November 8th, 2017

October 30th, 2017: Patitinan, Sagñay, Camarines Sur

For many days, I have wanted to cry but would only do so occasionally. Some days, I would feel as if I was floundering on shallow waters, unable to breathe. On other days, it was sleep paralysis at waking hours. No matter how much I wanted to move my limbs, my body simply could not. I would feel as if the earth was weighing down on me, relieving me of any possibility of stirring.

To sugarcoat, I had a much foreseen fit about a month ago or so. The aftershock wasn’t any better. After days of opening up to other people, I’ve distanced myself more and more from them. I was, still am, yet again caged in a harrowing display of distrust and hollowness. I had coped with purposeful solitude and horrid self-deprecating humour. I would talk about something else.

I’ve taken a liking on an unlikely stranger, someone that have not even been near the offshore. But I’m afraid I fancy such a stranger for fraudulent reasons. If there had been any other, then the situation would have been synonymous to the aforementioned. You see, it’s a tactical diversion of my mind; hiding behind dishonest romance and illicit affairs to shadow the painful truth that I am ever so empty. And I have only the sea to calm me.

Interview – Maia Vivar


Read Maia’s first interview with us here.

Any new items in your life?
Well, I’ve been working on a few films here and there. I’ve also discovered a new, broad fascination with those hydraulic press videos on YouTube.
Tell us a bit about your working process.
My working process mostly includes procrastinating for about two hours, another hour for Netflix, and then once I finally gathered up my senses, I’d proceed to open Spotify and find the most relative playlist for whatever which I’m writing. After so, I write. Then Edit. Then start to hate what I’m writing and so I’ll have to find a friend or two to critique my work. And then edit again and again and again.
What artists/writers do you admire?
To name a few, I’d have to say Oscar Wilde, Carlos Ruiz Zafón, Charlie Kaufman, W.B. Yeats, Sylvia Brownrigg, and Virginia Woolf
Why create?

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Moonlit, faces shadowed,
we repent with
eyes consumed by
lust etched to our bodies,
lips, bickering when
unattached, and
skin, glistening like
the frosty stars that hover
above our reckless heads.

Yet, do not fret,
for tonight, we need not
to fall in love,
need not fall apart,
need not to cradle over
our fears of losing
and of what was once lost.

Tonight, we wait
for the crack of dawn,
for the rift in the sky.
Then, we scurry
to succumb back,
escape from our fantasy.

Tonight, for a single night,
we are allowed
to eat out our words,
to be wed by touch,
to stay hand to neck,
and breast to bone.

Unfazed by the lover’s quarrel
for, in the morning,
we are not.

So darling, stay the night.
Forget me not for just a second
and cherish this sliver
of eternity with me


I think I’m starting to fall in love

with the girl
who owns those insane eyes
that were not of baby blues
but of a golden brown hue;
those eyes that felt like they could consume
anyone in sight;
those eyes that gleamed, that glimmered,
that fit oh so perfectly with the night.

I think I’m starting to fall in love

with the girl
whose mind is as boundless
as the horizon where the sun sleeps
and the moon rises;
whose words come out
as my gospel,
as a gift from the gods and muses.

I think I’m starting to fall in love

with the girl
who casts her spell on me,
who enthralled me, enraptured me;
delight, pleasure,
weakening me
beyond any measure

with the girl
who sits next to me
and makes me feel
a little less lonely

with the girl
who’s not so much a girl
but of a lady

I think I’m starting to fall in love again,
finally, gracefully,

with the girl
who can destroy me
so elegantly

A Scene From A Movie


Her smiles,
a simulated orchestra.

The rhythm of her breaths,
an overture awaiting.

She reconciles with
her savage; isolating

the very profundity,
the very brilliance
of her cluttered insanity.