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Hello po, I'm the one who signed up for photography, what am I suppose to submit?

Hi there! You can send a copy of your portfolio to psychologygist@gmail.com on or before August 30 (Wednesday) since we responded late to your query. Thank you!

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Recruitment week may be over but you can still sign up for Psych Gist until tomorrow, August 20 (Sunday)! Don’t forget to check out mcpsychgist.tumblr.com/apply for additional instructions regarding the work you have to submit to complete your application!

If you’ve already signed up, don’t worry! The last day to send in your work is August 28 (Monday).

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It Failed Me, Yet, It Made Me by Ysrah Irish Ongkingco

You have someone in your life who you honor and revere so much that every pain they feel, you feel as well. Since when you are with the people you love everything turns into a sweet melody. But still, in love, you cannot adjust or change the person, and the closer they are to you, the greater the pain.

For the first time, I felt these strong emotions I had tried letting him go, tried moving on, and even tried many ways to forget him But this just made me long for his love more Knowing the fact, that he would never love me back Just made me realize, if this was true love or not I had been infatuated with a flourished man Some love just cannot be returned, and is sometimes a waste Because, sometimes it was never meant to be.

Indeed, love is about wanting or having someone. But, at the same time, about letting someone go, and giving up on them. We must learn that this too is love, that it is a greater love than having them. And for this reason we can be happy.

[mcpsychgist-blog]

After School: Movie Suggestions by Allison Labitan and Aquirine Ong

1 Litre of Tears Family, School, Tragedy

Ikeuchi Aya is an ordinary 15-year- old daughter of a family who works at a tofu shop. Odd things have been happening to Aya recently, such as losing her balance and falling down. When her mother, Shioka, took Aya to the doctor, they were informed that Aya has spinocerebellar degeneration - a terrible disease wherein the cerebellum of the brain gradually deteriorates until the victim cannot walk, speak, write or eat.

Based on a true story, a literal bucket may be required for the viewers to bring along to their bedrooms, since, in most cases, buckets of tears have been shed while watching. This touching film teaches how life can be unfair and hard, and how capable one’s heart can hurt.

The Teacher’s Diary Romance, Drama, Comedy

A Thai film, which revolves around the diary owned by Ann, a former teacher at a rural school. Due to limited access to the technological world, she wrote her thoughts and experiences in her diary. She left it when she had to transfer to another school. It was later found by Song, a substitute male teacher who’s struggling in the rural school. As he browsed the diary, he became attached and fell in love with the writer despite not meeting her personally.

This movie also shows how the passion and dedication of a teacher motivate students to learn and value education regardless of their situations in life.

Orange School, Romance, Mystery

One day, Takamiya Naho receives a letter ten years written by herself in the future. The letter recites the exact events of her high school days, with the intent to have her save the life of a new transfer student in her class named Naruse Kakeru. Orange has been one of the most compelling mangas that twists the heartstrings; now in this live-action movie, Naho and Kakeru’s complex love story will continue to confuse the psych and entice the heart.

Our Times Romance, Comedy

A high-grossing film from Taiwan that talks about the life of Lin Cheng-hsin (portrayed by Joe Chen and Vivian Sung), a hardworking woman in her 30’s that is despised by her younger co-workers. She reminisced on her high school days when she had good friends, when she was bullied, how she did everything to get her crush’s attention, her admiration towards her favorite celebrity, and her first love. It all started when she received a chain letter which warns her that she will experience bad luck if she will not pass it to others. Terrified about the consequences she might face, she passed it to 3 other people, including  Hsu Tai-Yu (portrayed by Darren Wang), the school notorious gang leader.

If you love ‘Meteor Garden’ and/or ‘Crazy Little Thing called Love’, you will surely love this movie and it will remind you how colorful high school life was.

