Pankeku Arts

“Here’s to another year to be glad to share the same universe with them ❤” - Joannie Zantua and The Ridleys

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𝙁𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙤𝙡’𝙨 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚.

But I guess I can't really blame myself for not giving up. He was there when I needed someone the most, an anchor to my reality that filled the void and emptiness when I lost my everything. Then, I got attached and tethered unknowingly that I'd be force to play an unwinnable game of love with you.

I got too drunk by his words, blinded by his empty promises and inactions. He kept saying things would get better, that he would be better, and we would remain together. But things ended up for worse.

Now, I'm trapped by his tripwires and cages — only wanting release from this never-ending cycle of victories and defeats.

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I have long believed that our hearts are connected with invisible strings connecting us with our beloved.

I can clearly see my heart attached to my mother's and seemingly nothing has ever broken it. Our connection is unyielding and strong, and nothing could ever sever it. However, I can't say the same with my father, with our string often breaking easily, which mostly leaves me frustrated to tie it back up. For so long, I held the belief that it was the distance that led strings to break easily. And if you're not careful enough, they will break without you even noticing.

And now, here I am, loving you dearly with much uncertainty.

But, often I am left wondering whether our string connection, which I believe is strong, is merely tangled by the many other hearts between us. Perhaps I am no longer attached to yours, and you are no longer attached to mine. Maybe our ties are long severed, and we are merely connected to our standing commitment to each other.

But time and time again, you have proven me wrong. You made me realize the distance is merely a challenge and not an end to our connection. That our attachment is unyielding across the islands and seas.

And despite the great distance between us.

We hold something much greater.

A love so strong it defies everything that dares to sever us.

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Photo Credits: Ben&Ben - Pagtingin

With an iced coffee held in my left hand, and my other keeping my unstapled 20-page reviewer together, I guess I am set for the day ahead. The sun still sleeps, yet many of us are awake - well, have to be awake. I am uncertain what keeps me awake; is it my iced coffee or the all-confusing jeepney music genre - hearing Moira's song with an awakening remix filled with bass awakening our hustling sleeping souls? But I guess whichever does not matter, with my butt cheeks the only thing keeping myself seated shared with random strangers.

Yet this is only a story of my own. Often I wonder as I come across countless faces on my morning commute, how do they brave their mornings?

Each has a story to tell. Most of which I will never hear. Feelings of exhaustion, perhaps after barely surviving a graveyard shift they never loved, or the helpless realization they have to bravely go to work after not getting enough rest. Turning my gaze towards the driver's seat, the old wrinkling hands of the driver scouring for loose change, and above are pictures of what I believe are his son's and daughter's graduation pictures.

All of which hopefully won't vanish into glimpses of our memory and our nation's history.

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Photo Credits to: Youth Advocates for Climate Action Philippines

Valentine's came, and alongside this is the hellish amount of work that needed to be done on our thesis dissertation. I lost track of time but found something else along our data, the narratives, and the manuscripts I'm working on. Love beneath the lines of our study - a rediscovery.

We have grown to know love so innocently. The three common words "I love you" often flatters our heart; burning our cheeks with its warmth and leaving butterfly dust all over our stomach. A love so innocent, we often call it home - a place where we are safe and secure. The clarity amidst the confusion of this chaotic world. The very essence of love revolves around the concept of being loved, yet not everyone sees love the same way or at least meets love the same way.

A fire called love ablaze our kindred souls forming sparks after two strangers' eyes meet. Hands accidentally touch. Hearts are racing. Then, cupid's arrow hit - bullseye.

A story unfolds.
A story of love.
Then, the story goes on.
The happily ever after has yet to begin.

The spark turns to a kiss - lips tasting like strawberries igniting your whole body. An exchange leading to an embrace - seeing purity leaving you speechless, yet somehow everything is in sync. You are kindred souls heading to nirvana through a passionate intimacy you have just known.

But, not everyone feels the same excitement the same way. Not everyone loves the same.

Others shy away from the hugs and kisses. Don't be offended. They love you still, they just don't love you the same way you wanted to love them. Many feel the need of nurturing love as a small budding before growing, yet does not bloom. Because they are not the ones you have come to know. They are not the same as flowers you have seen so abundantly.

Yet they are still plants that need care and nurturing.
They still need to be watered.
They still need the warmth of your sunlight.
They still want to be loved beautifully,
Just like the flowers you have come to know - blooming.

But apart from these, some can grow and become proud and strong without anyone tending to them. Yes, they too need water and sunlight, but they are not confined within mutually exclusive love and care.

