Why I Stopped Following God. I was born into a Catholic family, where faith was not just a belief system but a way of life. From an early age, I was taught to pray, to attend church, to believe in God without question. It was all I knew. Sunday mornings were reserved for mass, religious holidays were celebrated with devotion, and any doubts about faith were quickly dismissed with the reminder that God had a plan. For years, I followed along, never thinking to challenge what I was told. But deep down, something always felt off. I couldn’t put it into words as a child, but there was a lingering feeling that something wasn’t quite right, something that didn’t make sense to me, even when I tried my best to believe. As I grew older, I started asking questions. Why did this religion exist in the first place? Why was I supposed to follow it just because my family did? What made Christianity the "one true faith" when there were so many other religions in the world? I wanted answers, ...
Hey there! I’m Jayson, but you can call me Jay. I’m a 20-year-old Filipino born and raised in Hawai‘i, currently working hard and saving up for my future goals (because adulting is expensive). A few fun facts about me—I have two amazing dogs, Apple and Chico, I’m a die-hard Spider-Man fan, and mangoes are my ultimate weakness. I also have over 20 tattoos and, let’s be honest, probably won’t stop anytime soon. When I’m not working or adding to my ink collection, you’ll find me enjoying a Diet Coke or tea like it’s a personality trait. I started this blog mostly out of boredom, just to share my thoughts and whatever random things pop into my head. I don’t expect it to go viral or anything—think of it as my digital journal (because let’s be real, handwriting isn’t my strong suit). But if you made it this far, thanks for reading! Hope you stick around for the chaos. ...
This much is certain. There is a silence beneath everything that grows, a stillness waiting to reclaim what it once relinquished. One lives, and in living, begins to vanish . Dying - that peculiar fear embedded in us like a splinter under the skin. We do not speak of it often, though it governs our days. It is not the event that terrifies, but the absence. To be - and then not. To exist with memory, sensation, voice and then to be reduced to… nothing. A name, a photograph, a smell clinging to someone’s coat. It does not matter how we resist. It comes, not out of cruelty, but out of something more mechanical. Indifferent. Incomprehensible. Like a bureaucratic system that never explains itself. And what is worse we are so entangled in the minutiae of daily life that we forget: we are temporary. In the middle of conversation, in the middle of a sip of coffee, in the middle of existing the machinery can stop. Without warning. Perhaps even now. Time does not wai...
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