Jazmin Tabuena | Combustible ABOUT THOUGHTS FAQS
Home ASK PHOTOGRAPHY ABOUT THOUGHTS FAQS

I will always have a thing for mature, independent, mysterious (a bit sad) and fierce men/women who can carry themselves head held up high.

Sexy damn aura.
Sexy.
Sexy as hell!

August 31, 2014
"This goes out to the hearts that will never be whole again. Ever."
- Armi Millare
ohyessniki
August 31, 2014 | 5 notes

One tangy afternoon it is, with the birds around chirping, the wind blowing, and sun shining at me. Maybe it was the summer of 2013 when I felt this kind of afternoon, solemn, happy, and writing simple things with a peaceful mind.

When things get repugnant, there’s no failure of yearning for afternoons like this; where I just can paint, read, take pictures, breathe poetry, or even appreciate the low and a bit humid air. 

I live for moments like these.

August 31, 2014 | 1 note

8.28.14

Dumungaw-dungaw sa labas ng tahanan
tumingala sa kalawakan
at nagnilay-nilay tungkol sa mga esensyal
na bagay;
ipagpalagay na lamang natin ang wika
na kung saan sa tinubuang lupa ay
nasumpungan,
natutunan,
nagamay,
at inirog ng buong puso.

Sa paglipas nang mga dekada’y
mga purong makata’y
pinausbong at pinamulaklak
siya ng totoo.

Dumungaw-dungaw sa labas ng tahanan
at tumingala sa kalawakan
at nagnilay-nilay tungkol sa mga esensyal
na bagay;
ipagpalagay na lamang natin ang wika,
ano na nga ba ang tunay na balita?

Sa pag-usbong nito’y sabay din 
ang pagpuslit ng sandamakmak na 
puring pandayuhan lamang,
na siyang kumukuluntoy
sa kultura’t himig 
ng mga binuong saknong.
Wika, wika, huwag mong hayaan
na ika’y lumisan, iniirog kitang
talaga.

Sapagkat sa tamis at pait,
siya’y nariyan upang hayaan
tayong lumikha ng mga
malayang talata.

Nariyan upang tayo ay manatiling
kalma.
Nariyan upang tayo ay makapaglahad
nang saloobing nagsasabuyan
at tila puputok na
sa bawat hithit-buga.
.
Ngayo’y tayo naman ang gumusali
para sa kaniya,
Ipaglaban ang mga maling taktiko
ng mga Pilipinong umaastang
banyaga sa sariling bayan —
sa bansang hinihingahan.

Maging bihasa —
hasain ang mga bokabularyong
tila kinalawang at binulok
na ng panahon.
Kulang ang pagtangkilik,
aba, ibigin mo!

Kung tayong magkakabaya’y
sabay-sabay babagtasin 
ang daan tungong
pag-aaral nang Pilipinong literatura,
hindi ba’t ito ay magiging 
matiwasay at maganda?

Kung ang mga Hapon at Amerikano
ay umunlad sa sariling wika,
sagad-sa-butong kasiguraduhan
na tayong mga Pilipinong may
kay yamang kultura at bayan
ay mas magagampanan ng maayos
kung ito’y paninidigan
hanggang sa huling pagdungaw 
sa kalawakan.

Buwan ng Agosto, Jazmin Tabuena

August 28, 2014 | 2 notes

jakepullsthetrigger:

Minsan, parang ang tatanga at kikitid lang din ng mga tao no? Pilit pinapatunayan ang mga walang kwentang bagay na wala rin naman silang mapapala. :)

August 28, 2014 | 18 notes

Salat na salat na sa inspirasyon.
Hirap na hirap nang bumangon.
Hinding-hindi na alam kung saan
huhugot ng enerhiya upang makaraos
sa init ng impyerno.

Papeles dito — papeles doon,
Sayawit sa Biyernes
Aawit nanaman, punyemes.
Tila utak biya na,
Wala nang mapiga.

Wari’y isipin mo na lang ay
isa lamang itong malaking panimula
sa mga susunod pang pagsubok.
Tayo’y lalabas
at magtatapos ng matiwasay.

Magtatapos, Jazmin Tabuena

August 26, 2014 | 1 note

image
If you are one of the kids who does not know that we are currently having a long weekend because of National Heroes Day, then let me tell you that you are not alone, boy. *introvert probs* I was having tantrums this morning for the simple reason that I don’t want to miss a school day.

