Month: September 2025

I Know How I Will Die

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

Ramblings

I Know How I Will Die

This rambling was inspired by all the anti-immigrant sentiments I had heard and read. Ignorance simply astounds me. Sometimes a kind and understanding heart also reaches its limits.

Do not worry. For I know how I will die.

All these white foxes patrolling around my whereabouts, all these elite entities desperate to wipe me out, all these powerful books written by false prophets — will not kill me.

I laugh at hate, I mock the ignorant, I empathize with those whose morality is influenced by religions and governments that preach about ethnic, cultural, and societal cleansing.

Opinions that do not have the heart for the common good, whether heard or not, will always be challenged by time. How loud and stupid do they sound? How in hell do they have the soul to keep on fighting the most unhinged fight of all in the history of humankind? Does it have the power to last? Answer me! Answer me!

I, on the other hand, face the savages everyday to answer birdbrained questions just for a pass. When your moral principles are threatened, when life becomes vulnerable – all for toiling away on a foreign soil – all for existing – then let me ask you this – what kind of God does your country worship to?

You worry about my presence. You worry about how I integrate into your society. You worry about my hard work. You worry about how I live my life here. You worry about what I wear, how much I earn, how I speak, how I respond, and what I eat. You worry about nonsensical things that define being a citizen of the world.

So you go out there for outrageous protests. You spit in my face, make fun of how I look, shove me out! Or at times, hit a bullet right into my heart.

But do not worry. For I know how I will die.

My strength has already waned. The dreams you have proclaimed are nothing but lies. Now I have been working on mine.

Though I shall not last long anymore. I am ill. I am hopeless. I am almost useless.

So my brothers and sister, do not worry.

Now you know how I will die.

I Wonder How People Live There

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

I Wonder How People Live There

An encounter with a senior white lady inspired me to write this poem. I have encountered people like her in the past, but this one has become the tip of the iceberg.

“Living the dream?”

“I beg your pardon?”

And an unprecedented conversation ensued. My clock ticked on; sets of eyes watched. Lunch was getting cold up in the break room.Yet, here was dignity hoping to warm up.

“Oh, is that where you’re from? I wonder how people live there.” She must have been in her seventies, petite, blonde, pixie cut lady. Her wondrous green eyes ignited with curiosity; genuine, surprised. Never traveled. Not even half the country. Montreal was already a fulfilled vacay.

Beyond the Toronto skylines, beyond the diverse swarms; the fancy, the sports, the entertainment, the exhibitions, the suits, the coats, the blazers, the sneakers, the hoodies, the sweatpants, the briefcases, the purses, the backpacks, glitzes of both miseries and dreams — bustling around. The chariot of the west; life she has only known. Has she seen the horizon? What about the stars and the moon?

Something that should not have been a mystery. Not a wonder either. Let’s start with my family; they live a glorious life.

They’re busy caring for a vegetable garden. They raise chickens, feed stray cats and dogs, lounge in the vast front yard for snacks and coffee, go for walks around nature, bike, eat at malls during weekends —

My mother sings and watches her favourite noon-time show; a retired public school Teacher. My sister teaches kindergarten at her old Elementary school; fun yet handful. Her devotion has been immeasurable. My nine-year-old niece is in Fourth grade, a genius of her own right; her English vocabulary is way much better than mine when I was her age. She’s an artist. Her heart is seen in all her drawings and paintings. She’s beloved and well admired. They are the love of my life

“What about their home? What does it look like?”

“Happy, comfortable, loved. That’s what it feels like.”

“No, I know. But what does it look like? Is it the same as the houses here in Canada?”

“Not quite.”

“Well —? What is it then?”

I sighed. “They’re okay.”

She cackled, “I got it. Well, I have to go now. Have yourself a great day, darling. It was nice chatting with you.”

They own three houses, two of those stand in the same subdivision with strict security measures. Concrete, modern. The local carpenters had iron hands; sweet bungalow for my sister’s family, a two-storey house for everybody, including me — it has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a spacious living room, a nice kitchen. Outside is where the vegetable garden glamours with its rich beauty; the hen house is tucked away in the backyard.

The subdivision abounds with green and colourful sceneries of nature. It has its own park, a cafeteria, and a recreational centre. My contribution — not even a quarter of it all.

However, let me not forget our old house lurking in the city. Where tears, a little bit of drama, and a lot of laughter still linger around. Where my father took his last breath. Where I said a lot of goodbyes.

So yeah. That’s what their houses “look” like.

As for me? I’m renting a basement suite in Scarborough; my twenty-seventh “home” here in Canada in all my seventeen years of hopping around.

