The Magic of Bookcrossing

I reunited with my book!

Two years ago, I left this book somewhere in Intramuros because I love the idea of bookcrossing.

Guess what!!! A week ago, a friend called and told me that she found my book somewhere in Intramuros din! I got so curious about the book because she told me that there are scribbles written on the pages so I told her to bring it back to me and tadaaaaaa! These are some scribbles written on the book, there are a lot more tho and some are looking for textmates. I never ever thought about crossing path with this book again but look! I love its broken spine, folded and tan pages and I think I should go leave this book somewhere again so that Tom Sawyer could continue his adventures. How cool is that? 🙊Sorry but this is like magic to me! 😂

The letter I wrote for the reader
Notes from the reader

What do you think of bookcrossing? Share your thoughts on thw comment section! 😜

Cold Hands

Ever since,
every time my hands get cold and pale
nanay used to hold my hands

So, every time nanay’s hands get cold,
I learned to do the same.

Months ago,
Exactly during the cold rainy night of August
We were in a place surrounded by wonderland of clean sterile environment that smells strongly like cheap disinfectant

It was midnight,

I sat on one of the two chairs beside the bed

I noticed something, she doesn’t look okay.
nanay’s hands got so cold.

Soooo cold that it made everyone
come rushing into her room.

My hands were cold.

I was not frightened nor I was afraid.

What I felt was beyond mere nouns.

I froze for a moment.

What went wrong??
I tried to hold her hands
for a few seconds,
for a few minutes,
for almost an hour
but that night was different,
nanay’s hand stayed cold for a long time.

that night,
I realized that her hands can get even colder.
and that night,
I realized that
I’ll never again,
feel nanay’s warmth.

I miss my grandma.


Before we can live, a part of us has to die.

We have to let go of what could have been, how we should’ve acted and what we wish would have said differently.

We have to accept that we can’t change the past experiences, opinion of others at the moments in time or outcomes from their choices when we finally recognize the truth,

only then,

we will recognize the truth,

only then,

we will understand the true meaning of forgiveness of ourselves and others.

From this point,

we will be free.

In one year,

A lot can happen in one year.

In one year, you can accept yourself.

In one year, you can get over a heartbreak.

In one year, you can discover that you’re not alone.

In one year, you can recover from being stabbed in the back.

In one year, you can find true friends.

In one year, you can find yourself.

In one year, you can be happy

Image source: pinterest


once she was whole
the world held sparkle and shine
the laughter on her vivacious lips
traveled up to meet her eyes filled with wonder
and the sun bursts from her beating heart
trust was freely given and
love was easily tumbled into

the first one who broke her
took the wonder from her eyes,
and replaced it with haunting and
brimming unusual sorrow;
he slipped her to the void
and with amusement watched her
cried for abyss.

the second one was different.
his eyes shimmered too.
but his mouth only spoke arrows
that pierced her heart through.
he pushed her off the cliff
then blamed her for the fall
and acted like she never mattered at all.

the next one took her laughter
and traded it with tears
the one after that took her body
and gave it away for thrills.
again, and again they broke her
pieces by pieces
until she finally vanished

by now the world had lost its sparkle
her patchwork heart barely breathing;
no longer shines so fine bright
her soul went blank with sorrow
from being tossed out like trash everytime
her lips are cracked
from screaming the silent burning words of pain

so when you see her hollow eyes
and judge the words she say
know that her guttemouth
belongs to the ones who took eveything away
the filth they fed her
until she choked on all their lies
now taints every word that comes from her mouth.

wrote this few months ago. This is the middle aged woman’s story. I met at a hospital and we kinda click so she told me her story.

Image Source: Bloody Mouth by Thomas Saliot