Nothing earthshaking with regards to my existence and life story. Everything about me is simple, average, mediocre. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I can’t bring myself to lie or commit any type of fraud. Maybe I’m basically a good girl because of my decent upbringing — but, mind you, I am no angel. Am I a disciplined person? I can consider myself so — because undisciplined is someone I’m definitely not. My rebel character, however, springs up every now and then as I am moderately notorious for being a nonconformist.

I got married to a master electrician a couple of decades ago, a union which lasted on and off for unbelievably ten long years. We had a son whom I raised singlehandedly until he reached the age of 22. When this only child of mine got a job five years ago, he left home and never came back. We haven’t reconnected eversince.

How do I describe myself? Painfully shy and quiet, honest, sentimental, loyal, sensible, skeptical, stubborn, thrifty, broken and, imo, deeply flawed. Also sometimes cold-hearted with people (by reason of blistering life events) but, most of the time, I’m truly soft, sensitive, vulnerable. I used to be so self-conscious of my bashfulness and whatever eccentricity I’ve had. I wish somebody had told me it’s okay to be different. That you can conduct your oddness with grace and pride.

There’s a tendency for my written expressions to become melodramatic especially when they touch on matters of the heart. Even so, my belief remains that exceptional poems and prose have stood out for the justifiable degree of drama they exhibit.

Many people have deemed me a strong woman. Deep down, I’m not. I’m a baby in the middle of physical pain — and I’m bloody fearful of losing my independence and financial self-reliance. How I wish I were tougher like the handful of women I have admired.

You think I’m a cynic? Perhaps so. A famous author, nonetheless, asserted people who have been cited for their cynicism are actually deep thinkers who possess razor-sharp observation when assessing situations. Isn’t that a bit encouraging? 🙂

A small number of things I believe in: Romance-wise, I hold faith in the existence or reality of soulmates, in love that lasts till the end of time, in faithfulness, storms of passion, kindred spirits. The younger me had consistently nurtured a few ideals about love; yet the older me today doubts her capacity for this four-lettered word. What do I really know? All I can say is that I sure have suffered from feeling too much and allowing my heart to rule over my sensibilities.


Aging has been a painful phase for the eternal girl in me. How can I feel old when my heart keeps failing to recognize the march of time?

Religion is also a never-ending thorny issue in lieu of my need to believe in a Higher Power so it can help me endure life’s hard knocks as well as ease my sense of isolation. Lamentably, atheism seems more suited to my way of thinking.

That both my parents played favoritism among us siblings scarred me for life. I was the quintessential daughter who couldn’t measure up to her beautiful elder sister.

In school, I had been fond of the subjects Art, History, Astronomy, Law, Philosophy, P. E., and of course, Literature. The following, btw, were the awards and recognitions I received during gradeschool years: Best in Reading and Writing, Best in Language, Most Polite (my mother taught us her children to always greet our teachers), Most Industrious (I regularly stayed after class to arrange back the chairs and put things in order around the classroom — something I enjoyed doing).

My loves: reading, writing, traveling; dogs and cats and indiscriminately, all animals; dancing, rainy days, breathtaking scenery of landscape and nature, pretty malls. I love looking up at the sky morning, afternoon and night. The moon in whatever shape and shade has found a fervent lover in me.

My likes and interests: exercise, hard-action flicks (minus any revolting graphics), milk tea, Coca Cola, food and drinks that have chocolate in them, pasta, funny guys who make me laugh, humor among plentiful things and situations, clouds, libraries, bookstores, alleys and balconies, elevated trains running across the sky, mountains, snow, falling rain; the colors pure white, light brown, soft red; cool weather, musk scents, astronomy. So far, a few of my most favorite authors and poets are Richard Jackson, Albert Camus, Fernando Pessoa, e.e. cummings, Kenneth Rexroth.

I don’t mind doing housework, several chores I find relaxing such as washing the dishes. I like being organized. Yet I have this frustrating habit of not putting things back in their proper place.

