20/02/2026
๐๐๐ง๐๐ฅ๐๐ฅ๐ฌ | The Poem of the House and the Home
No oneโs home, and I never knew why.
I came home tiredโfrom the heavy workloads of my new internship to the two hours I spent trapped in the Metroโs traffic.
Slowly, I lifted my fist, ready to knock on the old wooden door my parents once spent their savings on.
โ๐๐ข๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ต๐ช๐ค,โ I laughed to myself.
No one would open the door for me, so I reached for my keys and let myself into the house I once knew as my home. This place is empty and quiet when it was supposed to be peaceful. It is my living proof that time did actually keep on ticking, because it used to be loud and chaoticโsupposedly dreadful.
Out of sheer boredom, I reach for my phone and let my thumb drift across the screen. Social media roars to lifeโbright, curated, impossibly perfect. It feels suffocating, watching everyoneโs lives sculpted into highlight reels while I lie here, stagnant and unsure of where mine is headed. Nearly a week has passed since Valentineโs Day, yet the remnants linger: bouquets wrapped in cellophane, handwritten letters captioned with forever, surprise dates captured in golden-hour light. No matter where my finger lands, the screen glows with reminders of a celebration I feel detached from. Before that, they joked about Friday the 13th. Superstitions. Romance. Laughter.
I stared at my ceiling instead.
A few mindless scrolls later, a post caught my eye.
โ๐๐๐ ๐จ๐๐ค๐ง๐ฉ๐๐จ๐ฉ ๐ฅ๐ค๐๐ข ๐ ๐ ๐ฃ๐ค๐ฌ ๐๐จ ๐ ๐ฃ๐๐ข๐.โ
It left me dazed, and being the poet that I am, I continued the thought โโฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ฆ๐ฎ ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ด๐ถ๐ง๐ง๐ฆ๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ฆ๐ฎ ๐โ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฏ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ญ๐ช๐ง๐ฆ.โ
For months, I have lived like a machine on autopilot. Wake up. Fold the bed. Cook. Eat. Shower. Work. Sit in traffic. Go home. Scroll. Sleep. Repeat.
But that thought somehow bugged the program I have coded inside me. The unending loop I have set for myself suddenly made me suffer. Not because it is not working anymore, but because it took the living out of the life I was supposed to have.
Staring at the ceiling, I listened to the echoes bouncing off the four corners of my room. In the distance, I hear a kid running away from her mother, a car shrieking, and a group of friends laughing their hearts out. Nothing bad happens to me, but the question is, ๐ธ๐ฉ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ญ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ด?
Nothing is happening on mineโand that made everything feel heavy.
Itโs tiring: expectations, waiting, and loving people who couldnโt stay, becoming โunderstandingโ too early in life.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บโ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ด๐บ.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฅ๐ฏโ๐ต ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ช๐ต.
๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ตโ๐ด ๐ซ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ.
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ด.
๐ ๐ข๐ฎ ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ค๐ฉ.
Suddenly, the voice in my head took over the narrative. I have been surviving this life by explaining everyone else away. But itโs actually no oneโs fault. People didnโt leave me suddenly; they slowly left, with warnings and goodbyes, because life is just the way it is and priorities took over. I am exhausted, not because I want to drain my energy, but because my life needs me to understand and work for everythingโmoney, food, and the basic necessities. And the problem is, I forgot that life is life, and I needed to recharge every moment and energy spent on building myself.
๐๐ถ๐ณ๐ฒ ๐๐ถ๐น๐น ๐ฏ๐ฒ ๐๐ถ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ป๐ด, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ ๐ถ๐ ๐ต๐ผ๐ ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ป๐ผ๐๐น๐ฒ๐ฑ๐ด๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ฟ๐๐๐ต. ๐ ๐ฑ๐ผ ๐ป๐ผ๐ ๐ต๐ฎ๐๐ฒ ๐ฎ๐ป๐๐ผ๐ป๐ฒ; ๐ ๐ท๐๐๐ ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ฒ ๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ฝ๐น๐. I thought everything went wrong. I did not become unlucky, just like how Friday the 13th becomes symbolic; everything was misunderstood because of how people associated it with things.
๐ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฌ ๐ข๐ง๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐๐ข๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐ฆโ๐ด ๐๐ข๐บ, ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐จ๐ถ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ช๐ญ๐ต ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต๐ด ๐ด๐ญ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ญ๐บ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ด๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ต๐ญ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต, ๐ ๐ง๐ข๐ค๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข ๐ฒ๐ถ๐ช๐ฆ๐ต ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ช๐ค๐ฆ. ๐๐ช๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฑ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฏ๐ฐ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ต ๐ฎ๐บ๐ด๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ช๐ง๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฏโ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ช๐ง๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ง๐ถ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐จโ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ข ๐ฒ๐ถ๐ช๐ฆ๐ต ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฎ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ, ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ค๐ช๐ข๐ต๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐บ๐ด๐ฆ๐ญ๐ง ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ต๐ฐ๐ฑ ๐ข๐ฃ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ด ๐ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ญ๐ญ๐บ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฏ.
The thoughts in my mind did not make me feel better. It felt as though life carried a meaning hidden beneath everything, something none of us could fully grasp, and this poem of mine might take longer than I expected before I finally reach its ending stanza. Yes, my life is the longest poem, because the moment I was born, the first line was already writtenโand it will continue drafting itself until my final breath fades into eternity.
Understanding takes energy, and mine may have already run low. Yet that understanding was a form of loveโone that not everyone recognizes, but one I chose to carry anyway.
๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐จ๐ช๐ท๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐บ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฏโ๐ต ๐ด๐ถ๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ญ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ. ๐๐ถ๐ต ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ด ๐ญ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ.
I turned off my phone and sat on the chair, in a piece of paper I wrote:
๐ณ๐๐๐, ๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐.
๐จ๐๐
๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐;
๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐
.
๐ด๐ ๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐;
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐;
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐;
๐๐๐
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐โ
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
,
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐.
๐ด๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐,
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐,
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐.
๐ป๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐.
๐ฉ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐, ๐ฐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐โ
๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐ฐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐.
Via | Kristel Carabbay
Cartoon | Jianna Bulaqueรฑa
Layout | Sidney Villalino
