​Most of the time, I keep quiet about what’s going on inside me. It’s not that I don’t trust people, or that I don’t know they care. It’s just that I’ve learned to deal with my feelings alone. I convince myself that telling someone won’t change what I feel. So, even on days when it feels like I’m falling apart, I don’t reach out. I tell myself I’ll be okay.

I know there are people who would help me, who would hold my hand through the hardest moments if I let them. But I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want them to see the parts of me that feel shattered, the parts that are tired of fighting. So, instead, I pull away. I disappear when I’m hurting. I isolate myself, close my doors, and wait for the storm to pass. I cry in the quiet of my room where no one can see or hear me.

There was a time I did this during one of the hardest moments in my life. I remember the day I lost my father, and I shut the world out completely. The grief was too much, and even though my family and friends reached out, I couldn’t bring myself to share that pain. I just sat there in silence, tears streaming down, trying to make sense of the loss alone. I think about that time often because it taught me just how much I prefer handling things on my own, even when I’m surrounded by love.

I’ve always been this way. Even when I’m sad or overwhelmed, I push through it quietly. I don’t like people seeing me at my weakest, so I comfort myself. I tell myself to be strong, to keep going. And somehow, I do. But I still appreciate the people who remind me that they’re there for me. The ones who don’t pry but just gently let me know they’re around, waiting if I ever need them.

Over lunch today, my colleagues and I touched on a subject that has weighed heavily on my mind for years—complacency. It’s something I’ve seen firsthand growing up in Oriental Mindoro, and it frustrates me deeply, not just in my province but in the Filipinos I meet wherever I travel. It’s a trait that, to me, holds so much potential hostage, limiting the greatness I know we are capable of.

I remember when I was younger, the atmosphere in our hometown was one of contentment, but not the kind that makes you feel fulfilled. It was more like a resignation. People would settle into their routines, not daring to dream too big or reach too far. My parents, who worked tirelessly, often pointed out how many of our neighbors had the ability to improve their lives but didn’t. There was this unspoken rule—be grateful for what you have, don’t rock the boat, and certainly don’t try to rise above the rest. In our province, there’s a phrase I heard far too often: “Sakto na ‘yan” (That’s enough). It’s as if we’ve been conditioned to believe that wanting more—more success, more opportunities, more growth—was somehow a bad thing.

​I’m slowly learning that no matter how much I react, explain, or try to fix things, it won’t change what’s already broken. It won’t make people see me differently. It won’t magically make them love or respect me, or even understand where I’m coming from. I’ve spent so many moments agonizing over conversations in my head, replaying them, thinking, *If only I had said this… If only they knew that…* But in the end, it doesn’t matter. People see what they want to see, and no amount of pleading or explanation can change their perception.

I’ve realized that the harder I try to cling to those moments, the more it hurts. I’ve fought for closure, begged for explanations that never came, chased answers that left me feeling emptier than before. And I’ve waited… waited for people to finally understand, to finally get why I was hurting, to give me the validation that I craved. But none of it happened. The closure I was so desperate for never arrived. The people I fought so hard to keep eventually drifted away. And the respect I hoped to earn stayed out of reach.

It’s a painful truth I’m learning to accept—sometimes, people just won’t care, no matter how much you do. Sometimes, they’ll leave without a word, and sometimes, they’ll stay, but their presence feels even lonelier than their absence. I’ve cried over relationships that fell apart, over misunderstandings that never got cleared, over friendships that slowly faded into nothing. And in those moments, I thought I had failed. But maybe, just maybe, it’s not about fighting to be understood, to be heard, or to be loved. Maybe, it’s about letting go.

I’m learning that peace comes not from trying to control what happens around me, but from what’s happening inside me. When I let go of the need to fix every misunderstanding, to heal every broken bond, I start to find a quiet kind of peace. I’m learning that not everything needs a resolution. Not everyone deserves an explanation. Some people will never understand, and that’s okay. I don’t need to keep fighting for space in the hearts of those who don’t see my worth.

There’s a certain kind of freedom in surrendering—allowing life to unfold as it will without the constant need to steer it. It’s not that I don’t care anymore; it’s that I’m learning to care in a different way. I’m learning to care for myself. To put my energy into healing what’s inside me instead of trying to control what’s outside of me. And the more I do that, the more I realize that my peace, my joy, and my sense of self-worth don’t depend on anyone else.

