Tag: Oppression

• The Uncanny Insect

  personal

  The Uncanny Insect

  This uncanny insect revealed itself in my room one night, so I wrote about our encounter out of fascination. But then… something else came about… a metaphorical nuisance about “me” and “the others”.

  an uncanny insect crawls its way
  towards my winter jacket,
  its identity unknown
  it’s as wide as a roach
  it must have a hundred legs
  hairy, beige, bold
  it’s on a mission
  
  my clever peripheral vision
  catches it like the sharp eye of a wild owl
  I bounce out of the bed,
  grab my black bedroom slipper
  then —
  “God, forgive me, but I must kill it!
  I’ve never seen such a creature before!
  It’s alien to me!”
  God replies, “It could be me in disguise.”
  “But… no… it can’t be… it can’t be!” I cry.
  
  and just as the unknown insect
  is about to invade my winter jacket
  I hammer it down with my
  black bedroom slipper.
  it sticks to the wall for a bit,
  then falls to its death.
  
  I stand there in stunned silence,
  panting, thinking of how I must
  punish myself for doing the
  unprecedented deed.
  
  I hear God’s laughter
  gnarling into my ears.
  “I have sinned, haven’t I?” I mutter.
  “You all sin all the time,” God says.
  “What’s to worry about?”
  
  but I can justify it, truly, immensely.
  out of extreme fear.
  “That foreign creature could have bitten and
  poisoned me once I put my winter jacket on!”
  
  but then again —
  
  oh, well. life goes on.
  I plunge back in bed
  and pretend like it
  has never happened.
  
  and as I’m about to shut my eyes to sleep,
  another one crawls its way towards my
  winter jacket.
  same uncanny insect; identity unknown,
  alien, foreign creature.
  
  I lay still and smirk at it
  “Where have you all been hiding?”
  Damn.
  And by the way, how can I ever get rid of
  you all?

  December 25, 2025

  Immigrant Challenges, Immigrant Story, Life, Life Lessons, Oppression

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• Still Sacred?

  personal

  Still Sacred?

  Let me tell you how much tears I poured when “truths” confronted me without mercy. But I had to release parts of it all somehow.

  everyone’s childhood carries the deepest
  wounds that can’t be healed by time
  no matter what;
  
  my paternal aunt whispered a vile truth
  about me not being my father’s daughter,
  my paternal grandmother’s wrath slammed
  a bucket full of water around my mother,
  my school bullies locked me up inside a
  classroom and I was rescued by my sister,
  my one and only friend who genuinely loved
  me was beaten to death by her father,
  
  I ran away from family hurt and met
  humanity in the wild heart centre,
  I was mocked and humiliated by popular girls
  for my looks and I stood taller,
  I won awards for a play I wrote in high school
  and were not honoured by my mother,
  I tortured my wrists more than twenty times
  believing I was not loved by my father,
  
  I sat beside a coffin in the Hearst at the
  funeral of my little brother.
  
  there is more yet I still felt the warmth
  and love outweighing the unforgettable cut.

  December 20, 2025

  Childhood, Life, Life Lessons, Oppression, Wisdom

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• Blinded

  humanity

  Blinded

  It was one of those “mindless” days again when I was compelled to write about bits of the world at face value.

  they insist that we see the world as we are
  like fragile mirrors that can break apart;
  
  all spiritual gurus copy and paste ancient
  knowledge and hype them up to gain wealth,
  fake Philosophers present ideas to bend
  societies and steal the world’s last breath,
  energy games are true but who has the time
  to play when we all work to keep our health,
  there is always a loon out there who torments
  humanity and calls himself Macbeth,
  
  news and Social Media sell emotions
  crushing our hearts and souls deep down to
  the filth,
  ugly people get contaminated by poisonous
  ideologies like meth,
  idiots catapult idiots to power to strip their
  rights off and betray them in stealth,
  religions and politics hurt humans the most
  and blood continues to paint the earth,
  
  humans love and hate AI as technology
  madness loses connection and depth.
  
  I’ve been broken since I was born and
  what may kill me is living for authentic art.

  December 18, 2025

  Life, Life Lessons, Oppression, Society, Wisdom

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• Life Made Itself Known in My Childhood

  personal

  Life Made Itself Known in My Childhood

  I thought I had to confront some truths about my life; some tragedies and comedies.

  I truly believe that my childhood was the
  greatest mystical adventure ever;
  
  I witnessed my mother collapsing with my
  little brother’s dead body in her arms,
  I sat by the waterfalls to wait for angels so
  they could give me happiness charms,
  I ventured into the wild woods without a
  purpose but to listen to heaven’s alarms,
  I hid away in the middle of the night from
  raging hymns and explosions of harms,
  
  I was kicked out of the house with my sister
  to wait for a city bus on the farms,
  I escaped into the wonder of imagination
  to be killed by human swarms,
  I felt my father’s heartbreaking burdens as
  he raised us while surrendering to psalms,
  I skipped school and pretended to be the
  monster master of the most disturbing yarms,
  
  I was assaulted by a classmate’s brother in
  a rice warehouse with his bottled barms.
  
  all the secret tragedies and unimaginable
  comedies gave me power.

