You don’t need to be a good writer.

I am not a good writer. But as I have read back to some old posts which I didn’t realize had comments on them, I figured I might be underestimating my capabilities. I’ve read a couple of posts which I do not even recall writing. I wouldn’t even think I am capable to write such.

Sure, I am no writer. Maybe not any close to being a good – depending on your taste. But I do not write to please. I write to release. To help ease the burden that I carry inside. Sometimes hoping that I’d be able to tell someone who happens to pass by that they are not alone. Find a short-lived friendship from a stranger in a cyber-world.

So if you are like me, who worries about what other people might think about what you write, it’s OK. It’s normal to feel insecure. But don’t let that insecurity stop you from writing your heart out. You’ll never know when your post becomes the savior of a struggling soul.


Apologies for the people who I wasn’t able to reply to. I was absurdly ignorant of that side of this public diary.


Everyone seem to have been surprised by the sudden and constant change of my hair. I was constantly being asked, “What’s up? May pinagdadaanan ka ba?” And always, I’ve had answered, “Wala, pag nagpagupit, heartbroken agad?”, considering that their questions are all veered towards problems with romance.

Today, I realized that I am going through a phase after all. Sure, it isn’t inclined in the world of romance, but I am not saying I am romantically happy either. My life has never been more empty and pointless.

My constant cutting of hair, which seem to have been unstoppable nowadays, is a manifestation of the troubles I have been fighting within, I assume. Yesterday, I got the sides shaved – telling everyone that it is a mere play of hair. A mere expression of art. But looking at it now, it is a desperate attempt to do “something” with my life.

I’ve always had these feelings of emptiness. Most of the people around me say I have so much to be thankful for and I should be happy of where I am. Ungrateful, they say. Never contented. But I though, why would I stop myself from wanting more? Am I really that much of an awful person?

No matter how hard it was to battle my own mind, I’ve always been able to fight it. I’ve always been able to look away. I’ve always managed to find something humane to believe in. To help people grow. To inspire. I knew I had a purpose. I believed I had a better purpose than to just live, work, and die.

Seemingly, that skill has slowly died down. Every day is a struggle. Sleeping is a struggle. Waking up even more so. I am in constant question, what is there to live for? Where had my vision of the beautiful things in life gone?

I know somewhere, out there, is a good reason to live. I still keep searching. Desperately hoping that the day I’d give up won’t ever come.

Getting Lost is Never a Waste of Time

Today came in a good news.

I woke up in the middle of my sleep and, as habit would dictate, I checked my phone. First for the time, and then the notifications. I wasn’t expecting to see any news. It was a mere force of habit. One notification caught my attention and forced me to my full consciousness. The result of my recent training was staring back at me for what felt like a lifetime but was merely a fraction of a second. There it was, with a congratulatory heading…

Dear Fenerose,


You scored 97.0% on the COPC Implementation Leader exam. You are now officially a Certified COPC Implementation Leader.

As I have felt the ecstasy of achievement, I burst into tears with overwhelming sadness. Why wasn’t I happy? It was a plethora of emotions mostly outweighed by sadness, self-pity, confusion, and loss.

Of course I felt proud of myself having achieved such a number. But the number was just a number. It was all it was.

Four years into working and I’ve moved from one role to another in the same company. Sure, in other’s people’s eyes, I am successful. The perky Miss Pen always appearing to have things figured out. Little do people know that I was clueless and lost: exhausted by the battle of my own mind; confused by the purpose of life.

I used to be happy doing things I do. I’m sure I was as clueless of my goal before as I am now, but I was happy. Happy to have a purpose. Happy to touch people’s lives. Somewhere along the way, something inside me has corrupted that light. No matter how much I try to realise the role I have, I end up concluding it is not purpose enough. That all this shit I’m doing is not worth while. It wasn’t humane enough. It was selfish and it was pointless.

