My Open Journal Entries.
My Pieces 

Freya India says we’ve turned personality into pathology, that therapy-speak has replaced mystery with diagnosis. I disagree. What she calls mystery, I call confusion rehearsed to look profound. Psychology didn’t kill individuality; it gave it context. And for those of us who grew up punished for having feelings, that context is the closest thing we’ve ever had to freedom.

This open journal went a little viral—over 270k views for a love letter to public buses, working toilets, and functional governance in Davao City. From trauma births at DMC to free surgeries at SPMC, I unpack what it’s like to live in a city that... actually works. Featuring Mayor Baste, aircon, and flashbacks stitched without anesthesia.

This one went viral and pissed off all the right people. A brutal, brain-scorched journal on fake news, truth fatigue, algorithm gods, and why Congress can’t regulate belief. If you’ve ever felt gaslit by both media and government, this piece unpacks the real virus: broken trust.

Wrote this book review (okay, literary autopsy) at 3AM, no sleep, too much coffee. It’s not about canceling but about calling out grief that’s been polished for export. Patricia Evangelista’s book Some People Need(ed) Killing reads like trauma for Western applause. This piece hit 70k views and made people squirm.

This book review went viral (even Sass shared it), but it’s not really a review. It’s a confession. A slow, brain-exfoliating unlearning of performative patriotism. If you’ve ever yelled “It’s ours!” without reading the footnotes, this one’s for you. Warning: contains maps, nuance, and regret. Also, bibliotherapy.

This viral post (2.6M views) isn’t a hot take. It’s a lived one. A mother’s raw, unfiltered account of surviving the drug war from the inside—with bruises, regrets, and a reluctant, hard-earned peace. No apologies, no performance. Just truth, at a cost.

This piece got taken down by Meta. Too real, maybe. Too raw. It’s not about su!cide. It’s about what happens before. The silence. The shame. The systems that fail. A man jumped off GMall’s 4th floor. I couldn’t stop writing. This is what came out: grief, rage, reflection, and the quiet plea that maybe next time... someone notices.

Migraine hit mid-dinner. By midnight, I was puking by the roadside like a hungover college kid... except it was just exhaustion, pride, and bad luck. My guy? Stayed by my side, bag in hand, like love in a denim jacket. This open journal is about pain, care, and the beautiful absurdity of being human.

This journal entry hit 2M views for a reason: it’s not pretty. It’s a raw, lived account of meth, domestic abuse, and the fear that made Duterte’s drug war feel... necessary. No moral speeches here. Just survival. From bruised homes to safe streets, this is what the fight looked like up close.

Not your typical "About Me." This is where the resume ends and the messy, honest life begins. I’m Kooks—a project manager, bibliotherapist, ex-dollar mule, mom, and walking contradiction. This site’s part portfolio, part open journal, and part therapy session I didn’t book. Come for the credentials, stay for the chaos.