MA Creative Writing student at UP Diliman from the Land of Buko Pies.

Also a runner, photographer, cyclist, florist, dreamer, and believer.

Showing posts tagged photography

Impromptu

JerarDylan

JerarDylan

This is one of the more adventurous shoots I’ve done. In this photograph, everything seems to be calm and tranquil. Actually, there were a lot of red ants on the ground and the grasses were awfully itchy. I had rashes on my legs before the shoot finally wrapped up.
Yes, this is a throwback to 2 years ago! :)

This is one of the more adventurous shoots I’ve done. In this photograph, everything seems to be calm and tranquil. Actually, there were a lot of red ants on the ground and the grasses were awfully itchy. I had rashes on my legs before the shoot finally wrapped up.

Yes, this is a throwback to 2 years ago! :)

Did a little photo shoot with my interior designer sis, Eleanor Anne Torres :)

Pahiyas 2014
Lucban, Quezon

August 2011
This was actually a sunrise. It can easily be mistaken for a sunset, but the difference was after a few minutes everything else became brighter, and that’s what I love about sunrises, they cast light not shadows. More of truth, more of hope, more of love—more of the things we actually live for.

August 2011

This was actually a sunrise. It can easily be mistaken for a sunset, but the difference was after a few minutes everything else became brighter, and that’s what I love about sunrises, they cast light not shadows. More of truth, more of hope, more of love—more of the things we actually live for.

My mother’s been such a great mom that I find myself desperately wanting to become a mother too.  It’s not just that our society and country’s cultural norms dictate that I absolutely adore and love my mother; she’s just impossible not to love. You know those people who you just feel like has a thing against your mom? You know, those people she probably deals with at work or those pesky neighbours or church goers that you think just don’t seem to jive well with your mom? Well, I don’t understand them at all. My ears redden and my fists clench at the thought of them. How could they not, at the very least, like my mom?
See, for me, my mother’s easily a saint, or a hero, or better yet the Mother Teresa of our barangay. I love her not because I caused her so much discomfort and bleeding just so I could get out of her womb (I know for a fact that, years after my birth, I continued to give her so much discomfort minus the bleeding whenever I tried to get out of the house as a minor to do questionable things). I love her not just because she raised me, nursed me in times of sickness, or paid so much for school tuition and such. With much contemplation, I realize that I love her because she gives herself fully. It’s not even just her love, you know, it’s her whole, entire, complete self. Like she literally does not have an ulterior motive when she gives herself; she’s just there for everyone to gobble and feast on. Maybe, I’m being melodramatic or even inaccurate, but she’s taught me to put such a premium on sharing and giving that I easily translate that to being the most human thing to do, be charitable. Charity, after all, is love.

I myself have a real reason to celebrate today: I have a piece of her in me. That sorta makes me think that maybe, I have a capacity to be a mother, too, not in terms of childbearing, but in being able to give myself fully to others. I find joy in the thought. Oh, what a lovely, lovely thought.

My mother’s been such a great mom that I find myself desperately wanting to become a mother too.

It’s not just that our society and country’s cultural norms dictate that I absolutely adore and love my mother; she’s just impossible not to love. You know those people who you just feel like has a thing against your mom? You know, those people she probably deals with at work or those pesky neighbours or church goers that you think just don’t seem to jive well with your mom? Well, I don’t understand them at all. My ears redden and my fists clench at the thought of them. How could they not, at the very least, like my mom?

See, for me, my mother’s easily a saint, or a hero, or better yet the Mother Teresa of our barangay. I love her not because I caused her so much discomfort and bleeding just so I could get out of her womb (I know for a fact that, years after my birth, I continued to give her so much discomfort minus the bleeding whenever I tried to get out of the house as a minor to do questionable things). I love her not just because she raised me, nursed me in times of sickness, or paid so much for school tuition and such. With much contemplation, I realize that I love her because she gives herself fully. It’s not even just her love, you know, it’s her whole, entire, complete self. Like she literally does not have an ulterior motive when she gives herself; she’s just there for everyone to gobble and feast on. Maybe, I’m being melodramatic or even inaccurate, but she’s taught me to put such a premium on sharing and giving that I easily translate that to being the most human thing to do, be charitable. Charity, after all, is love.

I myself have a real reason to celebrate today: I have a piece of her in me. That sorta makes me think that maybe, I have a capacity to be a mother, too, not in terms of childbearing, but in being able to give myself fully to others. I find joy in the thought. Oh, what a lovely, lovely thought.