I used to blame it with the company; with my salary; with the people; with my job. Now that I truly think about it, I realise I was wrong. I’m sure they all have played a part for how I feel now but ultimately I believe it is the change of my truth that brought me to this state of loss.

A lot of self-help books has offered answers to this dilemma before: I mean, the purpose of life. Building connections, trusting God, creating your own purpose: it’s an endless list of things that are worth believing in. I’m sure you have tried at least one. And I’m also sure, just like me, you were sceptical.

You pick a lie, believe it, and live life until your last breath.

How pessimistic is that? And then you get dragged to a deeper state of misery.

I’m sure you hoped as I did that there was some kind of answer to this question. That spending an hour in church staring at the altar pleading God will eventually lead you to an answer. That after all those hours you’ve spent staring at the ceiling or crying your self to sleep will lead to a realisation of your purpose. But that’s a long shot. You must’ve cried your eyes out and you still got no answer. Hence, you sharing this moment with me.

But these lies is how close we can get to the truth, or at least it will rest us from questioning what’s true. We pick a lie we want to believe in until it becomes our truth. Wait for it’s expiration that is never indicated and move on to the next lie we can consider our truth. After all, it isn’t a lie until you can disprove it, right? Faith, it’s all you need.

So, hold your shit together. Breathe deeply. Pray, if you must. Cry those worries out. Once we got that done, stop worrying about life. Let go. Live. Find the things that will make you smile. Your truth then doesn’t mean it’s still your truth now. So, it’s OK. You’re alright. It might not be your time yet, and your time might never come. But one thing is for sure, waiting for “the time” will only ruin your ride.

Disclaimer: First half of the post written days back.


[Okay, I have three (maybe four) drafts waiting on the line to get finished and published. However, this story definitely calls to get publicised ASAP.]

Someone told me that I should never go to massage shops with colourful beaming lights in its facade. He said, the expert that he was, that these lights indicate the availability of a “happy ending”. In my mind, I imagined these shops filled with filth and unborn children. Nevertheless, I was curious if this was just prejudice.

Today, I was desperate for a massage. Dying, even.

I normally get attacks of unbearable back pain every now and then. Lately, however, they have been coming in more frequently. The last episode being two weeks ago. I blame it to my increasing stress levels and self proclaimed depression.

I think this episode started over the weekend. I decided to hold off getting a massage as it was out of the budget. I assured myself, it’s gonna go away eventually.

Last night, the episode got stronger. I can no longer hold it off. My back was frozen in pain and no matter how much stretching and position changes I do, it just won’t go away. I did planks and back stretches inside the office in attempt to relieve the pain. Tried to do push ups, jacks, and exercises to waken the muscled and keep them warm. Turned off the AC, drank something hot, ate something hot – but to no avail. Now I think about it, I realise it was the reason I had an upset and bloated stomach earlier today.

I was in the brink of getting frozen solid again. I’ve had episodes that came this bad that I’d cry myself to sleep. Afraid this might recur, I googled for the nearest massage spa. Apparently, the nearest one that was open at 8 in the morning was Wensha which would cost me around 1000 peso, tip included.

It isn’t practical to spend a thousand peso in a spa that offers buffet and sauna if I’m not gonna use them, I convinced myself. I wasn’t really up for a steam bat or a dry sauna, anyway. Plus, filling up my already bloated tummy was out of the question. I continued my search in Google.

Since Google was limited spas that are registered in the internet, I barely got results. Regardless of it’s distance and price, the earliest that would open is 10 AM.


As I come to realise that I might end up enduring the pain for the next few hours, possibly just sleeping it off; everyone gets off the jeep. I was at the last stop of my commute home.

Fck. That was fast.

It was like the heavens had heard my dying muscles, I saw a massage spa with beaming lights as I get off the jeep.

Dang it. The beaming lights.

Should I or should I not?

It looks fairly new so I should be fine.

Nah, you’re crazy.

What are you gonna lose? It’s worth a try.