And at night — I dream. To be home. To feel home. To live, really live. Not to wonder and wander. To be loved, feel loved. That’s the greatest dream.

That’s the greatest dream of all.

Hush, My Sweet

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Hush, My Sweet

When death whispers; inspired by “moments” when I thought I was going to die… literally.

A little shiver, a little thrill, hush, my sweet, almost there.

Where have you been? Sunsets await where your old crib went to waste. The ones you’ve missed are coming down from there to welcome you in. The song they’re singing is something that you recognize from your innocence.

How’s your skin? It doesn’t glow under the sun. Yet, your soul blinds my eyes, I’m compelled to run.

Each time you breathe, I ache and cry. However, my sweet, the end shall survive.

I have witnessed it all; chasing, fighting, lifting, beatings. Hush, my sweet, you’re tired, I know, it’s time to go.

Shall we meet?

I’m sorry, the excruciating pain is not a part of the deal. I am a rebel; I cannot heal.

You’re all alone in your dim room. Shall I light a candle to ease your gloom?

Life is a choice. I am simply a voice.

Do you still dream of strength? Or would you rather measure the coffin’s length?

Hush, my sweet, do not rush. I shall come for you with a single touch.

Hush, my sweet, hush. All is well at last.

Never Be Too Smart

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Never Be Too Smart

If they know you’re smart, you’re a threat. Therefore, you cannot belong or get ready to be trampled down.

“Your hands are wrinkled up, defiled, almost giving up. What do you mean you know nothing? Is that how you define intelligence?”

Intelligence is just an understanding. Do you understand why birds have wings, cats and dogs have four legs? If you do, congratulations. If you don’t, reflect on the purpose of every creation. How’s the connection?

How my body decays in front of the world’s eyes is a special treat of wisdom; something extraordinary. My own wisdom. And I am never sorry.

There’s massive wealth wallowing inside of me. The only wealth that I can bring to my grave. If God asks, “Which wealth amongst here that you’re most proud of?”

Resilience. The power of forgiveness. The beauty of tears and pain.

I am here not because of intelligence. I am here because I know nothing. I am here to get my hands wrinkled up, defiled — for my body to be decayed. I am here for the massive wealth to grow inside of me.

Well, it has been overflowing now. I am ready to give up. I am ready to go home. To share my wealth with my family who’s a lot wealthier than me. For they’ve always understood why birds have wings, why cats and dogs have four legs. While a body decay is never a rule of their sun.

Their wealth is simple; never be too smart.

Never be too smart.

The best wisdom.


Yell More! Yell More!

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Yell More! Yell More!

This prose was snagged out of the abuse I had experienced at work that I was on the verge of unaliving myself.

Thump! “Our Father, who art in heaven, please teach my heart to forgive—“

“How much do you love yourself?” I still hear them, like a pack of wolves howling; warning me days and nights.

“I told you to grab the bucket!”

“Don’t screw this up. This shift is going to go nuts! Pay damned attention! Pay attention!”

“Goddammit, do not say a word when I’m talking to you! You have no right to explain!”

“Oh, you think you’re smarter than me? You think you’re smarter than me?”

“You’re ugly! You’re goddamned ugly!”

“Come here! Come here! Get that shit done! Get it done now!”

I would then get on my bus, saying hello and thank you to the driver who was too tired to respond.

I would sit and seek comfort in music. As I would feel the emotions of life whistling by the window. Most of them wanted to shout. Others prayed in silence. Some laughed it all out. And I would hear every thump of pain, power, hubris. While I would plot my own death.

One winter night; extraordinary, holy.

I got off at my stop. The plan stayed fresh. I grabbed pizza first. I shared a little blessing with a homeless. And I walked on, as I wondered about the unknown.

“God, would you ever accept me? ‘Cause I’m ready.”

I heard them. The terrifying echoes followed me around all the way to my empty apartment.

I sat down to enjoy the pizza. I relived my mystical childhood. I relived happy suppers back home. I relived enchanting adventures into the woods. I relived my heydays with fun peers in Manila. I relived a life when I meant the world to them. I relived the applause and cheers. I relived pieces of who I was. I relived it all. One last time.

As I laid down to question God, He said, “If fear were a voice, what would it sound like?”

I laughed, “Yell more! Yell more!”

“Again, how much do you love yourself?” He asked.

“Yell more! Yell more!” I insisted.

“My child, your heart thumps beautifully. That’s what compels them to yell more!”

I was weak. Because I would still acknowledge the bus driver despite the killing thumps. I would still share my blessings. I learned to appreciate the little joys of the past. I devoured my pizza. I found meaning in all the thumps. That’s what my weaknesses are for. They’re special after all. Oh, I was weak. As weak as a baby’s heart.

