In My Own World

Father's Day has a way of making me think about all the things I never said. My father has been gone for years now, and every Father's Day, I find myself replaying memories that aren't really memories at all. They're mostly what-ifs. The truth is, I never greeted him a Happy Father's Day. Not once. I never greeted him a Happy Birthday either. It's not because we fought. It's not because he was a bad father. He wasn't. In fact, he did what many fathers do—he sacrificed. He worked as a seaman, spending most of his life at sea so our family could have a better life. The problem was that because he was gone most of the time, I got used to his absence. When he came home, his presence felt unfamiliar. He wasn't a stranger, but he wasn't someone I saw every day either. There was always this invisible distance between us, created by months and years spent apart. Looking back, taking him for granted would be an understatement. I simply assumed there would...

And then suddenly it hits you. There are people in your life who were never meant to stay forever. Not because anyone did anything wrong. Not because there was a fight. Not because someone stopped caring. Life just kept moving. Sometimes I find myself missing the bond I once had with certain people. I miss the inside jokes, the random conversations, the comfort of knowing that if something happened, they'd be one of the first people I'd tell. But when I really think about it, I realize I don't actually miss who they are today. I miss who we were back then. I see them now, happy with their own circle. They're building careers, raising children, creating lives that look completely different from mine. And I'm happy for them. I truly am. It's just strange sometimes. Because there was a time when we knew everything about each other. We knew each other's dreams, fears, favorite songs, and biggest frustrations. And now, if we sat down across from each other, I...

There’s this kind of sadness that arrives without warning. One moment, everything is fine. The next, you're lying in bed wondering about your future, replaying old memories, and feeling anxious about things that weren't even on your mind yesterday. Then you check the calendar. Oh. It's that time of the month again. If you know, you know. It's strange how a flood of emotions can appear out of nowhere. Suddenly, you're sad. You're anxious. You're worried about things you normally handle just fine. Problems seem bigger. Uncertainties feel heavier. Even the smallest inconvenience can feel like the final straw. The hardest part isn't even the emotions themselves. It's the confusion. Because while you're feeling all these things, another part of you is trying to figure out whether those feelings are real or if they're simply being amplified by hormones. Are you genuinely sad? Are you actually anxious? Is this concern valid? Or is PMS just turning t...

We don’t always agree on many things. I mean, we don’t fight. It’s just that sometimes, I hate your opinions. I hate how pessimistic you can be at times. I hate how biased you are sometimes. I hate how you criticize things every now and then. But just to be clear, I don’t hate you. I just hate those things about you. But you know what? When I really think about it, those are also the things that make you  you . Without them, you wouldn’t be the mother I grew up with. Okay. Done with the hate. On with the love. I love how hardworking you are. You chose the profession that has no benefits, no time off, no sick leave, no vacation leave, no payroll. It’s a one-time clock in, and you never clock out. No retirement either. But on the other hand, you are the boss. Just kidding. No, not really. You chose to be a mother. I know you didn’t exactly choose to be  our  mother, but God knew you had all the qualifications to become one. And don’t take that the wrong way. What I mean is,...

There are days—quiet, random, almost uninvited—when the thought of quitting my job slips into my mind. It doesn’t come with a grand reason. No dramatic breakdown. No final straw. Just a simple, lingering thought:  What if I just stop? Maybe it’s because this isn’t what I once dreamed of. Maybe it’s the routine, the repetition, or the feeling of wanting something more but not quite knowing what that “more” is. The kind of restlessness that doesn’t scream, but softly stays. But then reality has a way of interrupting. Because as much as the idea of quitting sounds freeing for a second, the truth is—I can’t afford to. Not in the most literal sense. Life isn’t exactly cheap, and dreams don’t pay the bills. This job does. And strangely, every time I find myself leaning toward that thought, life seems to gently pull me back. It reminds me—sometimes subtly, sometimes a little too clearly—that I’m actually in a fortunate position. In a world where layoffs are becoming more common, where sta...

There are some people in life you wish you never had to meet. Not because they didn’t matter—but because of how deeply they changed you in ways you never asked for. You were that person for me. You made me hate my job. You made me dread workdays, especially mornings that used to feel like fresh starts. You made something as simple as checking my messages feel heavy—like I was about to receive something that would ruin my entire mood. And slowly, without me even realizing it, you made me doubt myself. I used to believe in what I could do. I used to feel capable. There was a fire in me—something steady, something hopeful. But somewhere along the way, your words, your tone, your presence… they chipped away at that. Until I found myself questioning things I used to be sure about. You didn’t just criticize my work. You made me question my worth. And that’s what hurt the most. But here’s the part I struggle to admit— I know I shouldn’t give you so much credit. Because maybe, if you ever knew...

I didn’t expect to feel this way at 34. Isn’t a midlife crisis supposed to come later, when you’ve lived enough life to question it? But here I am, already questioning everything. Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot—about where I am, about the life I’m living, and more specifically, about the work I wake up for every day. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful. Truly, deeply grateful. There was a time when this job was the only thing I prayed for. For years, I held onto that hope, trusting that one day I would finally get here. Twelve years of prayers, of waiting, of believing that this exact opportunity would come into my life. And now that I finally have it, I don’t feel the way I thought I would. I thought I’d feel fulfilled. I thought I’d feel like I made it. But instead, I feel stuck. It’s confusing how something you once begged for can become something you feel disconnected from. How a prayer can be answered and still feel incomplete. I show up to work, I do what I’m supposed to do, I ...