you were like the ocean; quiet and tranquil, hypnotizing people with just a mere look from your eye, sending them into zones they have never imagined. you drown them in shades of blue, making them wonder what it is about you that lured them in so much. but then, you were the ocean. behind still waters lie words that could break hearts, thoughts that mirror a sinking tragedy, and actions that bring shipwreck and chaos and pain and heartaches all at once. you were the ocean, vast and mysterious, but then again, i dont mind, because i was willing to drown — fcgm, an excerpt from a book ill probably never write 

Do Not Fall In Love With An Artist


DISCLAIMER: All rights belong to juliannemarie.

Artists are probably one of the most mercurial types of people here on earth.
These people are those who wildly careen off of every emotion: sad today, falling in love later and angry at everyone tomorrow, artists are like their palettes; vibrant, full of color, yet easily ruined by one wrong stroke or a mismatch of words.

Artists have intense feelings, and this intensity can be seen in their works. Artists channel everything into their pieces, and you can be sure that once you catch an artist’s attention, you will find various imprints of yourself on their pieces, various versions of you tucked in hidden corners and spaces of their paper.

So when it comes to artists, their are two things that you should never, never do: Make them angry, and fall in love.

The wrath of an artist is a sight to behold, to say the least. They will blind you with explosions of colors and hues that resemble pomegranate stains when you eat them with your favorite shirt on. Their words will not cut you, for it will sear you. It will burn you and leave you with third-degree burns but it will never leave a trace on your skin, you will only feel it. You will feel the sharpness of the words “knife” and “hate” against your back, while the phrase “I should not have trusted you” caresses the thin layer of skin beneath your earlobes. They will paint you over with their anger and frustration and cover you with bright colors and snippets of hurtful sentences. They will use their art – one of the very few things that they know to be very truthful and scarring at the same time – and use it against you. Unleash the wrath of the artist, and you will enter the prettiest and most beautiful piece of hell you’ll ever see.

But if you were to ask me, making an artist angry is better, so much better, than falling in love with one.

Do not fall in love with artists, for they will turn you into a canvas.

They will paint over your scars with watercolors and drench you with hues that resemble the night sky and lazy afternoons in the middle of July. They will peel letters off your skin and create verses from your deepest, darkest secrets. Your dreams and hopes will be put inside their poetry and will be hidden within the smallest folds of their vellum. They will create ink from your tears and write calligraphy with it. They will paint over your eyes with their whimsies and far-off fancies. Your soul will be stained by oil paint and they will refuse to rub it off for you even when the thick buildup of paint hinders you from moving a muscle. They will create stories from every breath and every gesture you make that they find appealing. They will slather on words and letters and sentences on your skin created from your late-night conversations and will use your drunken thoughts as accents. They will color over your morning skies using colored pencils they bought from the flea market. They will pay attention to your every detail and then re-create them with fervor by decorating your wounds with words and colors and bright blue pastels.

And when they leave, you will become a masterpiece, bared for everyone to see.
You will become a canvas, and you cannot remove their paintings and prose no matter how many times you try and wash them off. Not even turpentine will work.

The paints and rainbows and paragraphs and lines they have embedded on your skin will never come off, because it is permanent.
Your vision will forever be blurred by the sunsets in their smiles and the phrases in their fingertips.

Your presence will always be overshadowed by the artworks and stories that they have created for you.
You will be injured with every single piece they make, down to the very last drop of color.

Never fall in love with artists, for they will leave you with more than a mark.

They will leave you with every thought that has crossed their mind, and you will be left with nothing at all because they have re-created you into something else, something much, much brighter and more vivid, but darker at the same time.

You will never be you once you fall in love with an artist, even more so after you do.
So don’t fall in love with an artist.

Letters to No One | 001

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

I can still remember everything like it was yesterday. The people, the cool afternoon breeze, the sound of the clock ticking, the noise from the students outside, everything.. You were on your usual happy self, but there was something different in your eyes, and in that moment.

I knew it.

I knew what was gonna happen.

I thought it was one of the silly puns you used to tell me when we were walking home from school, or those corny jokes your grandfather used to tell you about.

