Author: J.J. Ireneo

• Are you outside of yourself?

  personal

  Are you living your truth now? I’m not.

  An exciting and promising past inspired me to write this poem. I miss who I was and the person I can never be.

  I’m outside of myself
  studying, criticizing, analyzing, judging,
  comforting all that I am.
  
  There are foolish expectations
  and grandiose dreams that I am
  ashamed to admit.
  
  So I walk away to seek solace
  in a place where truths are adamant
  to recognize my existence.
  
  There I am sticking my chin up
  as I labor through survival while
  listening to applause echoing
  from my past.
  
  This is the land that’s supposed
  to make one of my magical dreams
  come true.
  
  Now the only magic that’s left
  is to day dream about who
  I used to be and the exciting life
  I once lived with peers
  and my beloved family.
  
  I’m outside of myself
  where I will never know…
  … oh, I will never know at all…
  
  how to set myself free.

  March 24, 2026

  Authentic Self, Exciting Past, Promising Life, The Judgment, Truth

  ---

• What We Don’t Know About Each Other

  humanity

  Before the Sunrise Gifts Us Another Day

  A tragic incident at work inspired me to write this.

  How many people you’ve seen today
  not knowing that one of two of them
  would take their last breath shortly
  or the next day?
  
  How many people you’ve seen today
  not knowing that half of them
  have been battling through
  terminal illnesses and now they just want
  to experience life as much as
  they can before they’re bed ridden?
  
  How many people you’ve seen today
  not knowing that all of them
  have mental health crises that
  they are either running away from
  or indulging in?
  
  How many people you’ve seen today
  not knowing that most of them have
  been contemplating to end their lives
  because they believe nothing is
  worth living anymore?
  
  How many people you’ve seen today
  not knowing that you wonder about them,
  their secret fights, and their interesting stories?
  
  How many people you’ve seen today
  not knowing that they also think of you
  the same way?
  
  You’ll never know.
  No one knows.
  Only God knows, as we say.
  
  So can we all be kind and get along
  even before the sunrise gifts us
  another day?

  March 21, 2026

  Humans, Life Lessons, Life Truths, People, Tragedy

  ---

• When Life Makes a Joke about You

  personal

  Submitting to the ‘Pull’

  The funny thing is, I wrote this after I renewed my Netflix membership. I was compelled to get rid of it for months as a protest.

  sometimes you feel a pull
  to do something that goes against
  your moral paradigm
  no matter how silly it may be;
  
  like watching your favourite films
  all over again to escape into familiar pains
  so you can cry once more,
  being rude to a stranger who intentionally
  triggers your ego,
  staying up all night to make the most of
  your weekend off,
  protesting against certain kinds
  of nutritious food,
  or…
  retiring from inner explorations as you can
  never reach the depths within you regardless,
  right?
  
  the astonishing revelation is…
  … isn’t it how life supposed to work?
  free will intensified,
  free will must never be denied,
  free will knows it’s a human thing,
  free will must learn,
  free will has its idiosyncrasies.
  
  though one thing you must make sure,
  by the end of it, you can testify to the moon,
  the sun, and the stars,
  that you’ve felt alive and well
  during the process,
  that you’ve met pieces of yourself to
  either accomplish a puzzle or ruin it
  by all means,
  that you’ve let go.
  
  That something has changed.
  The change that you have been longing for
  since the moment life made a joke about you.

  March 19, 2026

  Human Nature, Hypocrisy, Impulse, Joke, Life Pulls

  ---

• Pardon me, friendship!

  personal

  Is it arrogance or awareness?

  I wrote this while in a dilemma; a friend wants to meet up and my instinct keeps telling me ‘no’.

  pardon me, friendship!
  but I cannot seem to get myself
  to have fun with you
  
  small talks, life complaints
  you suck life out of me
  that I end up questioning
  my integrity and sincerity
  in whims
  
  since when have we really laughed?
  like laughed out loud that has made the earth
  vibrate with joy?
  
  since when have we allowed ourselves
  to be vulnerable?
  so vulnerable that even the passers-by
  and the onlookers have been given the
  opportunity to meet or rekindle
  their sensitivity?
  
  since when have we told each other
  the truths?
  the surprising truths that would inspire
  us to become better humans?
  
  are we supposed to simply connect
  through food, shopping, exchanging presents,
  tipping each other off about the latest
  entertainment, and gossiping about
  work and family dramas?
  
  thank goodness, you have only
  extended two different hand shakes to me,
  but… how should I know how to keep them real?
  how can I be more authentic?
  how can I grow from these sporadic interactions
  that have already been making me feel tired?
  
  what’s your purpose?
  am I being arrogant for
  defying and confronting you?
  who am I to you?
  what am I for you?
  where am I when I’m with you?
  how memorable is this?
  
