Hello there. I am Vin, currently twenty years of age. I study at the University of the Philippines Diliman taking BS Mathematics.

I love words just as much as how I love numbers.

Care to be my friend?


I have this face of a happy being. Look at how I smile whenever someone throws a joke, or whenever someone tries to paint a smile on my face. Look at how sparkling my eyes are when people are really being so nice to me. Look at how appreciative I am when I receive a box or two of sweet blessings from people. Look at how complacent I am when my friends invite me to go for a walk with them. Look at how merry I am to be with my sweet and loving girl. Look at how joyful I am when my parents are proud of me for getting high grades in school. Look at how good my aura is when I keep on walking at the path of felicity. Look how grateful and contented I am for attaining every happy moments and things in my life.

But that is what you are just thinking of me.

The real thing is that I am wearing a mask of mendacious smiles. Behind this mask lies a scarred face. It is a face whose wounds will never be healed. A face whose pains kept on shouting out. A face whose grimace is always present that one would find it exacting to paint a smile on me. A face that is continually bruised by the horrifying nightmares of the past. A face trapped within the realms of darkness where light cannot even percolate through. A face that will never be gleamed with happiness.

Now, tell me, how is it to be happy? How is it to enjoy the existence of life if you cannot find a way of excusing yourself from the abysmal den of sorrow? How will you be so sure enough that happiness is better than loneliness if some people find bliss in the walls of melancholy? How?

         ”In the depths of loneliness lies a fragile heart,
         all that has been wishing of way through joy;
         what now if light is replaced with eternal darkness,
         devouring such heart with shards of melancholy?”

Saturday, May 18, 2013


Kung pagsaulan kong gunitain sa aking alaala
ng panahong kapiling ang aking kasi,
Bugso ng damdamin ay di masasawata
Ang buhay ay pihong puno ng kulay;
Nagdamdam–pagal ang aking kasi
Ang pag–ibig ay sadyang mapaglilo,
Tulad ngayon, dama ko ang hilahil
Ang yaring puso’y nagamon sa karimlan.

Saturday, April 13, 2013
This is a quality blog kuya vin! not for the weak in mind that would simply say "nosebleed" hahahaha always loved your works kuya vin :D #publish mo to! XDD

Thank you, Johnry. :)

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Nailed Eyes

These eyes of mine —
they are nailed
to a damsel who is
comely both inside
and out,
yet her existence
is and would
always be
where are you,
my lady?

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Jovial Dance

She dances gracefully with her sparkling pink dress. Her adorable moves make me fall in love with her. She shines like one of the stars in the night sky. I want to have a dance with her. That will already satisfy my desire to have her. Just a dance with her for this night.

She sees me at the corner, and she drags me to the middle of the venue, and the romantic music starts to play. I am kinda surprised because I feel that she sees my eyes pleading — that I wanna dance with her. I feel like in a hammock being swayed back and forth. That feeling gives me a sense of relaxation and happiness. I ask myself if I am in a fairy tale. I can be Prince Charming, and she is the Cinderella whom I dance with. The night is filled with bright stars that seem to rejoice with me.

I feel her soft hands that I always long to hold. What enthralls me the most is her beautiful and unique smile that those lips of her form. Her eyes seem to sparkle like those twinkling stars at the night sky as the moon radiates its bright light with them.

"Am I dreaming?" I asked myself as I spend the night with her with such jovial dance that I would never forget in my life.

Thursday, February 28, 2013


Humigit kumulang isang taon ng una kita makilala
tila isang tadhana na hindi ko inakala
tanda ko pa yung paborito mong sumbrero
akala ko pa nga ay isa kang surbetero,

Isa ka sa pinaka matalik kong kaibigan
ang taong puno ng paninindigan
ikaw madalas ang aking naging sandigan
handang sumuporta ng walang hanggan,

Sa mundong ito na ating pinasok
noon ako ay nasa isang sulok
pero sa tulong mo ako ay iyong hinasa
sa pagsusulat ikaw ay sobrang bihasa,

Maaring meron tayong mga tampuhan
mga bagay na minsan di maintindihan
pero sa huli tayo pa rin naman ang magkaibigan
isang samahan na walang iwanan. 

The man full of mystery
a different kind of story
he was fun and witty
a material guy as you see

He writes magical words
like a master of the world
he thinks like a wise man
a dude stands like a boy band

From the curly Rizal hairstyle
to his heavy construction bag
he walks point to point
like man packed with hopes

I admire him
I trust him
I miss him
I love him.

