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The Pedestrian
A quiet city vignette, grounded in movement and solitude.
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A personal literary journal
Short stories, letters, reflections, translations, and quiet notes on the things that linger.
carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.
Selected story
Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The pedestrian light turned green exactly as I stepped onto the lane. The honks of cars during the afternoon rush were drowned out by the pop music playing through my headphones. My…
A moment at a crosswalk where rhythm, sound, and solitude meet.
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01
A quiet city vignette, grounded in movement and solitude.
02
A letter about distance, time, and the traces people leave.
03
Love, loss, and the quiet between generations.
New and newly found
At the place where you once were I am left here alone I try to smile and it’s not really that awkward Am I not sad enough yet? Or is my heart lying to me? The empty gap of my day’s memory that seems to be fine…
Read“I heard this somewhere. When people speak ill of you behind your back, they are like poisoned arrows. But thankfully, words said behind your back have no strength, so those arrows can’t pierce the heart.…
ReadFive. Four. Three. Two. One. The pedestrian light turned green exactly as I stepped onto the lane. The honks of cars during the afternoon rush were drowned out by the pop music playing through my headphones. My…
ReadI got so involved rewatching this 15-year old series that it got me fuming up from disappointment again on the last few episodes.
ReadIt’s amazing that as we grow more mature, we no longer solely root for the main leads. We start to feel for the villains and the second leads, and we try to understand the motivations behind their actions. They…
ReadFrom the story shelf
letters & connections
7:00 am. I squinted against the sunlight streaming through the window before reaching out to turn off my phone’s alarm. One month, two weeks, four days. I rolled over in bed, trying to get the blood flowing.…
The pursuer is coming — and fast. The young man’s instinct told him to run and hide — for his life. He had no idea how long he’d been running, but the pain in his legs gave him a clue. Even so, he had no other…
ReadTranslated by Irish Ann. This short story was first posted in Filipino, thanks to Tambalan of Love Radio Manila. I could feel my hands trembling uncontrollably, a familiar reminder of old age. Still, I reached…
ReadI am voyaging towards the unknown. Slowly, I felt the paper against my hands as I crumpled it into a ball. Another one of those drafts written and yet remain unsent. The paper balled in my hands as I tried to…
ReadPassing thoughts
At the place where you once were I am left here alone I try to smile and it’s not really that awkward Am I not sad enough yet? Or is my heart lying to me? The empty gap of my day’s memory that seems to be fine…
Read“I heard this somewhere. When people speak ill of you behind your back, they are like poisoned arrows. But thankfully, words said behind your back have no strength, so those arrows can’t pierce the heart.…
ReadI got so involved rewatching this 15-year old series that it got me fuming up from disappointment again on the last few episodes.
ReadFind a thread
About the writer
Gerald writes stories shaped by reading, movies, and personal experience. This journal holds pieces of pain, frustration, love, hope, and happiness.
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