Ano Hana: The Flower We Saw That Day Supernatural, Mystery, Drama

High school student Jinta is a hikikomori (one who does not go to school or is unemployed), who one day, while absorbed in a video game, had a girl appear in front of him: Meiko, a childhood friend who died that summer day seven years ago. She tells Jinta that she came back as a ghost to fulfill her wish, but is unable to remember what her wish is. To fulfill it and return to the afterlife, Jinta first needs to gather the rest of their childhood friends: Atsumu, Naruko, Chiriko and Tetsudo. However, Jinta is the only one who can see Meiko.

Based on the manga “Ano Hana”, the movie portrays perfect casting and is one of the best live adaptations up to date. Expect heartfelt emotions and tears while watching this masterpiece.

A Werewolf Boy Fantasy, Romance, Drama

This blockbuster movie is a roller coaster ride of emotions which talks about the friendship of a feral boy (portrayed by Song Joong Ki), and Soon Yi (portrayed by Park Bo Young). Thinking that the feral boy was orphaned in the Korean War, Soon Yi’s mother adopted him and named him ‘Chul Soo’. At first, Soon Yi hated living with Chul Soo due to his dog-like behavior. Using a dog training book, she taught Chul Soo how to wait patiently before a meal, how to tie shoelaces, to do household chores, and to behave like a human. Eventually, they became very close. Everything seemed to be fine, but conflict arose when the man who harasses Soon Yi started threatening her and her family, including Chul Soo.

Caution: This movie is an absolute tearjerker so you have to prepare a box of tissue or two to survive.

Grave of the Fireflies Drama, Family, Historical

Live-action TV drama of the Grave of the Fireflies was made in commemorating of the 60th anniversary after the World War II. The movie depicts two siblings struggling to survive during the final days of the war in Kobe, Japan.

Based upon multiple reviews, the movie is ten times more melancholic than the animation. Sorrow and overwhelming lament washes over any who watches the film, and only the strongest can hold back their tears. Though this film lacks the youthful love expected, it still teaches that the love of family can be the strongest force in desolating hardships.

Mother Drama, Crime, Mystery

Mothers will do everything to protect their children. In this suspense/melodrama movie, Do Joon (portrayed by Won Bin), a man who has an intellectual disability was arrested for being the prime suspect in the murder of a high school girl who was found dead on a rooftop. His mother (portrayed by Kim Hye Ja) was unconvinced that her child is capable of killing the girl so she investigated the case by herself, and tried to find all the details and evidence to prove her child’s innocence.

Koizora Drama, School, Tragedy

Takahara Mika, an ordinary high school girl, was suddenly kissed by one of her classmates named Sakurai Hiroki: a student who stands out with his piercing and bleached hair. Shocked that her first kiss was taken from someone with a girlfriend, she desperately tries to forget it. However, Mika was already in love.

Dubbed as one of the saddest Japanese films, anyone who plans to watch this must prepare a box of tissues. The amount of tears that majority of the watchers have produced could have helped save our country’s water shortages.

Sources

10 Sad Japanese Movies. (2010, November 29). Retrieved from http://www.mademan.com/mm/10-sad-japanese-movies.htm

Madeo. (n.d.) Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mother_(2009_film)

Paquet, D. (2012, October 5). In Focus: A Werewolf Boy. Retrieved from http://www.koreanfilm.or.kr/jsp/news/inFocus.jsp?mode=VIEW&seq=8

www.kissasian.com/drama

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The Art of Running Late by Gabrielle Riel

You’re running late.

Well, not really because, technically, your class doesn’t start until 9AM and it’s only half an hour past 6. You have all the time in the world since you're a walk away from campus, since you live in Berkeley and all. But just minutes ago your friend called you up on the border of desperation asking for your help with Biology, and you’d be damned if you left her alone to the mercy of the workload.

But, elevator traffic jams were an actual thing in Berkeley and they are getting on your nerves.

