

well, at one point, I thought I lost my
public transit card… and I only noticed
it at the exact moment when the bus
pulled up… so I scurried back home to
look for it in possible places… in panic,
at five in the morning while the suburbs
were still snoring asleep…
only to find it hidden in my deep
winter jacket pocket,
oh, the relief! the relief!

and it baptized the rest of my week,
perhaps I would retrieve those odd
moments and little miracles in time
so I could write about them… perhaps
not at all…

Though day after day, as I travel through
life, odd moments and little miracles still
happen before my eyes… and once I
recognize them by heart, I must be
prepared for their meanings… and write
about them only if…

They’re meant to be remembered.
Or the way they remember me.

Huh.
Still sweet.
Right?
Still sweet.

TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Two

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

ttc

The Broken Guy

A contemptible happening on TTC subway.

a broken guy who’s from an unknown land
rides the transit with us; strangers to one another
who must act accordingly as a common bond,
his words slur, his English is as broken as his soul,
but what fascinates me most is how he can
pronounce evil words,
his awful sentiments about women,
Cuba, white people, black people, Indian people,
the Chinese… you’re lucky enough not to
catch those,
even as I’m typing this all down now,
my spirit staggers, begging for help
from the Lord.

exploitative, the darkest, the most vile,
the most hateful, the most despicable–he
proclaims them all without inhibitions,
the rage shattering out of his mouth
feels like hell has just split open for us
all to be swallowed in,
for him to shout,
“White people! Freedom! Freedom!
Finished!”–mocking the race,
the only words I can write about
coming from his outrage is
“Finished! All finished!”–shouting
about how dominant races
are all finished!

meanwhile, the crowd stays silent;
some are probably catching on,
others listen to their headphones,
some still manage to read their books,
others close their eyes to doze off–
I shut mine to try to wander away
but he’s too aggressive and flamboyant
to be blotted out–so I keep my ears
open and pretend not to be a
nosy Canine patrol officer of TTC
who’s hungry for stories.

a contemptible display and disturbance
on a public transit and yet…
… no one cares.
No one cares.

We’re all broken.
The world is broken.
Life is broken.

But that’s just how it has always been.
For us all to finally get to the bottom of
it all–
Truths.

TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part One

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

ttc

Humanity in the Midst of Chaos

TTC, our public transit in Toronto, is a wild character of its own. Here’s part one of its series.

a medical emergency is announced
happening at College Station,
a swarm of commuters is stranded at Union,
it’s the despicable rush hour,
some doom scroll on their phones,
others fall in confused silence,
some call their spouses or kids
alerting them of their tardiness,
others explain the chaotic situation
to their disoriented peers,
while two transit personnels warm,
“Step away from the yellow line!
Step away from the yellow line!” —
as they zing by the crowd,
the entire platform is packed,
hijacked with frustration, patience,
and a bit of shock all at once,
whereas, I, knowing it will be fine,
I stay put without budging —
just imagining how I would
make my dinner as a reward.

finally, they tell us to go upstairs
and take the opposite direction,
southbound train is traveling northbound
and vice versa,
the operator makes a blasting
announcement over and over again,
it’s the first time I hear it this loud,
reverberating through the jammed humans
struggling to breathe to survive
the hullabaloo,
and the train motor is on,
the trip home is possible under
such an unprecedented circumstance.

a nicely dressed lady who’s probably
in her sixties squeezes herself in from
Queen Station,
she stands beside me, nonchalant,
though I can tell she’s dying,
a guy sitting near me blows his nose
in the midst of wild silence; a woman
responds by clearing her throat as if to say,
“You’re disgusting!”, but the guy proceeds
to blow his nose again… and again… and again…,
the woman stays silent, she has lost the game,
there’s a woman reading a book
seated right before me,
she keeps wiping off her forehead
out of dread, she acts like she’s special,
meanwhile, the nicely dressed woman
wheezes and lowers her head,
then turns to me,
I ask her, “Are you okay?”
her pupils dilate, she looks like
she’s about to fait,
and she responds, “No.”

without hesitation, I look around to spot
an unbothered soul,
I find a man sitting comfortably
in the corner,
listening to his ear phones with his
eyes closed,
I gently disturb him and he opens his
kind eyes,
I say, “Can she take your seat? She’s not
feeling well.”
Instantly, he perks up and gets on his feet,
“Oh, sure!”
and the nicely dressed lady goes to
take over his seat, “Thank you,” she utters,
I lock eyes with the kind spirit and mouth,
“Thank you.”
he nods as his sincerity breezes through
the crowd.