Nope. Not gonna happen.

I walked away.

Then walked right back.

On the door it says, “Open 24 hours”, “with male and female therapists”, “ring the bell to open”.

I press the red, and only, switch.

No one answered.

Did it again.

Then again.

Roughly a minute and someone answers the door.

A girl wearing a white shirt and jeans and socks in slippers. Her hair was a mess. No make up. She looks as if she just came out of bed. Possibly from sleep.

I asked “Pwede po ba magpamasahe?” [Can I get a massage, please?]

She let me in while she fixed her hair; asked me to take a seat in the make shift couch which was just wood covered in wallpaper. She was handing me over a pamphlet when I said I needed a Swedish massage, one that takes off the muscle pains (lamig). This seems to have prompted her to stop midway handing me over the piece of paper. She said, “yes, we do it.”

Having come to an agreement, she asked me to take off my shoes and socks and wear one of the slippers inside. Sweet! they looked brand new. I won’t have to worry about fungus. She then asked me to follow her to my ‘room’. But before we got out of the very narrow receiving area into what seems like a hallway currently draped by soft strands of cloth, a voice of a man steals my attention. He gasps. She peaks inside and tells him to shush. I almost felt fear if I didn’t have to hold off my laughter. How silly is this?

We made our way to the second floor. It was a tiny apartment along Taft Avenue; painted and cleaned nicely but the signs of it being an old was apparent. To get to the stairs you’d pass by two make shift rooms covered in thick red drapes making the insides fully covered. The narrow stairs, painted red, had a dirt trap rug in each step.  It was amusing, actually, as each dirt trap had a different style, one had a butterfly; the other, a dolphin; another, a heart.

As we reached the top, I noticed red lights almost like the lights of the entrance of a night club in a dark alley. Right above the staircase were laundry being dried. There were three small partitions with the same red drapes. This time they were open allowing me to see what’s inside. The partitions were just enough to fit a single 36″ (maybe 42″) foam which is laid down on the floor. They were divided by a thin piece of wood. Despite being entirely closed, drafts had allowed tiny beams of sunshine to pass through. Shit. What have I gotten myself into.

She asked me to enter the one right across the stairs.

“Tangal ka nalang ng damit, ate. Balikan kita.” [Take of your clothes, miss. I will be back in a while.] And she leaves to go downstairs. I assume to talk to the guy who I heard earlier back.

I don’t know if it was me getting nervous or the combination of the ceiling fan and AC was just becoming unbearably cold. Maybe it was also because my back already feels frozen.

I sat there. I felt silly; at the same time, scared. Curious was also part of the cocktail of emotions I am having. I was pondering whether to leave or to just stay and see what happens. I thought, maybe I could just go down and tell her I forgot I didn’t have cash, or that I lost my wallet, or pretend a friend called and had an avalanche in their backyard? But my life desperately needs something right now. Something interesting. I took a deep breath, and said to myself, “what could possibly go wrong?”

Just in case I die and never be found, I sent a messaged to the same guy who told me never to go to spa’s with beaming lights. Once that was settled, I took my phone inside my bag, secured my necklace, and sat there until I heard footsteps climbing up the stairs.

Is it going to be a guy with a knife in his hands ready to kill me and steal my stuff?

As the curtains opened, a voice of a girl asked, whew!, why haven’t I took off my clothes yet. I mumbled, “Anlamig kase ate” [I’m really cold] as I point to the ceiling fan. She put down the towel she had on her hand and turned it off.

I explained to her I just need a back massage. My back is really in pain and full of “lamig”. She said, it’s still gonna be the same price. I said it’s OK. An hour of back massage for 300 peso doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Plus it is my perfect compromise to still have my bottom half dressed in case there are any spy cams inside. She assured me they’re all gonna go away after the session.

