Myth (part 2)

My mother was born in a different part of the Philippines from my dad. She had more myths to talk to me about.

She said there was a half-man, half-horse (I’m guessing it’s like a Greek centaur) that scared people. Our new dog reminded her of that creature and justified that that was why other dogs were scared of her and barked at her like she was an evil presence.

She said that when people die, their soul remains in our world for nine days. Why? I don’t know. My mom wasn’t the type to be scared of ghosts–she loves horror–so when she sounded scared when she talked about it the day her grandmother died, I have to admit, I freaked out a bit.

Continue reading


Myth (part 1)


My parents came from the Philippines. They raised my sister and me in the United States and judged it would be better to allow us to focus our language-learning skills on English. They didn’t teach me much about my culture, and I wouldn’t understand when people asked me about the Philippines, the culture, the food–I couldn’t even point where the Philippines was in my geography class in fourth grade.

That being said, my parents didn’t teach me about their childhood stories or anything like that. My sister and I grew up learning Mexican myths, Greek mythology, and other mythologies–but we didn’t know anything from the Philippines.

In seventh grade, my English teacher from Pennsylvania asked to describe a myth–from anywhere. She said it could be Greek, American, Mexican, French–anything. She was extremely interested in the stories she would hear from us. We were given the weekend.

I asked my dad about a story he told my sister and me long ago. It was about a bird whose poop could turn people into stone. He didn’t teach us fully about it, but I always thought it was an interesting story.

He said it was the story of the Ibong Adarna.

Ibong, I eventually learned, meant bird. As for Adarna, my dad said it was just a name and that there was no translation.

It turns out, my dad didn’t know much about the story either. I read the story from Wikipedia out loud to my dad, and he was surprised at some parts because he couldn’t remember them.

Long story short, it was about three princes (or at least, that’s what I remember since reading it in seventh grade) going after the legendary bird. Why–I can’t remember. If you’re interested, you can look at the link. Remember, human memory is flawed in some way always. On the first two princes, the bird pooped on them, and they turned into stone. The third one achieved his goal of getting what he needed from the bird. Then there was something about a talisman and marrying girls and moving mountains and maybe a well? I don’t know. It’s pretty foggy in my mind.

Dearest mourner

November 22, 2016


Dearest mourner,

┬áIt hurts. I know. It feels like the entire world should be mourning with you. It feels like anyone’s happiness is a personal insults.

You feel weak because you cry, because you think of them at random times, because you miss them.

It becomes hard to say, “Good morning” when you’re mourning since your world has collapsed.

Your system is gone.

Continue reading


There are some days when you feel filthy. And on those days, you wonder what you did that make you feel so filthy.

You wonder why and try to remember back, way back to the morning as you wash your plates from dinner.

And as you realize what it is, you drop the plate in your hands, and it slides safely onto another plate but with a big CLANG! that echoes in the room but not in your mind as flashbacks of what happened run through your mind.

(little note)

So, this wasn’t really a good post, but that’s what’s on my mind right now. To tell you the truth, I do feel filthy – but not because I did something bad but because of what happened the day before that made me cry two days before today, yesterday, and today. Hopefully I’ll get over it soon.


A deal set for years

In a castle long ago.

A princess waiting

For her promised flaming love,

A handsome, dashing young prince.

For years he waited.

The day had finally come

To meet the princess,

A beautiful, lovely girl

With a fortune to save him.

When he had arrived,

She ran down the steps with love,

A fire in her heart,

To embrace her new husband.

He gave her a golden ring.

The two, now wed, laid

In bed, a fire between them.

Since their love was fire,

The new queen did not notice

Her king locking the door shut.

Because love is fire,

The lovestruck did not notice

The fire in her room.

Burning love muted it all.

The queen’s mind was far away.

Because fire is love,

The thief did not regret it,

But he cried anyway

Because he truly loved her

But loved money even more.


The sound of shattering glass. The sound of tears hitting the floor. The sound of fists meeting faces, of swords meeting flesh. The sound of wrath in all its power and glory is a loud, disharmonious sound that I can never forget.

Because wrath can end peace. Because wrath can start fights. Wrath can end friendships. Wrath can start enmity. Wrath can end love. Wrath can start hate. Can end life. Can start wars. End happiness. Start disunity.

Because wrath is fearful, scary, and unavoidable.