Things I Told the Ceiling

Not every day is for thriving — some days are just for surviving. This adlib is a gentle reminder for the ones who always pretend to be okay even when they’re falling apart inside. A soft hug in spoken word form, it blends Tagalog and English to tell you:
You don’t have to fix everything right now.
You don’t have to smile if it’s heavy.
And no — you’re not a burden for feeling things deeply.
If all you did today was breathe and exist, that’s already enough.

So sit down. Take that breath.
The world can wait.
Ikaw muna ngayon.

Ghosting isn’t harmless. It’s not “modern dating.” It’s emotional negligence in its laziest form. This adlib breaks down ghosting through the lens of psychology — and pulls no punches. Because when someone disappears without a word, they’re not sparing your feelings. They’re avoiding their own discomfort. No goodbye. No clarity. Just silence that leaves the other person questioning their worth and reliving every last message like a crime scene. It’s not protecting peace — it’s dodging responsibility. And we’re done pretending it’s okay.

This is for everyone who’s been ghosted and blamed themselves.
And a warning shot for those still out here vanishing like it's cute.

Loving a fatherless daughter means loving someone who learned early that people leave — and sometimes, they never even try to stay. She’s not broken. She’s just built for disappointment, fluent in self-protection, and suspicious of anything that feels too easy. She’s used to showing up for herself — so when you offer softness, expect her to flinch first. She might test your patience, your consistency, your silence. But not out of cruelty — out of instinct. Because she’s never known love that doesn’t leave when it’s inconvenient. So if you love her, mean it. If you promise, keep it. She’s not asking to be saved — only to be met with the kind of love that doesn’t disappear when she finally puts her guard down.

Welcome to the blurry purgatory of modern romance — where “What are we?” feels more like a philosophical question than a relationship status. This adlib dives into the emotional labyrinth of situationships: half love story, half psychological thriller. You're not single, not taken, just emotionally invested in someone who replies “haha” like it's a love language. If you’ve ever made eye contact with your own reflection mid-spiral, this one's for you.

Because at this point, you’re not asking for commitment.
You’re just asking for answers. Or at least a straight text.

They’re calm. Charming. Easy to love and impossible to hold. The type who diffuses chaos with a smile and disappears the second things get too real. This one’s for the people who crave harmony so badly they ghost their own emotions. Who want to be adored like art — admired, not questioned. It’s not mystery. It’s avoidance with good lighting. Underneath the perfectly curated playlist and moonlit aesthetics is a soul that wants love without cost, closeness without chaos, and accountability without discomfort. Spoiler: that’s not balance. That’s performance.

A poetic take on the peacekeepers who leave behind confusion, scented candles, and half-written goodbyes.

This one’s for the people who called it “boring” when it didn’t hurt. Who ran from the good ones because the chaos felt more familiar than the calm. An honest take on how we confuse inconsistency for chemistry, and why the ones who show up — gently, fully, without games — are the ones we should’ve been craving all along. It’s not about the thrill of the chase. It’s about the peace of being loved without having to earn it.

Sometimes the biggest plot twist… is realizing healthy love was never boring — you just weren’t ready for it yet.

Three people. One room. One unhinged moral compass. What happens when you're forced to choose between kissing Death, punching your ex, and sweet-talking your boss into a false sense of approval? This chaotic adlib breaks down the emotional calculus of petty revenge, toxic romance, and corporate survival — all with a smirk and zero regrets. It’s unfiltered, a little violent, and just emotionally unstable enough to feel relatable.

Warning: may trigger flashbacks to your last breakup and your last performance review.

Loving someone intense isn’t for the weak. This is your crash course in surviving — and thriving — with the emotionally loaded, playlist-making, overthinking, chaos-summoning softie you somehow fell for. They're unpredictable, a little dramatic, and possibly cursed... but they're also loyal as hell and full of heart. This adlib is a user’s manual for staying present through the meltdowns, moon rants, random crying sessions, and spicy cuddles. Buckle up, babe — this isn’t your average love story. This is performance art with feelings.

This is what it feels like to love with an anxious heart — where every silence feels suspicious, and every “good morning” is secretly a check-in that means please don’t leave yet. It’s not drama, it’s survival. Not neediness, but a deep craving to feel safe in something that doesn’t come with a countdown. If you’ve ever loved like a lifeguard — watching the tides, bracing for the pull, hoping they don’t drift — this one’s yours. A love letter to the overthinkers who give too much, too fast… and just want someone who stays anyway.

This is for the ones who fall for people that keep their hearts behind locked doors. The ones who love with open arms, even when the other person is already halfway out the door — just in case. It’s not about fixing them, or forcing closeness. It’s about showing up, softly and steadily, until the idea of staying no longer feels like a threat. If you’ve ever tried to love someone who doesn’t know how to be loved — this one’s for you. A quiet promise that presence can be louder than fear.