So, I took off my shirt and my bra. Lied down on the mattress facing down. I couldn’t stop worrying that she might be a lesbian who’s going to suddenly offer me a “happy ending”. Or maybe talk me into availing something of that sort. Thankfully, none of that happened. I wondered, what could have happened if I asked a male therapist instead though. loljk. (half joking, I’m kind of curious of that, too)

So yeah, I went home safe. Still with a bit of back pain but at least was temporarily relieved. If you’re going to ask me about the quality of the massage, it was bad. I have friends who can do better massage than that. It felt as if she just splattered oil on my back and randomly pressed and pinched my back for twenty minutes. Yes, twenty minutes. To be fair though, it sort of helped getting the unbearable pain off. Otherwise, I won’t be here writing.

To end this story, I haven’t been able to confirm if massage spa’s with beaming lights offer happy endings. But one thing’s for sure, you won’t get you’re money worth if you’re looking for a decent massage. At least not in this spa. I guess paying 300 + tip was worth paying for for the experience. Lol.

Maybe I’ll write about getting a male therapist next time. 😀


This photo should give you the vibe of how the “spa” looked like:




New Beginnings, Happy Endings

Some time, long ago, I read somewhere that unless it’s mad, passionate, or extraordinary love, it’s a waste of your time. Indeed, there are too many mediocre things in life, and love is not one of them. I’ve always held on to this belief.

As I am writing this, one of the very few people who I genuinely had a connection with is flying thousands of miles away – with little to no possibility of return. I am sitting at the back-seat of my Uber as we drive away from the airport. The first few minutes was spent trying to hold on to my tears while feeling my heart breaking inside. This, and embracing the rare occasion that I actually feel. I am a human being after all.

We have just been together a few times. He summed it up to about 9 days – not taking into consideration the hours I was at work. Just a few windows of time and we went from casual flings to (i don’t even know what we had), with plenty of arguments (or as he prefers to call it, “discussions”) in between. In one of our conversations, we ended up agreeing we both are sapiosexuals after all. [We cringe to the use of the term.]

It was like I saw my soul mate in him – if you believe in that concept. He was a replica of me (a better, smarter, more handsome version of me as he would claim). In the short time we were together, we learned how alike we were. How we both acted strong against life and how we tried to mask the soft heart within.

To be honest, I learned so much about myself. No, scratch that. I already knew things about myself that I half believed or refused to believe. I needed someone to slap me with the truth, and he did. I’m going to miss those healthy conversations as he continue to read my being.

One of the things I needed slapping on is how miserably comfortable my life is. True, the passion to live is no longer there. There was no fire within. Somewhere along the way, the burning fire to conquer life was lost within me. I needed to take it back. Badly. Desperately. Or I’m going to lose my sanity.

How? I am left to figure it out.

As a start, I am taking this time in traffic to write. One thing I’ve always wanted to do but was too afraid to start. Afraid that I might not be good enough. That no one would care. That I will forever just be a spec in the universe, waiting to be blown away. But now, I couldn’t care less. I will be writing my heart out. For whatever reason, wherever I am, whenever the lightning strikes. I think I owe it to myself to do just that. I think I owe it to the older version of me that life has destined for me to meet.

Muffle with Goodness


, ,

Hi guys! I thought to share the list of the songs in my favorite playlist. Also, I intend to keep a list for myself in case my phone would get stolen or lost again. These songs are a few that never fails. Hope you enjoy them too as much as I do.