And from this, there are more varieties - a spectrum I have yet to know and understand.

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𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙩𝙤𝙤, 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙢𝙚𝙙.

Unfortunately, I, too, get overwhelmed by the many responsibilities I have to attend to. May it be the absurd amount of work I need to accomplish, or the number of personal issues I have to deal with. I'm exhausted. Right now, I am uncertain whether it's a skill issue or it's okay to be this way. Is it acceptable to not be there for you? I'm not sure.

I am far away from home, perhaps miles away from you, but I like to believe my heart resides by you. Can you hear it, though? My heart wants to reassure you that my love remains true.

The warmth,
even when it's faint.
The sincerity,
despite the doubts.

I am here, even when I am not. I'm just sorry, as love, too, gets overwhelmed. But I guess, one phone call is enough to make all those doubts, uncertainties, and worries disappear.

"𝘒𝘶𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘬𝘢, 𝘮𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘭?"

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A link to all of my valentine's post:

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=666609127877644&id=100035856878374&mibextid=Nif5oz

Often, it might prove difficult. The very menial task you've been unconsciously doing is now made known. Now made necessary, now made challenging - Breathe.

The air inside you is rapidly building up. You're letting everything in...absorbing...ingesting...consuming... and bursting into profound pieces you've been hoarding. Seeing pieces falling off of your fragile face - your mask, this isn't you. Or is it? Perhaps, it is.

You lived your life collecting and wearing masks. Personalizing yourself to every people you've met, encountered, acquainted with - loved. Oh, you little s**t.

Breathe.

Breathe, even if it's hard to.

Breathe, replenish yourself, and recollect everything. No, not quickly, not so suddenly, not the way you've always so swiftly changed yourself to fit into the status quo.

Not in the way your parents thought of you to mature so suddenly after misbehaving the way every child did.

Not the way you've to change so effortlessly after your lover told you,

"you should be like this..."

"why aren't you like this?"

"don't be... yourself"

And no, not ever so abruptly, like the way you hated yourself for behaving the way you have little control.

But slowly and surely, breathe.

Let the air collapse into your very being. Let your body feel aware, of the air circulating, the minuscule particles navigating its way into you:
the scent of serenity,
the feeling of peace,
and the tranquility

And breathe out, let everything out, the bottled feelings you've been collecting, the weight you've been carrying, the things you've left unkept, haunting you, dreading you, leaving you hopeless and helpless, let it all out, breathe it all out.

Breathe, even if you're uncertain.
Breathe, even if it's difficult -
Slowly, one day, things will get better.
And surely, you'll be able to breathe a little bit easier.

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Photo Credits to: Darenjay Bador

Check him out in:
Youtube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/
Latest Upload: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWk66Kxj_X8&t=17s

As I stare into the ceiling of my cramped room with my back on top of the hard and cold floor, an intrusive thought — a question that I seemingly always think of every night.

"why exist?"

It's one of those dozens, if not hundreds, of thoughts that linger in my mind, along with the many unwanted ideas that play with my already anxious, depressed, and suicidal mind.

With this question in mind, I often imagine myself confronting an omniscient being, questioning them about existence — the meaning of life and the purpose of my existence. But to no avail. Not only does that sound impossible, but I am afraid that even an all-knowing being would dare to answer my silly question just to appease my anxiety.

As an overworked working student, I tried my best to let my exhaustion get the better of me, hoping to fall asleep. But, remembering I am a student reminded me of my doubts about why I even push myself to continue studying when I am already failing my classes. Before I am a straight-A student, with perfect attendance, and my parents are so proud of my academic achievements, being a student squeezing their way into a scholarship program for college. The pandemic hit our finances hard, and now I am forced to work while studying — trying my best to graduate because I don't want to be left behind.

But then, what?

After graduation, I can only see myself becoming a corporate slave, living paycheck to paycheck. Long gone are my youthful dreams of becoming someone. What are even my dreams when I was young? I've long forgotten.

I tried my best to remember, but somehow I can't. The thought of wanting to remember made me realize I kept a box filled with letters I had when I was still in high school. Perhaps there lie answers to my question.

I opened the light to my room and found it tucked away into the bottom corner of my bookshelf. It's dusty and slightly worn out, but luckily, the contents remain safe and sound. I scoured for anything that may prove useful to help me remember my youthful ambition — but found nothing.

A sigh of disappointment left me crying. I slowly and carefully returned the many pictures, letters, report cards, and small gifts to the box.

I returned to my mattress laid out on the floor, utterly defeated. The feeling of deeper dread and despair filled my already anxious and exhausted mind. But just when I am about to rest, a test paper with a small sticky note attached to it found its way onto my blanket.

