In My Own World

"Let it go" 3 words,7 letters, madaling bigkasin, mahirap gawin.  Paano nga ba ang magpalaya? Wow! Big word. "Magpalaya."  Paano nga ba palayain ang mga bagay o tao na matagal nang nagpasyang umalis sa buhay natin? Siguro hindi na kailangang palayain, kasi umalis na nga diba? Siguro ang kailangan na lang ay ang pagtanggap. Tanggapin na ang ngayon ay hindi na tulad ng dati.  Mahirap baguhin ang nakasanayan na. Na para bang mag-uumpisa ka na naman sa simula. Pero hindi naman siguro kailangang magsimula sa umpisa. Ang kailangan lang ay ang magpatuloy. Magpatuloy sa buhay, pero sa puntong ito sa panibagong bersyon mo. Ang bersyon na wala na ang mga bagay na dati ay hawak mo lamang. Ang bersyon na hindi na kasama ang mga tao na inakalang mong habang buhay mong makakasama.  Sa puntong ito hindi mo na kailangang ipilit na makasama sila dahil sila na mismo ang nagpasyang umalis. Marahil ay wala sa iyo ang pagkukulang. At hindi din nila kasalanan na nagpasya silang iwanan ka...

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 ...

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...

Goodbye, 2025. You were not an easy year to carry. You came with a flood of emotions—sadness, frustration, anger. You reopened wounds I thought had already healed, only to remind me that some pain lingers quietly, waiting for the right moment to resurface. You tested my patience, my strength, and my faith in ways I wasn’t prepared for. Work was especially heavy this year. Plans fell apart. Efforts didn’t always lead where I hoped they would. There were moments when everything felt uncertain, like standing still while the world moved forward without me. And yet—somewhere in the middle of the chaos—came beautiful surprises. The kind that makes you pause and say,  “Who would’ve thought?”  The kind that reminds you that life still knows how to surprise you when you least expect it. 2025 was confusing that way. Painful and hopeful. Disappointing and generous. A year that took so much, but still gave just enough to keep me going. As I let this year go, I hope that 2026 will be the c...

If you open my heart, you won’t find softness right away. You’ll find shattered pieces of glass—sharp, uneven, scattered in places I never learned how to clean up. If you reach in too quickly, your hands will bleed. Not because I wanted to hurt you, but because there are wounds in me that were never given the time to heal. I carry a lot of unhealed things. Some I recognize. Some I’ve learned to live around. Some I pretend don’t exist until they ache unexpectedly. They’ve shaped the way I love, the way I trust, the way I hold on. And maybe Christmas has a way of making all of this louder. It slows the world just enough for feelings to surface. The lights are softer, the nights are quieter, and suddenly there’s space to notice what’s still tender. In a season meant for warmth and celebration, I’m reminded of how fragile the heart can be—and how carefully it needs to be held. So if there’s one message I want to tell myself this Christmas, it’s this: Don’t take everything too seriously. No...

Everyone talks about how hard it is to leave. But no one really talks about how painful it is to be  left. The world often paints the leaver as brave—the one who made the difficult choice, who walked away for peace, growth, or self-preservation. But what about the one who stayed? The one who didn’t choose the ending, who woke up to absence instead of closure? No one tells you how heavy it feels to be the one left behind. How quiet the days become. How everything you once shared suddenly feels unfinished, hanging in midair. It’s the ache of replaying the last conversation, wondering if you missed a sign. It’s trying to fill a space that used to be occupied by laughter, comfort, and presence. And yet, even in that sadness, I can’t help but think of that line from  Winnie the Pooh : “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” Maybe that’s the beauty and the curse of it all—having loved so deeply that losing it feels unbearable. Maybe I just tend to hold ...

Just when you thought the moment you’ve been waiting for had finally arrived, life takes a turn you didn’t see coming. It’s almost cruel at first glance—like being given a taste of something sweet, only to have it pulled away. But then, in the quiet of your disappointment, you realize: maybe this isn’t a setback at all. Maybe it’s God’s way of reminding you that His plan is always greater than yours. Right now, what I’m doing doesn’t make much sense. Some days, it feels like I’m moving in circles, waiting, hoping, wondering if this is really where I’m meant to be. And yet, deep inside, there’s a whisper telling me that one day it  will make sense. That maybe I need this pause, this season of uncertainty, to prepare me for what’s coming. Waiting isn’t easy—it tests your patience, your faith, even your confidence. But I choose to believe that this isn’t wasted time. It’s a refining time. A chance to let go of what I thought I wanted, and make room for what I truly deserve. So here I ...

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...