I get off the train after moments of breaths
and heartbeats; tedious yet worth it.

After an hour of drowsy bus ride, I get
home and ask myself, “now, what was
my dinner? Dang, I thought I had already
planned it out, but I lost track of my
memory along the way.”

Oh, well, it’s just one of those days.
Another day of being alive to keep in
my memory.

Regardless.

Shocking Discovery after My Death

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Shocking Discovery After My Death

Things that are kept hidden in my suitcases.

once I pass on,
they will be shocked to discover
items hidden in my suitcases;
the remnants of my past
both heart-crushing and surprising
they all bear my secrets and woes
lies, truths, illusions
wins and failures
a strength, a weakness, an illness
and I already hear them wonder,
“Who was she? What was she all about?
How could a poor vagabond live such
a life?”

no home
no friends
no high-respect work
no confidante
no family

But, oh, I lived a full life!
I saw parts of the world that I dreamed of
seeing as a child.
I met fascinating people who I believed
to have jumped out of movies.
I survived horrors, I gave my tears away,
I conquered fears.
I exchanged conversations with the
intellectuals and the fools.
I argued with hate, I argued with my own
principles, I argued with love.
I fell in and out of love, I met the monsters
in me, I also enjoyed being kind and an angel.
I was human; my heart was resilient,
my soul grew courage, my spirit became
a weapon.
Most of all, I held God’s secrets.
And since I became His secret keeper,
I went on with my remaining days fulfilling
them all, and no one knew of the deals
except a machine.

So be shocked. Be surprised.
Bury those items with me
or trash them out into a violent wind.
And also, thank you for seeking me.
Thank you for being a part of my ending.
Thank you.
Goodbye.

The False Reality

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

Dreams

The False Reality

This is one of those bizarre dreams I’ve had. Why do I always get stuck in the weirdest places, struggling to get out?

I get on a familiar bus; painted in
red and white,
an eerie feeling of being the only
passenger,
to my surprise, there’s a stranger
cocooned up in the corner;
a lady dressed in grey coat–her gloom
transcends from the withering weather,
the bus wheels down a street,
heading towards a familiar avenue
of my old home city,
the mischievous thing about the trip
is the bus only operates in my new
home city; a famous metropolis where
arts, sports, and cultures erupt,
“Hold on. What’s going on?” I murmur
to myself.

The lady gets off along the familiar avenue,
I wince, the discomfort now becomes
unbearable,
so I’m forced to get off, I look around,
there’s restless drumming of my heartbeat,
“I must get home”, I say, “This isn’t my
home anymore.”

no taxi, none of that kind, however,
there’s a white man driving a tricycle;
he has shoulder-length blonde hair,
with denim pants and grey coat on,
he takes passengers, surely enough,
and I’m delighted, though there’s no
communication exchange,
he just seems to understand where
I’m supposed to go

so he drives on–fast! as fast as the tricycle
can fly–down empty streets, no shops
along the way–it’s supposed to be a city,
not a countryside, though it looks more like
the hidden country gem of the city,
though now I feel I’m back into the
metropolis,
in a snap, a sudden shift morphs in–

he must have jumped off, now I’m driving
freely, and he’s pacing down to catch up–
not running, not even half-running either,
just a calm pace, though I can still see him.

there I am–driving the tricycle on my own,
flying down precarious curves–as if I’m on
an exhibition,
I slide down trails–bushes and forest trees
all around, though in the mere distance,
I can see the metropolis skyline,
but then he’s gone! he has disappeared!