But it wasn’t.

And my goodness, how I wished it was.


Our story wasn’t perfect. It was from it, actually. It had ups, downs, happiness, and pain, but if there was something I was sure about, I’m glad it happened. Although there are times when I will randomly miss everything about you, I didn’t regret what we had. Because even in that short period of time, I became happy. And I hope you did, too.

Before I get my tears spilled up on my keyboard, I just want to leave you with this: meet new people, go to places, achieve your goals, reach for your dreams. I will always pray for the happiness you deserve nothing short of, A. And I hope that in your journey of finding happiness, you’ll encounter the why I did all these for you, the Source of real and pure joy




And eventually you’ll realize why it was supposed to end that way.



Auf Wiedersehen

​”You’re here,” the old woman said smiling. “You made it.” 

“Of course I did,” the man, nearing his 80’s, smiled back, “I couldn’t bear the thought of you here in this wretched place and do nothing.”

“You still have that mushy teenage boy inside of you, eh,” the woman chuckled. “Some things really never change.” 

“No, they don’t,” he paused, “We just get used to it.”

There was an abrupt pause between the two.. And suddenly, they did not mind the clamping of the of the nurses’ shoes making rounds back and forth through rooms, or the scent of sick hospital food by the bed stand. They just sat there; in an unappealing hospital bed, waiting for the sound of the electrocardiograph monitor to beep loudly, staring at each other, asking themselves what would happen if one dared to move a little earlier, they wouldn’t be miserable for a lifetime. But alas, there were no words said. Only the intensity of their stares— catinating the magnitude of their unsaid feelings; revealing the words they should have said, 60 years ago, when things were a lot more easier.
David Schrödinger had enough of his wife, Tricia…

        for the nth time in their almost 4 years of marriage. 

Of course, he loved her. That’s why he asked for her beloved yes years ago. But there are times, this one for example, when he gets tired of her attitude. Yes, he tried to keep up with her; doing whatever she says, buying her dried mangoes even in the middle of the night, or giving her flowers just to brighten up her day, but this— this was different.

That explains why he’s in his bestfriend’s apartment, pouring his frustrations on her, hoping he’d get a breathe of fresh air. Because honestly only Mia can pacify the situation. Only Mia can make him understand why his wife is acting that way. Only Mia can figure out his feelings. And truthfully, only Mia can appease his ego. 

It’s like she knows everything; from the words to say, or what to do. And of course, Tricia trusts her too. They both do. That’s why she was the safest option, because who knows what would have happened if it was another girl. It was like she’s his mistress, except for the fact they don’t need hiding because they both know they’re not doing anything wrong.
“How could you, David?! Storming out of your house? What are you, a seven year-old?” Mia shouted. She wanted to understand her friend’s side, but what he did to his wife is unacceptable. 

“I couldn’t help it,” he replied. “I know it hurt her, but I just couldn’t.”
“What do you mean you couldn’t?!”

“I’m tired of understanding her, Mia. She’s been like that for months! At first it was bearable, but it becomes worse and worse everyday!” 

Annoyance was already evident on her face, “But she’s your wife, David! You need to understand her, for Pete’s sake!” 

David couldn’t hide his annoyance too. “You know what? I didn’t come here for another nagging wife!”

“Then you shouldn’t have had a wife!” Mia incautiously raised her voice, which surprised her, because of all the times he went to her for comfort or for advice, she would just talk to him nicely and he would go home and make up with Tricia.
But today was different. 
And she was so tired of being his go-to buddy when things aren’t right in his house.
“Shouldn’t have had a wife?! She’s always like this! Who breaks the furniture, which you saved up for months, because of mood swings?!” 

“David,” the girl breathed deeply, calming herself. “Do you want to get a divorce?” 

“I can’t stand her when she’s being like this!”

“You avoided my question so that means no,” Mia replied. “Remember what you said at the altar, David. For better or for worse, right? Do you want to tell the judge you want to get a divorce because she just broke your furniture?”

“But this isn’t the worse I was expecting!”