Letting go doesn’t mean I don’t feel the pain anymore. It means I’ve decided to stop letting it control me. It means I’m choosing to live in the present instead of reliving the past. It means I’m slowly finding the strength to move forward, even when I don’t have all the answers, even when the wounds are still healing.

I’m learning that life is better lived when I don’t center it on what’s happening around me, but on what’s happening within me. And maybe that’s the greatest lesson of all: to find peace not in the things or people I once clung to, but in the quiet strength I’m discovering inside myself.

​One of Those Nights

It’s one of those nights when sleep feels so distant. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and the tears won’t stop. My heart feels heavy, and no matter how hard I try to push the thoughts away, they keep coming back. I miss my mom. I miss my dad. I miss their thoughtfulness, their comforting words, and just knowing they were there. I could never fully understand how much their absence changed me, how deeply it would hurt to live in a world without them. I know that even though they’re gone, the love they gave me still lives inside me, but tonight, it feels so far away.

And then, there’s my kids. I miss them more than words can say. I miss their laughter, their hugs, the way they made even the hardest days feel brighter. I’m far from them, and that distance feels unbearable tonight. I wonder if they know how much I long to be with them. I wonder if they miss me the same way, if they feel the same emptiness that I do. Being alone is hard. Loneliness wraps around me like a blanket, but it doesn’t offer warmth. Some nights are just too quiet, and the silence is overwhelming.

In the office, I've seen this play out time and again.
 
I can remember a time when I was much younger and full of fire, ready to argue my point until the other person saw things my way. I'd enter into debates on small issues with colleagues—how a report was formatted, the wording of an email, or even where to go for lunch. These were minor issues, but I felt compelled to win, to prove that I was right. But as I grew, there came a time when I began to understand that not every battle is worth fighting. One such incident comes into memory with a colleague who was also a close friend. The two of us were working on a project that had a tight deadline, and tempers became short. A disagreement over a minuscule detail escalated into a heated argument. It left both of us frustrated and drained. I let out a sigh in my office and realized how unnecessary the conflict had been. Really, the issue in question wasn't that large in the grand scheme of things, but it cost both of us peace of mind, and most importantly, some of the joy of working together.
 
At home, I've also learned the value of choosing my battles. My daughters are growing up to be their own humans with their opinions and ways of doing things. Of course, I've been tempted to correct them more than a few times or teach them how to do stuff in a way that I would prefer, but, on second thought, I feel it is highly likely that one may really lead by example.
 
When my oldest decided to take a different course in college rather than the one I suggested, I felt the urge to insist that the same course i had was better. But then I paused. Did it really matter? Instead of arguing, I simply told her to decide on her own and let her go her way.
 
I learned that some battles are better left unfought.
 
It does not mean you are weak; it means you hold your peace more valuable than driving an argument. It's recognizing that some fights simply aren't worth the emotional toll. In the office, this means saving your energy for battles that truly matter—the ones that really affect your work, your team, or your principles. With family, this means preserving relationships by letting go of the need to always be right.
 
It's not always easy. There are still moments when I feel the urge to engage, to prove a point. But more and more, in looking at the bigger picture, walking away often proves to be the more powerful and serene option.
 
Life is far too short to spend arguing every point. There's a time to hold your ground and a time to back off and let things be. Picking and choosing your battles carefully, you save your strength for the big ones that truly make a difference. In the end, life will be more peaceful, relationships stronger, and you'll have increased energy to invest in those activities that are truly important. I think it goes this way; The battles worth fighting are those that bring us eventually to peace, not those which take us farther away. And whether it is at work or at home, it's this gentle power in the knowledge of when to walk away.
 
 In silence, we often find the answers we seek, and in walking away, we discover the true path to peace.

In life, we are blessed with people who touch our hearts in ways we never imagined. These individuals become our friends, confidants, and pillars of support. Despite the distance or time spent apart, the bond we share with them remains strong, or so we believe. But sometimes, the harsh reality sets in, and we realize that not everyone who walks beside us truly stands by us.

I have always cherished the friendships I’ve built over the years. Despite the physical distance, I have kept these connections close to my heart. My life, filled with the responsibilities and challenges of being an OFW has often kept me away from these friends. Yet, the memories we shared, the laughter, the tears, and the stories, made me feel that our bond was unbreakable.

