I’ve Been Several Months Away From Home Living In The Cityyyyyy 😭😭😭

Every night you dream that you talk to a genie, when you wake up you can't remember what you wished for. One morning you wake up with a giant crab pincer replacing your right arm. What do you do?

Dreams are strange things. They take us to places beyond our imagination, and sometimes, they’re so vivid that we wake up questioning what’s real. For weeks now, I’ve been having a recurring dream where I talk to a genie every night. The weird part? I could never remember what I wished for when I woke up. It was like my subconscious was playing hide-and-seek with the details, leaving me with a hazy memory of the conversation but no clue what I’d actually asked for.

But then came that morning. The one where I opened my eyes, stretched out my right arm, and… it wasn’t there. Instead of my usual hand and arm, a massive crab pincer had taken its place. I froze, staring at the monstrous claw attached to my shoulder, a mix of horror and disbelief washing over me. This couldn’t be real, could it? I had to be dreaming still, right?

I did what any rational person would do: I pinched myself with the claw. Let me tell you, crab pincers are no joke. The pain was very real, and with that, the reality of the situation sunk in. Somehow, someway, my dream wish had manifested into this bizarre and terrifying reality.

After the initial shock, the questions flooded in. How could this have happened? Why a crab pincer, of all things? I tried to think back to the previous night’s dream, but as always, the memory was foggy. Maybe I’d wished for something vague, like “strength” or “protection,” and the genie had interpreted that in the weirdest possible way. Or perhaps I’d made some offhand joke about having a tough exterior. Whatever the reason, here I was, the unfortunate owner of a giant crustacean claw.

So, what do you do when you wake up with a crab pincer for an arm? First, I panicked. Then, I did what I always do when life throws something inexplicable at me: I adapted.

I spent the next few days learning to navigate life with my new appendage. Simple tasks like opening doors, brushing my teeth, or even typing became Herculean challenges. But with practice, I started to get the hang of it. I learned to use the pincer delicately, avoiding crushing everything I touched. I even found it had some unexpected perks—like cracking open coconuts or, if I’m being honest, scaring off unwanted attention.

But beyond the practicalities, this experience forced me to think deeply about identity and change. How much of who we are is tied to our physical form? How do we adapt when something so fundamental about ourselves is altered overnight? The crab pincer became a symbol of resilience, a reminder that even in the face of the absurd, we have the power to adapt, to find humor, and to continue moving forward.

In the end, I’ve come to embrace my new reality, as strange as it is. I still don’t know what I wished for that led to this, and maybe I never will. But maybe that’s the point. Life is unpredictable, and sometimes, the wishes we make in the depths of our dreams lead to outcomes we never could have imagined. The important thing is how we respond to those outcomes—how we choose to grow, change, and find strength, even when life hands us something as bizarre as a crab pincer for an arm.

And who knows, maybe tonight I’ll dream of that genie again and finally get some answers. Until then, I’ll keep pinching myself—both literally and figuratively—just to remind myself that this wild journey is, indeed, real.

This isn't because of insomnia, it's the trauma.

I honestly do not like peaches but I really have to eat them before they get spoiled

The restaurant was charming, the kind of place you’d only stumble upon if you knew exactly where to look. Warm lights cast a soft glow over the table, and the hum of quiet conversation filled the space. We had been talking about everything—our favorite places to visit, the movies that shaped us, even our love-hate relationship with dating apps. It was one of those nights where everything felt easy. Until the food arrived.

The waiter approached, carefully setting a large, beautifully arranged seafood platter between us. Shrimp, mussels, oysters—the works. The kind of dish that would impress any other date. But for me? It was like watching a horror show unfold in slow motion.

I froze, staring at the plate as my stomach sank. The last time I’d come into contact with seafood, I ended up in the hospital, my throat closing before I could even realize what was happening. The mere sight of it was enough to send my heart racing.

“Everything alright?” he asked, noticing my hesitation.

I glanced up, not wanting to make a scene, but there was no avoiding it.

“Uh… I’m actually allergic to seafood,” I said, my voice quieter than usual.

His eyes widened in shock, and for a split second, I saw the panic flash across his face.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he said, his hand immediately going to his forehead like he couldn’t believe his own mistake. “I didn’t even think to ask. I swear I’ll double-check next time!”

I couldn’t help but smile, even as the waiter, who overheard, swiftly took the plate away to replace it with something less life-threatening.

“It’s okay,” I replied, waving it off, though I couldn’t quite hide the nervous laugh that followed. “Happens more often than you’d think.”

He looked relieved, but the guilt still hung in the air. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, his expression sincere.

“No, really, that’s on me. I should’ve asked. I don’t want to accidentally kill you on a first date,” he said with a grin, though the joke barely masked his embarrassment.

I laughed, the tension breaking a little more. “Yeah, that would definitely put a damper on things.”

As we waited for the replacement dish, the conversation flowed again, though with a few seafood-related jokes sprinkled in.

“I’ll be sure to stay far away from shellfish from now on,” he added with a sheepish smile. “You’ve made me rethink my entire seafood-loving existence.”

