​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.

As the sun sets and I walk alone, my thoughts drift to the paths I've walked, mostly by myself. It's not that I don't have people in my life, but when it comes to the significant moments, it's often just me. And, surprisingly, I've come to realize that this is okay.
Life can be incredibly challenging, and there are moments when we must become our own heroes because no one else can step into that role for us. Those times when big decisions land heavily on our shoulders, or when we reach out for support and find only empty air—these moments have taught me the most valuable lesson: I need to plan for myself because I am the one person I can always count on.
At night, the world could feel silent, and in that stillness, I often think of how much strength I have within me. I don’t need to wait for someone to come and rescue me from my doubts and fears. I am always my own rescue. Cliché, “The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be”.

This understanding isn't about distancing myself from others or losing trust in them. It's about the comforting knowledge that, at the end of the day, the one who will always be there for me is the person I see in the mirror. Crafting plans that rely on me means setting personal goals, ensuring my financial security, and embracing growth in my quiet, solitary moments.

But this isn't a tale of sadness—it's one of strength and discovery. Each time I've had to stand alone, I've unearthed a little more courage and resilience within myself. I've come to see that self-reliance isn't about being lonely; it's about being empowered. It's the reassuring knowledge that, regardless of what life throws my way, I can handle it.

During my recent solo trip to Andorra, I hiked up a mountain trail, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. With each step, I felt more connected to myself, more capable of facing my challenges. By the time I reached the viewpoint, the view was breathtaking—not just because of the landscape, but because I realized I had climbed both the mountain and my inner doubts.
​
I’m not perfect and sometimes, I also feel afraid, being alone in pursuing my dreams. In those moments, I close my eyes and pray for the strength and capability I sometimes doubt I possess. I hold onto the belief that there’s something profoundly beautiful in this realization. Achieving my dreams on my own isn’t just possible—it’s a testament to my incredible resilience and something I can be truly proud of. Every step I take alone is a step towards discovering the extraordinary person I am meant to be.

​Faith has always been a part of my life. Growing up Catholic, my parents encouraged us to be close to God. They believed, as I did, that everything is controlled and managed by one ultimate power. This belief stayed with me, even as my life took me far from my roots.

When I moved to Saudi Arabia, the center of Islam, I worked with a very devout Muslim, our  Director of Pharmacy. Around the same time, I married a converted Muslim man. He was deeply committed to his faith, always going for Umrah, a pilgrimage, and praying regularly. His dedication piqued my curiosity about Islam. I started reading about it, trying to understand why he was so devoted. As I read more, I felt my heart drawing closer to God in a way I hadn’t felt before.

One day, I told my boss that I wanted to go on a pilgrimage. He explained that I needed to be a Muslim to go, so I decided to convert. With the help of a Muslim organization, I went through the conversion process from Catholicism to Islam.

When we were preparing for the pilgrimage, I was unsure how to pray properly. My boss told me that when I reached the holiest place in Islam, I should close my eyes and whisper to God whatever my heart truly desired, and He would listen.

For many years, I had been suffering from uterine bleeding. Doctors told me that having a child would be difficult. I shared this with my husband, and we resigned ourselves to the possibility that it might take years for us to conceive.

Standing in the grand mosque on the last day of Ramadan, surrounded by worshippers, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and awe. I closed my eyes, and tears streamed down my face. In that powerful moment, I whispered to God, asking for the blessing of a child.

When we returned home, my bleeding continued for a while but then stopped. A few months later, I noticed changes in my body and decided to take a pregnancy test. To my amazement, it was positive. It felt like a miracle. When we saw the doctor for an ultrasound, we realized that the conception likely happened around the time of my heartfelt prayer during the pilgrimage.

This experience deepened my faith and made me realize that everyone has their own unique relationship with God. I am not saying that everyone should convert to Islam; faith is indeed a very personal journey. But I am grateful for my special relationship with God. It has carried me through the hardest times in my life and continues to be a source of strength and comfort.

I may not be religious in the traditional sense, but I know that God loves me deeply. His love has blessed me in ways I never imagined possible. My faith, though unconventional, is profound and unwavering. For this incredible journey and the countless blessings I've received, I am eternally grateful, and I give Him all the glory.

​Today, I read a touching post about a grandma patiently waiting for her grandkids to reach home through the Uber app, and it reminded me deeply of my father. My dad had a unique kind of patience. Every time one of us was late coming home from school or anywhere else, there he was, waiting. He seemed to have a calmness that only dads possess. His excitement for our school events always topped ours—every single time. With our mom working far away, it was always him at our school activities, whether it was recollections, graduations, or anything in between. I remember seeing him in the crowd during processions, his eyes tracking us the whole way.

Some of our relatives used to tease us, saying he was so strict because he didn't want anyone chasing after us. Maybe they were right, but to us, he was just being protective. Every Tuesday and Thursday, like clockwork, he'd wake us up early for holy mass. More than being just a school requirement—it was his way of strengthening our faith, something he valued deeply even though he was born a Seventh-day Adventist but raised us as Catholics.

Despite his tough exterior, he surprised us by quoting Bible verses when we least expected it. Those moments would always make us smile; it was a side of him that didn't match his tough dad image. He called us his princesses, and to us, he was nothing short of a king.

When I moved to Manila for my studies, and later when I started teaching at a university, he’d visit me. He’d bring food, and we’d spend time together after my classes. I could see the pride in his eyes—I was one of the youngest instructors at the university, and he loved telling everyone about it.

My sister wasn't left out of his caring gestures either. Working at a local bank, she'd find our dad waiting with a meal for her, ready to drive her home each afternoon.

Our dad was our biggest fan and supporter, always there, always watching over us. Even now, years after he’s gone, I still feel his presence in those moments of quiet patience and unwavering support. When life gets tough, I close my eyes and remember his calm, steady gaze, his protective embrace, and the way he made us feel like princesses. His memory is always my guiding light, reminding me of the depth of his love and the strength of his spirit. Dad, you were, and always will be, our king.

​Happy Father’s Day, Sarge.