Thank you very much for this wonderful birthday appreciation post, Kuya Pot. I am almost speechless as I dunno what to say, but thank you. I hope to see you again soon.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Paper Sheets

I used to have this fascination with papers, especially those that are just scattered everywhere. People would see me collecting paper sheets around the campus, and some students would willingly give me some. They wonder what I would do with those sheets. Some think that I am going to sell them so that I can have some money for myself. Well, that is not the case. I have a purpose why I collect paper sheets.

I first see the prints and etches on the papers for they may give me some information that are useful enough and those that can add to my bank of thoughts. I would smile if ever new information has been processed by my dear brain for I actually love anything that would spice up my thinking.

If I found clear spaces on paper sheets, I would try to weave some words on them, letting my thoughts fill up the spaces on those sheets. I love writing just as much as I love solving those complicated mathematical problems that almost squeezed my head as it produces a sensation of dizziness most of the time. In short, I love words just as much as I love numbers.

I feel a sense of bliss whenever I see that those spaces in the paper sheets are occupied with my words that my mind told me to write. Most of the time, I ask myself if I am really the one who has written those stuff on those sheets, and i would actually realize that the answer to my question is a ‘yes.’

Thursday, January 31, 2013

Beautiful Eyes

I was at the park one afternoon. It has been a habit of mine to hang out there everyday just to observe people and probably get some fresh air since the place is free from pollution.

That afternoon seemed to be peculiar because of a mother with her little girl. The little child is such an adorable being, and what caught my attention was her sparkling brown eyes.

"Mom, look at the sky!" the little girl exclaimed.

"What is with it, honey?" her mom asked.

"It is painted with shades of orange!"

"You are right, honey."

"I want to see the sunset, mom. May I?"

"Sure, honey. Now that you have your new eyes, you can now see everything."

"Thank you mom. I thought I’ll be forever blind and I won’t have the chance to see the beauty of life."

I got surprised on what I heard as they walked until they disappeared on my sight. I never thought that the little child’s sparkling eyes signify something. Those were the eyes that enabled her to see. Those were the eyes that set her free from darkness. Those were the eyes that gave her the hope of experiencing a wonderful life.

"You deserve to have those beautiful eyes, little girl," I uttered in the air.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Cold Porridge

I woke up one Saturday morning with my tummy reminding me that I need to fill it up with something. I went to the kitchen to see the amazing vessel that contains the amazing foods ever — the refrigerator. I was trembling as I open the door that would solve my tummy’s complaining act to me. And there I was, staring at the inside of the refrigerator. And there were a lot of invisible foods that I can eat. It was so surprising that my mom have not yet filled the refrigerator with foods. Perhaps, she has not yet gone to the supermarket or to the grocery.

I was about to leave and go back to my room when I saw something covered near the washing area of the kitchen. When I removed the cover, I was jolly to see that it is a porridge. I inevitably got such bowl of porridge and I proceeded to the dining room. I put some chocolate powder in the porridge before I ate it. The porridge was cold, but I just ignored it since I was really famished at that time.

I finished eating the porridge when my mom came to the dining room to tell me that she has not cooked our breakfast yet. And she merely stared at the empty bowl where I devoured the porridge.

"Son, what did you eat?" it was my mother whose eyes grew big.

"The porridge that I saw at the kitchen, mom," I answered.

"You should not have eaten that."

"But why, mom?"

"That porridge is already staled that is why I put it in the washing area."

"Mom, what?!"

And my body system told me to spew the staled porridge that afternoon of Saturday.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

The Peculiarian

I know a man whose name is Eddrian. He claims himself to be a unique guy. I would always tell him that everybody is unique just like anyone else. He would just grin like a fool, and I find it peculiar.

He loves singing very much. He got a lovely voice that most ladies would love to hear. He is always invited by some people to song at some occasions or important gatherings. Eddrian would gratefully accept their requests as he lets his sonorous voice fills the air of silence. I find peculiarity in his singing but still, he is such a good singer.

Eddrian seems to be a timid person, but such timidity gradually loses as soon as he got to be in touch with the people he would soon call as his dear friends. I am grateful enough to be one of his close friends. There is something in our friendship that I really find peculiar, and I am still on the process of knowing what it is.

"Edd, I really find you peculiar and I do not know why," I asked.

"Am I?" he asked in return.

"Yes! But I love your peculiarity. What could be a good word to describe you? Hmm…"


"Peculiarian? Does that word even exist?"

"I don’t think so."

"Well, it sounds really peculiar yet cool."

That was the start of a name attributed to him. He is called the ‘peculiarian.’ Whenever someone hears such term, there is no other person who comes to people’s minds but Eddrian.

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