pretty isn’t pretty, i guess
I'm not pretty. Throughout my teenage years, I have despised everything about myself—my school, my lack of intelligence and talent, my body, and my sexuality.
Assembling editorial columns...
I'm not pretty. Throughout my teenage years, I have despised everything about myself—my school, my lack of intelligence and talent, my body, and my sexuality.
The first thing that bleeds after a puncture is rarely what lies deepest. It is the skin that gives way first, breaking itself before the wound can reach what is within.
WELCOME TO THE STATE OF THE NATION ADDRESS 2026.
Paparating na sa University Avenue Station… Approaching University Avenue Station…
Kababayan,
They ask me, “What’s your favorite horror movie? ”
The law cannot be mastered in a single reading. Every section and article requires patience to understand.
Life begins the same way every game of UNO does: with a hand no one chooses.
I've been hiding my true feelings for months, knowing you wouldn't be able to accept them. The emotions I've been harboring are ones you'll never experience or see, as you continue to hold on to the man who left you long ago.
They lied to us.
10:00 pm strikes:
There are hands
There has always been an understanding that words, once spoken, can never be taken back. The moment the words leave your mouth, you no longer possess the power to control them.
Tulog pa ang umaga ngunit gising na ang buong diwa ko. Hindi pa man sumisikat ang araw ay nakagayak na ako—hindi upang pumasok sa paaralan, kundi para tumulong sa pag-aani ng mga palay.
Superhero ba si Sara? Yung tipong wala siyang pakpak pero nakikita ko siya sa iba't ibang lupalop ng bansa.
Hindi ito teleserye. Wala itong script, bida, o kontrabida na kailangang gampanan ng bawat karakter para sa mas mataas na ratings.
When the crowd goes wild and everyone stands up, who am I to refuse to clap?
I was once a girl who believed our love story would last forever. Because of that, I was so certain that my future would always have you in it.
I can feel them burning.
I never knew I’d long for this so much. I’d never expected these scenarios would eat me full, that I’d rather die than to be swallowed whole by nostalgia.
To the daughter I’ll never have:
I am an elementary school teacher. As their educator, it is my responsibility to teach my students not just knowledge written in books or provided by the internet, but also values that they will remember and carry until they grow up.
I almost killed myself when I was fourteen.
You can’t miss this deal. / You can’t.
It is difficult to find those who meet a heart without misunderstanding it first. It is also excruciatingly cruel how rare it is to be found by the right kind of people.
My name’s Kielle, a literary writer and campus journalist. I spent two years studying architecture before shifting to fine arts.
I don’t remember the last time we kissed, I can’t even remember the last time we talked. As they said, you never remember the lasts because you never thought that it would actually be the last.
I don’t remember when the shift happened — just that somewhere along the way, what I loved stopped waiting for me and started waiting on me. Deadlines crept in.
When I count down from five, every memory, thought, and feeling of you will be erased.
I watched their lives move smoothly as mine shatters uncontrollably,
Sometimes, I wonder how my father could have been if the world had treated him differently — before the world told him how a man should be, and if the world had been gentler to him. Would he appear to be different to the man he is now?
Not everyone grows up knowing what it feels like to have a father.
I am ████ free.
The first thing I have to hide is not my emotions—it is my face.
Para sa aking mahal,
They told me
Tick.
I have never been whole.





















Amidst these quiet moments, when lassitude or exhaustion presses heavy, remember: darkness is not the enemy. It is the frame for light, the soil where resilience roots. You breathe, you wait, you rise, as the sun naturally breaks through. When the night draws close, the moon offers rest and silver calm. Balance endures. You endure. And life moves on, still circling, still shimmering, and so can you.

Maybe aging well isn’t about becoming numb. Maybe it’s about becoming less surprised—by loss, by love, by the way the world keeps moving even when you don’t. It’s about learning that survival isn’t always noble, and that sometimes staying is braver than leaving. It’s realizing that the people you once swore you couldn’t live without were only ever chapters, not the whole book.

When malls rise and parks vanish, even a bench becomes a witness to inequality. The disappearance of public spaces is not just an urban issue—it is a quiet erasure of freedom. What remains of public life when the last open seat is swallowed by concrete? Will the seat be moved? Uncertain. Unyielding.

"Hanggang keyboard warrior ka lang naman," "Hanggang libro lang 'yan," "Puro reels, mag-protest ayaw?" Those are the phrases often thrown like a challenge, a sneer and dismissal. As if people expressing their opinions and hatred—towards those who are above us—online is a lesser form of activism. As if speaking up in a digital space is insignificant—more often seen as either being safe, lazy or useless.

I've come to terms that practicality will always come first before passion. Maybe passion won't even be an option in the first place. Maybe it will become a little side hobby when corporate life gets tough, and maybe that's all it will be.

Even before the money reaches our hands, the government has already taken its share in taxes. We endure because of its purpose. But we are not benefitting anything from what we've been paying.

Art is sometimes the artist itself, for crafting a masterpiece, Revolving through life and art, making life a bliss, These pieces of one's soul, shall be immortalized, sealed with a kiss.


To everyone who stood when the sky fell, thank you. The storm may have stolen our roofs, our walls, our streets. But it did not take hope.

In my daydreams, I already imagined strolling along the halls of my dream college. Feeling so fulfilled and energized, studying in the course I've always dreamed of, surrounded by peers with the same hopes and dreams as me. Pursuing the path I've always wanted.

It is the curse and calling of journalism: To walk where thunder waits, to write even when the ink runs red, To stand—even if alone, Because the world still needs Those who do not bend with the rain.

In a few weeks, someone else will be typing their first headline. But my story? It’s still being written — just beyond the deadline. Because I’ve learned: in journalism, as in life, it’s never just about the scoop. It’s about the JOURNey.