In My Own World

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 ...

Life can really feel overwhelming at times. Moments you don’t see coming suddenly arrive all at once—like a full blow you never prepared for. One minute things feel normal, and the next you’re surrounded by emotions that don’t seem to make sense together. Happy. Sad. Frustrating. Disappointing. Exciting. Dreadful. All at the same time. Sometimes it makes you want to disappear for a while. Like going to some land far, far away… and only coming back when things feel good again. But that’s not how life works. Unfortunately. We don’t get to skip the difficult chapters. We have to go through every bad moment to truly appreciate the good ones. Sometimes we even have to go through them just to realize how strong we are for surviving them. And truthfully, we wouldn’t make it through any of it without the grace of God quietly carrying us along the way. Still, there are days when you can’t help but think about that line people often say: “To my younger self, just stay there. It’s lonely here.” B...

I haven’t felt okay lately. The past few weeks have been tough—uncertain in ways that quietly creep into your thoughts when you’re trying to rest. It’s mostly work-related, the kind of uncertainty that doesn’t scream but lingers. The kind that sits beside you while you’re answering emails, while you’re pretending to focus, while you’re trying to convince yourself that everything is still manageable. And the strange thing is… I look okay. I laugh at jokes. I reply to messages. I talk to people like nothing’s wrong. If you saw me in passing, you’d probably think I’m fine. Maybe just tired. Maybe just busy. But there’s this quiet emptiness that follows me around like a shadow. It’s subtle but heavy. I feel lost, drained, uncertain—like I’m walking through fog, moving forward without actually knowing where I’m headed. It’s a confusing kind of not-okay. Because I’m not breaking down. I’m not crying every night. I’m not dramatically falling apart. I’m just… functioning. On autopilot. Doing w...

I think I’m living in a chapter that doesn’t have a name yet. No bold heading. No clear direction. No summary at the top of the page telling me what this is about. Just paragraphs of ordinary days — blurred together. I am not sure what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future. And lately, that truth is the only thing anchoring me. Because if I’m being honest, I don’t know where this is going. Everything feels like autopilot. I wake up. I show up. I do what needs to be done. I respond. I complete. I survive the day. But I don’t necessarily understand it. It feels like I’m walking through fog, trusting there’s still ground beneath my feet. Maybe I’m just in a hurry. A hurry to figure everything out. A hurry to see if this story ends well — or begins well. I want to flip to the last page just to make sure it’s worth continuing. But life doesn’t work like that. Right now, I don’t feel motivated. I don’t feel inspired. Some days, I just want to quit everything and sleep for the res...

What would you do if you knew someone you love only had two years left to live? Would you still postpone dinner because you’re tired? Would you still choose work over weekends? Would you still say, “Next time na lang”? Two years sounds long — until you start counting it in birthdays, Christmases, random Tuesdays, and ordinary mornings. Suddenly, it’s not “two years.” It’s a limited number of hugs. A limited number of inside jokes. A limited number of “ingat ka” before they walk out the door. And that’s when I realized something. Life isn’t short. If life were short, how do we explain people celebrating their 100th birthdays? How do we explain those who feel it’s too long and choose to end it themselves? Life isn’t measured by length alone. Life is fragile. Fragile like glass — it can last decades if untouched, but one unexpected drop can shatter it instantly. We tell ourselves that longevity is something we can control. Eat clean. Exercise daily. Avoid stress. Stay away from gadgets. S...

As the years pass, the meaning of love has quietly changed for me. Back in high school, I thought love was all about  kilig . Butterflies. Stolen glances. A crush fueled by good looks and surface-level attraction. Love, to me, was something exciting—something that made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t fully explain. But today, love feels deeper. Heavier. More intentional. I’ve come to realize that love is commitment. It’s choosing someone—not just when things are easy, but even when they’re not. Even when their breath smells bad. Even when they’re annoying. Even when they’re far from perfect. You stay, because you’re committed. Love is being willing to accept flaws without keeping score. It’s choosing understanding over judgment. Even when other people see their bad sides, you learn to look past that—because at the end of the day, it’s the two of you who understand each other in ways no one else ever will. Somewhere along the way, I realized that love is no longer about phy...

Valentine’s Day is coming, and suddenly, being single feels like a public announcement—like something that needs explaining, fixing, or apologizing for. I don’t really get it. Why is it such a big deal if you’re not in a relationship? Every year, as February gets closer, there’s this invisible pressure in the air. People start asking questions. Some joke about it. Some panic quietly. Others rush into situations they’re not even sure they want—just so they won’t be alone on a specific date on the calendar. And for what? I’ve been single my whole life. That’s not a confession or a complaint—it’s just a fact. Somewhere along the way, I accepted the possibility that this might be how my story goes. No dramatic resistance. No countdown. No desperate waiting. Just acceptance. And strangely enough, that acceptance brought peace. I’m okay not having a Valentine’s date. I’m okay not having one on random Tuesdays, either. But I’ve noticed that for others, being single feels like an emergency. As...

There are people who stop trying to change—not because they are incapable, but because they know someone will always catch them when they fall. Every mistake is softened, every consequence diluted, because there is a person who will listen, sympathize, and quietly take their side. Each time they confide in this person, they receive comfort instead of accountability. Understanding instead of questions. And slowly, unintentionally, this becomes permission to stay the same. To be fair, the other side may not be innocent. Fault is rarely one-sided. But as the saying goes, every story has three faces: yours, mine, and the truth. And the truth often lives somewhere in between, unseen and unheard. This is why blind loyalty can be dangerous. Before choosing sides, perhaps we should pause and ask:  Is it possible that the person I am defending also played a part? Not to accuse, but to understand. Not to judge, but to be fair. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt does not mean betraying a...