There were days when a simple message from them brightened my gloomy days, and nights when their words of encouragement carried me through my struggles. I trusted them with my fears, my dreams, and my vulnerabilities. I believed that they understood me in ways no one else could. They were my safe haven, the ones I could count on, or so I thought.

Today is a day filled with mixed emotions and fond memories. It's my daughter's first day at university, and not just any university—it's the same one I attended many years ago. Listening to her get ready this morning, I couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over me. The excitement lingered in her eyes, and there was a flutter in her voice with an undertone of nervousness. It just made me reminiscent of the first day with her.  
​
As she shared her anxieties and excitement over chat, I remembered my own journey—a new world, the thrill of meeting new people, and the endless possibilities lying ahead. Her stories made me smile and at the same time, brought back a flood of memories. I remember walking those same halls, finding my way to classes, making friends—many who became almost family. I remember the late-night study sessions, the laughter, and even the few tears. University life was a rollercoaster of emotions and shaped me into the person I am today.

​Trying to relate to her and calm her anxieties, I shared my experiences in the hope that maybe I could show her what an amazing adventure lay ahead.

It's strange how life comes full circle. Seeing her walk the same paths, sit in the same classrooms, feel the same pleasures and struggles that were once mine, it's a beautiful feeling. It was like living my youth again through her. My eyes got teary when she left for her first day of school. She was growing up, moving on into a new life journey, and I am here, like her cheerleader, with every stride. My heart is so full of joy but also carries some tinge of sadness because she is no longer my little girl; now she is a woman able to embrace the world.

It isn't just another day for her; it's a reminder of the beautiful journey we are on. Life is creating memories, and today, we have added one precious memory to our collection. To my daughter, her dreams, and the wonderful adventure that lies ahead.

Life in the Philippines is most often a blend of beauty and challenge. The recent floods in Manila are a firm affirmation of that fact. I watched these people coping with the waters from the floods on some videos, and it was really so touching, very strong, and very positive. No matter how the water was creeping up on them, they still were able to smile and help one another out.

Another that I can remember is the typhoon Ondoy 2009. Images of people walking on chest-deep waters, carrying their children and whatever they could save, are just imprinted. But even in such a situation, there were acts of unbelievable kindness. Strangers helped one another; volunteers brought food and clothes, and everybody did his or her part to lift each other up.

What touches me most deeply is the resilience of the Filipino spirit. We have this miraculous way of always finding the light even in the darkest of times. Our strong faith, close family ties, and supportive communities allow us the strength to face any challenges. We believe that no matter how tough things get, we will overcome them together.

Let me emphasize, though, that I also share some kind of difficulties, being an Overseas Filipino Worker. Being away from family, faced with demands and expectations of foreign employment, and dealing with life in another culture get tough. But in all these, I try my best to have the same resilience I see in those smiles: their hopes are endless, even amidst hardship, and it keeps me going.

The recent floods in Manila confirm, in fact, how life is unpredictable; but at the same time, it shows the Filipino people's resilience and spirit. We do everything with courage, relying on faith, family, and community. And through it all, we still find reasons to smile, laugh, and move on, never losing that spark of joy and hope that defines us, even in the darkest of times.

At some point in our lives, we find ourselves standing at a crossroads, reflecting on the years gone by and contemplating the path ahead. For me, this moment marked the beginning of what is often referred to as a midlife crisis. This term, laden with negative connotations, doesn’t fully capture the depth and complexity of this experience. It’s not merely a crisis; it’s a profound period of self-examination, growth, and transformation. Let me share with you my personal journey through this transformative phase, in the hope that it may resonate with you and offer some solace.

