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The Fuel

O Blessed Soul

O blessed soul, how grateful you are of the sight to see the blue sky. Thine eyes full of mercy for the lesser creatures of the forest and nature wild wanders inside your soul.


O blessed soul, how joyful you are of the laughter on a sunny day, although alone yet never short of companionship from loved ones and friends, beckoning good times and less sorrowful memories. They are the wholesome family you are yearning for since youth until old in age, perhaps never fulfilled but always beside you, forever.


O blessed soul, how lovely you are, with flowers around you with blooming petals easy to the eyes, reminders of God's beautiful plans for every life. For in due time, our own blossoming journey will fruit its labor from anything you never once expect.


O blessed soul, how glorious your life, although with a past scornful and bitter, your journey lends wisdom and brilliance in vernacular and truth. The trough proves its own grace with prayers and supplication uttering its hopes and faith.


O blessed soul, you are forgiven through love because the price paid for your life is of the cross, labor in divine intervention. Live forever more and be of courage light saber, for your soul is valuable to God and to this world.


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Serious matters

One of my writing teachers is coping with suicides of her loved ones. The rates of mental illness and suicide from the global pandemic are skyrocketing over this year alone, and it is heart breaking.


I am struggling, from the loss of my job, my Dad's stroke and the aftermath of the sexual assaults that culminated into PTSD and Depression. I work at a job that I know I can excel in, while working hard to cope with my struggles, loneliness, and helping my family. There are milllions of people like me, but some of us give in to the darkness and lose our lives. 

The stigma against me and those who are struggling with mental illness or trauma is brutal.  Several years ago, classmates from graduate school called me names after knowing I was a rape victim. The stigma against women and men from violence related trauma and also from mental illness makes it difficult to cope in life. This is why there are so many suicides in this world, and especially as a result of the global pandemic. 

I know as humans we compare people's lives out of the sheer enjoyment of lifting another up or out of selfish needs. I for one, can attest to the fact that those who dislike me, compare themselves against me to feel superior and to feel like they won a prize in life. These comparisons infects the world as pervasive as the global pandemic, and it infects the minds of those who are struggling.


I am sovereign in my journey and with my struggles, and as you freely read these blogs, know that I am just one of the billions of people who are also struggling. Humanity and compassion needs to live side by side, because it helps me through during the tough times. I am hurting some days that I can barely cope, and the high suicide rates gives an indication that a lot of people are too broken to seek help or too afraid to seek treatment during critical times. I can't let the stigma eat me alive, and I can't let comparisons eat me alive. 

The world may feast upon these blogs and reflect or critique, because everyone has opinions. But, what's important is the comfort and solace it brings to me and those who reads it. Please remember to never stigmatize those who are going through any form of traumas, violence, and mental illness. I hope those who are walking through their tough journey will one day realize how valuable they are, and know that they are sovereign, just as I feel with my blog and my life and to never compare their journey with anyone else in the world. 


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I ran like a beast

I ran like a beast, because the grim reaper chased me since birth. I ran because my struggles overwhelmed me and with the loneliness, they spoke danger to my life.


At times, I won't have anything inside my mind, but a presence of darkness loomed over me, asking for my surrender from this journey. 


I ran like a beast because I won't run away from my life. It was my right to live and love although with an empty heart.

I believed in respite from mental anguish, and running was the only way I knew how.  So, I ran like a beast, and I won't stop, forever, if I may.


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My North Stars

Barely standing, I cried over the folded clothes and retail merchandise at work. My world felt broken and my heart felt so destroyed from the sufferings in my life. When someone asked, "how are you?" I remained calm and insouciance about myself, to wait for the moment to pass and back to the tears. PTSD and Depression was never something anyone could speak openly without judgment and I let these blogs speak for me to get rid of the awkward silences.


The only thing that kept me alive was God, my North Star, along with my siblings and parents, best friends and church group friends, whom without I would have died long ago. They have been my North Stars with miracles in their back pockets, whipping out wise words and verses of comfort. 


The first snow was yesterday, and as I drove to my workplace for my graveyard shift, the tears poured and it took several breaths to not break down.  Thoughts of how I would see someone I love marry someone else and to lose him forever, and thoughts of lost loved and broken relationships couldn't escape my mind.  I didn't even drink coffee, but I had to drink something to help me cope, tea.


I believed in journeys and I knew mine would be tough, but I didn't know how much it would take all of me. 

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Was I meant for this?

The trajectory of my path was convoluted at my birth, and the road whirled into a knotted yarn of working progress. Never knew why I was meant to be treated as an object of derision but the past haunted like a gravedigger's nightly shift. The thoughts left me still, silenced, speechless and wounded my mind into the deep valleys.


i wrote it out, because it was the only way out of the mindless overthinking. Too ambitious for a minute's reflection, but the opportunity lost that I endured felt too great to bear as the present. I became the past with my regrets and pained from the loss of love and dreams of a happily ever after.


