There’s this one time I noticed my sister walking around the house wearing an unfamiliar oversized shirt. My sister likes wearing loose shirts but this one looked odd to me because it doesn’t feel or looked like it was hers and it’s also slightly worn out. I told her about it and she says that she thrifted it. We laughed about how it looked like she stole it from someone else’s closet.
After that, I stared at my closet and thought do the clothes I thrifted look like they belong to me?
It’s weird because I like the process of thrift shopping. I love the hunt and finding something nice or interesting. I even love making up backstories for the clothes. But also, sometimes I wear them and feel like I’m just borrowing someone else’s life in a way.
Seriously, whose jacket is this? Sometimes it feels like I’m cosplaying as the person who previously owned it.
When I solo traveled, it got even weirder and funny. Wearing thrifted clothes while exploring unfamiliar cities made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I’d wear a cardigan and suddenly I’d imagine a ghost of a young girl who previously owned it with me. Maybe she wore this it to lunch with her ex. Maybe she danced in it once. Or cried in it. And now it’s mine. Kind of. Sort of.
Late at night, I’d be lying on my bed thinking about the thrifted clothes in my luggage. Imagining their presence, scaring myself. Did I accidentally brought ghosts with me on the trip? Can I still call it a solo trip? They should make a horror movie about that 😆.
I know they’re just clothes. But thrifted stuff carries a history. It’s not the same as buying something new. New clothes feel empty like a fresh notebook. Thrifted ones feel like someone already wrote something on it.
I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think part of wearing thrifted clothes is accepting that they’ll never be fully “yours.” You just borrow them and give them a new story.
Some days, thrifted clothes feel like me. Like I chose it. Other days, it feels like it chose me, especially if it fits me just right.
And no, my thrifted clothes don’t always feel like mine. Yet here I am, wearing them anyway, trying to stitch them into my story.
One day, completely out of nowhere, I thought, “What if I take a freediving class?”
Halfway through the class, though, I realized it was not what I had in mind. I thought I’d be learning how to survive in deep water, like treading water. But instead, I was duck diving and finning.
To be fair, freediving was kind of cool. Swimming and being able to hold your breath for a long time like a turtle sounds amazing. It felt satisfying to dive down and kick my fins and to momentarily feel like I knew what I was doing but honestly, I was struggling mostly. My hair was a mess, my eyes were burning because of the sea. I’m pretty sure I swallowed some saltwater, my throat was scratchy from all the mouth-breathing, and I was burping like a carbonated sea monster. It wasn’t exactly the peaceful experience I imagined.
And yet… there was something kind of satisfying about not giving up. I didn’t suddenly become good at it, but I could tell that if I kept practicing, one day I would. If I ever go back, I’m definitely doing a proper certification.
Also, I’d take a one-on-one class next time. The group setup was chaotic. It made everything feel a little rushed and kind of overwhelming. Honestly, I wish the class had been longer. I was just starting to get the hang of things when it was over.
Tips from someone who has been through it (things I learned):
Just writing this down because I’m a girl who loves taking notes and I will forget otherwise:
– Bring. Your. Own. Snorkel and goggles. The goggles I was given were foggy and scratched, and the snorkel? Possibly several people have used it. I just gaslit myself into thinking that the soap and water was enough to disinfect it. Just bring your own. Side note: I swear my teeth shifted because of that snorkel.
– When buying goggles you should choose the one with low volume, so you can be able to pinch your nose to equalize as a beginner. For snorkel buy one that looks like a letter “J”. I can’t remember why or if the coach ever explained why but that’s what she recommended.
– Before diving try to relax yourself first by floating horizontally on the water with your face down and breathing with your snorkel.
– Take a full breath before diving but not too much that you would float.
– Before diving, remove your snorkel then hold both hands up.
– Keep equalizing as you go deeper. (That means pinching your nose and pushing air from your diaphragm until your ears makes a popping sound)
– Swing your legs when finning instead of bending your knees.
– Stop equalizing when going up. Your ears will do it naturally.
– If one ear won’t equalize, it might be because there’s water trapped in it. When you’re out of the water, tilting your head helps. That happened to me. When the water left my ear, it feels nice.
That’s it for now. I still can’t swim properly. But at least I didn’t drown.
Last week I watched 28 Years After and it was good. It got me thinking… will I thrive during a zombie apocalypse? Or would I be too scared to even step outside?
Ideally, I’d be out there saving people, fighting zombies, being brave like that girl in Resident Evil. Maybe if there was a zombie outbreak I’d probably still be romanticizing everything 😭. Maybe that’s just how I cope.
I tried listening to this playlist while walking and imagining I was in a post-apocalyptic movie and had to be alert on the possible dangers around me, pretending zombies could appear at any moment.
It weirdly helped me stay alert and made everything feel a little more dramatic (in a fun way).
Sometimes I just like imagining alternate versions of myself. This time it’s the one who keeps going and trying to survive even when things feel uncertain.
