Tag Archives: Writing

Something I Learned Because It Doesn’t Snow in the Philippines

While classifying invoices at work this day, I come across an item I have no idea about — salt spreader.

So I asked one of my counterpart in Europe what the heck it is. He said it is an equipment to spread salt on the ground, so ice/snow would melt, to prevent people from slipping. Continue reading Something I Learned Because It Doesn’t Snow in the Philippines

She’s a traveler, a frustrated accountant. An artist and a writer at heart. Unpredictable and spontaneous. A little weird and a little mysterious. So chase her and run with her. You’ll never get bored and you’ll never regret it.

Weekly Blog Challenge

After being a blogger who doesn’t write for over three years, just writing during my “inspired moments”, and sulking into depression for almost a year, I finally had the courage to step out of the darkness I’m accustomed to. And into the light, I go. Yay!

A sure mistake for starting a blog is not to write. A lesson I learned so far in this blogging journey. Now, I’m determined to start my year right and to bring back my soul and passion for writing. And will take this blogging journey to the next level. Wohoo! Continue reading Weekly Blog Challenge

She’s a traveler, a frustrated accountant. An artist and a writer at heart. Unpredictable and spontaneous. A little weird and a little mysterious. So chase her and run with her. You’ll never get bored and you’ll never regret it.

My Random List


So, I just got home around 6 in the morning from long hours of work and overtime, I was waiting for sleep to come and was looking for something interesting in Pinterest and when I found this: Random List. Continue reading My Random List

She’s a traveler, a frustrated accountant. An artist and a writer at heart. Unpredictable and spontaneous. A little weird and a little mysterious. So chase her and run with her. You’ll never get bored and you’ll never regret it.

A Late Bloomer’s Thoughts

Sometimes,
When I can’t think of something to write,
I blame the hot weather on a cold December.
I heard every noise and distractions a night can offer.
I push myself up to the last thought,
but I’ll end spending hours staring on a blank paper,
thoughts wandering but nowhere to go.

When I can’t think of something to write,
I’ll invent stories;
stories with no ending, neither a beginning.
I’ll spend time chatting with characters I’ve made up,
forming their roles and making a mess with them.

I forced my poor mind to complete
even just one sentence that makes sense,
and unfortunately end up with nothing.
All words jammed together without a clear thought,
just like a blur.

When I can’t think of something that makes sense,
I blame the tiresome, long day,
for draining up my wit and strength.
I try to relax and unwind for a minute
but still, gained nothing but a yawn.

But my poor heart wants to say something to the world
yet my mind can’t decipher what the heart wants to say.
I try my best to hear my conscience—
if it can help me with something wonderful.
Alas, I can only hear my own voice singing a Carpenters’ song.
Even my conscience takes a break.

I read magazines and even the Bible for some inspirations,
but I only got make up tips
and ‘how to make him notice you’ information,
though helpful, I admit.
And oh, yes, the Bible says,
“Wisdom is in every thought of the intelligent people;
fools know nothing about wisdom”.

When I can’t think of something to write,
I blame my boring love life—-
Oh, I don’t even have a ‘love life’.
A woman in love can write a novel
about how she feels at exactly that moment,
expressing her love by thousand words.

I thought that’s why I can’t even write
one sentence that makes sense—
I’m not in love.

When inspiration doesn’t spend time with me,
sometimes even a fortnight,
I feel so empty.
A writer needs inspirations to write.
And when passion seems like taking a rest too,
like a fire in an open field,
trying to stay ablaze in a stormy weather—
there’s nothing poorer than that to a writer;
a broken glass; a wet book;
a withered plant.

When I can’t think of something to write,
I blame my pen and my notebook
for not keeping up with my mood.
And after a series of erasures and wasted, crumpled papers,
I forced myself again.

And soon, everything fits to place.
There’s no one to blame really,
not even myself.
Yes, blame is such a harsh word
because I realized, all these jammed words,
still made sense, indeed it makes sense —
even when I can’t think of something to write.

-jle120612 (Photo not mine)