The struggles I felt at five to forty-four felt endless. I kept count of the good times, as I wrote them out for myself to remember. It was all about writing my life out on paper or typing the languages of my heart into a working progress. 

Sometimes I wished I never knew how to write or read because I was called since I was young but the world hated me for it. Was I the working progress meant to end early in my days? Or was I meant to endure pain so great just to be forced to rejection? My world felt negative at this moment because I felt my writing was the burden of my life all along, or was it my gift and saving grace.


I couldn't escape the arduous road of my life, even when I thought I gave it my all. But, even through the negative, I couldn't escape my own words transferring onto these pages as my expression, my release, my solace, and my hope. Perhaps, I was meant to write after all, just because I was born for it.


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His solemn face.

I felt tormented this morning, but at the end, a miracle saved me.


There was a large serrated blade that was stuck inside my back between my spine and it has been there for over twenty years. It felt heavy on my soul, as as if it was stuck deeper by those who hurt me in the past. I understood how those who hurt me were well off, having martinis in their yatch, but I've never thought they still wanted to destroy me.


For a long time, there were random emails, phone calls, and random people who ostracized. It felt like the Twilight Zone and it felt unreal, as if I was living another fictitious life, but they were there and I couldn't escape their taunts. This morning, I

had to escape hate from those memories that was triggered by random profanity. It reminded me of the haters that traumatized me because it led to violence that were physical assaults. 


But, there was this honey bear stuffed animal at a random isle inside a store, and it reminded me of someone dear. His rugged face came to my phone as I saved his photographs and it felt grounding. He didn't smile in the picture, instead a sort of solemn faced in a black t-shirt. I felt stronger and whole. It took a second, not even that...an instant of grounding peace. I told him inside my thoughts that he was mine, and no one else could claim him. In reality, he was far and away, further than just geography.


The moment I took to look at him was worth my time. It gave me peace, and I was in love. He may not be reality, but it was my reality.


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I miss my Dad.

He slured his words as I cried in front of the window of the skilled nursing facility missing him at home. His right hand over a small soft pillow and his speech slow and incomprehensible.


"I miss you so so much, Papi. I wish you can come home," I told him over the window. "I feel so alone without you."


"Pakejambunik," he said. It was a word he uttered that I didn't know how to spell or write, but inside my heart, it meant, "I love you, Diana."


I remembered when he was angry when we lived in a small two bedroom apartment in Reseda, after haggling over a pound of shrimp that was being sold by a street corner. The white supremacists told him he was a chink for haggling. He came home in tears from anger, and we sat down over the prejudices in the United States of America. He told me that he just needed a break for the day and the television eased his anger. I watched him calmly erase the anger over racism, like a gentleman.


The time when I told him about the assaults and the brokeness erupted a hopeless evening. He told me to not lose hope on all humanity based on the poor example of some. That hatred was limited to violence while love, especially God's love, was vast, deep, wide, boundless, unlimited, and reaches so far, deep and high as the heavens, galaxies, and all of the universe.


He told me that the schoolmate who bullied and destroyed my life through the assault was of evil and racism, and her successes were tainted with blood and abuse, just as those who hurt me were abominable to God. That I didn't have to be afraid of the world, and to be closer to God and worship Him, then relay every instant of my life through Him. That with God by our side, my Dad will back me up when I'm working things out with my life, and he will back me up when I make mistakes. My Dad was always there.


The time when I met the man whom I asked to marry, only to be found alone several weeks later in struggling heartbreak and hopelessness. My Dad told me that I took his job for him and that made him mad, that even God was angry because I didn't trust the tradition. He told me that it was better left alone, because if it was Godsent, it won't have been broken. The embarrassing stories that I endured and the laughter from the enemies and haters I heard inside my life, because I was so desperate for love, yet my Dad was there to tell me that desperation could only lead to divorces. 


The suffering I felt when I was inches away from death, my Dad took the house key and broke into the bathroom door and stopped me. I miss my Dad dearly, and it has been so difficult with the global pandemic because I haven't been able to hug him or kiss his forehead. I miss my Dad, and I felt a huge loss in my life from his stroke. I felt the half of my body was paralyzed from faith.


Tonight was a hard day, and I wished I could have my Dad home with me. 


In tears. Just write. 




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In dreams II

The blanket over me felt hot and damp as my sweat dripped over my eyes. I woke up in the middle of the night and in my turquoise t-shirt and pink terry shorts, I swung the blanket away from me and I found my whole entire bed in a bog in the middle of the forest with trees surrounding me. I took a dip with my foot on the swampy water and the water was soft and cold, almost frozen, with the heat and humidity creating a layer of fog over the surface. I walked inside the bog with my skin immersed in dark mud with no shoes for protection. I was alone, and no other human being could have been in this hellish swamp.


