In My Own World

Birthdays have a way of making us pause, reflect, and look at life with a little more honesty. As I celebrate mine this year, I can’t help but think about the many times I asked the Lord not to wake me up anymore. Yet, He still did. And now I understand why—because if He didn’t, I wouldn’t be here to see the beauty that life still has to offer. I wouldn’t have witnessed the quiet miracles that unfold every day, reminding me that even in the midst of struggles, life can still surprise us with joy. The future remains uncertain, but today I hold on to hope. I’m thankful for the year that has passed—the lessons, the moments of sadness I’ve learned to release, and the fears I’ve slowly begun to let go of. More than anything, I am hopeful for the days ahead. I believe that, in God’s time, everything will fall into place exactly as it should. I had plans for how I wanted to celebrate this birthday, and they didn’t happen. But there is peace in me knowing that just because it didn’t happen tod...

There’s something about birthdays that always makes me pause and reflect. Maybe it’s because another year has been added, or maybe it’s because life has a way of reminding me that time doesn’t stand still. This year, though, the reflection feels heavier than usual. I know why things have to change. I’ve played the reasons over and over in my head, and logically, it all makes sense. But knowing doesn’t take away the sting. The sadness and anxiety often grow louder than the rational explanations, and some days it feels like my heart is carrying more weight than my mind can balance. It’s funny how life works in circles. Last year, just two days after my birthday, a new chapter opened for me—one that shaped my days, my routines, and even parts of who I became. Now, a year later, that chapter is ending right after my birthday once again. The symmetry almost feels like the universe is trying to tell me something, even if I can’t fully see the message yet. There’s a bittersweetness to it all....

Sometimes, all we need is a simple line of comfort to carry us through the day. That’s what inspired  Letters for the Quiet Hearts —a collection of words created for those who feel deeply, love quietly, and long for gentle reminders that they are not alone. Inside this book, you’ll find  11 carefully crafted quotations , each designed to speak softly to your soul. But it doesn’t end there—every quote comes with a  “hidden message”  waiting to be uncovered, along with a thoughtful  journal prompt  to help you reflect, process, and pour your heart onto the page. And because words deserve to be carried with us, each quotation can also be used as a  wallpaper —so you can keep a piece of encouragement on your phone, always within reach. Letters for the Quiet Hearts  isn’t just something to read; it’s something to sit with, to return to, and to grow alongside. ✨  Letters for the Quiet Hearts  is now available. You can grab your copy here . Tak...

Sometimes, the most comforting words aren’t the loud ones. They’re the quiet whispers we stumble upon when we least expect it—the ones that feel like they were written just for us. That’s the heart behind  Letters for the Quiet Heart . This isn’t just a collection of words. It’s a companion for the moments when life feels a little heavier, when the world moves too fast, or when you can’t quite find the right way to explain what you’re feeling. Every letter inside is an offering—something you can carry with you on the days you need it most. I’ve poured my own stillness, struggles, and small joys into these pages. These letters are for the dreamers, the overthinkers, the ones who love deeply and feel everything a little too much. They’re for you if you’ve ever wanted someone to say,  “I understand.” Letters for the Quiet Heart  will be released on  August 23, 2025 . Until then, I hope you’ll hold space for the idea that even in silence, words can find you… and heal you...

I didn’t expect it to mean this much. At first, it was just a new thing—a new person, a new rhythm. But slowly, it became a part of me. The tasks, the small wins, the conversations. The belief in something bigger. Maybe I got too attached, maybe I cared too much—but that’s who I am.  That’s how I show up. Fully, honestly. And now, as this chapter nears its end, I feel a quiet kind of sadness. Not because it failed—but because it mattered. Because I’ll miss the way it shaped my days, my thinking, my heart. But I know I’ll carry it with me. The lessons, the laughter, the growth—it’s all mine to keep. And though the days are numbered, the mark they’ve left won’t fade. I’ll be okay. Just not right away. And that’s okay, too.

