memento vivere

Nobody asked me again what my motto is since I was in fifth grade. Back then, autographs were as prominent as Avril Lavigne. But as I’ve aged (still 19 though), I realized that people don’t really care about anything. They just need your name, probably your cell phone number, and know your mutual friends, and that’s it. Unless you’re a celebrity, people will keep on trying to unravel what’s left of your privacy.

But I’ve read this post yesterday, and I was reminded of my damn motto. I used to think that mottos were important, that it should be your guide throughout your life, and it should be carved onto your head.

And hell yeah, I was right.

My motto back then was “be yourself“, since it was the most commonly used motto. And I never really had a minute to think about it or to change it, because seriously? I was eleven years old! How would I have known what a damn motto could do to help me through challenges in life?

That motto didn’t quite help me through adolescence. Be yourself? Bullshit. We all know that there are instances that you have to put on that mask, dance like a retard and pretend it’s not you at all.

I’m still growing, I know. What could a nineteen-year-old know of the world? I haven’t seen death yet, haven’t even felt how it is at rock bottom, haven’t gone out of this country. I am not sure what will happen but I know because I see glimpses of it in every choice I make.

When I figured out what I didn’t, got hold of this awareness for the future, felt how it is to have a broken heart, and learned to sneak out at night –I found the perfect motto for myself.


It’s a latin phrase that means “remember to live”.

During the days when all I did was drink, get drunk, and get home, I felt every brain cell dying inside my head. Felt every muscle in my body relax. Felt cigarette burns less than ant stings. I’ve never felt so awful, in pain but dead at the same time. I conclude nothing is more awful than having your soul dead.

And there was this phrase, laid out flat right in front of me when I was listening to The Civil Wars. I researched about it then decided to make it my mantra, a reminder to keep me away from the bait of depression.

Memento vivere, memento vivere, memento vivere, memento vivere.

There I was, sneaking out at midnight, walking the streets at two AM, driving over the speed limit, eating whatever I want, leaving home, sleeping at day and awake at night watching my favorite shows, writing what I could, singing my heart out, knowing myself and my boundaries.

Two words, man, two words that created itself another path for me to keep me alive; to have hope that things will be better; to remind me not to settle in a constant heartbeat; to lend me wings and tell me I’m free.

Remember to live. Remember to live. Remember to live.


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