You fidget to let out some of your nervous energy, not an odd image since there were a handful of other irritated Miriam girls waiting with you. Granted, most of your energy at this hour wasn’t only because of your friend and her predicament. You turn your left arm so only you could see your wrist, your soulmark. Written in elegant cursive fit for a wedding invitation were six little words that had been keeping you up all week long.

I think you fell for me.

You had no idea what kind of situation called for your soulmate to tell you that, but whatever it was, all kinds of scenarios had been running through your dreams for the past few nights. More so than usual, you might add. Lately, just looking at your soulmark had your heart beat-beat-beating in your chest so fast.

When the elevator doors finally open with a bright ding, it takes all your impulse control not to scream out ‘Finally’. You don’t notice, but the guy beside you smiles at your enthusiasm so early in the morning. He shakes his head to hide the smile, sliding on his headset.

The ride down to the lobby could have been silent if it wasn’t for your tapping foot. You were so focused willing the elevator to hurry up that you hadn’t noticed; until someone in the back cleared their throat.

“Di lang po kayo nag-iintay.” The one other Miriam girl in the elevator says, her irritation thinly veiled and eyes staring you down.

You feel your face heat up, eyes widen. “Oh… ah, sorry po.” Stopping your previous actions, you fix your posture and stare straight ahead at the elevator doors. In the silence that follows, the only audible thing is the low thump of music from the headphones of the guy beside you, his dark head of hair bobbing along. Without meaning to, you’re drawn to watching him dance a dance only he could feel. He looked to be your age, dressed in casual clothes with a heavy-looking backpack slung over one shoulder.

As if feeling you’re staring, he opens his eyes and slides his headset off. Your eyes meet with his reflection’s. You look away, flustered, the elevator’s sudden ding surprising you.

Without waiting for the doors to completely open, you zip through them once wide enough. You were more than a little embarrassed from the elevator ride already, you didn’t need to make a bigger fool of yourself. You'd been caught staring at a cute boy by the cute boy, and before that you were told off by a schoolmate who was most probably your senior judging from the color of her I.D.

You abruptly stop, hand flying to your neck.

Your lanyard-less, I.D.-less neck.

“Damn it!” You exclaim a little louder than appropriate, garnering the attention of some people. You don’t have time to feel shame, because now you have to go all the way up to your room and wait for an elevator all over again. You stomp of your foot just a little and turn around, ready to jog back to the steadily growing line for the elevator.

Distracted, you don’t notice the Caution: Wet Floor sign in your way.

You slip and time stops as you fall forwards, all the breath knocked out of you. The ground is racing racing racing towards you as you reach out to grasp anything to stop your fall. You squeak, eyes closing on reflex.

Then, you’re spinning but not falling, strangely enough.

Your right hand is holding onto a shirt as far as you know, and there is something around your waist and someone’s holding your free hand.

You brave opening your eyes and, when you do, you feel mortified. Because it’s the guy – the very attractive guy, the very attractive guy who is smiling at you despite the situation – you shared the elevator with and he’s caught you in a dip, as if you two had been dancing all this time. The time and your I.D. were the last thing on your mind right now.

You flounder for a reply, but it’s not necessary.

“I think you fell for me.” He laughs, loud and clear and without regrets. When you’re back on your own two feet, it registers that the people in the lobby are actually applauding at his comment.

And, as they clap and someone even wolf-whistles, you get a good look at him. He’s tall and brown-eyed, with broad shoulders and a laugh that echoes long after he’s stopped laughing. You look down and find that his hand’s still holding onto yours and you’re finding it difficult to swallow.

Somehow, you manage to speak. “Well, I’d guess that’s an easy thing for me to do.” You say as the applause dies down. His attention never wavers from you. “Seeing as I’m your soulmate and everything.”

He blinks once. Twice. Then he smiles, all casual and charming and you are uncomfortably aware of your heart beating in your chest.

This is it, isn’t it? You direct your question to your heart. This is what you’re excited about.