  Is it an adventure?
  Pardon me for growing up.
  I grew up so fast alone.
  With or without you,
  I am the only friend
  that my heart and soul
  has ever known.
  

  March 17, 2026

  Energy Vampire, Friendship, Groundness, Mindfulness, Spirituality

  ---

• TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Ten

  ttc

  The Uncanny Precision Gets Me

  This family makes us realize our childhood.

  she checks on the seats
  with rather meticulous
  and critical eyes,
  the only child of an
  East Asian couple,
  in her early teens,
  fidgety, cynical, anxious
  
  there’s something about the seats
  that she cannot stand,
  dirty? are there food particles all over them?
  stains? what is it?
  
  however, both her parents
  are very much obliged,
  the cooperation is met
  with an uncanny precision,
  even the movements,
  the silent exchanges,
  the instinctive agreement,
  she pouts, moans, growls a little
  nothing makes her feel alright
  nothing’s alright at all
  
  until the father,
  a big man whose rough face
  still manages to draw a gentle smile,
  takes his seat, leans back,
  and glances up at her
  with a look of assurance.
  
  the mother then takes her hand
  and leads her to sit down,
  arms wrapped around her,
  keeping her still and safe.
  
  she submits,
  acknowledging her father
  with a sweet gesture,
  then lays her head
  on her mother’s shoulder.
  
  all this;
  without a word
  just pure silence
  as the blaring sounds
  of the subway train,
  along with the automated
  announcements
  comfort all passengers
  
  passengers who are all alone,
  accompanied by their smart phones,
  personal belongings, and purchases
  
  yet in that mere moment,
  wishes and memories
  grace in their faces,
  no matter what they may be
  they had their childhood once
  
  I had my childhood once.
  And I’m glad.
  I’m so glad.

  March 14, 2026

  Public Transit Toronto, Toronto Life, Torontonians, TTC, Work Commute Toronto

  ---

• Your Day is Here Now

  Humanity

  Don’t Let a Day Die on You

  “Dead Poets Society” inspired me to write this poem.

  c’mon, cry
  burst it all out
  no one believes in you?
  who cares!
  it’s your soul, your passion
  you only live once
  make the most of it
  
  write more, create more
  sit in silence more if you need to
  experience the world in your own little corner
  defy conformities, rule!
  
  rule your heart
  there’s a reason why you have it
  ideas! respect them!
  they are meant for you
  get to work!
  don’t let a day die on you
  
  make it worthy
  make it smile
  make it important
  make it hear you
  make it breathe with you
  make it walk alongside you
  make it true
  make it a day that only belongs to you
  
  now, hush
  because you are great
  it’s in there somewhere
  don’t be scared
  for your greatness begs to come out
  
  so let it out
  don’t cry anymore
  your day has come
  now
  
  your day is here
  now

  March 12, 2026

  Carpe Diem, Dead Poets Society, Inspiration from a Film, Poets, Seize the Day

  ---

• TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Nine

  TTC

  “Don’t you f***ing touch me, bro!”

  A man loses it and blasts out a startling parting word that perfectly defines all of us riding the bus.

  in the midst of intense silence
  with a breeze of politeness,
  the packed bus moves like
  a promising chariot about
  to win the race…
  
  eyes drop, catching up
  after the bustling feet and arms
  fighting to end the day
  as slaves like me long for
  while daydreaming…
  … daydreaming of a hot meal…
  being served at home…
  a home that will never be mine
  to ever own.
  
  it’s a retreat… even a treat…
  to have a seat and bask in
  a little sweet of rest.
  
  … all of a sudden…
  
  “Don’t you f***ing touch me, bro!”
  an angry man blasts,
  disturbing the silence,
  “Don’t you f***ing touch me!”
  
  a hostile exchange erupts between two men;
  the ‘angry and the ‘defensive’ whose
  suppressed voice chills off like a
  stubborn child without an ounce of fear…
  
  no one dares to turn their heads,
  no one dares to even take a breath,
  doom scrolling on phones,
  lots of fast doom scrolling,
  turning up headset volumes,
  squinting at nowhere,
  ruminating about whatnots,
  pretending that it’s all okay…
  while the field around me
  vibrates… though defiant
  and most of all, stoic…
  
  towards the end, the angry man proclaims,
  “You’re a f***ing slave, bro! You’re just a
  f***ing slave!”
  
  He then jumps off at the next stop with
  a parting word, “Slave!”
  
  A South Asian woman turns to her
  seat mate, with a contemptuous smirk.
  