  1. Use Somebody. Originally by Kings of Leon. I loved the cover of (my other crush Alejandro) Boyce Avenue.
  2. Eyes Open. Originally by Taylor Swift cover by Ali Brustofski.
  3. Wonderwall. Originally by Oasis cover by Boyce Avenue.
  4. Drive. Performed by Incubus. Can’t perfect playing and singing this song on the guitar.
  5. Penny and Me. Hanson (one of my favoritests)
  6. Can’t Let You Go. Performed by Cueshe. Probably my most favorite OPM song.
  7. Loser of the Year. Performed by Simple Plan. I listen to the acoustic version of it. I think it’s a lot better than the original version.
  8. Here is Gone. Performed by Goo Goo Dolls, again acoustic version. Although they  have little difference.
  9. Every Teardrop is a Waterfall. Original by Coldplay. Cover by Boyce Avenue.
  10. Face Down. Booyeeaaah! My fave song at highschool. Performed by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. they have an acoustic version but I like the rock better. I kinda think the acoustic kills the emotion of the song.
  11. Mr. Brightside. The Killers. Cant seem to find the perfect version. A number have done a cover of this song. But I suppose the killers still did it best.
  12. Wherever You Will Go. The Calling. Ahh. this. You’d be damned not to know this song.
  13. Hanging by a Moment. Lifehouse.
  14. Won’t Go Home Without You. Maroon 5. I mean sexaaaay.
  15. You Found Me. The Fray. Also one of the not-so-old songs I have loved.
  16. Beautiful Goodbye. Maroon 5.
  17. Behind These Hazel Eyes. Kelly Clarkson. Would rather listen to Kelly that Taylor.
  18. Heartbreak Warfare. John Mayer. 
  19. My Stupid Mouth. John Mayer.
  20. Burnout. Sugarfree cover by Johnoy Danao. Another OPM song.
  21. Collide. Howie Day cover by Nate King. 
  22. Count on Me. Bruno Mars. Another of the singer/songwriters I find sooo sexy.
  23. Once in a Lifetime. Freestyle. OPM
  24. Heaven Knows (This Angel Has Flown). Orange and Lemons. Another OPM song I strongly suggest.
  25. Here Without You. Three Doors Down. Fave karaoke song.
  26. How to Save a Life. The Fray.
  27. One Last Breath. Creed.
  28. Scar Tissue. Red Hot Chili Peppers.
  29. She Will Be Loved. Maroon 5 classic.
  30. Stacy’s Mom. Fountains of Wayne. And if I may add, It Wasn’t Me by Shaggy.
  31. Summer Paradise. Best song of Simple Plan.
  32. Sunday Morning. Maroon 5.
  33. I’ll Be There for You. The Rembrants.
  34. Strong Enough. Original song by Kina Grannis.
  35. Superman. Five for the Fighting. A Classic.
  36. The Best Thing I Never had. Beyonce. What goes around, comes around. 🙂
  37. Fast Car. Original by Tracy Chapman cover by Boyce Avenue and Kina Grannis.
  38. Titanium. Original song by david Guetta cover by Madilyn Bailey.
  39. Unbelievable. Craig David
  40. Evidence. Urbandub. OPM song that goes…”caught you in the arms of another, I’ve been dying everyday since then…is he a better lover than I.”

So there you go peeps! My playlist. Enjoy!

If I can file a divorce.

I don’t know what I want. But I am certain that THIS.IS.NOT.IT.

I wasn’t in love when I said yes. I know most of us aren’t. The only difference? I kinda had a choice. But at 16, I was too naive to realize what’s it’s worth. Worse, I watched as my life eventually have fallen far from what I have dreamed of. Making myself believe that I was okay. That this will all eventually pass. Constantly waiting for that something. Who am I fooling huh? Now life got pass me. There is no other person to blame but me.

Turning back all those years now is impossible, I can only hope for something good to come along. No. I think that, too, is a morbid way to spend the rest of forever. Next to settling for less. Lame. Pathetic. I’m going to be pushed deeper into this hellhole I’m already in. Hah! What choices do I have?

I gotta get out from here. I don’t know how, but I MUST. I must change me if I ever hope to be better. Kinda like what Liz did in eat pray love. ONLY, I’d have to settle for a much cheaper alternative. Ghad! I couldn’t possibly afford an escape around the world. Insanity are for the rich, and only for the rich!

Hmmm, favorite line in eat pray love?

“Have you ever asked yourself ‘What am I doing in this family?!’

Lost. Really lost.