“May I?” He asks like a gentleman asking for a last dance, inclining his head at your left hand in his. You nod, because if you had replied with anything but a yes, it would’ve felt wrong. He turns both your hands over, exposing your wrist. Exposing your brand.

When you look back at your soulmate, you notice his ear tips are coloured pink and his eyes are a little wider than you remember. You actually laugh at this, easing up and feeling the tension in your shoulders dissipate. “You look more flustered about this whole soulmate business than you are about catching me in a dip.” You tell him, not insultingly.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just that...” He palms the back of his neck and glances around. You are vaguely aware of the audience you both have, the other people surreptitiously listening into your conversation even though their gazes are trained on anything except the two of you. “With the mark I have, I don’t have a clue who my soulmate is unless they tell me.” He shows you his soul mark in turn. There it is, etched in the same loopy cursive just like yours. “I’m pretty used to false alarms by now.”

Damn it was a very common mark to get, believe it or not.

“How terrible.” You say, smiling down at his wrist before looking up to meet his eyes. “Those are horrible first words. Your soulmate must have some messed up sense of humour.”

“If she does, then I think we’ll get along just fine.” He laughs again and you feel like making him laugh wouldn’t be such a bad hobby. “I don’t even know her name yet.”

You extend your hand for him to shake even though he already held it earlier, and tell him your name.

[mcpsychgist-blog]

Folie à Deux by Phileas Dantoc

I fell in love at first sight with a perfect stranger.

The first time I met him was in a coffee house I used to work at. Since I was young, I loved the aroma of brewed coffee and espresso, probably because it’s the scent that always woke me up from my deep slumber. Mom and Dad loved to start their days with silent conversations over cups of hot coffee on the veranda - that view alone was picture-perfect. Coffee never failed to remind me of love and lead me on a journey to discovering my own, or so I thought.

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and the weather just made me feel better. Still, I couldn’t comprehend why some people take rain as bad luck in their life, but money as pure joy.

He entered the store with his coat and umbrella to save himself from getting drenched. Just like the others, he didn’t expect the abrupt change of weather, but I remained grateful because it brought him to our place. Customers were in line; some were stating their choices of beverages while a few were staring at the menu. It was a busy yet typical day inside the shop until he came to sight and stirred my heart. Ordinary people would say that love at first sight roots from outward appearance, but in my case, it rooted from the intuition that hereafter I would be sharing the same path with this guy. Perhaps love doesn’t only come with words, but with repeated glances that only we could understand. I looked at him, he looked at me. Then, we looked away at the same time, and did it again. None of us felt awkward, for there was this strange kind of familiarity between us strangers.

A minute ago, he was rushing to find a seat, but when he caught my eyes looking, he headed for the counter instead and I took his order as if it mattered more than greeting him a good day.

“Caramel Macchiato,” his voice reminded me of sunlight amid the rain. I see no trace of evil and bad intentions. It was pure angelic, and when he smiled, the difference between love and infatuation flew out of my head entirely. I smiled, too.

The second day we met was the best part of my life because I’d never thought that we would meet again. I even decided to kill the budding hope within me because he seemed apathetic to our glances last time. Caramel Macchiato gave me a bad feeling since then, but not today.

I was wiping tables when he came inside with his trench coat and classic bag. Lightning struck straight to my heart and I got all excited from head to toe.  His style was always a great match for his physique and I fell for him much harder. Although I wondered why of all the people inside the shop, it is always I that he chose to look at. Nevermind, it would always be a pleasure to see those eyes looking at mine - those eyes that had the ability to devour me.

“Hi, I’m Karl Dean,” he said.

“Hi, I’m Karl Meri,” I said.

I was on the verge of grasping the meaning of love when love itself made its move towards me, unexpectedly fast. I found myself standing at the boundary between infatuation and love, but I was looking at Karl Dean. It’s no coincidence, only a breeze of love. We started to grow fond of each other after knowing that we have similar first names. I was close to believing in fate if it wasn’t also for our striking gold eyes. Our smiles turned into laughter, and curiosity into a relationship.