“Well,” I said, “at least you’ll never forget this date.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No chance. Next time, I’m asking about everything. I’m talking allergies, preferences, zodiac signs—whatever I need to know to avoid another seafood disaster.”

I couldn’t help but be charmed by how quickly he turned the situation around. It wasn’t just that he apologized; it was that he genuinely cared. He wasn’t trying to brush it off or make me feel like I was overreacting. He was thoughtful, and the way he handled it—so effortlessly kind—was something I didn’t expect but appreciated more than I could say.

As the night went on, it became less about the seafood mishap and more about how we laughed through it. That small moment could’ve been awkward or embarrassing, but instead, it brought us closer. His genuine concern and the way he quickly promised to do better next time told me a lot about who he was.

When the new dish finally arrived—this time a seafood-free option—he grinned. “Now, how’s that for a safer choice?”

I smiled back. “Perfect."

The night wrapped up, and as we left the restaurant, the cool breeze brushing past us, I found myself thinking about how one small mistake revealed so much about someone’s character. It wasn’t about avoiding errors or being perfect; it was about how we handle those little bumps along the way.

As we said goodnight, he leaned in and said, “Next time, it’s on me. And I promise, no seafood.”

“Deal,” I said, laughing. “Just steer clear of lobsters, okay?”

We parted ways, and as I walked home, I realized something. It wasn’t the flawless date that stuck with me—it was the way he turned a near disaster into something that felt like the beginning of something real. A small mistake, yes, but one handled with so much care that I couldn’t help but look forward to whatever came next.

I’m not in a hurry but it’s just so fucked up lol

hahahahahaha!

The Marcos family’s return to power is one of the most tragic ironies in Philippine history. After decades of suffering under Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s dictatorship—marked by rampant corruption, human rights abuses, and the plundering of the nation’s wealth—his son, Ferdinand "Bongbong" Marcos Jr., now leads the country. This is not just a case of political resurgence; it is a glaring symptom of how easily truth can be rewritten and how collective memory can be manipulated.

For years, the Marcoses have engaged in an aggressive campaign of historical revisionism, distorting the brutal realities of Martial Law into a golden era of economic prosperity. They have leveraged social media, disinformation networks, and the public’s disillusionment with post-EDSA governments to paint themselves as victims rather than villains. But the facts remain: the Marcos dictatorship saw over 70,000 arrests, 34,000 cases of torture, and thousands of extrajudicial killings. The economy, far from being at its strongest, was driven into massive debt due to unchecked spending and corruption, leaving future generations to shoulder the consequences.

Bongbong Marcos himself has never acknowledged the horrors of his father’s rule. Instead of seeking accountability, he has evaded questions, refused to apologize, and even suggested that the past should be left behind. This refusal to confront history is not just dangerous—it enables further abuse of power. His presidency symbolizes the normalization of impunity, where stolen wealth, privilege, and political dynasties thrive at the expense of ordinary Filipinos.

The Marcos family's wealth, estimated in billions of dollars, remains largely unreturned, despite multiple court rulings declaring that much of it was ill-gotten. Meanwhile, many Martial Law victims have yet to receive full justice. The very people who fought and suffered to restore democracy now witness its slow erosion under the leadership of a man who owes his political survival to deception.

The fact that the Marcoses are back in power exposes the deep flaws in our political system—where patronage, misinformation, and historical amnesia dictate electoral outcomes. But it is also a wake-up call. If history has taught us anything, it is that tyranny does not die easily. It disguises itself, adapts, and waits for the moment when people forget.

But we must not forget. We must continue to remember the lives lost, the voices silenced, and the wealth stolen. Because the moment we stop remembering is the moment we allow history to repeat itself. And if that happens, the tragedy of the Marcos regime will not just be a chapter in our past—it will be our future.

I hope it went well. *fingers crossed*

Some days, everything feels like it's spiraling out of control. Today was definitely one of those days for me. I woke up with a plan in mind, thinking I'd breeze through the day like it was nothing. But, of course, life had other ideas. From the moment I opened my eyes, it seemed like the universe was throwing little annoyances my way, one after the other.

It started with the usual hustle—trying to juggle a million things at once. And as much as I tried to stay calm, the small things kept piling up. The missed messages, miscommunications, and the feeling of being stretched too thin all hit me hard. It’s like I was running on a short fuse all day.

There were moments when I just wanted to scream into a pillow. Have you ever had one of those days where no matter what you do, it feels like everything and everyone is out to test your patience? Yeah, today was that kind of day for me.

I hate feeling this way, but I also know it’s part of the ebb and flow of life. Some days, we’re on top of the world. Other days, it feels like we’re drowning in frustration. The important thing is acknowledging it. It’s okay to be pissed off. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. What matters is what comes next.

For now, I’m taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and reminding myself that tomorrow is a new day. A chance to reset. A chance to do better. But for today? Yeah, I’m pissed—and that’s perfectly fine.

Thank you everyone for all the birthday greetings! 💗