An Evil Prince and a Pixie

Theirs is a love story that wasn’t meant to be.

He is an evil prince who’s cursed to roam the Earth for eternity, perpetually unsatisfied with any type of happiness that love brings. She is a pixie, a minuscule of his size; tasked to bring about happiness to every soul while she absorbs all of their sadness and despair.

Until something or someone comes along… What that something is or who that someone is, no one knows. It’s something that wasn’t written anywhere or prophesied by anyone.

One afternoon, the evil prince went for a walk. Upon reaching the forest, it suddenly rained. He just stood there, getting drenched. It suddenly occurred to him that he gets kinder when it rains. He can’t explain why, it’s just the way it is.

Now it so happened that the pixie was nearby. She saw the evil prince in the middle of the forest just standing there, getting drenched. She thought about how lonely the evil prince looked. She thought about how one creature could endure such sadness and discontent. For she can feel what others feel. Full with curiosity, she carefully approached the evil prince ready to sprinkle her pixie dust of happiness.

“Don’t even think about it!”, the evil prince snapped.

The pixie let out a squeal. She didn’t know that she’ll be visible to the naked eye.

“I know what you are. It will not work.”, the evil prince continued.

“How can you see me? How do you know me? Who are you?!”, the pixie don’t know where to begin.

The evil prince looked at the tiny being, amused. It looked like it’s trying to talk but all he can hear are soft tinkling sounds. It reminded him of tiny little bells hanging by the window, blown by the wind.

The pixie repeated her questions for the evil prince appears to be frozen, until a tiny smile formed at the corner of his lips. Is that a look of amusement she sees? The evil prince was now looking at her closely, squinting his sharp, black eyes, still smiling.

“Are you trying to talk to me?”, he asked. “I can’t understand you if you are…”, he continued.

The pixie stopped talking. This is the first time she’s hearing that she cannot be understood by a human. But then again, this is also the first time that a human has spotted her and know what she is.

“My mother told me stories about your kind. How you sprinkle happiness into the world and just absorb all of the sadness. But she didn’t tell me that I can see you. From her stories, I always assumed that you are… well.. invisible,” the evil prince told her.

The pixie was afloat in the air, wings flapping hurriedly. Her wide blinking eyes showed him that she can understand every word he’s saying.

“It’s quite unfair, isn’t it? You can understand me but I can’t understand you. You have the ability to absorb loneliness, except for mine. For I have no capacity for happiness,” the evil prince said, looking sadder than normal. He reached out his hand. The pixie felt his soft fingers, his palms enveloping her wings and her whole body.

So this is how it feels like, being held by a human. I know that he’s full of sadness but why do I feel happiness?”, the pixie thought. She did not even bother to say it out loud, for fear that he might suddenly understand her. Smiling, she closed her eyes and just lay there in his warm, soft hands, feeling happiness for the first time in a long, long time. Those years and years of absorbing all of the sadness and despair in the world has made her nearly forget.

All of a sudden, she felt his grip tighten. She looked up at his sharp, black eyes still looking at her, but his smile is no more. She saw his jaw clenched as he tighten his grip once more. The pixie is now turning blue, she cannot breathe under his coarse, cruel hands. By the looks of him, he doesn’t plan to stop until she stops breathing.

“So this is how it feels like, being held by a human….”, this was the pixie’s last thought before she let go of her last breath. As she sighed, a chockful of pixie dust emanated from her and hit the evil prince straight in the face.

Surprised, the evil prince coughed and blinked. For a brief moment, he felt what he thought was happiness… but how can he be sure? He’s never felt happiness before…

He looked down at the pixie, her wide, blank eyes, staring into his. Her once luminescent skin is now an ugly shade of blue, and it appears to be crumbling, too. With a look of disgust, he flung the pixie out of his palm, and closed his eyes. He heard a small thud when her frail, dead body hit the ground. He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky.

It has stopped raining.