Basically, these were the happenings in my weekend.

Read Forth >>

August 25, 2014 | 1 note
i. MyraHi Myra. Mom. Ate. Bestfriend. Confidante. It’s been days since the last time we got to see each other’s wounds, picking on each other’s ribcages and blabbering about love; abusing it, killing it, craving it… and talking about love like we know it. Wherever you are this very night, maybe with your beer or packs of cigarettes, your scripts, or the guy you are starting to fall in love with, please know that I am here, missing your soothing and roaring words that caught you unaware of how it can mend the marrows in my bones. I miss you. I am stuck with UDD once again. Message me anytime.(I only tell “I miss you’s” to people I really, really, really freakin’ miss! #fact)ii. Christina
Do you remember that one summer night when we talked until dawn and chains of secrets were told? Did you remember what you said? That I am your exact opposite? You love Math, and I do not. I adore writing and you do not. As a matter of fact, your mysteriousness and sincerity got me; not the characteristics you and I both do not possess.  Thank you for being transparent and having the eyes and ears that are very keen with my cries and emotions nobody can hear, but only you. Thank you and to more Katip adventures!
iii. Franz U. 
Franz, this is going to be simple. Thank you for being there when I needed you the most. You are nice and sweet, maybe you haven’t gotten that girl now, but have faith in love like what you told me the time I felt so tormented with that word. Always know that you have a shoulder to count on.
iv. Karina
Hi Ate Karina! I cannot wait to have my mountain escapades with you; exploring nature and capsuling them in the lens of our cameras. Everlasting memories to ponder on after years. I can’t wait. You deserve more than that message bottle for being so pure and kind. Thanks.
v. Yam
Dear Miss Yam, you are one of the most thoughtful (and tough on the other side) women I’d ever encountered. Very independent, very confident. A woman who can effortlessly carry herself in the crowd. Thank you for trusting me with bits of your personal life, they are guarded with me. Though I am most thankful for your countless reminders to always choose crazy happiness, whenever I sulk myself once again in the midst of ambiguity. I smile often now because of you.vi. GodYou are my guardian, my bliss, and my hope. My deepest gratitude or even the Oscar award goes for you. Thank you for endowing me these wonderful people who accompanied Your daughter along the way when she felt lost and confused. I don’t need to miss you because not even once I felt your absence at hand. I love you.
Some messages I am still afraid to tell face to face. 

i. Myra

Hi Myra. Mom. Ate. Bestfriend. Confidante. It’s been days since the last time we got to see each other’s wounds, picking on each other’s ribcages and blabbering about love; abusing it, killing it, craving it… and talking about love like we know it. Wherever you are this very night, maybe with your beer or packs of cigarettes, your scripts, or the guy you are starting to fall in love with, please know that I am here, missing your soothing and roaring words that caught you unaware of how it can mend the marrows in my bones. I miss you. I am stuck with UDD once again. Message me anytime.

(I only tell “I miss you’s” to people I really, really, really freakin’ miss! #fact)

ii. Christina

Do you remember that one summer night when we talked until dawn and chains of secrets were told? Did you remember what you said? That I am your exact opposite? You love Math, and I do not. I adore writing and you do not. As a matter of fact, your mysteriousness and sincerity got me; not the characteristics you and I both do not possess.  Thank you for being transparent and having the eyes and ears that are very keen with my cries and emotions nobody can hear, but only you. Thank you and to more Katip adventures!

iii. Franz U. 

Franz, this is going to be simple. Thank you for being there when I needed you the most. You are nice and sweet, maybe you haven’t gotten that girl now, but have faith in love like what you told me the time I felt so tormented with that word. Always know that you have a shoulder to count on.

iv. Karina

Hi Ate Karina! I cannot wait to have my mountain escapades with you; exploring nature and capsuling them in the lens of our cameras. Everlasting memories to ponder on after years. I can’t wait. You deserve more than that message bottle for being so pure and kind. Thanks.

v. Yam

Dear Miss Yam, you are one of the most thoughtful (and tough on the other side) women I’d ever encountered. Very independent, very confident. A woman who can effortlessly carry herself in the crowd. Thank you for trusting me with bits of your personal life, they are guarded with me. Though I am most thankful for your countless reminders to always choose crazy happiness, whenever I sulk myself once again in the midst of ambiguity. I smile often now because of you.

vi. God

You are my guardian, my bliss, and my hope. My deepest gratitude or even the Oscar award goes for you. Thank you for endowing me these wonderful people who accompanied Your daughter along the way when she felt lost and confused. I don’t need to miss you because not even once I felt your absence at hand. I love you.