  December 16, 2025

  Childhood, Life, Life Lessons, Oppression, Wisdom

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• The Two Raging Men

  dreams

  The Two Raging Men

  This bizarre dream; I kind of get it somehow. What has God been trying to tell me anyway?

  two raging men brawling
  in the middle of my old street
  one unknown man
  another familiar with a damaged face
  regardless of the intensity
  and collapsing of characters
  the neighbourhood retreats
  into their quiet homes
  until the scene is empty
  in a broad daylight that feels
  no empathy, no pain
  the two raging men become
  stars of their own destiny
  
  a truck drives by in slow motion
  so as not to disturb the brawl
  and make an unnecessary commotion
  the unknown man climbs up onto
  the back of the truck
  the familiar with a damaged face
  drags himself along with every ounce
  of strength he has
  
  a distraction appears from out of nowhere
  it is my fearful soul running away
  from whatever it is cannot be determined
  but all I know is I am being chased
  while the madness still roars and bleeds
  from behind me
  as the two raging men muster their
  muscles and veins
  the truck screeches, roaring and howling
  like wolves at night
  if someone catches me I’m dead without
  rights
  
  I don’t know which one of the raging men is
  after me
  but I must scurry on and forget about how I
  get there
  I stumble into a bamboo gate along the way
  all of a sudden, I am at the dead end, it’s over
  
  So, I look back to face the two raging men;
  one unknown, one familiar with a damaged face,
  the truck laughs and cries at once, “Who are
  you running away from?”
  the two raging men are gone
  the brawl and all the eccentric acts;
  the broad daylight says it is all just made up.
  what’s happening to me is all a blur
  though, I have been hurt badly
  that’s for sure.
  
  the quiet neighbourhood’s heart whispers
  they believe my truth, and it’s driving them
  insane
  but to keep the norms and the mundane
  they must retreat and never see me again.

  December 6, 2025

  Dream, Immigrant Story, Life, Life Lessons, Oppression

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• Bust!

  politics

  Bust!

  t’s not hate, it’s ultimate rage! Politics is a clown — a ghoulish-faced numbskull!

  Tongues locked; keys destroyed
  Sin handcuffed; history cursed
  Pens imprisoned; weapons burned
  Faith killed; world’s blood poured

  Men’s rules; wild white
  Anarchy or isolation?
  The right; evil is born
  The irony of it all
  Humanity mourns
  
  Is murdered by a playbook
  ending in defeat.
  Marked across all continents.
  When will they ever learn?
  Crushed power, retrieved riches
  Exiled authorities, vanished by time
  Vomited out by survivors
  and compassion without a dime.
  
  Politics is a clown
  a ghoulish-faced numbskull
  Gold and thrones; stolen
  Fools! Hand the world over
  It’s all they want.
  Huh! Huh! Huh!
  All yours, twats!
  All yours! All yours!
  I’m out of this swamp
  long before dawn
  Harp sounds sharp
  
  Ordered to fear through guises
  Believers; narrow minds
  Never seen their own backyards
  Never heard a lion’s growl
  calling out their names.
  Fighters; vulnerable souls
  Felt hearts, understood the scrolls
  Tired of losing the rose and controls
  Down on grounds and all over floors!
  
  I told you so!
  Huh! Huh! Huh!
  
  Keys destroyed.
  History cursed.
  Weapons burned.
  World’s blood poured.
  
  Never ending, a new time
  arises again and again.
  New faces, same devils
  play the darkest game.
  Outwitting the last,
  amplifying the old blueprints,
  dumbing down and threatening
  citizens.
  
  Of the world that must
  care of their own territories.
  Now facing harsh realities.
  Obliterate names from statistics.
  
  Or–
  
  Sacrifice; create keys.
  Write in war zones; create history.
  Sing to drown out bombs; create weapons.
  Shield each other; create a world of our
  own.

  October 28, 2025

  Immigrant Story, Life Lessons, Oppression, Rotten Politics, White

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• I Know How I Will Die

  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.

  September 30, 2025

  Death, Immigrant Challenges, Immigrant Life, Oppression, Racism

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• Hush, My Sweet

  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.
  
  

  September 25, 2025

  Death, Depression, Illness, Immigrant, Oppression

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• Yell More! Yell More!

  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 —“
  
  

  September 20, 2025

  Immigrant Story, Life, Life Lessons, Oppression, Wisdom

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