under the same rain...

You're back to catching raindrops again. To each one a name, and there is one you are dying to find, but how? For each one is a possibility, a chance dividing infinitely in all directions every second.
Running barefoot, it doesn't matter, nobody can see you. Cry, only to find out it won't matter, either, the rain will drown your tears anyway. Release your pain in one solid cry and it won't matter still, the wind will only eat up your screams. Run barefoot and it won't matter at all – your soul is on its knees.

Run for cover and light a cigarette – now that's refuge. You can rest for a few minutes before you start running alone again.

But I have been here all these times.

This shouldn't have been your life, if only you allowed me to hold you one last time.

To each one a name, each one a possibility, another chance, but you cannot see that, never. For I have been always a few steps behind, following, dying with you every step of the way. If only you'd look back.


I'm back to catching raindrops again. To each one a name, but your name I can't seem to find. How could I? You are just a name, a face, a single drop among all others, and the possibility divides infinitely in every direction, every second.

I run barefoot, but it doesn't matter, for nobody can see me. I cry only to find out I cry alone, and it won't matter if the sky will cry with me; it can only cry this much, never enough to comfort me. I shout in pain and it won't matter even, because I can't hear myself as the wind carries away my voice almost instantly. And the cold it brings I can't even feel, for I am colder inside. I run alone, because there is no reason to stay in one place. It is raining.

But... have you been there all these times?

This shouldn't have been my life, chasing raindrops forever, if only you tried to hold on to me tighter, even for that one last time...

Chasing raindrops, to each a name, a chance, so elusive I can never find it. I can never see you. I am as blind as my heart, and being blind I can only face forward, forever forward, no sense looking back. Have you always been a few steps behind, following? I cannot know it, never. If only you'd reach for me and call my name.


a shaded eye but you uncovered my view.
a drowning soul and you put me back to shore.
a scathed being healing in your hands.
weakened but gaining strength in you.


hey, i used to like hoobastank too. back in the days of crawling in the dark and running away. haha. these days i’d rather listen to hendrix, pinikpikan, or kapatid. and i prefer kapatid over bamboo, though they have the same guitarist and bassist: ira cruz and nathan azarcon. and their songs make me so sad, since i remember chico, the other guitarist, who just passed away.

this is for the band who made me believe in our own music again.
and to chico, the guy who made good music with the band.

kapatid's the prayer

if i ever see you face to face again
i’d ask you why, so soon
and in your grand debut from death, reborn again
for life i pray

i hate to see you haunting
or in your private hell
i hope you make it
this prayer’s for you
this prayer’s for you.

oh wax and wicker, that burn throughout the night
the light you shine, makes me smile
you are the candle, that turns the darkness back
extinguished fire

i hate to see you haunting
or in your private hell
i hope you make it
this prayer's for you
this prayer's for you.



i dont understand how people can talk on the phone for hours. one of my close guy friends bragged that he once spoke to this hot chick for thirteen hours straight. and i was like, 'yuga mo eh... what do you talk about? your life from pre-school to college?' i can comprehend one hour of teasing someone, maybe three hours of fighting with your girlfriend or soon to be ex, but thirteen hours on the bloody telephone? this girl musta been talking about sex every hour on the hour. that's the only possible scenario I can imagine.


marvel ink-drawn chicks are hot. an ongoing question thats been bugging me for the last 2 hours is… am i the only one who gets turned on by looking at emma frost and rouge? i feel a little guilty about this sometimes but what can i do, hormones are hormones.


i am the 'i' in the small letter 'i'

i don't know who to blame but because i'm tired of blaming myself, i chose to point in another direction--away from me. i blame my parents for being me--afraid of expressing what i feel when the circumstance is there. i grew up knowing that brave people never cry in public. i grew up knowing that crying is a sign of defeat of weakness…of being a failure. and because of this, i never really appreciated the meaning of 'feeling and showing for others'. and i hate myself for being so.

i thought pretending not to feel anything is the safest defense mode in the world.

i was wrong. i feel shit inside.