  … and we’re back again…
  To the intense silence.
  With the breeze of politeness.
  Until the bus wins the race.
  For the rest of us…
  … to get home…
  wearing peaceful faces.

  March 10, 2026

  ---

• TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Eight

  TTc

  Not Forgotten

  This woman on a TTC subway train rambling on about the US President. And she does it in a polite way… just enough for me to hear. So Canadian.

  she slams bags full of junk
  down on a seat that’s been
  resting its respectful distance
  about twenty or so inches
  away from me,
  as she rambles on about
  the US President,
  cursing, mocking, praying,
  she must be well over in
  her sixties, Caucasian,
  wearing a brown bowler hat
  with an unrecognizable
  memento pinned on it,
  her nonchalant face
  is carved with lines of
  hidden stories…
  
  she keeps her head down a little
  as she mutters on,
  almost like making herself known
  as a low-profile somebody who
  once lived an exciting life.
  
  as soon as the subway train
  pulls up at TMU, she grabs
  her riches, tips her hat,
  and heaves a sigh…
  
  she gets off, scooting down
  the platform, head held high,
  so high…
  
  showing her face,
  ready to open her spirit,
  mysterious, defined, known
  to remind life that she
  must not be forgotten.
  
  I bet she wanders around
  just to remind life that she
  must not be forgotten.

  March 7, 2026

  Canadian Woman Rambling about the US President, Polite Canadian woman, Public Transit Toronto, Torontonians, TTC

  ---

• A Quiet Nudge

  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.

  March 5, 2026

  Alarm Clock, Divine Calling, God waking you up, Gratitude, Staying calm and grateful

  ---

• My Reaction: Has Will Smith been cancelled?

  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”
  
  
  
  

  March 4, 2026

  Free Verse Poetry, Will Smith

  ---

• Red Moon Impact

  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!
  
  

  
  
  
  

  March 3, 2026

  Blood Moon March 3 2026, Free Verse Poetry, Red Moon

  ---

• How are we doing?

  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?

  March 3, 2026

  Disconnected, Divine Understanding, Spiritual Journey, The Matrix, We’re All One

  ---

• Disappearance

  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

  February 28, 2026

  Lazy Days, Loss, Reflective Poetry, Self Discovery, Self Worth

  ---

• Reconnecting

  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.

  February 26, 2026

  Divine, Reconnecting, Rock Bottom, Soul Purpose, Time

  ---

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

  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.

  
  
  

  February 25, 2026

  KDrama, KPOP, SEAblings, South Korea

  ---

• TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Seven

  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.

  February 24, 2026

  Public Transit Toronto, Toronto Life, Toronto Rush Hour, TTC, Work Commute Toronto

  ---

• TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Six

  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?

  February 21, 2026

  Public Transit Toronto, Toronto Life, Toronto Rush Hour, Torontonians, TTC

  ---

• Why I Finally Decided to Start this Creative Journey at 47

  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 20, 2026

  Creativity, Existential Crisis, Livelihood, Middle Aged, Polymath

  ---

• February 18, 2026 Hot Sauce! – Netflix and Chill

  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.

  February 19, 2026

  Dating Life, Hookups, Netflix, Sex, Women’s Issues

  ---

• TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Five

  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.

  February 19, 2026

  Public Transit Toronto, Toronto Life, Toronto Rush Hour, Torontonians, TTC

  ---

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

  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.

  February 18, 2026

  2026 Olympics Women’s Hockey, Canada vs USA, Ice Hockey in Canada, The Feels, Why do Canadians love hockey?

  ---

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

  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.]

  ***
  
  

  February 18, 2026

  Breakthrough, Broken, Epiphany, Gen X Life, Immigrant Challenges, Life, Life Lessons, Wisdom

  ---

• TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Four

  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.

  February 17, 2026

  Public Transit Toronto, Toronto Rush Hour, Torontonians, TTC, Work Commute Toronto

  ---

• TTC Scenarios and Characters: Part Three

  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.
  

  February 14, 2026

  Public Transit Toronto, Toronto Life, Toronto Rush Hour, TTC, Work Commute Toronto

  ---

• They Thought I was Pregnant

  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.
  

  February 12, 2026

  Bad Energy leads to Illness, Healing, SIBO, Toxic People, What gives us diseases

  ---

• The White-Collar Who Trips Before Me

  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.

  February 10, 2026

  Immigrant Challenges, Low-Respect Job, Toxic Work Environment, White Collar Job, Work Scenario

  ---

• Forgetting and Remembering

  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.

  February 7, 2026

  Forgotten, Memory, Miracle, Odd, Remembering

  ---