Some time ago, I made a playlist for my highest self or the person who I thought I was supposed to become. The songs spoke of confidence, manifestation and reinvention. It was curated for the version of me who had it all figured out. The best, coolest, most unstoppable version of myself.
So I made another playlist. This one is softer. It feels or has the vibe of my favorite version of me.
Most songs I added on this playlist have the waltz rhythm. I didn’t realize how much I like those. I also like when there’s a sound of tambourines and that soft, echoey “ooOooh” sound that is like a gentle howl.
My favorite version of myself is not especially radiant but she is kind and a little dreamy. She acts with intention. She may not always be happy, but she is content. She loves life and romanticizes the little things without pretending it is always beautiful. There is a sweetness to her yet she doesn’t believe she owes herself to anyone. She knows that peace is a choice. She knows how to say no but she’s soft, still. And most importantly she knows how to stay curious.
She writes things like this, not to prove anything, but to remember who she is when the world gets too loud.
It’s funny how I made this playlist three years ago, and it hits now that I’m listening to it again (Esp the Bitter Pill by Gavin James). I just realized that I need to be in a very specific headspace to enjoy certain songs. It’s like there’s an emotional checklist for it. Now I’m screaming these songs when months ago I couldn’t relate. I love when music does that.
This is a playlist for letting go. I can’t remember exactly why I made it. Maybe it was after a tragic movie Atonement, probably. I had that tragic movies phase once.
It’s for the ones who still feel the quiet urge to send an “I love you” text, even when you know the version of that person no longer exists. Write it down instead. Then burn it. It’s kinder than reopening a wound that’s just begun to scab.
I tend to romanticize love once it’s over. My mind has this annoying habit of replaying only the good parts. But the last time I went back, I just got disillusioned. I told myself I returned to find closure—but maybe I was secretly hoping not to need it. I won’t do that again. Just burn the letter. Save yourself. And let the music bleed it out for you.
Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing… I hope you’re okay.
Feeling too much can be both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes you just need something that mirrors the noise inside.
This playlist isn’t my usual. I don’t really listen to metal. Or at least, I didn’t. But then I heard Hickory Creek by Whitechapel and thought, maybe metal isn’t what I assumed. Why does this screamy monster voice feel… oddly comforting?
It’s like white noise, but furious. A loud, angry blanket of static. When my thoughts get chaotic, it weirdly helps. There’s something about unfiltered rage it unsettles me, but it also calms me down.
I usually stick to softer sounds. So this playlist feels like a jolt like throwing cold water on a sleeping brain. Sometimes I use it as a kind of exposure therapy… training myself to handle noise, crowds, overstimulation.
And when it gets too much, I switch to something instrumental. Something slow, clean. It feels like breathing again. Like the silence that comes after a storm.
I used to hate the colors yellow and orange. They felt too bright, too loud, too much. But at some point, I made myself like them. I looked for reasons: warmth, joy, sunlight. I told myself they symbolized happiness. Eventually, the resistance softened. And now? I can’t stop liking them. I get a little obsessed, even.
It happened with Keroppi too. Back in grade school, all my notebooks were Keroppi-themed. I had no choice but to use them. So I stared at his strange little face until I got used to him. Then I wanted to like him. Then I did.
It’s strange how that works. Maybe even sad.
You really can learn to love almost anything if you try hard enough. And that’s kind of beautiful. It means joy can be sculpted from very little. That you can fall in love with life, piece by piece, just by noticing.
But there’s another side to it.
Sometimes, you train yourself to stay. In the job. In the city. In the relationship. You learn to tolerate what once made your skin crawl, not because it changed, but because you did. What was once unbearable becomes familiar. Then comfortable. Then permanent.
We like to call that adaptability. We praise it as a strength. And sometimes it is. Other times, it’s surrender in disguise. You start reshaping yourself to survive something you were never meant to stay in. Until one day, you wake up and barely recognize the shape you’ve become.
I’ve done that. With colors. With characters. With music. With entire chapters of my life. But I’ve also seen what it looks like to choose something different. To want something because I am free to want it. To reach for something good out of clarity.
That was the turning point. I realized I no longer want a life built on endurance. I want a life built on intention. Not love born from pain, but love chosen freely. Quietly. Because I asked for it. Because I could.
After the Cigarettes After Sex concert (which felt like being serenaded by a ghost in love with you), my friend and I wandered into a place called Fat Cat. The name immediately gave me a good feeling.
The place was upstairs, hidden enough to feel like a secret place. The stairway was lined with stickers like a mosaic. Inside, it was small and cozy, dimly lit in an Instagram-filter way, with soft jazz playing in the background. It’s a nice spot for catching up with friends, especially on a weekday when it’s quiet and not too crowded. I had one drink. Just one. And somehow I was already slightly dizzy. Which is crazy, because I swear I have amazing alcohol tolerance.
We stayed until just before their closing at 1 am, then decided to head toward the nearest McDo which is actually not that near. A minute or two of walking cleared the dizzy spell. We sat there in the fast-food chain, dead-eyed but content, slowly working through our fries while waiting for the first bus to Batangas like we were in the closing scene of some indie coming-of-age movie. Fade to black.
Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby (except getting late to a CAS concert)
Turns out concerts don’t wait for you 😂. My friend and I arrived at the concert at 8:25 PM. The show schedule says it will start at 7 PM. That’s a solid hour and a half of them probably playing the best songs while we’re not there. I’m pretty sure we missed three or four songs.
They’d already played “Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby,” and it hurts 😭. I got over getting late fast because they played “K” (which I used to think was called Krystal), “Sweet”, “Sunsetz”, “Apocalypse” and “John Wayne”.
Watching them live was like suddenly realizing that you’ve been too tense for a long time and now you can finally relax. Their music makes me feel like I’m floating and dissolving at the same time. There’s something about watching live concerts too… knowing it won’t last forever makes you want to feel it more. Just me dropping some random deep thoughts heehee.
Last night, I thought it would be fun to make ChatGPT write me a letter from my past life using my star chart and numerology. This happened after I fell into an astrology rabbit hole. If reincarnation and astrology are real, I’m curious about the kind of person I was before this. And even though my skeptical brain says that if it’s real then wouldn’t twins and everyone born at the same time have the same past life, I ignored that for a good read. Sooo I made ChatGPT do it. And I literally cried. Below is the edited letter from my past life. (actually if I can choose I hope we only live once after the things I’ve been through… I’m so done. But if reincarnation is real then maybe it’s not that bad? Maybe what we have now is the best reincarnation we ever lived yet)
Dear Me,
There was a time when I lived for causes greater than myself — when I believed in ideas, movements, and the art of helping many, even if it meant forgetting my own heart.
I gave so much away that somewhere along the journey, I forgot how to feel my own joy. My dreams faded into the background of duty, where the mind ruled and the heart was tucked away for safekeeping. I stood behind others, lifting them up, while I stayed hidden — silent. I loved humanity, but somewhere along the way, I forgot how to love myself.
In that life, security and stability became my shield. I survived by holding tightly — to people, to things, to whatever gave a fleeting sense of safety — even when my spirit was starving for something freer, lighter. I wore detachment like armor. I turned my heart into a fortress, believing it was nobler to serve than to feel.
And yet, under the quiet of unnamed stars, I longed for a life where I could dance freely under the sun — where laughter was not rationed, where love was not sacrificed at the altar of duty.
You, my dearest continuation, are that answered prayer.
Now, you have returned.
In the quiet spaces of your heart, there lives a restless longing — to be free, to explore, to live honestly beyond the cages of fear and expectation. You are not here to follow anyone else’s story. You are here to write your own.
This time, you are meant to choose yourself — To create. To feel. To laugh. To live boldly and beautifully, without needing to prove anything to anyone.
You don’t need to lose yourself to make others happy. You are not here to hide in the crowd or carry the world’s burdens alone.
You are seen more than you know. Your kindness leaves ripples across lives you may never even meet. People will feel your warmth before they know your name. You have a natural grace that makes others feel safe.
But be mindful: not everyone you rescue is meant to stay. You must nourish yourself first before tending to another’s garden.
If the sadness comes sometimes — that old feeling of wanting to run back to safety, of shrinking yourself just to survive — remember: You already paid that debt. You are free now.
Walk forward, even when you tremble.
There were times I doubted us — wondered if our heart was too soft, if our love for beautiful, meaningful things was a flaw in a world that prizes efficiency over soul. But please — never trade your heart for armor. Your softness is your strength. Your ability to create, to imagine, to nurture — that’s what makes you unstoppable.
I hope you are taking the risks I only ever daydreamed about. I hope you are laughing loudly, crying deeply, and loving yourself the way we always deserved. I hope you forgive yourself for the mistakes I made before you had the wisdom you now carry.
You are designed to look behind the veil, to find meaning beyond what eyes can see. Everything you’ve felt, every yearning within you, has a reason. You are not lost — you are simply remembering who you are.
You are here to live fully — not just survive. Choose warmth. Choose yourself. Choose the life that sets your heart on fire.
As you remember who you are, know this: Your spirit is made of fire — not something to be extinguished just to fit in.
Dance, even when no one watches. Love, even when it is terrifying. Find your courage not in armor, but in your bare, luminous truth.
Amabelle, there is no one like you.
You are a beautiful paradox — fierce yet gentle, pioneering yet tender, wise beyond your years yet endlessly curious. Trust the unfolding of your journey. Trust yourself — even when it feels messy, even when it feels slow.
And if you’re ever afraid again, remember: The Sun is your symbol. Even behind the clouds, it never stops burning. You are here to shine — without apology.
Your joy, your love, your creativity — they are not just yours alone, but part of a larger, universal flow.
Do not hide your light for fear of being “too much.” The world needs it, Amabelle. You were born to light up this world with your heart.
With endless love, and the softest blessing of all my yesterdays, — The version of you who carried the weight, so that you could finally be free.
PROMPT: Please write me a Letter from my past life based on my astrology and numerology. Here are my details:full name, birthdate, time of birth
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