Karl always carried a sketchpad with him so I surmised that he’s an artist. On the third day we met, he revealed that he was. It’s as if I was meticulously choosing a perfect pair of sneakers when he asked me to be his muse; I’ve consulted with my feelings and listened to my mind so I won’t regret anything in the end. Maybe this could be a way to break the professional distance between us, so I agreed. Besides, we’re going beyond a love story to see myself in one of his masterpieces.

On the fourth day, Karl ordered his favourite drink, Caramel Macchiato. I got anxious that he might not talk to me again so I was reluctant as I served the drink. Afterwards, he asked me a question that absolutely caught me off guard.

“Are you aware of how beautiful you are?”

Days had passed and more pictures of me were being painted on canvases. We only met once a week, yet all I was, was full of him. Each day with him was exhilarating, especially the day when he asked me out. Our first rendezvous outside the coffee house was in this popular vacant lot across a mental health facility in the town. It’s well-known for its beautiful graffiti, but I’d never found it stunning until I saw Karl’s own graffiti of a woman with a crystal body and gold eyes. It outshined all the graffiti on the walls because his artwork was impeccably done.

He told me that the radiant woman he painted on the wall was me. I fell in love.

Love is not a surprise at all, for it is the one that gives surprises to people. While I was thinking of the right words that can express my adulation to Karl, he showed me his photographs of people with same gold eyes as mine and his. Due to curiosity, I suddenly asked why he would take pictures of people simply looking at the camera. He was aghast by my question and told me that they were all angels made of crystal; angels sent from heaven to keep him from death. That same day, I was thinking that Karl may have delusional disorder because of his fondness for people with gold eyes and this kind of belief about angels. He’s adamant about it that he got a bit pissed when I commented on the photos.

Oh Karl, my dearest Karl. I told myself that it’s okay, because true love comes with understanding and acceptance. Still bemused, I thanked him for the graffiti and paintings he created and followed him inside the facility – the place he called home.

Part of me was looking forward to see his psychiatrist so I could help myself know Karl more. Yes, I acknowledged his delusions but that didn’t mean I’d stop loving Karl. In fact, this illness should keep us closer.

It’s too late when I noticed that we entered a patient’s room instead of a doctor’s. Inside, I saw a lady sitting by the window and facing an easel. She looked placid and harmless despite the hospital gown she’s wearing and I got a feeling that I met her before.

“Fatima, I found three more angels!” I’d never seen Karl so excited like that as he ran to the lady and showed the paintings from his bag; one of it had my image. I was torn between the feeling of pain and happiness as the view flashed before my eyes. Something’s amiss.

I looked around to see the room adorned with acrylic paintings of different individuals with crystal bodies and gold eyes. I wasn’t able to stop myself from tearing up when I saw the lady’s own painting of Karl with the same crystal features. In response, Karl gave the photographs he showed to me to Fatima, and they both cheered for seeing “angels”.

Fatima. Suddenly I remembered a classmate back in grade school who had Delusional Disorder. She preferred being alone most of the time because nobody wanted to believe in her stories, but there were times when she’s getting the attention of everybody because of her impressive drawing skills. Her name was Fatima Deli, and I was sure that she’s the lady I was looking at right now.

“Karl, this is my wife, Fatima. Isn’t she lovely?”

I wanted to thrust a dagger into my chest for letting more tears fall from my eyes. I wanted the world to disappear from my sight. And Karl Dean.

My heart was not the only thing he brusquely shattered here. All the hopes and dreams I nurtured inside me had evanesced. Such kind of love and fate doesn’t exist in this world and I’d rather stop believing in love itself. Love is delusional.

I am delusional.

Truth is, I’m alone in this hapless journey since the beginning, and my coffee had long gone cold.