Cubic Conversations

One stick of wagyu came up

Four tiny pieces for three bucks

Can I have one, you ask

I say,  you can have two

For wagyu is best when shared with you 

Cheesiness interrupted

Talked turned serious

Where this certain piece of meat

Came from and bred

For wagyu is not your typical red 

What’s the fuss?

Why pay too much?

These little fatty cubes

In your mouth they melt

For wagyu is not just tasted, it is felt

Our last remaining cubes

In our tongues, roll

Before we chew

Before we swallow

For wagyu is 

Heart to Heart

Lying in bed on our side

Our eyes locked

My hand in yours

And your heart in mine


Midnight conversations

Our rendezvous as of late


Pure and uninhibited


You told me

For the first time, probably

What you really want

Out of life


And right here

In this moment

My life is no longer

Mine and mine alone.

The Gentlemen Extinction

The days of damsel in distress is long gone. Girls today now pride themselves as independent beings who don’t need a man in their lives to feel complete. Years of fighting for “equality” has molded us into these self-functioning creatures who think and can actually rule the world. Of course there are still those who revel in being damsels, preferring to be always helped and saved by a man than to lift their dainty fingers and exert even the smallest of efforts.

But we, the general women population, isn’t about to let these forever damsels cloud over our shine. I have observed one downside to the Girl Power thinking, however. It is what I call The Gentleman Extinction.

It happened thrice last week: a guy who let me pass through the lobby first on our way to the restrooms complete with the “you first” hand gesture; a guy who instinctively reached out to open the door when he saw me approaching even before I reached out for it; and a guy who deliberately held the door open for me after I badge in.

All through this, I was fighting the urge to tell them “No, you first” or “Sorry!” or “It’s OK, I can manage” than just giving them the “Thank you!” that they deserve.

My subconscious was so busy asserting my independence as a woman that I forgot to let them be the gentlemen that they are. We often think that these type of men are a dying breed but could we, the independent women of the world, have contributed to this extinction?

With all the gender equality movement happening around us, it is so easy to overlook or even to fully misinterpret their core message. Getting help from a man does not make a woman weak. Being a feminist does not mean you are a man hater. Oftentimes, men are vilified by these extreme “feminist” conversations. If so, how are we, the women of the now, any different from those other men who oppressed women from centuries past?

The Romanticism of A Love That Was Lost

I would like to start this article by throwing caution at the wind and saying that of all topics of conversation, it is about LOVE that trumps everything else.

And when we talk about love, it’s almost always either of these three: the First, the Great, and The One That Got Away.

The First is always a reminder of our fresh brush at love. Everything’s sweet, everything feels right, but not even this innocent feeling can help us overcome the obstacles of our adulthood. And so, we part.

The Great is always a reminder of how powerful of a feeling love really is. Where The First is all about the highs, The Great has the lows, too. A sort of conflict is involved and this, along with the euphoric feeling of passionately loving and being passionately loved in return, contributes to its flair.. its drama. Overtime, the drama gets too much of the love that we decide to just let go. And so, we part.

The One That Got Way is always a reminder of how capable we are to love but equally incapable to fight for it and commit to it. If you look back, there really is nothing wrong about the relationship. At least, nothing wrong that we can’t really fix. But why did we let go? Why did we part? Because our internal conflict was too much at that time that it ate up whatever fight we have to continue loving. And so, we part.

But why then do we tend to look back at our could haves and would haves as if they’re the best chapters of our lives? So much so that we tend to miss enjoying our current chapter to the fullest. Or worse, tend to undermine it.

If you put our past romances in a microscope and just be totally objective about it, you’ll realize (and hopefully accept) the cracks and nuances of what you have put in a pedestal. The relationship was stuck on the honeymoon phase before it even really hits reality. Reality like waking up to their morning breaths, sleeping through their snores, navigating through your personal messes… and helping each other get out of them. Him fighting for you, and you fighting back for him; with the rest of the people who matter rooting for you two to win against the hurdles of life.