Hey you, Yes,  you —the one who’s been carrying more than you let on, the one who keeps showing up even when the weight feels heavy. I know you’ve been trying so hard lately. Trying to be better, to do better, to  be everything  for everyone. But can I gently remind you of something? You don’t have to do it all. You don’t have to have it all figured out. And you absolutely don’t have to earn your rest. You’re allowed to breathe. You’re allowed to just  be. There’s so much pressure these days, isn’t there? Pressure to hustle, to always be productive, to make every second count. But the truth is, not every moment has to be filled. Not every day has to be a masterpiece. Some days are just quiet steps forward. Some days are about surviving, not thriving—and that’s okay. Please don’t be hard on yourself for needing a break. You’re not lazy. You’re human. And humans need rest, not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually too. If no one has told you today...

Some days just hit differently. You're tired, you're trying your best, and suddenly—out of nowhere—something small, something seemingly unimportant, cracks something deep inside. You shrug it off at first. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the pressure of having to show up when your body’s barely keeping up. Or maybe it’s just one of those days when everything feels a little too loud. And then it happens—that familiar sting. You thought you were past it. You really did. You’ve moved on, healed, laughed, grown. But one moment—a word, a silence, a change in plans—and there it is again. That old emotion, back like it never left. It surprises you, really. You didn’t expect it to still hurt. But maybe that’s okay. Healing was never a straight line. And just because the wound reopens for a second doesn’t mean you’re back at square one. It only means you’re human. And it only means you cared—maybe more than you should have, maybe more than anyone realized. Tomorrow’s a new day....

We live in a world that glorifies speed. Fast results. Instant replies. Quick fixes. Somewhere along the way, we started measuring our worth based on how quickly we can get things done, how fast we can heal, or how soon we can “make it.” But the truth is, not everything beautiful arrives in a rush. Some of the most meaningful changes in our lives happen slowly—quietly, even—without much fanfare. Growth isn’t always visible. Healing doesn’t always come with grand declarations. Sometimes, it’s just you showing up every day, doing your best even when it doesn’t feel like enough. And that counts. Slow progress is still progress. Every small step you take, every gentle choice you make, it adds up. The days you got out of bed when you didn’t want to. The moments you chose patience when you were frustrated. The quiet decisions to keep going, even when no one was watching. All of it matters. It's taking time because it's  supposed  to. Things that are rushed tend to fall apart. But th...

Some  seasons  in  life  feel  like  silence.  Like  standing  still  while  the  world  keeps  spinning  without  you.  But  what  if  the  wait  isn’t  a  delay— what  if  it’s  a  shaping?  A  quiet  preparation  for  the  very  thing  your  heart  longs  for?  This  piece  is  for  anyone  who’s  ever  wondered  if  their  steps  still  matter  when  progress  seems  invisible. We live in a world that celebrates speed. Instant results. Quick wins. Overnight success. But the truth is, the most beautiful things in life—growth, healing, dreams coming true—take time. And waiting? It’s not a punishment. It’s preparation. Waiting doesn't mean you're doing nothing. It means you're planting seeds. It means you're be...

I don’t usually say this out loud, but sometimes, the pangs of jealousy hit harder than I’d like to admit. I scroll through social media, and there it is — another promotion, another new house, another smiling face celebrating something that, if I’m honest, I wish I had too. I’m happy for them, truly. But somewhere deeper, beyond the surface smiles, a quiet ache stirs: When will it be my turn? Will it ever be?  It’s an uncomfortable feeling — this jealousy that creeps in even when I know better. Even when I remind myself that everyone’s timing is different, that everyone’s life unfolds at its own messy, unpredictable pace. It doesn’t stop the sting. It doesn’t erase the tiny fractures it leaves in my heart. It’s not just the big milestones either. Sometimes, it's the small, ordinary moments that catch me off guard. The way someone is treated with gentleness and kindness — without having to beg for it, without having to prove they deserve it. Meanwhile, I’m left wondering why i...