Some messages I am still afraid to tell face to face. 

August 23, 2014 | 1 note

Several times it happened that I got ballistic with myself for I haven’t at least done myself a favor: to blog about my life. This is a thing I am doing for years and I can’t believe I am always resorting to escapism and excuses for not doing it. Busy schedule? Crazy state? Not in the mood? 

Honestly, I am a very forgetful person (I think I chose to be now). Though I am still glad that I have my personal diary to accompany me in my track, but even that gets neglected sometimes, so I always find the need to immortalize moments as much as I can. There are lots of memories that should have been preserved, lines that should have been posted, photographs that should have been edited, and I am starting to loathe myself for this state of mind, for being an emotional drab all the time, not falling one by one, but all at once. I need to make time for myself.

Thank you for the people who still keep up with me, bear with my midnight poems, and still understand me in the non-virtual world. I will bomb up this blog with my undocumented stuff when I get my load off my back.

Life lately:

  • Up Dharma Down’s Oo, Indak, and Tadhana secure my sanity. 
  • I was the Champion in The Voice singing contest in my school! I sang Oo, and that was really a last-minute decision since the weekend ate me up; entrance test, review, projects, slept at almost midnight last Sunday due to school errands. Plus I found only one karaoke version of the song, and it sucked, but I did not have any choice.
  • The people’s congratulatory greetings regarding my voice everyday make my heart giddy. "Ate ang galing mo po kumanta!" "Your voice is similar to KZ Tandingan and Zia Quizon!" "Ate pa-picture po!" etc.
  • Haven’t woken up very happy during mornings in consecutive months but today is an exemption. Maybe from the sweet dream.

I miss blogging. I miss being me. 

photo in UP Diliman

August 20, 2014 | 2 notes

When I was 7,

I wrote a poem with slanty
letters, on blues and reds,
in between large spaces
between the lines,
and I had it titled
"mother nature,"

and the class had me
recited it, it could have
been a great piece, but
they have noticed me
more as a stuterrer.

When I was 12,
I wrote a poem about
how life can be good, and how
can teachers can teach us more
things outside the classroom,
and had it written at the
back of my notebook.

I received frowns, with
names, bad kid, stupid,
and I started walking in
and out of the school with
my head stooped so low,
down my throat, over
my lungs that can’t find air.

When I was 15,
I wrote a poem about love,
wrote it in a card, gave
it to the first girl I have
loved,

And I have received more breaks
in my heart than the breaks
in my poem, and I have thought that
words may mean nothing if
you are fat, and dumb, and not
as attractive as the people around.

When I was 17,
I wrote a poem at a worn tissue
right after a midnight sex, when
we stayed at the coffee shop, with
my the air filled with smoke
and your scent,

We crumbled like tissue
drowned in coffee, and we were
lost in our pursuit of love
that we cannot find in each other.

When I was 19,
I wrote a poem at a random paper,
and it was about the night
when I held someone’s hand
as we danced around
to the tune of our song,

And the last poem at that age
was about how everything
fell into pieces, broken promises
etched in words, faded
through bad times. Nothing
is perfect.

Now I am 20,
years after I wrote my first poem,
after all the words I put
names people with, after
every lines I poured
memories with, after every
breaks of the lines like
breathing air on heavy times,
like how I find myself, and
many other things, love, hope,
home in between every lines,
all the secrets in every titles,

I have realized
that where you write poetry is
less important, and what space
is left from each characters,
instead, it is about the shadows
used as ink, and skin used
as paper, and how everything
changed to now,

I write poetry,
about myself, on my skin,
with smoke, and alcohol, and pain,
and I wanted it to bleed,
with the pain as the periods,
and the blurred vision as the pauses.

-I could have written better poetry, Zakk Habitan

August 20, 2014 | 25 notes