I pull over, scram back to look for him–he’s
nowhere to be found,
I rush back to the tricycle, not knowing
what to do–panicking now,
down the trail, to my right, two tricycles
zoom down into the bushes–the drivers
must have had enough of their day, time
for them to go home,
then a vendor riding on a trolley slips
and flips over,
some homeless hippies are having fun
behind a humongous rock; laughing on
high, chattering–a blasting party of
some kind,
two white young men squatting on a
platform, listening to weird music
hitting out of an ancient radio,
“I’m lost,” I whisper–to make it worse,
the tricycle has disappeared right before me,
“Now what do I do?”

as my intense panic seethes in, my last
recourse would be to call 911 and ask for
help, but then–
how am I supposed to explain to the
authorities all this?
where should I start?
would they believe me?

and as I’m about to dial the number,
I find myself back in my room, relieved
that I don’t need to explain myself
anymore.

It’s 12:08, time for lunch.
I’m back again.
In my new home.
Again and again.

What a ride.
What a trip.
Where am I, really?
In some false reality.
But I’m okay.
I’m okay.

The Most Tragic Irony of Today

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

The Most Tragic Irony of Today

Human connection doesn’t exist anymore. It has now become a dream.

where have our human souls gone to?
how must it so difficult to connect with
each other now?
since when have we lost our ability to live?
what do we care the most now?
who here can still experience a little bit of
their own truth?

how exhausting it must have been to try
to decipher lies;
is it a wonder? no, it’s something ordinary
that some idiots would tirelessly convince
us that there’s some beautiful meaning
hidden in it,
for all we know, it has already been
circulating around for decades,
even before we were born,
encapsulating those who are ready,
though I certainly do not believe
in the ‘chosen ones’, I believe in
divine free will…

we’ve abandoned ourselves a long time ago,
we’ve been searching for meaning and the truth,
we’ve lost our civilization the moment
we’ve invented all these modern advancements,
yes, we have superior intelligence, and such
destroys us one day at a time,
how we survive depends on our choices of
consumption–the spirit nourishment, the
senseless entertainment, the ache to be
seen and heard…

well, I do not want to be heard, I want to be
read and remembered,
I do not want my soul to forget traces of its
footprints,
I do not want to connect with the living dead,
I do not want to die knowing everything,
including God’s mystery,
I do not want to care about things that I
know for sure are superficial,
and I certainly do not worry about the
future of humanity…

because I do not feel souls anymore,
I feel death everywhere,
there’s noise, but it’s actually horrors
of silence,
there are people, but they murder each other’s
spirits until the streets are left empty.

so where’s your soul?
whom do you connect with?
how do you live everyday?
what do you care about most now?
what’s your truth?

your answers tell me you’ve already
passed on.

and so have I… regardless of my do’s
and don’t’s…

The only thing that is left for us to wonder
about, really, is how to get some good sleep.

How remarkable that is… in the most tragic
irony of today.

There is No Godly Religion

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

There is No Godly Religion

Rage consumed me while spitting it all out!

before you come after me,
think for a moment,
I do not believe in all these religions
nor do I believe in their claims of salvation.

godly religions do not disrespect other religions,
godly religions do not devalue humans for
being humans,
godly religions do not swear that they are
the ‘truth’; religions that exist in our
civilization are false, all of them want to be
in control, all of them want your wealth,
godly religions do not cause wars,
godly religions are welcoming, accepting,
and forgiving,
godly religions serve humanity with
kindness and love at all times,
godly religions keep people safe,
including the ones who do not share the
same faiths,
godly religions never speak ill of anything
and anyone,
godly religions serve as the moral anchor
of all corners of the world,
godly religions share their wealth with the poor,
godly religions never judge, never criticize,
and never flaunt,
godly religions act as the saviour.

So think for a moment,
is your religion godly or earthly?

no one knows the truth.
what truth are we really looking for?
the Holy Grail?
if I told you I knew how to find it, you would
definitely laugh and call me the greatest
fool!
everyday, we go about looking for it,
praying for it, wondering about it.
there’s only one way to find it, really.
but I can’t reveal it yet because I know
no one’s ready,
you may have heard esoteric practitioners
making claims about it…
or you may have even heard your priests,
pastors, and religious entities delivering
sermons about it…

what you’ve heard is what they’ve learned
from ancient texts,
are they godly?

am I godly for writing this… am I making it
all up… am I insane… am I the devil… am I?

