In My Own World

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...

It's nice to be treated special every once in a while. I mean, who wouldn't want to feel like a queen, even if you aren't living in a palace? But there are times when the treatment doesn't feel good anymore. Perhaps you feel like it's not genuine. It's forced. Or sometimes, you feel like they do it out of pity. Personally, it feels weird to be treated special. Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve the "spotlight." Like, my own food differs from everyone else's. There are times when other people walk on eggshells around me. Because they don't want to hurt my feelings, or that's what they think. They think that I'm too fragile to handle the truth or that I'm not capable of handling difficult situations. But from my point of view, I feel so out of place every time they do that. I feel ignored. I feel neglected. I feel like I'm still a little kid. The irony is that people treat me as a child, but they expect me to act like an ad...