“What worse do you expect than worse in marriage, David? You should’ve married a furniture seller if the broken furniture’s your problem!”

“I came here for a breathe of fresh air, Mia! Why won’t you listen to me?” 

“There! See? You always think of yourself, David.” She replied. 

“Oh, so it’s about me now—”

“Yes! Yes, David! Because, sorry to break it to you, but you’re selfish. You always think of yourself. How much did you spend or what you feel, but have you ever thought of what Jenny feels? What’s going through the back of her mind whenever you’re with me? No, David. You don’t.” 
“But you’re with me!” 
“That’s the point, you’re with me! Girls always overthink. What do you think a guy and a girl do when they’re alone together? Play hopscotch?!” 

David sighed. “Why are you like this, Mia? Do you think this is what I need right now?”

“Oh,” she paused. “I’m sorry. Sorry for putting some sense in your head because Mia here should just think about David. Mia should understand what David feels. Mia here should  always be there whenever David needs her. Mia should be the one to adjust for David. Mia should put David about anything else. Mia should make David her top priority because Mia should not think about herself,” she sniffed, trying to prevent the tears from her eyes, but ended up failing, anyway. 


“Mia should always care for David,” she started sobbing. “Mia should continuously love David even if she gets nothing in return.” 
The girl slowly walked away from him, while trying to wipe tears away. He followed her, because of all people, he loved Mia. She was the one who was there when things go wrong. She was like his wife, except for the romantic stuff. 

Romantic stuff.


“M-Mia?” His voice unsure. “I’m so sor—“

“Don’t be David,” she smiled sadly. God knows how much he wanted to take her into his arms, but he can’t. “Don’t be sorry for anything. It’s okay, your fault. It was my choice to be by your side. It was my choice to be always available whenever you needed me.” 

“Mia, I—“

“Tricia’s the one who deserves your apology, David. She needs it the most.”

“But I’ve offended you.”

“Yes. Countless of times,” she said as she continued sobbing. “But never be sorry for not loving me the way I wanted to be loved.”


“David, I’m leaving for Melbourne tomorrow,” she wrapped her hand into his arms.

“W-what? How come I never knew this?”

“Because you’re too preoccupied with Julie. You only come to me when you two argue.” 

“I’m not taking you for granted, Mia—“

The girl laughed bitterly, “You do. You just don’t notice it.” 
“I love you, David,” the girl said smiling as tears fell down her cheeks. “Allow me to say that before I leave. For years now. In our nine years of friendship, five of those, I loved you.”
Memories came back; when he asked if Tricia passed her standards, when he consulted her what to give her for their anniversary, when he told her he was about to ask her to marry him, when he went to her apartment in the middle of the night, jumping happily, because finally, she said her yes. And when he asked her to be the bridesmaid of their wedding.
All while hurting her in the process.
He was about to hug her back but she stopped him, “Please don’t touch me,” she begged “Please don’t make me think like I stand a chance because I don’t.”

She walked away. And that was the last time he saw her crying, because the next time he did, it was on her wedding day— three years after.

“How’ve you been?” the old man asked. “I haven’t heard from you since… so long,” he paused, trying to hide the pain in his voice.

She coughed, “Besides lying all here all day with no one except the nurses— and you— visiting me, it’s bearable,” she glanced at the untouched plate of food beside her, “I already accepted the fact that since Ivan died, I’m also dying alone.” 

He looked surprised. He didn’t expect that the woman he continuously loved, was welcoming death with open arms, and he couldn’t handle seeing her like this.

“I’m here now,” the man held her cold hand, “You’re not alone.”

The woman, despite all the aching from the needles and machines attached to her, smiled. And it wasn’t the thank-you-for-your-pity kind of smile, it was the genuine smile that reached her eyes, the smile he always loved, the smile that could brighten up his bad day, and the smile he wiped off when he did nothing but hurt her in the process. 

“Thank you, David,” sparkly tears rolled down her eyes, “Thank you for giving me the chance to see you again, even in such a short time.”

