I thought I have forgotten
Just how to love you
When it only gets harder
To not to


Watched Ocean’s 8 last night, amazing movie. Certainly the action-comedy movie type where the pinnacle is the latter, but it’s pure genius. Recommended for all the aspiring criminals to be. 10 minutes in and I was all over Sandy Bullock’s (as referred by Anne Hathaway) ways with her hands—and of course, all over Bullock herself. It is out of my ordinary to watch a movie as soon as it’s out in the cinemas, but all the good reviews and great cast selections just left me with no option. Then I went back to the trailer which was dropped circa 5 months ago just to find lots of hideous comments on how it’s unoriginal and just another feminism flop. With no surprise, naturally all of the comments were written by men. Really, ‘cause the last time I checked they’re still the privileged ones (specially if they’re white). Feminism what? Feminism dope. It’s another win for feminism.

(Peeps, you shouldn’t sleep on the fact that the cast members, although not wholly, represent various communities and comes with different body shapes and everyone is beautiful. Especially during the scene where they all make the grand entrance in dresses. Just. Pure. Jaw. Dropping.)

Hush, Hush, My Night Prince

Dear my night prince,
Fly, fly, you go
Spread the dark wings
You have yet to grow

Such a strong youth you have become
Even with arrow in heart
Poison in veins
You stood up and raise and fight

To give hope, to give dream, to give joy

My, my,
My brave prince,
It was a long journey you’ve walked
In this very same path
We were together

Sleep, sleep now,
My bleeding prince,
Another long journey awaits
With no more pain haunts you
With my prayer follows too

I cry now,
My night prince,
But know our reunion is fate
And that day shall come
But this once,
You will have your peace
You’ve longed to reach

My black cat passed away last night, I waited to be alone to cry. Goodbye, Toothless, you will be missed, dearly.

The Union—Part 3

The following day was Sunday, no one should be in the headquarter except for all the assigned engineers, I was not one of them. Kosygin had fulfilled my wish to meet me, saying, “I also had something to say to you.”

It was a rainy Sunday. Kosygin was late, the black coat he was always seen wearing was drenched. I saluted as soon as I saw him. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I had to run an errand beforehand.”

I knew he was such a busy man, it was an actual honor for me to have a meeting appointed with him. “Sir,” I started. “The matter I am about to talk to you—“

“I know, I know,” he said. “This is about Colonel Yuri Gagarin. He is also what I want to discuss with you. But Colonel, one problem: I am in no position to abort the mission.”

“But Sir, you are my—our last hope. The KBG wouldn’t lend us a hand. They, in fact, had brushed off all the lending hands available.”

Kosygin shook his head, “Unfortunately Colonel, I couldn’t be of a better help.”

“Nothing?” I pleaded, and he weakly shook his head again. “He, a nation’s pride, will be killed in a ship of thousands of errors, and you, Sir, with all due respect, a high officer couldn’t be of a better help? Is this how this nation’s treat their heroes? Nothing?”

He looked just as stunned as I did. I didn’t expect to spit all of the things I just said into his face, out loud. “I, I’m sorry, Sir,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to—“

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he fixed his way of sitting. “I get it. Your best friend is dying and you want to do something about it. I get it, you were the one who told him about the thin chance of him going back to earth safely. It was what I wanted to talk about to you.”

“About that—“

“No, Colonel, it’s fine,” he cut. “I knew it was definitely you who told him such information. And the fact that I am fine with it—this meeting is an absolute secret.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Sir,” I bowed to him. “And I might be rude for asking more but… I have a special request to make, Sir.”

“And what is that?”

I paused for a moment, making sure of my upcoming decision, “I request to be the replacement of Colonel Yuri Gagarin.”

He nodded, seemingly relaxed and not as tense as before. “I knew you would say that,” he said. “But Colonel, I’m still in no position to make any change. Besides, I thought you were medically unfit.”

And just before I let out another sigh of distress, Kosygin stated, “although I could propose you to be the backup pilot instead. But one thing that concerns me: you are medically unfit, Colonel.”

“Yes, medically unfit twice for training, but I am a prodigy, Sir,” I said proudly. “I have grown stronger, I have undergone medication, also I have flown the Voskhod- 1 if you remember, Sir. My health will not be a concern, if…”


“If I will be dead in the end.”

It was settled, Kosygin agreed Soyuz-1 needed a ‘less-important’ pilot. But in spite of that, he had still been worried of me, I was a great pilot, too. But I told him to be rest-assured, “there is chance of living. I will help check on Soyuz-1.”

“Colonel Komarov,” he called me before I was about to leave. “Why are you doing this? Why are you sacrificing yourself, just for a friend?”

“That’s Yura,” I said. “And he’ll die instead of me. We’ve got to take care of him.”

Little did he know, a tear slipped down my eye. There was a bit, a tiny bit, piece of fear that was left in me.

The Union—Part 1

“Colonel Yuri Gagarin, please head to the main office immediately. We repeat, Colonel Yuri Gagarin…”

            The woman’s voice that echoed throughout the headquarter had always been an annoyance, at least for me. It was no more than because my name was the one thing to never be mentioned. My rank maybe was the same as Yura’s, but we were not the same after all.

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A Message for The Stars

I stood up behind my window,

looking up, eager to see you,

But you were not in sight,

Or anywhere.

Nor you,

neither your friends.

I felt lonely for a bit.

Then you showed up,

Flickering—red, white, red, white—to the same pattern.

I smiled,

“You did not leave me,” said I.

“At least, yet.”

A tear dropped,

“Please, don’t. I could not cope loneliness,” I begged.

You stopped flickering,

Did you get my message?

But I was still afraid,

all you gave me was silence.

“I could not cope loneliness, please,” I repeated.

“Then come,” you said, with a hand lending toward me.

I reached for you, smiling,

Even my tears stopped flowing,

And my dilemmas fled,

For I was freed—by you.

I left my window,

To travel the sky with you,

Your friends flickered, too,

I was, for once, happy,

Since I will face sorrow no more, as I am in your embrace forevermore.


Tonight was the national dark sky night to reduce light pollution, but still, no one tried, then nothing showed up. But a single star made me happy, it gave me hope.

Look, look. How much improbable my dream could possibly be? Oh, poor, poor thing. Pitiful me, so aware yet so ignorant about the instrument of dreams. Does this one intangible thing people fight against each other for, called love, considered as that one term everyone else has, called dream?

My Lord?

Does that apply only if I am the victim of it, sacrificing my own self, and the number one thing that has always been mankind’s pride, common sense?

For I have always been wrong, misplacing my heart everywhere, leaving trails of blood in its process. I prayed and prayed for you to guide me, but were they the intermezzos to my path of happily ever after?

This one time, this one mistake. Another one, correct. I fell in love with one, whom I know nothing about. Am I sinning, or am I loving, that is one question I keep asking myself. He, someone so grand and honored, did not seemingly deserve a rubble like I. Thus far, it did not stop me even a bit.

Is it counted, my Lord, for me to love someone so real, and yet unreal, without expecting anything in return—and will undoubtedly get nothing in return? Will this be permanent or will this be temporary, as things have always been?