I’m moving out. :(

Hi Everyone, I’m officially moving out here to cynthiatingo.com .🙂 See you there!🙂

P.S. I transferred already my content and some of my followers here to cynthiatingo.com . So if you happen to notice that I’m gone from your reader, this is the culprit!😦 Anyway, follow me again at cynthiatingo.com .🙂 Thank you!

A Heart Full

I carry within me a heart full
of stories and magic and new beginnings,
a heart full of hope and trust
and of love that never knows how to fade nor end.

So when you’ve grown weary and tired
of this world’s never ending charades
when putting on your daily mask
became too much to bear,

Remember me
For I shall carry yours within mine
and I’ll lend you mine
when yours start to fail.



When you did your best
but your best is not enough
When you pour your life and blood and insides out
and you sacrifice everything else
and it is still not enough
When every step up is two steps down
and everything you do is an uphill trudge.

Shouldn’t it be something like
Do your best and everything else will turn out okay?
Yet life doesn’t seem to work that way

Suddenly you found life has its own rules
and regulations
that you are not aware of,
and pitstops
and hidden tunnels
and sinking holes
that you never sign up for.

I’m confused, you say.
How did everything turn out like this?
It used to be rainbows and fairs
and cotton candies and laughters that
never seem to end.
When did the rules change?
Now everything else you do
seems to turn into ashes
and dust moats
and a pile of stinking garbage
for the future generations to tread on.

Why did everything change?, you asked
but no answers came,
just the sound of the howling wind passing by
and with every minute
that ticks
and tocks
you are left with a growing anxiety
that never stops.


– – –

In response to Daily Post: Confused and Inspiration Monday: Dust Moat

Explaining sadness

It is the feeling of tiredness that creeps on you even if you haven’t done anything all day long. It is the crying spells that overtakes you when you are finally left all alone after a long day of pretending to be okay. It is the waking up every 2AM with your thoughts all jumbled up and morose. It is the desire to sleep all the time, to stubbornly stay on bed, and be continually lost in dreams that never makes sense. It is wanting to be somewhere that isn’t really here on the here and now. It is the staring contest at the ceiling, when you finally found a temporary peace in finding no thoughts, no chaos, no feelings, just a deep hollowed numbness at the center of your being.

Dreams and Coffee Talks

If we were having coffee, I would tell you about my dreams. I would tell you how I used to dream of being in a circus surrounded by lively music and people wearing colorful dresses and tunics, people that work together and bonded as family. I would tell you I dreamed of being a trapeze artist, always up high in the air, flying from loops to loops, light as air, and feet never touching the ground. I would tell you that I love heights. I love the feeling of falling and the feeling of excitement and hope it gives me, the hope that maybe when I jump, this time I would fly.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that maybe I have a gypsy soul in me, the kind that can read palms and sees the future, the kind that is affected by the moon’s waxing and waning, the kind that would kiss a stranger because she has already met him in one of her dreams.

If we were having coffee, I would also tell you that I grew up shy, that I have soft bones, loose joints, and weak heart, and I am affected by loud noises and music. I would also tell you that my dreams are mostly nightmares, that my moods are worsts than the moon, and that I have seen him in my dreams, but when I met him, he’s already kissing someone else.

Hearts and Empires

“What are you about?” she asked.
“Conquering empires and lands,” he said proudly. “And you little miss?”
“Nothing much,” she said sighing. “Just conquering hearts.”


“Let me get lost.”

There is a desire that resides deep within her soul to run away. To escape to an unknown future. To wander around eternally, without destination, without home in sight.

It is always there just beneath her skin, humming in her veins, vibrating on her bones, just barely on the back of her mind, always within grasp.

To carve a new path. To start a new adventure, a new life. To change her name, her looks, her identity, and personality. To forget. To go somewhere where no one knows her. To start all over again. To never look back.

To never get back.


Breaking the curse: Learning how to write again

Stutter those words.

I could feel the words rising on the tip of my tongue only for it to vanish on the thin air.

Two years ago, I could spin and weave words and write with such an ease that looking back now, I wonder how I did it.

Yet two years ago, I also killed my muse.

Pain and heartbreak can make you do that.

Not knowing then that I am destroying and killing an integral part of me: the part of me that allows me to write, and view the word in colored lens made of words, and images and visions, crafted together by phrases and syllables, and punctuation, and sealed permanent with ink (or sometimes, with hitting that Publish button).

Now, I feel like I am back on being a toddler on its first word, learning again how to talk, and connect words in such a way that it brings harmony to my all too incoherent thoughts.

Stutter those words.

Type it down. Backspace. Type it again.

I could feel the words rising on the tip of my tongue, pressing down on my fingers. I was able to catch two or three words in the air, enough for me to finish this post.


We, always, always, always have a choice. No matter how much other people or circumstances try to convince you otherwise, do not for a single second believe that you don’t have one.

In reality, I have to remind myself of this truth everyday. That I have a choice. That right at this moment, I am choosing this. And at any moment, I can unchoose this too.

And you can unchoose this too.


Today, I will convert his winter smile to summer laughter
I will transform his cold translucent skin to a warm glowing ember
I will turn his blue frozen lips to a bloodied hungry mess.
We will bathe and swim and he will smell like the ocean’s mist
and his skin will taste like sea salt and sunshine
His grey eyes will reflect the clear blue sky
And for a moment he will thought that his eyes were blue too.
The ocean will whisper to him the secrets of the universe
And I will look in his eyes, hoping he hears and understands.
We will lay in the sand with my head in his chest, as I listen..