Sometimes life feels heavier simply because you're carrying it alone. You show up for yourself every day. You chase the dreams, you clean up the messes, you pick up the broken pieces — all on your own. And you’ve gotten good at it, too. You’ve learned to be the friend, the motivator, the support system you often wished you had. Most days, you convince yourself that this is enough. That this is strength. And it is. But there are quieter days. Days when you wish there was someone who just  knew  — someone you didn’t have to explain yourself to. Someone you could call just because you feel like driving around with no destination. Someone who would say, “Where to?” without hesitation, without judgment. Someone who would show up for the food trips, the coffee runs, the silent road trips where the conversation isn’t needed because the company alone is enough. Not because you’re lost, not because you’re broken, but because life is lighter when you don’t have to carry it all alone. Yo...

Sometimes, the hardest part isn't being excluded — it's the silence that follows. The quiet truth that you weren't chosen, and maybe, you were never really meant to be there. But even in the absence of an invitation, there's a small, stubborn part of you that still wishes you were remembered.  Sometimes, it’s not about going. It’s not about clearing your schedule, getting dressed, and showing up. Sometimes, it’s simply about being asked.  There’s a quiet kind of warmth in receiving an invitation—even when everyone involved knows you’re probably not coming. Maybe they already expect the polite decline. Maybe you, deep down, have no real desire to join the gathering. But still, the simple act of being included matters.   Because it's not really about the event. It’s about belonging.   It’s about knowing that someone thought of you—that someone wanted you there enough to extend a hand, even if they knew you might not take it. It’s feeling like you’re part of something,...

There’s a special kind of ache that comes from leaving a place you once called home. I was only ten years old when we moved away from my hometown—an island cradled by the sea and wrapped in the kind of simplicity that only childhood could magnify. Though the years have passed and I’ve long settled somewhere else, a part of me never really left.   We still visit once a year. Just once. And yet that single trip always manages to stir something deep within me. As soon as we step off the boat or arrive on that familiar patch of earth, it’s like time slows down. The air feels lighter. The rhythm of life changes.   There, I don’t hear traffic or hurried footsteps. Instead, I hear the sea—slapping gently against the stones, a sound both soothing and alive. I hear the leaves of old trees swaying in the breeze, whispering memories I didn’t even know I still carried. I hear laughter—genuine, unbothered, and so warm that it seeps into your chest like sunshine.   It’s in those moment...

There are moments that arrive unexpectedly—not wrapped in joy, but in sorrow. The kind that shouldn't bring smiles, and yet somehow, quietly, they do. A loved one had passed, and like it always does, news of loss carried with it a reunion. Relatives from different cities came, faces I hadn’t seen in years. There was grief in the air, yes. A heaviness that lingered in the silences and the lowered voices. But there was also warmth—familiar laughter, shared stories, the comfort of presence. It wasn’t an ideal situation. It never is, when someone leaves this world. But in the midst of the sadness, there was this fragile kind of happiness—one that tiptoed in through shared meals, old jokes, and side glances that said, *“It’s been too long.”* And during those quiet pockets of togetherness, I found myself wishing I could freeze the moment. Hold it still—not to erase the sorrow, but to preserve the togetherness. To bottle up the feeling of being surrounded by people who knew my roots, who ...

Life has a way of surprising us—not always in the way we hope. One day, the people we love are full of life—healthy, smiling, and so full of energy that we forget to worry. We take comfort in the routine of seeing them well, and it never really crosses our minds that anything could change.   Then, in a heartbeat, everything shifts. You get a call or hear a diagnosis, and suddenly, the person who seemed invincible just yesterday is lying in a hospital bed, looking so frail and worn. It feels unfair, like the world has pulled a cruel trick on you. And just like that, your mind races with everything left unsaid, all the memories that feel too heavy to carry alone.   You find yourself staring at their hands, remembering how they used to move with ease and purpose. Now they’re still—weak and fragile. You wonder how this happened so fast. The room is filled with doctors, machines, and worried faces, but what sticks with you most is the feeling of helplessness, like sand slipping thr...

