kiez hiraya

okay but can we talk about this very specific struggle pls. the emotional damage i take every single time someone looks at me and confidently assumes i’m a high school student. like wow. the disrespect. the audacity. the ✨assumption✨.
          
          i’ll be standing there, minding my own business, existing peacefully, and then someone goes, “are you a student?” in that tone. or worse, “minors are not allowed here.” and i’m like… excuse me??? minors??? me??? hello??? i am TWENTY ONE. dalawang dekada na po akong nabubuhay sa mundong ito. may back pain na po ako minsan. i have responsibilities. i have overthinking. i have existential dread.
          
          what do you mean “where’s your school id?” why would i have a school id??? i left that era behind. i survived it. i graduated from that phase with trauma and character development. and yet here you are, dragging me back like it’s a flashback episode.
          
          sometimes i want to laugh, sometimes i want to cry, sometimes i want to pull out my birth certificate like it’s a pokémon card. behold. proof of age. proof of suffering. proof that i am not, in fact, a child roaming freely.
          
          and the way they say it pa. very casual. very confident. as if they didn’t just shatter my adult identity in one sentence. “ay akala ko high school ka pa.” okay. thank you. noted. my frontal lobe just shrank hearing that.
          
          don’t get me wrong, i know some people say it’s a compliment. “you look young!” yes, thank you, skincare and stress did their thing. but also pls respect my age. respect my right to enter places without being escorted by a guardian. respect my legal ability to make bad decisions on my own.
          
          it’s funny though cause one day i’ll probably miss this. one day i’ll be like, “wow dati akala nila minor ako.” but today is not that day. today i am simply offended. gently offended. playfully offended. oa offended.
          
          

my soul is fatigued from the relentless burden of existence

okay but can we talk about light shop for a second because what was that  i am genuinely confused and emotionally attacked.
          
          i pressed play fully prepared to be scared. like, lights off, phone face down, heart ready to sprint. i signed up for horror. i signed up for creepy silence, shadows, things moving in the background, the usual “why did i watch this at night” experience. no one told me this was actually a trap. a beautifully written, emotionally violent trap.
          
          i was prepared to scream. i was prepared to pause every five minutes. what i was NOT prepared for was bawling my eyes out like i just remembered every sad thing that ever happened in my life. excuse me??? this is not what horror is supposed to do to me. i thought this was about fear. turns out it’s about grief, loss, love, and all the things i actively avoid because drama is NOT good for my heart.

why is my immune system my biggest hater?
          
          every time i wear earrings, my ears swell like they are protesting capitalism. one hour lang, nangangati na. two hours, galit na galit na sila. three hours, parang may personal vendetta na yung skin ko against accessories. necklaces? rashes. bracelets? itch city. rings? okay for five minutes then boom, irritation. parang my body said, “no decorations allowed.”
          
          i wanna be that girl na may dangling earrings kahit nasa grocery lang. yung tipong kahit pawis, naka-hoops. i wanna stack necklaces like emotional baggage. i wanna accessorize my outfit so hard na kahit basic shirt lang, may personality. but no. i am forced into minimalist because my skin is sensitive and dramatic.
          
          it’s funny because people think aesthetic is just a choice. no. sometimes it’s biology. sometimes your vibe is whimsical pixie dream girl but your skin is hospital patient core.
          
          so now i cope by admiring piercings on other people. i live vicariously. i like posts. i save pictures. i whisper “slay” under my breath. i accept that my aesthetic lives online, not on my actual body.
          
          maybe my version of whimsical pixie dream girl is internal. emotionally unhinged, soft spoken, slightly chaotic, but externally… accessory-free for health reasons. maybe my sparkle is in my personality. maybe my drama is in my thoughts. maybe my statement piece is my existence.
          
          still, i mourn the girl i could’ve been if i wasn’t allergic. she was cute. she was shiny. she had ear piercings and zero worries. (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

happy new year to me, and to you, whoever you are, even if you only exist as a quiet thought hovering nearby. let’s sit for a moment. 
          
          dear me, i know you arrived at this year a little tired. the kind that lives in your shoulders and makes small tasks feel heavy. but still, you arrived anddddd that counts. THAT ALWAYS COUNTssS. some years are survived, not celebrated, and survival is a form of courage we don’t clap for enough.
          
          to my imaginary reader- bonjour. you don’t have to impress anyone here. you don’t have to be interesting or wise. you can just be present. i hope you know that wanting rest does not make you dull, and wanting softness does not make you weak. the world is already sharp, you don’t need to be.
          
          me, you have been so serious lately. let’s gently loosen that grip, please huhu. life is not an exam you forgot to study for. it’s closer to a messy novel with coffee stains on the pages. you are allowed to laugh in the middle of the sadness. you are allowed to nap in the middle of ambition. very feeling french of you, honestlyy lolol.
          
          this year, i hope you stop arguing with your own needs. if you are tired, sleep. if you are lonely, say so. if you are happy, don’t downplay it to sound mature. joy does not need footnotes. you don’t have to earn rest by suffering first. you don’t have to be productive to be worthy of love. imagine that. scandalous. 
          
          to the reader again- if you are here because you feel a little lost, welcome. lost people make the best observers. they notice the light. they notice the way silence can feel kind. i hope this year gives you at least one morning where everything feels possible, even if only for five minutes.
          
          me, please be nicer to yourself. speak to yourself like a beloved character, not a side role meant to struggle quietly. you are not behind. you are not broken. you are unfolding. slowly. beautifully. with many pauses and revisionss.
          

okay… i’ll quit yapping and actually write now. like why am i talking ABOUT writing more than i am writing. what kind of writer is this. very loud. very unproductive. anyway, this is me holding myself accountable. watch me disappear (or come back in 5 mins to yap again).

me: “simple sentence.” 
          my brain: what if we made it poetic and devastating instead
          
          why say “she sat down” when i can say “she folded into the moment” like pls 

if u can look at an oppressed group and say “maybe it’s okay to sacrifice them for the greater good,” i get scared of u. because if u can justify someone else’s pain today, what stops u from justifying mine tomorrow? u don’t get to call urself good while stepping over people to feel right. kindness that has conditions isn’t kindness at all.

gusto ko na talagang yumaman like pls universe  i’m tired of pretending money isn’t important when it literally solves 100% of my problems. i don’t want luxury, i just want peace. yung tipong di na ako magpapanic sa presyo ng bilihin. is that too much to ask. 

maybe this is ur sign to trust ur art too. we’re doing better than we think