[mcpsychgist-blog]

System Override by Riva Althea Roldan

Human. That was what he made me feel.

bolts falling to the floor make clinking sounds

I don’t understand what it was about him, what it was that made me pay close attention to everything he did.

He wasn’t blindingly pretty. But definitely more so than an actual female, specifically, Dr Strauss who always gave me the stink eye — a look of utter disapproval for my entire existence. His hands weren’t exceptionally soft to the touch to the damaged, overly sensitive receptors at my fingertips. From what I’ve gathered so far, his IQ isn’t that close to the one I was built with which, I’d like to say, is 187.

He wasn’t the type you would notice, not usually around people; the perfect embodiment of a lone wolf—something I would try to achieve if I could, but perhaps as another model.

drills continuously whirring, somewhere behind my head—must be another adjustment

“She looks so real,” He muttered to himself, his fingers prodding at my jaw to the column of my neck, then across the bridge of my nose. It didn’t help that I was completely naked atop the table underneath blindingly bright lights. But the way his fingers grazed my skin left a burning sensation in its wake, or at least, it seemed that way. I wasn’t sure, the light stopped me from observing him as he observed me. Overall, the entire procedure was much too clinical for my liking.

“Decent enough. Cognitive and physical systems are spot on, but emotional aspects are still non-existent.” I could practically hear Strauss rolling her eyes. She’s probably still angry at me for calling her stupid the other day. That’s the thing with the truth: it’s not what people like to hear.

He, however, made a sound. A laugh. It wasn’t a snippy laugh like Strauss’s, nor a clueless one like those of other people wandering about the lab. It was nearly a chuckle, a hearty chuckle that made its way past my oversensitive skin and the metal and knots, straight into the atom core.

Recording 0 minutes and 4 seconds. Store? Yes/No Yes Recording stored.

The examination went on for 4:38:22:07.

“It’s amazing how much she was built like an actual...” The doctor — he — said, voice laced with admiration. I would gush, but no blood and all.

“She’s nothing but scrap metal, Spencer.”

Spencer. The kind doctor had a name.

Rename folder? Yes/No Yes Enter new name. Spencer

“But imagine, she’d be the first of a scientific breakthrough!” It was vaguely amusing how into this whole thing he was, considering he just got here. “What’s her name again?”

Rename recording? Yes/No Yes Enter new name. Spencer’s voice

“Oh for the love of God, Spence, she’s a robot!” Yet another intellectually handicapped girl who handles the blood samples, interjected from the corner. Her name was not stored.

“Android.” I corrected, turning my head a few times to try out the newly tightened bolt before turning to Strauss with a grin. “Congratulations for your successful human-to-human senselessness transmission. Everyone here seems determined to follow in your footsteps.” Except, well.

Strauss opened her mouth to scold me for my attitude programming again, but I cut off feeds of her voice when I felt a tug at my arm.

“Model R14A,” Spencer whispered mostly to himself, reading the label stamped on my arm. Unbeknownst to him, it surged a slight glitch to my interior. He raised his head to meet my eyes, a tiny smile on his lips.

“Hello, Riva. You’re quite amazing, aren’t you?”

Play Spencer’s voice recording? Yes/No Yes Other options? Loop

Human. That was what he made me feel. Which was surprising because I didn’t think I could feel at all.

[mcpsychgist-blog]

Dying Love for Psych, A Story by Irish Hyanie Cabilin

Is it possible to love again the one you used to?

Here is a not-so confession of a girl who pretty much forgot to be into something she used to love.

She was in high school, it was her sophomore year, she randomly told her friend, “Hey, I wanna take Psychology when I get to college.” Her friend did not question her choice. Years passed and the time came for them to finally decide what to take. She was a torn between taking something related to Arts, or Psychology. She picked Psych. Her teachers and parents were quite surprised that she was going to take something out of her forte. She was pretty known as someone who writes and writes. She was expected to take perhaps Journalism, or Creative Writing. On the other hand, she herself, considered Communication or Performing Arts. She knew herself to be into writing, acting, making films, or being in theater, but she was really determined to take Psychology. She was kind of excited to take and learn Psych. She thought that she does not need to take other subjects that is not part of her interests because after all, everything is about Psychology.