Everything happens for a reason, they say. And this is true about our past heartbreaks, too. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation why we never ended up with The First, The Great, and The One That Got Away — they are not The Right for us.

The Right is that one love that could and should make you stop thinking of and pining on the other three.

I know that our past experiences, including relationships, should give us lessons in life to make us prepare for the future. But they shouldn’t be totally defining and dictating our present.

Who knows? Your current chapter could be very well your epilogue, too.


DiaTRIBE: Part 1

Human beings are curious creatures. The more I get to know them, the more I realize that they are just the same as any common animal operating in groups. They thrive in numbers and alter their behavior, from the slight to the grand, when they are with different companies.

Their collective behavior is amusing to me. The alpha would always establish dominance, and the rest will follow. The minions would most likely hold a secret contempt against the alpha but rarely do I see one truly stand up against the alpha and not care shit about what it would do to his status within group. Especially if the alpha has a Balenciaga.

Monkey see, monkey do. An old passage but still very true. Don’t we just wish that one day it’ll pertain to something positive?

In my continuous observance, they fit right into the mold of the four proposed functions of animal group behaviour, both the good and the bad:

1. Social Interaction

Studies show that animals operating in groups become highly stressed when isolated. Same is true with most humans, don’t you agree? Everyone wants to be happy but only if they belong to the happy group. If they aren’t, they immediately feel contempt towards that group. They might even form a group of their own and do everything that they can to look happier than the former happy group. They always feel the need to establish dominance.

On the other hand, some would declare that they are perfectly happy being alone. It’s part of being an intorvert, they say. But they have this nagging feeling whenever they dine out solo surrounded by couples and other groups. This, after getting a weird look from the waiter who just can’t believe that dining solo is pefectly normal. And some actually prefer it from time to time. Thus the need to declare to social media the happiness of me-time complete with a beautifully filtered flatlay.

I’m telling you. Humans are weird.

2. Protection from Predators

Who here has always thought that animals gather in group as an attempt at teamwork?

Yeah, me too.

Together we stand, divided we fall.

But have you heard about the selfish herd theory? It states that animals gather in group not because they wanted to work together but they wanted to put another individual from the pack in between him and the predator. Thus, decreasing the chances of getting hunted himself. Their natural instinct is to use a fellow herder as an anti-predatory lifevest.

Sneaky, right? Reminds you of some people you know?

Yeah. Me too.

Those who work with you not because they want to and they think you’re valuable BUT just so they’ll have someone to blame when things go to shit?

Yeah. Me too.

NOTE TO READERS: This is a diatribe meant to poke fun on the annoying people that we encounter in our lives and the weird wiring of the human psyche. These snarks’ main goal is to elicit a good-natured chuckle from even the most sensitive person who’d think that this article is all about him/her.

Any resemblance to actual persons that we mutually know and/or actual events that we both experienced may be coincidental.


Up Next: Enhanced Foraging and Increased Locomotion Efficiency

Attack of the Clones

I don’t know what happened over the past 15 years but it seems that female clones are everywhere. You know what I mean. The groups of 3 – 5 girls who are all dressed alike, have the same dyed, keratin-treated hair, the same ultra-white sneakers you need to put your Ray Bans on to avoid temporary blindness, and the same Valley girl way of talking. You would see them in cafes most of the time, sipping their Grande Caramel Macchiato very timidly while tweeting and talking to one another at the same time. The ones who are thankful and proud that they don’t have a single ugly friend in their crowd. Oh wait, is it posse now? Or squad? 

I chuckle while I’m typing this because, really, when did it become OK to be a clone?

For as long as I can remember, I have always hated conformity. Wait… Hate may be a very strong word. Let’s just say I’m not a fan of it. For me it’s equivalent to being lazy — not thinking about who you really are, not being imaginative enough to get out of the box. 