For 12 years, I waited for this—my *working girl era*. And now that I’m here, despite the sleepless nights and the exhaustion that comes with it, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.   I know what it feels like to be unemployed. It has its perks—I could sleep whenever I wanted, wake up with no alarms, and have all the time and energy to go out without a second thought. There was a certain freedom in having complete control over my time, in being able to pause and breathe whenever I wanted. But at the same time, there was also a lingering feeling of restlessness, a sense of being stuck in place while the world kept moving forward.   Now, I have a job. My days are no longer just a cycle of waking up, scrolling through my phone, and wondering what to do next. There's structure, a reason to get up in the morning, and tasks that give me a sense of accomplishment. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m not wasting my time doing nothing. Somehow, my life has found a sense of...

I’ve always said I wouldn’t want to marry or have a family of my own. It’s a belief I’ve spoken out loud countless times, something I’ve convinced myself I stand by. And yet, if I dig a little deeper, there’s another part of me—the one that secretly wonders, the one that still holds onto a quiet hope.   Maybe it’s because I’m a hopeless romantic. A sucker for love stories that unfold in the most cinematic ways, like the ones Nicholas Sparks so effortlessly weaves into books that leave me teary-eyed at 2 AM. I love the idea of love—the way it transforms ordinary moments into something magical, the way it makes people believe in forever.   But reality isn’t always as poetic. Love doesn’t come knocking just because we hope it will. Some people find their person easily, while others spend their lives searching. And then there are those, like me, who have made peace with the fact that maybe, just maybe, love isn’t part of their story.   It’s not a bitter realization, nor is it...

Have you ever noticed that bad things only seem to happen when you’re already annoyed? Like when you’re running late and suddenly your keys pull a disappearing act? Or when you’re in a terrible mood and, as if on cue, you stub your toe on the only piece of furniture in the room? It’s almost as if the universe watches your irritation levels and decides, “You know what? Let’s make this worse.” Some might call it bad luck, but I’m convinced there’s a law of the universe specifically designed to test our patience. Take, for example, the moment your Wi-Fi crashes—oddly enough, it’s never when you’re casually browsing memes but always when you’re in the middle of an important Zoom meeting. Or the way your phone battery dies right when you finally get an urgent message. Coincidence? I think not. Then there’s the classic case of technology rebelling against you at the worst possible time. Ever tried printing something in a hurry? That’s exactly when the printer decides to have a full-blown exi...

Last Tuesday, February 11, 2025, I had the incredible opportunity to watch The Script live at Araneta Coliseum for their  Satellites World Tour.  It was a two-night show, both nights sold out, proving just how much love and admiration Filipino fans have for them. Having seen them live once before, this was my second time experiencing their magic—only this time, I came prepared. Unlike my first experience when I barely had time to settle in before the show started, I arrived early, fully energized and ready to soak in every moment. The show started at 8:03 PM (yes, I checked my watch like an obsessed fan), and the moment they entered, the crowd lost it. They made their entrance like absolute rockstars, escorted by people carrying lightsaber-like sticks. Danny O'Donoghue looked effortlessly cool in a long black coat with a red sequin long sleeve underneath—because why not add a little extra sparkle to an already dazzling night? They kicked off the night on a makeshift stage at t...

You ever walk into a room and immediately feel like you weren’t supposed to be there? Not in an “oops, wrong meeting” kind of way, but in a “wow, I am fundamentally out of sync with whatever’s happening here” way? Like showing up to a costume party only to realize the theme was  not  what you thought, and now you’re a pirate in a sea of superheroes. Yeah. That’s me. A lot. It’s a strange kind of isolation—not the obvious, dramatic kind where someone tells you to leave, but the quiet, unnoticed kind where you slowly realize you were never really included to begin with. The little things add up: conversations that move too quickly for you to jump in, decisions that happen without your input, inside jokes that make you wonder if you missed a whole season of a show you thought you were part of. The funny thing? No one even notices. They’re just carrying on, perfectly content, while you stand there wondering if you’ve turned invisible. It’s like being in a group chat where the conv...