Fast forward, things get tough. There was also a time, actually lots of time, that she had to choose which track she was going to pursue. That made her think and question the path she was taking. Then she started questioning herself. “Do you still wanna do this?”, She asked herself. She is just starting, she thought, and it would not look good if she won’t finish what she started. Also, her family and other people are already rooting for her to be a doctor. It was really hard for her to decide because she did not want to disappoint them. This was her own choice.

This pushed her to reflect and look back to why she chose this. She realized that Psychology is not just about counseling, and helping solve love issues. It is not just about mind-boggling stuff. It is very complex. She tried to imagine herself in a white coat, being addressed with doctor before her name. It was a blurry vision though. She then asked herself, why did she not take those related to her said forte. She thought honestly to herself that she got scared thinking about the many people who can write better, act, perform, and do better than her. She stopped writing, she stopped doing the things she loved to do. She blamed taking Psychology. She lost motivation for her academics and settled for mediocrity because the things she used to love doing no longer interested her.

However, she knows she would not live and stay like that, she did try to find herself - somehow. She knows that things will fall into place so she more or less stopped worrying, and asked for God’s guidance. She sooner realized that she took Psychology because she wanted to know more about herself, about how the mind works and how people think and behave. She wanted to help those with mental problems.

When it comes to her passion in writing, she does not have to be the best already. Along the way, she learned that she just has to write because one’s inner voice is worth hearing. Eventually, she can also figure out how to put art and Psychology together.

So, it is still not a happy ending. It is still a journey she just decided to continue. She can just try again and learn to be better, little by little.

Nevertheless, if it seems that the fog is thicker and you cannot see, such things happen as you fulfill your calling out of your comfort zone.

[mcpsychgist-blog]

Intergalactic Amore by Mary Marquez

The love that we once shared,

Oh, I know it was cosmic;

Wherein explosions of emotions happened-

The beginning of vehemence, lust and hate.

My love for you was-

the genesis of the Big Bang.

It rapidly showered stars, of planets and of galaxies,

An eruption of multitudes of possibility.

Your love for me was-

That of the drifting meteors and comets;

“If I were to collide with you,

I will make sure I will leave a mark or two”.

Our love was just like the galaxy-

Fast approaching asteroids ready to strike one another,

Gigantic blackholes; a star to wish upon on.

Of celestial beauty for billions of years to last long.

You see,

We make up the universe;

You own the moon, and I the stars.

You are Earth, and I am Theia.

I am the reason for who you are-

I left an impact; a slash on your core.

“You’re just magnificent”, swirl of molten words.

I got lost into you, it seemed like a curse.

But without us realizing,

We are made up of stardust after all.

We are fated to crash against each other,

And to create these intertwined constellations.

In fact-

We will bring into existence,

The elliptic Andromeda and Milky Way,

And the stars’ end with supernovae.

Even if you say that the flames of the sun is too hot;

Or if I ask why you still haven’t gotten me one of Saturn’s rings,

Don’t worry, my dear-

Let us enjoy our infinite time on this Intergalactic Amore we have here.

