twenty four from my memory
january. a confession. gin, mojito, and strawberry juice. hope before hope ran out. amusement parks. old friends, old sparks, revisited. moving in and moving out. exclusion. solitude, the bad kind. seeking comfort in peculiar places. crying in front of my grandmother. a hospital. convenient store meals for a week. risks and risks i won’t take again.
february. a blur.
march. going home. the first line of blood drawn. i need my mother, after all. absences and absences. perhaps i want everything to stop. hands shaking inside the laboratory. krill. little spark. the first dip. recovery. a haircut i didn’t like. revisiting the idea of robin. medications. emergencies. moving out and moving in. a new start. solutide, the kind i crave.
april. volunteering. chicken nuggets because i cannot cook. good matcha. my little baby. supermarket flowers. overnight oats. i am distracted enough. i need to catch a break. the beach. film roll two. more lines drawn. field biology. therapeutic grocery runs. running at 8 pm. false recovery. the ink spilled for the first time. i did not know i had a heart. colorful pills. a switch. insisting break when there is no time for it. i really need it, i do.
may. how am i still hanging on? sleeping in the library. songs that reminded me of you, heard live. physics. i found another person who reads. a dipterocarp forest. rotting at home again. the search for what’s next. physical copies of books. i still want everything to stop, but i am distracted enough.
june. there’s still four of us, the last good days. i forgot why i was crying. visited home, the other home. graduations and restaurants. shared affogato cake. picnic at the cemetery. i saw myself in a little orange cartoon character having a panic attack. the gradual decline, although not seen. backlogs. what the fuck is this schedule, give me a break. coalesce. i’m still holding on.
july. the calm before the storm. a microwave over hogwarts legacy. watching cars go round and round. hydrogen chloride. blueberry latte. i only learned i had allergies at age twenty-one. korean ice cream. community service. good lord, how am i still holding on? i visited home again, the other home. salt and pepper. a korean restaurant i’ve never tried before. game on.
august. a cruel one. there’s comfort in crying in cold, empty classrooms. outcast. i called you, but it didn’t help. research subject. free meal for a broken friendship. sneaking inside libraries. anxiety, anxiety. how could you do this to me? therapy. everyone in this room will someday be dead. confession: i tried to play too just to fit in. peanut butter and jelly. calpis soda. healthcare is goddamn expensive. an egg. i beg you, i need everything to stop.
september. developed film roll. drug hunting. therapeutic grocery runs again, where does this serotonin come from? oh. more lines. buying off friends, apparently. goodbye gifts. i started journaling. broken ID lace. the last month i touched a book. christening. i think buffets are morally wrong. the last sleepover. taguig rain. lab wins and lab fails.
october. i turn twenty-two. coffee shop until 1 am. i found my person. best and the worst. emergency rooms. a birthday cake. i want everything to stop, now more than ever. lines, lines, lines. the void. i can’t feel anything anymore. stop — stop it all. salonpas. i’m never drinking coffee again. mocks. sleepless nights. stop stop stop. ice cream with a fork. horror movie marathon. how the hell did i survive this?
november. preparing for the trip. planned tattoos. friends and foes. shrink appointments. lines, lines, lines. witnessed his smile after months of absence. wins and loses. a weekend of complete silence. pool. convenient store ramen. sleeping in classes. childhood photos. aspergillus. the doubt seeps in.
december. sleeping on my shoulders. planners. my old enemy, antipsychotics. shades and cap hunting. thesis. going to new places with my best friend. soju, rum, tennessee whiskey that sucked. sleeping with a knife under my pillow, literally. lessons. perseverance. it may not be all so bad after all. a confession. i still want everything to stop, but i can hover in the meantime.
This piece was originally posted on Substack on January 2, 2025 and migrated to BearBlog on March 19, 2026.