When I was a kid, I have always wanted to wear jeans when we have school parties or during, what we call, civilian days. For me, it’s a sign of adulthood; a sign of independence. But my mother wouldn’t hear the end of it. She said that I don’t look good in pants. That I look best when I’m in a dress, with tights, and sneakers on. And I know that I do and I know that I like it. But there’s a nagging feeling inside me because I know that I stick out like a sore thumb from my other classmates. 

I remember my mother buying me a purple umbrella (my favorite color) with pumpkins, bats, witches, and candles  printed all over . The umbrella screams “Happy Halloween” and I loved it! But I also remember my grandma looking at it weirdly and saying it’s scary, may aswang, and it’s not fit for a little girl. Which made me question my love for it and tell my mom about it. My mom said don’t listen to what others say about what I should like. Like what you like, she said. 

I remember my mom asking my other grandma to sew me dresses for my birthdays and other special occassions. Both of us would look at fashion magazines and pick out our favorites. We would then put together our own design based on our picks and would come up with a dress that is a little bit of this and a little bit of that. She discouraged me from buying directly in department stores because, then, I’d look like 5 out of the 8 girls in the room. And it was true. 

These little growing up anecdotes are bunched together and contributed mainly to who I am today. My mother probably knew that I was a bit different from others and acted on it faster than I did. And for that, I am thankful. 

Because, really, when did it become OK to be a clone?

The Holy Girly Trinity

I was not the princess archetype as a kid. There will be few pictures in my dusty albums that would show me dressing as one but believe me when I say that I got bribed putting on those gowns. I grew up in an environment that made me free on who I want to be, although my tights and dresses and sneakers inclination could be directly attributed to my mother’s idea of fashown.

My favorite Disney princess is Belle, because in the generation of princesses waiting for their Prince Charmings to knock them off their feet while singing in an operatic kind of way, she was the one who wanted to go out of her mundane life. Not to meet a prince but to find something bigger, something greater for her. It’s just a mere coincidence that she met The Beast while trying to find herself. My next favorite would be Mulan, the Asian kick-ass who proved that you don’t need a strong dose of testosterone to save a country. She was then followed by a long line of Disney princesses trying to prove their worth instead of looking for their worth on their male counterparts.

I love how Disney turned around and is now focusing on the strong, independent women of the world. Girls who can think on their own feet. Girls who can act with their own will. Girls who don’t need guys to drive them around and carry their frilly little purses. Let’s not get started with the purses. Thinking about it might give me brain cancer. And actually writing about it might make me incoherent because of too much annoyance.

Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against girly girls. I would be lying if I say that I don’t like dressing up from time to time. There’s nothing wrong with laces, tiaras, high heels, pearls, and mascara. If I am happy that I wasn’t prevented from being who I wanted to be, who am I to shun the ones who wanted to express themselves by being the quintessential dainty girls? I have nothing against them. What I don’t like and don’t entirely agree with are the “princesses” who use their being a girl to their advantage.

I would make it my life’s mission not to bring a daughter into the world who would turn out someone like that. And so here are the three things that I would tell my future daughter once she’s old enough to comprehend: 

1. BE independent and be your very own person.
2. NEVER base your existence on someone else’s.
3. NEVER EVER use your being a girl to take advantage of nice boys.

P.S. If you wanna get inked, wait until you’re out of school. And let me know. I could recommend a good artist. And maybe.. just maybe… we could get inked together.

The postscript has a condition, of course — when she’s of legal age already. 🙂

Answering the Question. Questioning the Answer.

You know what they say about women asking you something. Most of the time, they ask not to get an answer. They ask because they want to get a confirmation.

It is the match that lights up the fire. Starting slowly, setting up embers, growing bigger and bigger by the minute. This is just the beginning. When affirmation comes in, that’s when the full blow happens. She starts letting off steam that could make you feverish. She may start spewing off little balls of fires that could  seriously burn you. Don’t even tell her that she’s a dragon. You will just make things worse.

But actually, that’s not too bad. The worst thing is when she implodes – preferring to keep the heat inside to the point that it crushes her violently. When that happens, it’s very hard, almost impossible, to go back from where things used to be.