The thick mud moved with my legs as I walked slowly hoping to get over to the land. It was near as I saw in front of me, a dead American Bullfrog, with its legs sprawled and its skin ripped apart. It floated by and I squirmed from the sight. As my eyes hoped to see land, a rubber tree convulsed in front of me with its sap spewed out in drips as if candle wax melting from its bark. It was close by and all I wanted was to get to the tree. It throbbed as if it was dying, but surely if life was still inside it, it could be saved. 


Land was a few yards and I took a step and climbed over to land from inside the bog, with my pink shorts wet through my underwear in muddy water. I ignored the discomfort and ran to the tree, but a bobcat approached me with red eyes, angry and I stood still. I looked beyond the rubber tree and the forest was in flames, as I felt a snow of ashes dropping from the sky and I looked to find the sun in full orange, enraged. The rubber tree called me to come closer to preserve its sap, its birthright but the bobcat growled. 


To my left was dry land with no other living being, and although the trees beyond were in flames and I was stuck in the forest, it felt right to take the path. I abandoned the rubber tree and the bobcat and took myself to the left of everything. I walked in sorrows because the rubber tree felt like home. I wanted to hug the tree, and caress the bobcat, but they were untamed to my fragile life. I had to walk on. 


The path on the left felt foreign and as the flames surrounded the path, it had an invisible wall as if tall glass shields protected me. I kept walking with my damp t-shirt and dripping wet shorts and I scratched myself to pull my underwear from in between my buttocks. True discomfort that smelled on my body from the muddy bog.  I kept walking and I kept searching for a way out to a land away from flames and ashes. The orange sun followed me and enraged the fires as it kept raging beyond the glass shields, but I was safe. 


After a few miles of nothing but fires and flames, I looked forward and a barren hill was ahead, with no plants, no trees, and no living being. It was tall grass with sunflowers and prairie. I walked on, surrounding myself with the sunflowers, and didn't look back. 


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The moon over me

The pink cotton nightgown I wore draped down to the asphalt as each step I took felt cold and the fog over the road ahead of me lay low to the Earth. I found myself walking down a nameless highway with no cars in sight and the darkness over me showed a bright golden moon. I stopped as the highway stretched far and lonely without connection to life. 


I looked to the side of the highway where the grass grew and the soil dipped low. My father sat in his wheelchaiir, and looked towards me and with his slurred speech, he said, "Is God coming with you?" I ran to him, because I wanted to hug him for the first time in six months. I kneeled down in front of him and wrapped his hands inside mine, and I stretched to kiss his forehead. "Don't forget me, and don't forget what I told you," he said. 


"I won't ever forget," I replied. I closed my eyes and breathed and raised my face to the sky as the night was bright with the moon closing in so close to me, reaching for my face. 


The moon spoke words I was familiar with, "Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed for I am you God. I will strengthen you, and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand," it said to me with verses.


My father held my hand, and kissed my palms, "Remember ice cream," he said. 


I couldn't hold my joy as I jumped and my father laughed with me. "God IS coming, and I am here with you," he said.


I pushed his wheelchair down the nameless highway, and although no cars were in sight, we rode life together with God.


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The Weeping Willow

In a peaceful meadow I stood on the green grass moist from the morning dew. The skylight was still at dusk as I looked over the weeping willow far yonder. The sky opened at cloud speed and the sun rising with a pinkish hallow. I sat down on the grass, with my flat belly yearning for bedtime stories.


"How in all imaginations would I ever see the French Riviera in love?" I wondered. In my white linen dress, with all the purity of my soul as my heart broke in halves because this life was an incubus of scornful men. I wept on the grass with my buttocks wet from the moisture and my face down towards the Earth. Unplanned circumstances led me to a haunting life and although I surrendered, a part of me yearned for the dreams.


"Diana!" I heard my Mami's voice and I looked up. "You think too much!"


Mami stood holding hands with Papi, in front of the weeping willow. They wore matching blouses of imperial yellow with white linen pants as my Papi waved his hand calling me to come closer.


I stood up with excitement as this body was five years old again as I ran down from the hilly meadow to where my parents were. My Papi hugged me as I wrapped my arms around his belly. "I love you, you're my daughter, Diana," he said, endearingly.


My Mami hugged me after and told me, "I love you too much," she said, as she wiped her tears. "Don't let go, Mami," I told her.


They held me close as I held on as strong as I possibly could, as we walked underneath the weeping willow.


"Don't ever let go, Diana," my Papi said.


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