I remember one evening; while driving home, my focus was shifted to the sunset. As the sky turned shades of pink and orange, a wave of sadness washed over me. The beauty of the moment was undeniable, but so was the sense of something missing. I realized that there have been changes happening in my interests and desires. The things that once brought me joy seemed mundane, and I felt an inexplicable yearning for something more. It was as if I was waking up from a long slumber, suddenly aware of the passage of time and the finite nature of life. This realization was both terrifying and exhilarating, propelling me into a period of intense introspection.
WHAT
The struggle of midlife is real and multifaceted. It’s not just about grappling with the aging process or mourning lost youth; it’s about confronting deeply ingrained fears and insecurities. For me, it was a battle between my desire for change and the comfort of familiarity.
I found myself questioning my choices, both past and present. Was I living authentically? Had I compromised my dreams for the sake of others? These questions haunted me, leading to sleepless nights and anxious days. I felt torn between the life I had built and the one I yearned for.
One particularly difficult night, I found myself awake at 3 AM, staring at the ceiling. My mind was racing with thoughts of missed opportunities and unfulfilled dreams. In that quiet, dark moment, I realized I couldn’t go on like this. I needed to make a change, but I didn’t know where to start.
During this tumultuous time, I sought solace in conversations with friends and loved ones. I discovered that I was not alone; many were facing similar challenges. Sharing our experiences created a sense of commonness and support, helping me navigate the emotional rollercoaster. It was through these honest dialogues that I began to find clarity and courage.
WHO
Transformation is the heart of the midlife journey. It’s about shedding old identities and embracing new ones, a process that is both painful and liberating. My transformation began with small, deliberate steps towards self-discovery and renewal.
I started prioritizing self-care, both physically and mentally. Regular exercise, a balanced diet, and mindfulness practices became integral parts of my routine. Hopefully, these changes will not only improve my well-being but also gave me the strength to face my fears head-on.
Pursuing passions and hobbies that I had long neglected became a source of immense joy. I started writing again, a pastime I had abandoned for quite a long time. The act of creating something beautiful from my thoughts was incredibly therapeutic, allowing me to express emotions through the words I weave.
Although my professional life isn’t undergoing a significant shift as much as I hoped for, I began exploring new opportunities, enriching myself more and learning new things that aligned with my values and passions. This wasn’t an easy transition, and there were moments of doubt and insecurity. However, my goals are alive within me, and such a renewed sense of purpose kept me going.
I look forward vividly to the day I would finally leave my long-term job. I’m certain that the fear of the unknown will be overwhelming, but so will the excitement of new possibilities. As I think about walking out of the office for the last time, I could imagine a mix of sadness and exhilaration. But thinking that I will be stepping into an uncharted territory, I knew I would thrive. I believe it.
HOW
Emerging from the other side of a midlife crisis, I realized that this journey had imparted invaluable lessons. It taught me the importance of living authentically and staying true to oneself. It’s easy to lose sight of our dreams in the hustle of daily life, but midlife offers a chance to realign with our true selves.
I learned that it’s never too late to pursue new passions or make significant changes. Age is just a number, and the courage to reinvent oneself can lead to a more fulfilling and meaningful life.
Finally, I understood the power of vulnerability and connection. Sharing my struggles and listening to others created bonds that were incredibly healing. We are not meant to navigate life’s challenges alone, and seeking support is a sign of strength, not weakness.
IT IS WHAT IT IS
As I move through the middle chapters of my life, I'm learning to see this time as a chance to grow and change for the better. It's a moment to look at our lives anew, reconnect with what we love, and build stronger, deeper connections with those around us.
A midlife crisis isn't just a time of worry; it can be a fresh start, a rediscovery of ourselves. By facing our fears and welcoming new changes, we can come out stronger and more content.
If you're on this journey too, remember you're not alone. Embrace the unknown, reach out for help, and believe in your power to shape a life that truly shows who you are. Midlife isn't an end—it's a chance to start anew, to rewrite our stories with bravery and kindness.
Thank you for sharing in my journey. May your own path be filled with discovery, growth, and profound joy.

Ever since I can remember, I've been the one everyone leans on. My colleagues, friends, and family— they all seem to come to me whenever they need support, advice, or just someone to lend them a hand. Initially, it felt great to be the reliable one, the rock everyone could cling to. But as time went on, this role began to feel heavy, more like a burden than an honor.

Sometimes, it feels like I'm more of a resource than a person. It seems like people only check in to see what I can do for them, not how I'm doing. They come to me with their needs, and once they're met, they disappear, leaving me empty and wondering if they would do the same for me.

The silence is deafening when I'm the one in need. It forces me to question the value of my relationships. Am I only appreciated for what I can give? This question hurts, leaving a lingering sense of loneliness.

I've come to understand that giving shouldn't leave me feeling empty. Real relationships—built on mutual respect and understanding—are about balance. They're not transactions but shared connections where both sides show they care. Yet, I find myself always being the giver, and I have to ask myself why the balance is so off.