[mcpsychgist-blog]

Let Love Bloom by Mary Marquez

[mcpsychgist-blog]

Cup Of by Mary Marquez

My encounters with love Are like drinks in my morning cup. You’re either that of a hot choco, A flowery taste of tea or that kind of coffee named macchiato. My first love was that of hot choco- A pleasure, an absolute satisfaction. Taking a sip Of the thick, brown liquid Suddenly awakened Its candy-like - sugary flavour, and of our love that was suddenly forsaken, Child-like innocence Now covered with the chocolate’s scent. Until my second love came forward and I knew it was like tea- Aromatic yet the taste in each bag varies. Matcha was my favourite and yours was oolong, The herbal fragrance lasts as its steam goes up. Yet as it gets cold and undone It only left a taste at the tip of my tongue; It is bitter and tangy An impression I’ll keep in my memory. Then you came upon destiny, And I knew you were like coffee- It gave me ample time to be awake, Not only its acidic yet luscious taste. You are sometimes cold but most times you were warm, Clearly something I’ll have that gives my heart no harm. It reminded me of being an adult And when it’s hard to take in I take a halt. But from the drinks I take at the break of dawn, Either it’s sweet, bitter, or strong on its own, I’ll be thankful for the morning companionship, On each difference with its relish. All I know is I regretted, abhorred, and love each of them, Like the love I had faced, be appreciating by then.

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Second Chance by Irish Hyanie P. Cabilin

It took me a long time to rebuild my broken self Now you’re back and I don’t know why Oh, I know! To mess with my mind To play with my emotions To break my heart Oh, I know what you are up to You see me doing just fine without you So you are to destroy me one more time And I’m afraid, I might let you once again

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Someone I Can No Longer Have by Lori Jacinto

I’m in a depth of missing someone I can no longer have

In a depth where I drown deeper than in any body of water can be;

In a depth where I’m in the darkest corner – unable to be found elsewhere

I am breathless and lifeless, but I don’t want to be saved –

For the pain of being dead inside is what makes me feel alive

For the pain is him – he who is my life, he who is my ruin;

He who is someone I can no longer have

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Without a Word by Ysrah Irish Ongkingco

Other’s words have no meaning once I believe in his love

Even though he keeps pushing me away,

I cannot take my step, it’s no turning back

Through every ache he gave, I felt hopeless

With each passing day, I love you more and I cannot stop that feeling

Even though I tried to hate him,

I cannot hate him again and again,

I tried to let go, but I only end up, wrapping myself a little bit tighter

But then, all I could do was wish for his happiness despite my sadness

There’s pain, there’s sorrow.

There’s ache, there’s sadness.

Through all this, is a dazzling glow that will sparkle, every shadow you hid.

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Unspoken Word Poetry by Irish Hyanie P. Cabilin

Seems like spoken word poetry is a trend

I’ve been hearing poems being delivered with strong words and emotions

Mostly about how one’s lover left

How she asked him to stay and he did not

How he said the words, ‘I love you’ but she never said it back.

There’s a lot

Yeah, there’s a lot to say

To feel

And there’s a lot I want to tell you

But I can’t

I just can’t

I can’t even speak to you

You know what, of course you don’t

I can’t even tell others because they would laugh at me

Worse, they might tell you

I composed poems that no one has ever read

I wrote songs whose melodies are unknown

That none, neither you nor me, would be able to hear it

I wrote everything that came from the voice inside my head

All because of you

I can’t even speak of how many pages full of "what if”s and “could’ve been”s I’ve filled

Pages consumed in the void of confusion

To the point I don’t even know if this is love

Must I call this love?

When it is not even returned?

When it is not even shown in the first place?

Or maybe it is, but only I can see.

I’ll still write you poems though

Poems I know will remain unspoken

Unknown

Just like this one

It makes no difference

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Unconditional by Pauline Aura

This heart is ugly. Would it still be made beautiful?

This heart is filthy. Would it still be made clean?

This heart fails. Would it still be shown praise?

This heart is stupid. Would it still be shown guidance?

This heart has no voice. Would it still be heard?

This heart is good for nothing. Would it still be shown worth?

This heart is weak. Would it still be given strength?

This heart lies. Would it still be shown sincerity?

This heart is unfaithful. Would it still be shown trust?

This heart is selfish. Would it still be given anything?

This heart hates. Would it still be shown love?

With all of these flaws that you see, (why) are you still capable of accepting me?