My hates: summer at its peak, loud blabby women, bugs (especially the big flying ones)

A couple of my minor regrets: First, not keeping a diary. Second, not learning how to ride a motorcycle: I fancy women bikers as ultra cool.

I would want to live forever not just because I’m afraid of death but because there’s so much in life to cherish and hold on to.

In my next life, I’d be a female librarian, a musician, a versatile actress, a great poet.


Another all-time beloved song. Everybody likes this old classic. My most favorite version is this highly dramatic rendition by The Four Tops.

I will take the wine while it is warm
and never let you catch me looking at the sun
But after all the loves of my life, you’ll still be the one.
I will take my life into my hands and I will use it
I will win the worship in their eyes and I will lose it.
I will have all the things that I desire
and my passions flow like rivers in the sky
And after all the loves of my life, you’ll still be the one.”

something personal – 1

In my nearly ten years as a resident of wordpress, I’ve aimed several times to write about my romantic history because love and liaisons with men occupy a dominant portion of my existence. To this day, I’ve written only a single post on my ex-husband, and managed very few minor mentions of previous boyfriends, and that’s it. I simply couldn’t motivate myself to reminisce and compose pretty pieces on dudes I couldn’t care less about anymore. But if you ask me how things are concerning the jerk who is presently the apple of my eye, half a dozen full posts definitely won’t be enough — if I’m not feeling mortified revealing the current motions of my heart.

There’s something odd in me when it comes to love. It’s hard for me to play games — I can never get the hang of it. I feel better when I leave it to the guy to have the final say as to the state of our relationship or connection. Whenever it’s my call, I feel miserable. It’s an inexplicable nature of mine.

When I get sick and tired of a man’s bullshit, I do things that would make him quite uncomfortable so he’d skedaddle like an imbecilic skunk. Really. And the best way to freak out any guy is to give a hint as to my wish that I be the only one in his heart. Or when I keep stressing to him how much his presence means to me. The expected reaction could be very funny. Such imbeciles.

Very direct here this time: I like good-looking men. Or men who at least were good-looking when they were young. I was brought up by parents who put looks and wealth as the two most important things in life. So I’ve had a lifetime struggling with disposing the mentality that my success is measured only by my beauty and my financial capability. Oh and let me add fame to make it a trinity.

— to be continued (by adding more to this post later bcz I’m busy working right now yet the need to write sth is becoming an urgent matter) —

lines of love this july

You come home tired
and pour yourself a drink
You sit beside me
and tell me about your day
I take the glass in your hand
and put it aside.
I’ve missed you…
gently I shift on to kiss you
Now i don’t drink
yet I relish the taste
of whiskey in your mouth.
Some touches of yearning
intense but sweet
exhale our deepest wants
whilst whispering breaths,
soft names for each desire.
Through the slow caressing of our lips
the spread of love is complete. 


– geena 04july2019

I created a version of him
whose heart belongs
to no one but me.
He’d ask why, and I say,
‘how is our love unalike
to the vow of faith
among bodies of heaven,
sheer bond of rain to clouds,
vast between earth and sky…’
For the only thing I know
is the only way I love.

– geena, 22june2019 (revised from a previous poem)

image: dedicatedtorain, Tumbler

I sometimes ponder on the woman behind
who once had the capacity to love another being.
A shift of mind, and in time, i set about gathering
the necessary, dandy words to fill up my nights, my soul,
from a past and present which have shaded my illusions,
my delusions; in spite of an uncertainty within
whether my heart still possess
the function it has had before.
A wish within was born –
that i may be somehow understood by a kindred soul.
One more rose indeed bleeding from its own thorns
struggling to attain a form of redemption
in the palm of your hand.