Today, I will give a life to his non beating heart.


My entry for this week’s #FWF Free Write Friday: Quote Prompt.

To forgetting and remembering

I could almost hear again the snow falling, landing softly on the cold concrete floor of that unknown alley. He was walking away from me, and I couldn’t help but to just stare at him, at his broad shoulders, and his slow walking gait as if something was paining him. I could almost hear him sigh every now and then.

He was walking away, and I had a vague feeling that he’s walking away from me.

I wished, even until now, that he would stop and turn so I could see his face. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He walked on and on, as I stared on and on until his figure vanished and melted and blurred with the vast whiteness under the night sky.

That’s my mind’s first memory and probably my heart’s last.

– – –

#FWF Free Write Friday: Time and Place Scenario entry.



It was raining hard when you left me
the ship we’re on was about to sink
and all the gang was there.
You held her hand,
As I held mine.

It was raining hard when she left me
the ship we’re on was about to sink
and all the gang was there.
I wished it was her hand,
I was holding.

It was raining hard when he left me
the ship we’re on was about to sink
and all the gang was there.
I was holding his hand,
But she was holding his heart.

– –
My entry for #FWF Free Write Friday: Image Prompt


I want to drink the water from the ocean
Scald my skin with boiling water
Scrape my neck, my back, my fingers, my arms,
my legs, my stomach, my thighs
with the roughest of the roughest stone I could ever find.
I want to scrub every corner of my dirty little soul
Until all his sins are gone.

This is what it’s like when you see the world in blur


When you see the world in blur, you don’t notice things. You feel things. You may be the last one to know the details, but you’re always the first one to sense when something’s up.

When you see the world in blur, you learn not to trust your eyesight.

You learn not to depend on things that can be seen. You second guess things that are tangible, or anything that’s too obvious and superficial. You are a skeptic for anything that’s too real, or to simple. Instead, you trust your gut instinct, intuition, or whatever you called that inner knowing, above all else. Your intuition becomes your compass and map in dealing with the world too focus on looks and visuals.

When you see the world in blur, it’s really like seeing 360 degrees, or more like ‘sensing’ 360 degrees. You will learn to use all your senses, maybe not in its fullest and almost superhuman potential that others with lost sight do, but still in a way that it’s almost above human average. This goes to say that you are more fond of everything that involves the other senses like warm hugs, soulful music, exotic perfumes, and good tasting food.

When you see the world in blur, you love tuning out.

You almost always tune everything out. Because you have lived your life almost half-blind, you basically—though won’t necessarily admit it—doesn’t much care about your physical surroundings or what may be happening around. Instead, you always find yourself lost in your own mind, your own thoughts, and your own dreamscape.

When you see the world in blur, you alternate between being extremely cautious one day for your safety and being recklessly risky the next. This mostly applies to crossing the roads and not minding about cars that are about to hit you on your side, because for the meantime anyway, they’re all just a bunch of colors. And sometimes, you just can’t help but be not afraid of what you cannot see.

When you see the world in blur, you are compelled to become a good people reader, especially in meeting someone for the first time. You have to know almost everything about that person at first ‘close’ face interaction—the choices of their clothes, how they stand, what makes them tick, what makes their eyes light up, or what makes their voice pitch a little bit higher—without looking like you’re already filing some information about them at a corner in your mind for future reference. This you do so you might at least distinguish them when your paths cross on a busy street or even on a deserted corridor. But most likely, the efforts will be futile and you’ll come across as a snob.

In avoiding this, you tend to memorize people.

You memorize their physiques, their builds, their clothes, the way they hold themselves (especially the way they hold themselves), the way they walk, the sound of their voice, and even their smell. You do this quite automatically, almost unconsciously. And it may take three or four meetings or more before you finally ‘see’ them from afar.

When you see the world in blur, you don’t believe at love at first sight. You may fall in love with their voice and their touches and how they hold your hand, or their scent, or with how they carry themselves and how they open the doors for you every time. You will learn not to hold onto anyone’s looks as your sight is as fleeting as their appearances. Instead, you hold on to their energy, on how they make you feel, and what they feel about themselves, and what they feel about you.

When you see the world in blur, you’ll learn the delicate art of balancing what to trust and what not to trust. What is real and what is not real. What to doubt and what not to doubt. You’ll have an uncanny sense of knowing without knowing how.

You will learn to listen to the world, instead of seeing the world.

And you’ll learn most especially, to listen to yourself.

Yet sometimes, you will still make mistakes in your judgements. And that’s okay. Eyesight is hardly perfect, you can also err.



I think I am descending again,
on a train of thought
I assumed I’m over with
long ago when I learnt how to smile
and believed the Sun
when it’s behind those clouds.

But here I am again,
counting every pearls
and trickles of blood
mesmerize at the brightness of its promise
yet destroying me all at once
and all over again.

I am descending again
and this is my fiction, a truth in a lie
a hope in wickedness
and soon
everything will be swirling and spinning
and I’ll be one with vertigo.

Who will catch me by then
when I fall?
When I fall, if i fall,
I hope the ground
will be as soft as a burlap
woven in silk and honey threads.


– – –

Here’s my take for #FWF Free Write Friday: Word Bank using the following words: train – burlap – fiction – pearls – vertigo.