because i know i owe it to myself (again), i am writing this piece.

it has exactly been two days after cebu was engulfed with the sinulog festival, five months since i blurbed a diary entry, and seven months after i took a plunge and readied myself for another heartache that will inevitably test my already fragile emotions, but my questions have not only lingered to haunt me,  they have even morphed into bigger questions that deal with my existential angst, my tragedy, and my despair.

i am literally and figuratively spent, used, and burnt by the festivities that i embraced wholeheartedly; and as i write today, i know i am still reeling from the euphoria of the religious event-turned-paganistic practice.

these days, it has become my habit to look for answers to questions that will never be answered, and self-actualizations that are not bound to happen within this lifetime — the absurdity, the vagueness, and the intangibility of this despair has been amplified, and will naturally commence with my submission of the inevitable defeat.

for in these troubling times, there is only one thing that i have grown to accept: that for each time my smile is bathed by the brightest of days, the foreboding of the darkest of nights constantly threatens to derail my short-lived sporadic streaks of happiness.

i think i’m lost, and there is no passage from the abyss.

the promise of the brightest sunshine continues, to this day, to be an elusive promise for me.