– geena, 06july2019

june ramblings — hey i’m only human

he’s been obsessed with an artist named marisa
look i’m sorry but she seems skinnier than morticia
maybe blinded by the taste he might have for her art
i still think omg sth’s truly wrong with his sight

— geena, 26june2019


Drat, I made the mistake of responding warmly when mr. talentless poet (cum librarian) reached out once more.  Little did I know his taste for women really makes me go “eew”. I mean, marisa marko? Cmon… Now my looks are questionable because he has deemed me pretty. Aargh… Well, I’m entitled to my own taste and opinions. I’m only human.

chronic-life, Tumbler

June Musings

That I have no one else to really talk to in my physical realm is true. Stepping into this virtual world has always felt like a holiday – a respite from the grating realities of my earthly existence.

Here in my country, I’ve had difficulty finding people who are like me: highly enthusiastic about English and writing, deeply introspective, more of an iconoclast, and free from religious shackles. None of my family members or relatives share my pursuits. To boot, acquaintances and personal connections at work I have very little in common with – as my means of livelihood is totally unrelated to my passions in life. It’s on the internet, specifically the blogsphere, that I met people who were interesting to me.

In here, I occasionally seek refuge and a little warmth and the feeling of home. I don’t have the standard life of having a family around. I’m at this stage where I simply focus on the things that still sustain me and elevate my well-being.
The blogland is where I truly enjoy the privilege of running with stanzas and verses of my own whenever I want to– in spite of the fact coming up with the proper metaphor is an arduous undertaking. No doubt my strength is more on prose. Still, my poetic endeavours have been gratifying – because it’s somewhat new, something I haven’t given real attention to in the past. My pitiful lyrical attempts could also be traced back to my half a dozen skimpy silly lines several years back, as romantic verses have always been my preference when penning poetry. Besides, I’m a proponent of the writing tip that one should accord more precedence to feelings than words.
People around me, including my own sister, have been puzzled as to how I could go on after my son left. In my mind, I am profoundly convinced I am my father’s daughter. In the sense he and I were constructed of sturdier stuff compared to most average beings. No, I take that back. My father had been the real McCoy. There were days I wouldn’t want to rise up from bed and I don’t believe I’m as industrious as he was. Even so, my vow is to keep putting my one foot in front of the other. Because I am still bent on finding out how far my trudging steps will take me – while appreciating everything good that’s been left.

Loneliness is something I don’t want to process much in my mundane condition anymore. I guess it has since become deep-rooted I can no longer tell whether I’m sad or not. Too many losses, griefs, and afflictions I’ve had to set aside to be able to go on living. I’m simply determined to make use of whatever’s left until everything ultimately slips away.

In the event I’d get hit by a bus while carrying on with my daily humdrum tasks, I’d be at peace knowing my words, no matter how struggling and unskillful they are, would have their resting place in here.

luthienne, Tumbler, Noirefontaine, Belgium (2018)

My May Poetry

For you are the songbird
that glows in its core
an attachment I honor above the rest
a masterpiece of all time and love.
Remember me past the strength of my devotion
past the complications of my faithful heart
past the tides that once rose
from the radiance of these lines.

–  geena, 24april2019

Starsfellonlivaniana, livaniana on Tumbler

His restless thought made her smile
their deep affection in silent form
a night’s fever burns within
the sparks of past they left behind
words come to glow they both know
their term for love would run forever.

–geena 30 may 2019

Amy K. Valadarsky, Star Gazing, 2016 – 2017

There’s a version of him I created
whose heart belongs to only me.
If he’d ask why, I’d reply
Dedication is measured by fidelity.
A lasting devotion
between two people.
It’s the only thing I know
the only way I love.

— geena 30 may 2019

April poetry

Sweet man from my dream

core to every love song

I sing through the night

Now the hole in my heart

ploughed by your absence

turns deep as the ocean,

in concurrence with each star

that ignites and falls

over the burden of the three words

I’m forever forbidden to say.


– geena, 20april2019

You’ve come back

and I see once more

the clarity of moonlight

from the certainty of your touch.

Let me pull you closer

till no space is in between us.

Let my lips find yours –

appease an impractical longing,

for only this moment

through only this feeling

with only your love.


– geena 12april2019