“Hush now, love. I’m here now,” the man replied. He could not deny that even when the woman’s skin ran through the test of time, wrinkles and sagginess may have appeared, or her jet black hair are now turned into white waterfalls, she was still beautiful. She was still the girl who would sweep any man off their feet. She was still the Mia. The Mia whom David loved for sixty years, but only realized it soon enough, now that she’s on her deathbed, waiting for her final breath to come.

“I’m sorry, Mia,” he, too, started crying. “I’m sorry I was never there for you. I’m sorry if it took me fifty years to finally realize that it’s you I have loved, I’m sor—“

“I love you,” the woman said, interrupting him. “You have loved me in your own way, and with that, I am contented. Thank you for everything love, because it is you why I’m still breathing, because at last, the Heavens granted my last wish of seeing you, and for that, I am infinitely grateful.” 

He took her into his arms and hugged her tightly, “Mia, I lo—“
With that sound being heard, everything became quiet. The by-passers outside didn’t know whether if it was the nurses running or the old man’s sobs, but one thing’s for sure;
The heavens opened up it’s gate for the Love he lost, as she fell into a deep slumber for all eternity, leaving all the broken pieces behind. Hoping that someday, in another place, in another lifetime, or in another version of reality, their souls would meet, and perdure the love that once upon a time existed. 
Till then, love.

I’d Choose You


I didn’t fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway.And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”

— Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars

Biggest Regret


“What’s your biggest regret in life?” You suddenly asked while sipping your cup of coffee, watching the rain drop as people pass by in the busy street.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was when I let my classmate get the highest score in a Math Quiz Bee years ago when I had the chance of winning, or when I didn’t buy my favorite Paramore limited edition album,” I replied. “Why’d you ask?”

“I’m not really sure. It just came into my mind,”

I chuckled, “You know what? Let’s just hurry and finish our drinks before we get stranded in the middle of Manila.”

You laughed and pinched my cheeks, “You’re right. Let’s go.”

I looked in the mirror in front of me and smiled. After all these years, after all the joy and pain, here I am, getting ready for the time we’ve all been waiting for. The wedding.

Hastily, I wiped the tears streaming down my face. I can’t believe after everything we’ve been through, this will be our destiny. Our final destination.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, “Sierra, program starts in 2 minutes,” Carla, the wedding coordinator said. She’s been the one arranging everything and I’m thankful for that.

I smiled, “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

The big Church doors opened and I heard the violin version of Don’t Stop Believing by Journey played in the background. Looking back, I couldn’t help but to feel emotional. I remembered all those times we shared. Picnics in the park, watching the cars pass by in the city, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and talking about simple, yet crazy things while watching the sun set into the horizon.

Then, I saw you there. Wearing a white tux, next to the altar, smiling teary-eyed. As I saw that sight, I felt a familliar beating in my chest, the same beating I first felt when I first bumped into you at the grounds of UST.

The people smiled at me as I continued walking down the aisle. In just a few minutes, we will start a new chapter in our lives. We will turn the page, and start writing a new one. Not because we don’t want to, but because it’s life, and change is inevitible.

Before I knew it, I was infront of you. I looked into your eyes and saw the same eyes I fell in love with years ago. Another tear escaped my eye.

“You ready?” I asked, even my voice was hoarse because of crying.

“I’ve never been ready,” you replied and looked at me intensely. You held my hands and squeezed it, “I love you Sierra.”

“I love you too, Christian,” I said smiling, looking intently in your eyes with tears running down my face.

You kissed my forehead, and slowly, I let go of your hand. At the same time, I let go of all the memories we made, the laughters we shared, the tears we cried, and everything that was in between.

I looked at you one last time, and heard my own heart crashing into tiny pieces as I walked away. I couldn’t bear the sight of you getting married with someone who isn’t me. I couldn’t bear to watch you say the magic words to her. I couldn’t bear to watch you kiss her the way you kiss me. I couldn’t bear to see you start the new chapter of your life with her and not me. It was too painful to watch. Too painful that I couldn’t even breathe properly.

Years ago, you asked me what was the biggest regret of my life, and I answered I wasn’t sure. But now, walking away and letting you go, one thing came into my mind.



My biggest regret was not telling you I love you when I had the chance to.