As weak as a baby’s heart!

“Ssshhh, quiet down now. Silence. Silence. Silence.”

Yell more! Yell more! I’m not afraid anymore.

But. For what it’s worth, forgiven. Though I will still keep on hearing them all the way down into my grave.

Yell more.
Yell more.

A baby’s heart must stay pure and innocent. In silence.

Yell more.
Yell more.

But.

“I love you.” Thump!

Thump.

“Our Father, who art in heaven —“

Oh, Trust Me. I Do Not Envy You At All.

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Oh, Trust Me. I Do Not Envy You At All.

She refuses to work. She’s not rich. She’s just married. There’s no luxury in comfort and dependency.

An authority asks, “Why don’t you want to work?”

You reply, “Because he wants me to run the household.” Yet, your pride laughs, “Man, I’ve already had it with life, alright? This is a gift from the universe. I’ve manifested this. So do not get involved. Got it?”

The authority asks again, “Don’t you want your independence? Having your own power. Making your own money. Living?”

You reply, “I’m a housewife. That’s it.” Yet, your pride celebrates, “He’s my provider. I don’t need to suffer. Not anymore. Not again. I’m here. I’m living the dream. This is my dream.”

The authority rises, “Okay, then, go live. Keep living the dream.”

Then you tell me, “All we ever want is a peace of mind. To survive in this hell hole. I’ve found my peace. This is my peace. My freedom. My choices. So I don’t understand you venting out to me about what you’re going through. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for you.”

What I’m going through;

I go into war, without a tangible purpose. I fight without a spirit of rebellion. I wear a uniform with a flag of courage. I listen to cries with music soothing through my ears. My death squad lurks in all corners. My spirit guides keep sharpening my sword. My skin gets thicker, numbing me down. My words twist around, silencing my thoughts whenever I’m found. My heart expands, so I can love myself fully. My strength peaks, nothing feels heavy.

Nothing fears me anymore. Nothing shocks me furthermore. For it’s all just the same; same war, same fight, same uniform, same cries, same death squad, same spirit guides.

Though I’ve noticed changes; my skin, my words, my heart, my strength. Yes, I’m alone, yet, my company keeps on growing. As I venture on my own.

The company that births itself inside of me. The company that teaches me how peace should be.

So if you were to brag about your life to my face, why don’t you go and sip the real tea. Because trust me, I do not envy you at all.

I do not envy you at all.

So with that said, I shall say, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for you. Now, tell me, what would you do?

Don’t Mind Me, I’m Already Dead

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Don’t Mind Me, I’m Already Dead

Moving to a foreign country transforms you in the most remarkable ways. You become invincible. If my father were alive, what would he think of me leaving home?

I left home to study in the grandest prestigious school. The greatest dream that only my ego desired.

My father kissed God’s feet and pleaded, “Take care of her for me.”

God replied, “Do not worry, she will pass the test.”

My mother, on the other hand, kept on singing lullabies. “For you, my eldest, never forget to rest.”

I lived through characters from mysterious books I read. I ignited my curiosity. To survive a test. To listen on to the lullabies humming from afar.

God warned, “If you believe you’re all alone, you will die.”

Gangs of the privilege stabbed my soul until it took its last breath. Even my own people burned my heart down to ashes.

I would then ask God, “Am I dead yet?”

He replied, “Well, what do you believe?”

I said, “I’m all alone, but I must solve this mystery on my own.”

God whispered, “My child, there is no mystery. The school is just a puzzle. Your own puzzle.”

With enemies you met along the way. With strangers who would steal your spirit away. With friends who would mock you behind your back. With lovers who would leave once you lacked.

Labor was not your hero, it was your teacher. Pain was not a lesson, it was an answer.

The moment you left home was the exact moment when real joy died.

To pass the test, keep in mind, “The puzzle is the grandest prestigious school. You don’t study there. It’s an experience. For you not to learn. But to understand tears and laughter. To appreciate both life and death.”

From then on, I would light candles every night. My father kissed my feet and said, “You passed. It’s over.” My mother sang her sweet lullabies, “My eldest, say goodnight now.”

During daylight, the wind would help me breathe.

The gangs of privilege would still stab me to death. My own people would still burn my heart down to ashes.

And I would simply remind them each time, “Don’t mind me, I’m already dead.”

I caressed the puzzle and broke it in front of them.

I passed.
I solved it myself.
And I won.

Though I knew
I was not alone.

When My Beloved Trolley Broke

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

When My Beloved Trolley Broke

The truth about humanity hurts. And I felt it on one fateful day.