I had two religions. I had a dominant one growing up.
I had witnessed another one in their own confines.
Then I grew up, I lived, I cried, I laughed, I felt,
I had seen worlds in my dreams, I had heard whispers…
Perhaps I lost my mind… Perhaps I only woke up…

If I’m seeking a spiritual refuge, a quiet place where
I can hear my thoughts loudly, I would sit inside
a church on random days… just to commune…

The only truth I hear and know for sure is
how much I love deeply from afar.

That’s my godly religion.

But the Holy Grail? Yes, I know how to find it.
I surely do.

And such knowing, as the worldly would say,
“You’re full of crap!”

Who cares? Call me whatever you want,
but I’ve finally cracked God’s code, and I
obey on my own accord.

Now tell me a godly religion that ever
exists or existed.

None.
None.
Absolutely none.

A Sweet Stranger Manifested Me

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

A Sweet Stranger Manifested Me

If this happens to you, you’re blessed by the universe.

it’s time!
it’s the day when I must go to my favourite
shop to purchase my favourite juice that
aids me to exist;
an old part of me that I must release but cannot,
I haven’t made a deal with God yet with
this matter as I’m still not ready,
it’s worse than smoking cigarettes as
it kills gently,
but how can I quit? there’s no way
around it…

so in between work tasks,
I go for quick puffs,
office employees also huddle in the
west garden for their smoke breaks,
sometimes I would only catch the
few regulars with the same bad habit;
ruminating, browsing through their phones,
analyzing, reflecting, hoping.

hoping for something wonderful to happen,
seems like all of them are looking for
something special or someone special,
manifesting something sweet
or someone sweet,
and they’re all unhappy when all of them
work jobs that they must have
once prayed for…

meanwhile, there I am, a building employee
that they know exists yet is not seen,
whether they feel me or not,
I can feel their agonies from afar or nearby,
I can feel their sad stories sobbing my way,
I can feel the absence of their souls,
I can feel the longings of their ambitious hearts…

once the day ends, I journey towards
my favourite shop,
yes, it’s time,
and as soon as I swoop in, the shop attendant–
a young woman from Ethiopia, illuminating spirit, says,
I don’t know what it is but I knew I would see you here
today.”
“You manifested me?” I blurt out.

her face glows red, flustered… her coy demeanour
ignites like a child… her angelic smile speaks of
truth… not a profound portrait, but a mesmerizing
landscape…

“It’s a divine thing,” I assure her, “nothing to
worry about.”

we shake hands, we exchange names,
we’re connected.

She can also feel and see.
She’s also just like me.
I’m glad we’re not like the
others in the west garden.
I’m glad we’re living.

What My Body Wants every Saturday Afternoon

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

What My Body Wants Every Saturday Afternoon

It happens practically every Saturday afternoon, and there’s no way to resist it. So I’m plunged.

my body calls for a nap every Saturday afternoon,
it’s a ritual that I cannot protest against,
despite how busy my mind gets that must
keep me alert until the moon kisses the
night sky, I must comply,
as I’m writing this, the light in my room
flickers… resisting… and it’s only 4:14…
I’ve had unconventional mashed potatoes
and coffee for lunch,
who would even make mashed potatoes
with only butter and condensed milk
in the mix?

anyway, there’s an inner knowing
bursting inside of me, like a dance,
something huge is coming;
a blissful gift, an answered prayer,
so I’m resting, I’m content,
with my poetry all out into the open wild
yet obscure; a portfolio, the wealth of my
life that I can leave behind once I cannot
wake up anymore.

whatever the case maybe, God has been
listening, steering me into a quiet direction,
I am not meant to be seen,
my voice is heard by nature,
and that’s already enough.

I am alive, I am well, I am still writing.
And my body calls for a nap
every Saturday afternoon.
It’s called life.
A lovely life.
What a lovely life.
Ah, lovely life.
I’m being redundant, but hey,
it needs to be acknowledged somehow.
While I can still make time for
Saturday afternoon naps…
… until the moon kisses the night sky
goodbye…
on my behalf.

For now, let me snooze and experience
another special time with whoever
and wherever I am
on the other side.

Bored Immigrant Poetry

Free Verse Poetry

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