The Ruin Script

as of 12:00 pm.
today is the 24th. my birthday.
twenty-one. i feel blue.

when the clock struck midnight, i set my phone down and prayed. i thanked god for the life he gave me, for the abundance he never withholds, even while i remain distant from him. honestly, it’s been two years since i last visited our church.

i opened messenger. nothing but cold air. empty. was i expecting? yes—maybe foolishly. i thought someone might remember, might wait for this moment. and phraie did—exactly at midnight. it made me realize i’d been waiting in the wrong place. of course, my friends aren’t obliged to greet me at midnight, but there i was, standing at the cliff’s edge, waiting to be pushed.

still, i hoped. and eventually, their messages came—a thread of greetings. i replied with my bank qr code. one said “fuck you,” another sent me one peso. i wasn’t offended. instead, i felt their presence. thank you for lighting this small ember in me.

8:37 am. half-asleep, i heard mama’s voice. someone asked, “unsa may hikayon nimo karon?” and she replied, “nakalimot ko, birthday man diay ni bebe ron.” her voice faded as she walked away until i could no longer hear her. i didn’t try to draw conclusions. i just drifted back to sleep.

11:02 am. i woke up, stepped outside, washed my face, brushed my teeth. the radio was playing. dj justine greeted everyone with birthdays today. i laughed. maybe not coincidence—maybe meant for me. thank you 89.5 brigada news fm station.

as usual, i went for coffee. it was half-empty. like most things, i took what i was given. i stared at it for a moment, then poured what was left. half a mug, half hot. when i sipped, it was cold—not just the aftertaste of toothpaste, but truly cold. still, i finished it.

i opened apple music, hit the feeling blue station. checked instagram–birthday mentions. i took screenshots but didn’t reshare, not yet. still, those stories lifted something in me. i felt remembered. thank you.

back in my room, i opened my laptop. my brother passed by. i asked, “naay pastil baligya?” he answered, “walay kwarta.” i stayed quiet, didn’t push the conversation. i could still manage my hunger. but a few minutes later, he returned: “kaon na didto.” i didn’t reply, just kept typing this monologue.

this—what you’re reading—is not for pity. i don’t want that. i write because memory slips too easily, and i want to remember. i chose this form to hold my emotions, to manage what i can’t say aloud. if anything, admire perseverance. i love my life, even in its solitude. this is mine—the life i chose to navigate.

alone. empty. quiet. yes. but still mine.
and tomorrow, i’ll be back—
with another monologue to close the 24th.

author’s note:
— bled by @achilleusdeirdre
— 24th of august, year 2025
— open to criticism; all echoes welcome.
— lowercase intended for signature writing.