The Ritual

We hum the same tune of music
a form of love is what we build.
We dance like there’s no tomorrow
putting ourselves out of sorrow.

My greenest leaves touching yours,
Our branches binding us,
Our barks standing close,
Our roots quenching thirst.

Continue reading “The Ritual”



Old friends, acquaintances.
I wonder,
What happened
Between me and you?
I hope you do well
With the life of your own.

Continue reading “Change”

The Dirty Diaries’ Reboot

This past few weeks I’ve been thinking about changing my blog name and URL from The Dirty Diaries into something completely different because I just want to but I’m having second thoughts and difficulty deciding about whether or not changing it since people have known this blog for as it is by name. If I changed it, it would be the fifth time, for crying out loud, I’m changing major parts of my blog since its transformation to its current name in late December/early January, I think. And I don’t want people confusing and becoming infuriated by my ever unsatisfied mind.

The second reason I want to change its name is because there’s this Swedish feminist porn movie titled Dirty Diaries. I found it out months back when I started typing my blog on Google. My jaw just dropped in surprise, made me feel slightly uncomfortable. This is the result of not researching available URLs before building up a blog. Here’s a tiny piece of advice to those who are starting with and planning to change their blog URL, conduct a thorough (yes, thorough) research on the internet first.

So after a bloody thinking and heavy brainstorming with my own self that brought many confusions and frustrations, I have come up with a name that satisfies my senses, thus the birth of Portrait of Dust. It just seems that my objective in this blog fits perfectly with the name. However, I’m keeping the whole appearance of my blog because I’m totally loving the Gateway Theme.

From this day on and the following weeks (perhaps until a month) I will repeatedly publish this post acting as the town crier to get people notified.

Thanks for bearing with me!


Featured image courtesy of

The Fallen Light (Part 1)

It’s hard for me to convince myself that I am now walking on the same aisle where two indifferent yet passionate hearts collide and where dead proceed to their last prayer offering long before their corpse are forgotten feet under dirt. I hear my rampant heart thumping as though my chest was implanted by a deadly grenade. The air tastes both bitter and salty. Small beads of sweat starting to form on my forehead, I gently wipe it with the back of my hand. As I walk, I solemnly look up at the cross hanging on the far wall where Christ sacrificed his life for our sins. I wonder, will I still have the same burning fire in my soul just like his will of our salvation? That, I’m not certain. But if there’s one thing I know, I will never be the same again. God, forgive me.
Continue reading “The Fallen Light (Part 1)”



Her fingers are like compasses that knew, without even looking, where to trace displeasing marks left four years ago. One by one, slowly, they touched the fragile dotted flesh on her elbow, down to her left foot, the three coin-like keloids at her back torso and that one patch of still aching flesh on her back head. As fingers trace them, her mind races back to that very day: a Chinese man holding a rose close up to his nose, a book she just bought and the white truck. Her reconciliation knew perfectly that it was a white truck, but everyone proves her otherwise. Those things flashed frantically in her mind, making collisions of unwanted images as her body flew and concur barbarically against the hard, heated asphalt like a pile of papers scatters everywhere by the howling November wind. Before she figured it all out; before she felt pain staggering her every inch and the thick liquid spilled on the ground, consciousness was taken away from her. But she didn’t fall out of it, surely, someone must have done it for her.

Continue reading “Scars”

My Parents

Phones are not that much of a privacy in our home, as we (my parents and I) don’t keep secrets from each other. Having said that, all of us are free to just grab each other’s phones on the table and scroll through it. I always, like everyday, borrow their phones, and so skimming through their text messages too. It always makes me so “kilig” (hoity-toity, as how Google would translate but it’s more of a giddy matter to me) whenever I read my parents’ exchange of messages. It usually goes like this:

Mom: Asawa ko, ung gamot mo ha, luv u. (My husband, don’t forget your meds, love you)
Dad: Asawa ko, OK. Luv u so much (My wife, okay. Love you so much)

Or something like this during lunch:

Dad: Asawa ko, kain na ko. Ikaw din. Luv u. (My wife, I’ll eat now. You too. Love you)
Mom: Kakain na rin ako. Luv u too. (I’m about to eat mine. Love you too.)

Aren’t they the cheesiest? And by cheesiest, I mean sweetest. Seems to me like they’re going back to that honeymoon stage. And I can’t help this playful smile on my face as I write and share this cute (at least to me) story with you.

Dungeon Prompt: Patterns | Life is but a Music Sheet


Life is but a music sheet,
Individually we hum our do re mi,
We lullaby the beginning,
We scream the chorus,
We belt the bridge,
And go back to lullaby.
Lyrics are dialogues we utter,
It starts with G clef,
As we go along,
There are patterned notes,
ups and downs,
It ends with what,
I don’t know,
But I’ll let you sing my song,
In one condition,
Promise me not
To change its course.


This piece is particularly written as a contribution for The Seeker’s Dungeon’s prompt “Pattern” ( . If anyone is interested to participate, check out his post for further details.

Cheers to a happy blogging!