A piece of truth about life surprised me one day. A blissful heart would always, always offer a hand. To lighten a stranger’s load. Anytime, anywhere. Getting on and off transit. With or without a smile thereafter. No ‘thank you’ needed.

A good deed purifies a soul after all. It’s God’s law. It makes a spirit grow. I can only thank the faith that keeps me awake every morning. A little mission is accomplished. My spirit is accomplished. The greatest good. Understood.

I bought a cheap trolley soon after I landed. Weak wheels, grappling with plastic castors. Yet, it walked with me once a week, carrying a load of blessings, as we both quietly sang tunes about a dream life of being home.

Then, as soon as we would get to our enduring shelter, I would thank its strength, as I would feast. I would let it rest and dream for days to come. Until it was time to carry my blessings again. It was always happy to serve its master. Though, at times, it would stop breathing. And I would sing to it until its heart would start beating again. And off we went.

Same routine, same tunes, same dream, same reveries, it held on to its power, it vowed not to surrender, though I knew deep down inside of me, it would break. It would die. Its time would end. I just didn’t know when and how. Or where?

Off we found a new home. Not an enduring shelter this time. A home of comfort and kindness. We were happy and excited. It was eager to carry more loads of my blessings. It couldn’t wait. “Let’s go!” it cried.

It was our first run. Yet, it was also the first time when we had to get on and off transit together. Where our songs were shunned.

The overflowing blessings; we were singing down the aisles. Thanking God, thanking the sky. Though fear stopped us in our tracks along the way. With its heavy load, I struggled to get onto transit. As my heart pretended to sing to make us both feel better, though my tears hid behind a prayer, “Will we make it home together?”

And as we had to get off our first stop, a strong young man stood in the way, as I battled through to safety. Instantaneously, I heard its last breath. I scuffled away to grieve, while the overflowing blessings were in stunned silence. I crossed the street, dragging our memories along. As the crowd watched with utmost fascination. No one offered a hand.

The breeze was cold. Truth was cold. Humanity was cold.

Yet, I got home. With the overflowing blessings stuffed inside; soul lingering.

I sang to it one last time; goodbye, goodbye. Whispering goodbye to it. My beloved trolley; carrying a piece of truth about life that surprised me one day.

The greatest good. That only my beloved trolley understood. Though its mission was kept short, yet accomplished.

I Know Where It Will All End

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

I Know Where It Will All End

I wrote this poem as soon as I landed back in Toronto (y. 2022). This was dedicated to my niece, Sage.

Hopping from one place to another, searching for something… or them. Searching for my heart, and a dream.

Slaving away to survive. Well, that’s just life. Forgetting the stars and the moon, as they collide to save a dime.

Where’s the heart? Where’s the dream? Where’s something? Where to find them? Where’s home? I’m still searching. Still searching all alone.

Many years have passed, I still don’t know where to last. Does God see me? Does God light up the way? Tell me, where are they? Is this destiny?

One kissed me goodbye at two. The man whispered a little truth before he flew. The wise betrayed my trust in heaven’s laws. The survived breaths must hold on no matter where I go.

So I would hop from one place to another, searching for something… or them. Searching for my heart and maybe a dream.

When, once upon a time, home was the only dream that ever came true. Now I’ve realized where and how it will end without you.

This poem is dedicated to my niece who’s living her best life at home in the Philippines.

Right There on Earth

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Right There on Earth

This poem was inspired by the “ICE” horror.

That special smirk you’ve shot at me; a riddle of your pale soul. Save your trembling mouth. I’ve already heard it before.

Oh, I refuse to give in. For my spirit is sacred. Rage all you want. God is listening.

You don’t know my story. I don’t know yours either. Though judgment day heralds your defeat time and time again.

Have you seen the vast sky? The constellation that celebrates; a new star is born once in a while. Heaven knows it is fated.

You march to drive me away, with your men and tanks. Run me over. This story is as old as time.

Yet, your efforts only go to waste after you see me dead. Now you can’t sleep at night. And I’m up there riding an angel’s sled.

To deliver some news about my birth. At home. Right here on earth.

I was home. Right there on earth.



I’ve got a strange name

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

lyrics

I’ve Got a Strange Name

As a Filipino, my real name sounds both American and Spanish, and it feels strange to me sometimes. This was written as a song; these are the lyrics.

I’ve got a strange name, it doesn’t know it’s real. Only the ones who hear it, can tell me to heal.

I’ve got a strange name, it’s loud and proud. But the ones who hear it ask me what it’s all about.

I know its story. I feel its pain. I listen to its cries. Nothing is sane.