We often find ourselves complaining—about work, relationships, the weather, or the little inconveniences that disrupt our day. It’s natural to vent frustration, but have we ever stopped to consider how quickly life can change?   What seems like a burden today might be something we wish we could go back to tomorrow. The job we complain about could be the same one we desperately cling to if we suddenly lose it. The people we find irritating might be the ones we long for when they’re no longer around. The responsibilities we grumble about might turn out to be blessings we only appreciate once they’re gone.   Life is unpredictable. One moment, everything feels stable, and the next, it takes a sharp turn. That’s why it’s important to be mindful of our complaints. Instead of dwelling on what’s wrong, perhaps we should focus on what’s right. Gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring hardships—it means recognizing that even in the struggles, there’s something worth holding onto.   Take a m...

Have you ever found yourself on the receiving end of someone's anger, even when you’ve done nothing wrong? Worse still, the actual culprit walks away unscathed while you're left reeling from the emotional fallout. It's a painful reality—being someone's emotional punching bag.   This often stems from a complicated web of emotions. The person lashing out might feel too intimidated, too invested, or too conflicted to confront the one who truly wronged them. Instead, they channel their frustration toward someone they perceive as "safe"—you.   Sometimes, people avoid confronting the person responsible because it feels too daunting. Whether it’s a boss, a close friend, or a partner, the fear of damaging that relationship outweighs their need for justice. Instead, the easier target—often you—bears the brunt.   Other times, familiarity plays a role. The closer you are to someone, the more likely they may take you for granted. They assume your love, support, or loyalty...

Sometimes, it feels like no matter how much we grow, learn, or achieve, there will always be someone who still sees us through the lens of who we used to be. They hold onto an outdated version of us—a version that feels far removed from the person we've worked so hard to become.   It’s a heavy weight to carry: the burden of expectations that we never seem to meet. Perhaps it’s because the world around us defines “responsibility” or “success” differently from how we live it. Or maybe it’s because the narrative of who we are is shaped by moments we wish others would let go of.   For many of us, it’s frustrating to feel like our efforts are invisible. You work tirelessly, pouring your energy into proving your worth, but the recognition never seems to come. Instead, there’s this nagging feeling that the world is silently comparing your life to others’—assuming your path was easier or that your challenges don’t count because they don’t look the same.   But here’s the truth: yo...

In a world that constantly demands more of us—more time, more effort, more everything—it’s easy to overlook the little things. We rush from one task to another, ticking off boxes, chasing goals, and sometimes, forgetting to pause. But what if I told you that some of life’s biggest joys are hidden in the smallest moments?   Think about the warmth of your first sip of coffee on a chilly morning. The way the sunlight filters through your curtains, painting patterns on the walls. That unexpected text from an old friend, or the sound of rain when you’re cozied up indoors. These moments may seem trivial, but they hold a kind of magic that grounds us when life feels overwhelming.   It’s not just about appreciating what’s around you but also about slowing down enough to notice. For me, I’ve learned that the best way to reconnect with the beauty of little things is through mindfulness. It doesn’t have to be complicated—just take a deep breath and let yourself be present.   Try it ...

The start of a new year is like opening a fresh pack of cookies—full of hope, excitement, and maybe a little guilt about how quickly you’ll devour it. It’s a time when we write down ambitious resolutions, promise to go to the gym five times a week (we mean it this time!), and commit to eating salads… until pizza inevitably calls our name by mid-January.   But let’s be honest: life-changing transformations don’t happen overnight. The real magic of the New Year lies in the small, often unimpressive beginnings. You know, like swapping one soda for water or walking to the fridge instead of ordering delivery. These baby steps may not win you a standing ovation, but they’re the ones that stick—and they’re the ones that matter.   Think about it: planting a seed doesn’t look all that impressive at first. You dig a little hole, drop the seed in, and wait. And wait. And *wait*. It’s not exactly thrilling. But give it time (and maybe remember to water it), and one day, you’ve g...