Random Share #1: Clippings – Superfamous Studios


Link: http://superfamous.com/Clippings

Quotes — short, long, however you like it.

You’ll find it there.

(*I hope I don’t sound too sales-y… haha)

Fave so far? — This one by Naomi Shihab Nye in The Art Of Disappearing 

“When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up. “

Anatomy of a Caregiver

These days, I wear shackles. Invisible chains holding me tight next to Routine. There is not much space, not much air, just enough oxygen to suck it in. ALL IN.

I work at night which means I’m supposed to sleep during the day. But as a caregiver there can’t be an “I.” Instead, there are Hands — crushing the tablet so it can be mixed with his adult milk (because the tablet tastes horrible, it makes him vomit). The Hands do it at eleven so he can drink both milk and medicine by the time the clock strikes at eleven thirty. Sometimes, the Hands go about adjusting the direction to where the electric fan blows; other times, it will go pick a fresh clean diaper and remove the one soaked in urine and feces. When the Hands are still, the Feet do its bidding. Going to pharmacies to buy more medicine, diapers, and toiletries. It’s an alternate pattern of Hands and Feet — working busy at night, tending to our patient at day. Fatigued, but I’d rather be that the Hands and Feet work frenzy… than be still and hear nothing but the worrisome lub-dub of the Heart

as each day unfolds for it to hurt

and hurt and



4:29 AM

~image by Larm Rmah

The Recurring


Friday: 2016

I want to lose myself… in the voices, the chatter, someone’s life story that occupied pretty much this cramped jeepney. I want to be molded, joined, lost in the bodies squished left and right, front- and back-seat. I want to become the blurred face as the jeep momentarily speeds before it slows down, approaching the traffic light. I want to be no one, to be empty, to assume no name or identity. It’s a Friday. And I don’t want to exist.

Friday: 2017

Yester-night. I was in diaspora… I felt displaced, inside. It was a Friday and I didn’t want to exist… that when I arrived at work, I went straight to the pantry. I drowned my throat with coffee (but can’t flush the thoughts aside). I didn’t want to talk to anybody, I didn’t want to be reminded what’s the basis of my existence at that moment. What is it, you ask? Why, a contract, of course! An obligation to show up! HA-HA-HA. Who ever forgets, come see me; I’ll remind you. HA-HA-HA. My inner diaspora, this self disconnect. Ask me again, I’ll be honest this time… at that very moment, all I wanted was to exist, simply exist. To know that we are here because this is what Fortune handed you. And me. An us.

~image by Filip Mroz

TAKEAWAYS from “One Man’s Quest to Change the Way We Die” by JON MOOALLEM

From  One Man’s Quest to Change the Way We Die


He saw a good way to look at his situation and committed to faking that perspective, hoping that his genuine self might eventually catch up. Miller refused, for example, to let himself believe that his life was extra difficult now, only uniquely difficult, as all lives are. He resolved to think of his suffering as simply a “variation on a theme we all deal with — to be human is really hard,” he says.


“Parts of me died early on,” he said in a recent talk. “And that’s something, one way or another, we can all say. I got to redesign my life around this fact, and I tell you it has been a liberation to realize you can always find a shock of beauty or meaning in what life you have left.


He heard there was a blizzard outside but couldn’t see it himself. Then a nurse smuggled him a snowball and allowed him to hold it. This was against hospital regulations, and this was Miller’s point: There are parts of ourselves that the conventional health care system isn’t equipped to heal or nourish, adding to our suffering. He described holding that snowball as “a stolen moment,” and said, “But I cannot tell you the rapture I felt holding that in my hand, and the coldness dripping onto my burning skin, the miracle of it all, the fascination as I watched it melt and turn into water. In that moment, just being any part of this planet, in this universe, mattered more to me than whether I lived or died.

~image by Jon Butterworth

I keep on saying, “I’m not ready”

12:32 AM

I keep on saying, “I’m not ready.” My story isn’t ready. That it’s still jumbled in my head… I myself don’t always recognize it. So the pages continue to be blank. White. Lines. White. Fading.

I’m not sure what I’m waiting for.

These days, I’m just growing unsure, more unsure.

10:16 AM

So many stories are swimming in my head. I wonder which ones are mine.

Sometimes I could tell which is mine to tell, other times not.

I may have got it bad.

10:13 PM

Sometimes I’m sick of being sane, of living within the confines of “normal.”

9:23 PM

I died but I don’t remember dying. If I close my eyes, I get to see the floor, the spit, my dangling feet. I am hanging, gasping for air, writhing, struggling against the growing tightness of the rope against my neck.

I don’t remember dying.

But I knew what I had done… who I killed this time.



**image by Evan Kirby

“Intentional Transition”


Employees, for their part, may want to take steps to lose their own negativity before arriving at work, creating their own “intentional transition”. This might involve taking a different route to work, giving themselves a pep talk, stopping for coffee, or listening to inspiring music. Finally, the best thing they can do is take a deep breath before walking in the door, to focus on making the most of the new day.

SOURCE: How Your Morning Mood Affects Your Whole Workday

Heartbreaking in secret

I don’t know when it started… that I just stopped existing in your life. I was occupied and bent to kept myself occupied. I had this habit of arranging things around me—moving the chair here, removing an old box, replacing a container, finding new and different uses to a bottle, a can, or an unlikely vase. I thought that if I move things here and there, I’d be fixing my own state of mind, that I could successfully maneuver my inner flow to blend with the objects that surround us which is part of our reality. In short, I just wanted to fix us.

But it’s complicated. It always was. There is more to you and me than objects, angles, shadows, light, dark, or… home.

One room

We can’t make conversations. We tried. Now, I guess it was all in vain. I sort of just gave up. I turned to my books, binge-reading now and then. Last week, I’ve finished Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. It’s a good book not because this is Plath, or because she had one of the most beautiful collection of vocab. It’s more than that: actually, she’s awesome at making internal conversations—the kind I could have with myself but I can’t do with you. Not that I didn’t tried. Oh, I just said that, sorry. Remember that time I asked you why I had to apologize while you can’t (or you won’t) even when you’re at fault? You thought I was becoming… too smart. Perhaps, that’s why all throughout this time you’ve made it a habit to constantly pick on my bad habits, on my mistakes, basically, everything. Just as I’ve made it a mission to fix the chaos of objects, you’ve made yours a mission, too. To fix me by pointing out everything that’s wrong with me. If we compared notes, yours had always been so direct. Either way, we didn’t get close to where we should be. I end up hating you. You hate me just as well.

And I stayed in my room for refuge. I have there my books and my inner conversations.

A ghost

I must have talked in my head for too long. The conversations have waged on and on (until now). The gap grew big, it’s now a gaping hole. Before I know it, I saw myself as a ghost, a selective apparition who chooses to show herself when she had to, or as routine demands. I do my chores. I still arrange the boxes, the chairs, and even wipe the dust off old furniture. But there’s no longer any “fixing” for both of us.