"perhaps it came from my box," I told myself.

I am about to put it back when I flipped the old, wrinkled math test that suggests I failed my periodical exam when I was a child.

The test paper has a small stick note attached beside the encircled 3/50 score.

It's merely a small note, but the message left me crying:

"Don't worry. You'll figure everything out later,"

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Artwork Credits to:

You can follow her in:
https://www.instagram.com/kookieruu/
https://twitter.com/kookieruu

The first glance of light greeted my face filled with sorrow and despair from last night's insomnia. I checked my phone to know the time, but the screen light decided to slap me in the face.

It's 6:38 a.m.

A sigh of relief, but the struggle remains. It's another day to be stuck Another day when I'm barely alive - forced to live in this cycle. I wake up. Go to work. Go home. Sleep. And wake up again.

Living is already a hassle, and having to work is much worse.

"Maybe a few more minutes won't hurt," I told myself and decided to snuggle up with my best friend, Mr. Blankey. My blanket still wants to cuddle me up, and I find it hard to resist his invitation. There's this warmth and comfort that my blanket can only provide. I

But by the time I almost fell asleep, my 7:00 am alarm alerted me with a loud sound that made me snap out of my exhaustion and existential crisis.

Desperately, I crawled out of bed. I used my foot to search for my bunny slippers but found no luck. I grew tired of looking for it and decided to expose myself to the cold hard floor. The floor is so cold and uninviting, tempting me to bring Mr. Blankey along. But I guess he deserves to stay in bed for a bit longer.

I envy you, Mr. Blankey.

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Photo credits: Avocado6

Weirdly enough, I miss my 8 am - 5 pm job. I miss the human interaction I had, even if it was just with my co-workers and some applicants. I miss the feeling of having something to do. I certainly don't miss loads of paper works I'm handling every day, but I miss the thought of doing something.

Maybe I merely miss the routines I had. Waking up early in the morning with the purpose of doing something. The daily commute with the fear of being scolded for being late. Work preoccupied my mind with paperworks, meetings, and interviews. Choosing to eat processed food and instant noodles because I have no time nor the energy to cook a decent meal. Getting too exhausted at night that I have no room for any existential thoughts.

Work, even if it was stressful and certainly not that enjoyable, somehow provides certainty. It gives clarity on the things needed to be done. A sense of security by holding my mind hostage. It strips me of the ability to think, but somehow I like it. I love the certainty it gives. Perhaps thinking of what to do is exhausting already. That I prefer to be given tasks and meaningless work than thinking of what needs to be done.

I don't know, but I do miss working.

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To be remembered is a kind of warmth but different. Akin to an embrace yet somewhat different. It's not better or worse. But the tiny little details others remember; make us whole. Often moments one can vaguely recall — the unnoticed, the subtle, nuisances and embarrassments are the ones remembered and treasured.

I loved it.

I love it.

It's nice being remembered.

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📷 Pisayril

2022 is the worst year I had. I gained back the weight I tried my best to lose. I lose the motivation to draw and write. I stopped doing commissions. My finances are in scrambles. I almost lost someone from su***de. And apart from my personal struggles, the first time I fully involved myself in politics, the deep-rooted corruption showed me how powerless I am.

2022 showed me how weak and incapable I am. It shackled me, pushed my head to the ground, and made sure I won't be standing up. I was powerless. And in my defeat, I've lost the idealistic, optimist and hopeful self I had.

And now, it's 2023. As they say, new year, new beginnings. Most people have a resolution in mind — something they want to change or improve about themself. They want to get their s**t together and be the better version of themselves.

And there's nothing wrong with that.

But for me, I just want this year to be kind. Not just for me, but for everyone.

Have a gentle new year, everyone.

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Reflection, an artwork depicting Body Dysmophic Disorder (BDD).

I always envision BDD as a monster — a parasite attaching itself to a host to distort their view towards themselves.

The monster itself is inspired by the illustration of Toby Allen of mental illnesses.

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It's been a while. Sana magtuloy tuloy creativity ko 🥲

𝚡𝚕. 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 𝙖 𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚.

Nobody believed me when I said there was a monster in our family. It goes unseen and often leaves no trace, seemingly targeting only the unsuspecting. It latches on me, screaming and cursing. But no one could hear except me, as no matter how loud I shout for help, no one heeds my pleas.

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𝚡𝚡𝚡𝚒𝚡. 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

𝙄'𝙢 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩...𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣.

