Life on the bed

I am recovering at last.

Hospitalized for a week and is now given another week to rest. I am to use this healing phase to slow down, write and read for pleasure, and deliberately breathe again.

Before being caught with illness in the last days of August, life has been shifting in a quick pace and in circadian manner: wake up early, go to work, be stuck in traffic, and arrive home. This is not the life that I wanted nor I imagined.

August saw too much of chaotic crises that it made me sick. Literally.

After the days of high fever and loss of appetite subsided, the doctors decided to give me ample time to rest at home. I perceive this as an opportunity to pause and contemplate, to take in a good air, to calm those crises from last month.

I am currently in the third day of my recovery, which means there is still almost a week for a break. For now, I am glad that I have time to be at peace on my bed. I cannot remember the last time I had such serenity.

(Everything has been chaotic in this country really, so sorry for this bourgeois sentiment.)


Monsoon season had aroused me to express sentimentality.

Nevertheless, I know that I should not—it displays a vain and apathetic craft. Frankly, however, I’m still trying to work on my senseless romanticism.

Rain had always fascinated me especially during my late teenage years. Alongside the cold breeze, there were cup of coffee and good book. Eventually, I would be motivated to put saccharine words on a paper. Now, I have sworn that I should not waste my creativity only on personal benefit since I am aware that words contain a power to fix the turmoil in our current state. My maudlin thoughts are thus undeniably futile.

Furthermore, I also vowed to myself that after college, I would initiate (or at least attempt and practice) writing pieces in my vernacular tongue. Language holds similar ability in resolving the present issues as well. Hence, imagine the substance of such writing for this reality.

I’m working on it, really. I may have posted some sentimental writings here but I’m still trying to fulfill my word. Soon, when I’m ready, this space will not be that useless anymore. This will be filled of writings, and not only during the monsoon season.




Jotting down something out of pleasure provokes a liberating sensation. For years, I had always been writing what was instructed; and almost all of them were critiques. Hence, plentiful of memories, sentiments, and observations are left unexpressed. Fortunately, I realized a few days ago that I can freely write again.

All those stories that are yet to tell will be written here. Right now, I am still deliberating on how to express them and which to tell first.

Few days left and the job will start however. Nonetheless, I will continue to write—it is time to finally set these words free.