It promises a heart to understand who I am. Though I don’t know how to start as my soul spins around, looking for something to be found in a world where my strange name doesn’t have the same sound.

I’ve got a strange name, it’s worn out and dying. Those who have heard it still can’t stop judging.

I’ve got a strange name carved from my home’s history. But the ones who have heard it would laugh at its identity.

It’s just a name. Is this how life begins? My mama says it’s safe ’cause humans are all born to slave. In a world where everyone’s name doesn’t need to sound the same.

Strange.

Sitting Pretty

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

lyrics

Sitting Pretty

This was written as a full song; a tribute to myself for being bullied by people from my own home country.

I’ve found myself in a strange land. I’ve met my neighbors, it should be fun. They sing the same songs, I can’t sing along. Now I’m a joke, I can never belong.

I sit in silence sometimes. I greet the birds along the way. I smile at the sky, just to say hi. Only the wind can hear me. I know I can fly.

Their minds swirl and roll. Their shadows are out of control. I’m okay, I’m okay. I see myself sitting pretty. I’m okay, I’m okay. There I am just sitting pretty. I’m just sitting pretty.

They feast on a dessert in the morning. They laugh over my boring meals. I hear them loud and clear everyday. Though I’m far away, I catch their squeals.

Then a home storm thunders down on them. Now they’re praying, ready to condemn ’cause…

I sit in noise sometimes. I greet the ravens along the way. I smile at the night sky, just to say hi. Only the sirens can hear me. And yet, I still dream to fly.

Then they say, look at her, she’s sitting pretty.


If your star runs away, come back and feel the earth

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

If your star runs away, come back and feel the earth

I wrote this poem as an ode to my old profession. I was once a teacher before I immigrated to Canada.

A commanding voice echoed through the learned hallways. Eager hands raised; squeals of knowing, nature fell silent. They sang about their future. They rang the bell. Fragile bodies moved inch by inch. Until they reached the grand gate. They bowed to the masters. They smiled at the commanding voice. And they orbited away. To catch their own stars. While their ears summoned the commanding voice each time the sun awakened them.

“What’s the answer?” “When will it work?” “Where am I heading?”

“Listen to your own voice,” the wind replied. “If your star runs away, come back and feel the earth.”

Meanwhile, the commanding voice flew far away to catch an alluring star. For a thousand nights, he carved on in the dark; to laugh, to cry, to feel alive. Once the sunrise crept in, the world confronted him. Judgment struck its sword! His bones creaked, his blood ran dry, his skin was scarred. Wounds covered his charm. And his voice, oh, his once commanding voice!

At rest. Resting in a dream. Reclaimed in sleep. Heard during a revisit. He met seasons, dragging his feet to touch them, one by one.

He addressed the alluring star, “You lied!” As tears kissed the soil.

“So what’s the answer? When will it work? Where am I heading?”

The wind breezed by, caressing his forehead.  Nature fell silent.

“Bring back your commanding voice,” he whispered.

“Bring back your commanding voice,” he cried.

The learned hallways echoed back, “You already had your own star before the alluring one. The alluring one was nothing but an illusion. But if you feel that it has run away, then come back and feel the earth.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“Where the commanding voice came from.”

“When will it work?”

“As soon as you accept the truth.”

“Where am I heading?”

“Where the journey began.”

And he stood up, head held high, carrying a suitcase of life. He felt the earth one last time. As his commanding voice echoed through the void. It knew. It had always known. It was his star.

It is, and will always be… his own star! But it’s too late now. Or is it?

“Please don’t run away. We’re ready to listen.” The void whispered.

Judas Heart

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

Humanity

Judas Heart

Inspired by the evil eyes who have harmed my name despite all the kindness and sincerity I have given.

They lift my veil to look into my eyes, measure my heart, weigh my mind. It blinds them away, yet they can’t resist. They still follow along to witness…my time.

What do they wonder about? They march into the woods just to shout!  Out my name. Ah, I’m the centre of the game.

All the good, forget about it. I give them half of my bread. I let them drink from my cup, though I know pretty soon, I shall be dead. I shall be dead. Then I tear them apart. I must tear them apart. Oh, Judas heart.

They look up at me with flaming eyes, to crush my soul, stagger my mind. It blows them away, yet they still stay. They linger on to laugh at my story. It’s great comedy.

Before I take my last breath, they hear the thunders calling out their names. Oh, they’re full of shame. But hell, they remember. Enough of wondering now.

All the good; the vulture ate it away. I still gave them half of my bread. I still let them drink from my cup. Here I am inside a tomb, dreaming on, flying on, tearing them apart. Tearing them apart. Judas heart.

We’ve all got a Judas heart!