Remembering you is the very definition of the grief box analogy — the bouncing ball, the box, and the button that hits the grief feeling. A tiny resemblance of you from my everyday things hits a button that hurls me back to our past. Maybe it's the song I'm listening to while I'm studying? Perhaps it is the psychology I'm reading that reminds me of your "neurotic tendencies"? Or maybe my mind just decided to mess with me for being "too happy"? I don't know.

I'm happy now. I'm smiling, laughing, and sometimes I'm productive. I've come back to the things I love — poetry, painting, dancing, and loving myself. These are things I've forgotten after you decided to squeeze into my life to change me. But then, p**f! S**t happened, and I returned to being the anxious, helpless, powerless, broken vessel you've left me.

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Day 12: Stuck

Day 11: Sour

Day 10: Pick

Day 9: (Under) Pressure

Nakahabol din (ノ｀Д´)ノ彡┻━┻

Day 8: Watch

Sana kaya pa ng likod ko ( ≧Д≦)

Kung gusto niyo kayanin pa ng likod ko Gcash: 09611776878 HAHAHAHA

Day 7: Fan

(ﾉ´･ω･)ﾉ ﾐ ┻━┻

Day 6: Spirit

Day 5: Raven



Repost

𝚡𝚡𝚡𝚟𝚒𝚒𝚒. 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜

𝙒𝙚'𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨' 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨.

There will always be a subtle part of them encased in our very hearts. A small portion of their personality is embedded into ours that's likely left unnoticed. You'll only see them if you take a good look in the mirror and see them into yourself.

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𝚡𝚡𝚡𝚟𝚒𝚒. 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜

𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙫𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙘 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮.

You used to play music as you pass by the corridor. Streams of butterflies follow you around, enticed by your pleasant voice. However, a year had passed, and everything turned bleak. Your warm smiles are now covered by a mask, while your tight hugs have grown distant. But I can't blame you. You never wanted this.

The one who rules carried the reaper's scythe around. Despair followed us wherever we go. No matter where we run, we can't escape. Little by little, weeks, months, and now a year had passed. Where did it lead us? Only to a bottomless pit of no escape.

However, despite how deep we've fallen. One day, I'll bring back the smile you've once had — together with the music and butterflies stolen by the reaper's scythe.

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𝚡𝚡𝚡𝚟𝚒. 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜

𝙏𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙪𝙨:

Your deeds shall be remembered,
as a song in our hearts.
It will forever chant the song of freedom –
a fire ever-blazing even in the dark.

When it is cold and our hands are tied,
your bravery becomes our warmth and light.
And they would not dare to silence us,
For we will never be silenced.

May the oppressors quiver,
when your sacrifices are remembered.
The valiance and vigor of the Filipinos,
are something to be feared upon.

The Philippines may bleed once again,
But we assure you, it will never die.
As long as the last Filipino –
is still alive.

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𝚡𝚡𝚡𝚟. 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜

𝙄'𝙫𝙚 𝙠𝙚𝙥𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢.

They contain warmth I've longed for so long but I know they aren't supposed to be mine. Yet the words speaks to me, it reassures me they're mine to keep — so I held onto them a little longer.

But I know the author meant to tell them to somebody else.

Months past, I tried to held onto them. The words I've kept to myself embraces me whenever it's cold. But, the heat now only scorches my heart.

I can no longer keep these borrowed words.

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It's been a month-long writing block and I've been more invested in furnishing my art skills than my writing skills. I'll be recreating a few of my artworks starting today. I hope you all enjoy.

I'm also on twitter:

https://twitter.com/EyYourFutureRPm/status/1336887243953168389?s=19

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𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚒

𝙄'𝙫𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙮𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙮𝙚𝙩, 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙥𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨?

I'm merely a vase that's full of cracks, holes, and dents. My past shattered me. It left nothing but cold and emptiness to the once porcelain, holding warmth with thorns. Yet, you never left. You kept pouring love over my heart.

But I knew it too well. I shouldn't let you fill me with love I can't hold.

I picked up my broken pieces and mended myself with gold. It took years to finish but, now, I'm here more beautiful and complete than before. Now, holding your warmth and keeping it within my heart is no longer improbable.

Perhaps this was the beauty of restoration, finding oneself, and building yourself back after your destruction.

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ART FOR A CAUSE ‼️

• 100% of profits will be donated to the victims of Typhoon Ulysses
• At least 50% downpayment before I get started
• Maximum of three (3) minor revisions
• Commission will take 3 days to 1 week to finish
• DM me to avail a slot

Contact me at:
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FACEBOOK: Jc Roberto
FB Page: Wallflower's Notes