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Peace Over Chaos

6/26/2025

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One day, she will choose peace... not another man... and when she does, it’ll be over.
That’s the part many men won’t understand.

They will mistake her silence for confusion.
They’ll assume her distance is temporary.
They’ll believe she’s just being emotional and that she’ll come back once her storm settles.


But what they won’t realize is this:

when a woman begins to crave peace more than she craves your presence, you’ve already lost her.

She won’t be searching for someone new to rescue her.

She won’t be rebounding... she’ll be recovering.

She won’t be trying to make anyone jealous...

She’ll be learning to love herself again.

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And the most powerful version of her will be the one who no longer needs to be heard, fixed, or fought for… because she’ll have found safety in her own stillness.

It won’t be that she didn’t love him. She will have loved him so deeply that she forgot to love herself.

She will have shown up.
She will have stayed loyal.
She will have given grace he didn’t even know he needed.

But over time, she’ll grow tired.

Tired of begging for the bare minimum.
Tired of questioning her worth.
Tired of shrinking just to keep the peace.

So she’ll choose clarity over chaos.

Quiet mornings over arguments.
Deep, steady breaths over anxiety.

That walking-on-eggshells feeling? She’ll replace it with a home built for her own peace.

No dramatic exit.
No final speech.
Just… gone.

Because when a woman truly heals, she won’t seek closure... she’ll become it.

Another man might’ve been forgiven.

She could’ve cried, pleaded, or tried again.

But when peace takes your place, know this: her soul will have already moved on.
​
And wherever she’s going… you won’t be coming with her.
 
Soon…
 

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PAGOD LANG

6/25/2025

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Minsan, hindi mo na alam kung pagod ka lang… o talagang hindi mo na kaya.

Minsan, kahit andaming tao sa paligid mo, pakiramdam mo mag-isa ka pa rin. Parang kahit anong sigaw mo, walang makakarinig. Kahit anong ngiti mo, walang nakakapansin na pilit lang pala.

At minsan, naiisip mo:
“Paano kaya kung bigla na lang akong mawala?”

Hindi dahil gusto mong sumuko. Hindi dahil mahina ka.
Pero dahil sobrang bigat na.

Yung tipong ayaw mo namang iwan ang mga mahal mo, pero hindi mo na rin alam kung paano pang hahawakan ang sarili mong bigat.

Ang dami mong kailangang isipin.

Bills. Trabaho. Expectations. Pamilya. Future.

Tapos sa gitna nun, andiyan pa yung sarili mong mga iniiyak sa gabi na hindi mo masabi kahit kanino.
Pagod ka na. Pero kailangan pa.

Kailangan pa ring ngumiti.
Kailangan pa ring bumangon.
Kailangan pa ring magpanggap na okay ka… kahit hindi naman talaga.

Alam mo yung pakiramdam na gusto mong humingi ng tulong, pero hindi mo alam kung paano?
Kasi baka isipin nilang ang arte mo.

Baka isipin nilang “drama” lang.
​
O baka… wala talagang makaintindi.
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Every Drop, For Her

6/25/2025

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Today, I donated blood again. It’s my fourth time.

And every time, I think of my mom.

The first time I ever gave blood wasn’t for a cause. It wasn’t for an event or a campaign. It was for her. My mom was preparing for surgery for colorectal cancer, and we needed blood donors. A lot of them. It was urgent. It was terrifying. We were desperate.

So we asked for help.

We pleaded. Posted. Called. Prayed. And people - oh, people came. Friends, colleagues, even strangers we had never spoken to before walked into blood banks just to say, “This is for her.”

It was overwhelming in the best way.

But not everyone was kind. A few people tried to scam us, taking advantage of our fear and grief. It was cruel. And it hurt. But even then, the goodness of others was louder. More powerful.

There were far more people who helped without asking for anything in return. People who reminded us that in the middle of pain, humanity still shines through.

My mom didn’t make it. Cancer eventually took her. But every bag of blood that came in gave us more time. More hugs. More “I love yous.” More chances to hold her hand and just... be.

So today, as I sat in that chair and watched the blood slowly fill the bag, I whispered a quiet promise:
This is for you, Ma.

It’s for every mother fighting.
Every family hoping.
Every person waiting for a miracle.

Blood is just blood until it’s given with love. Then it becomes life.

If you’re healthy and able, please consider donating. It may be a small part of your day. But to someone else, it could mean one more tomorrow.
​
And sometimes, one more tomorrow is everything.
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That Kind of Love is Rare

6/14/2025

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Father’s Day hasn’t felt the same since 2016

Since I lost my Dad.

He was my safe place. My quiet strength.
The one who made me feel loved without needing many words.

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Now every Father’s Day, I scroll through all the sweet posts…
The hugs, the “I love you, Dad” captions, the family photos.
And my heart just aches.

Because I don’t get to call him anymore.

I don’t get to hear his laugh, or that proud voice saying, “Kaya mo ’yan, anak.” and the longing sound of "Kelan ka ga Ineng uuwi?"
I don’t get to say thank you… or I miss you… or I love you… one more time.

And now, as a mom, I look at my daughters
and quietly wish they could feel the kind of love I once had,
the kind of love that shows up, stays, and makes you feel safe just by being there.

That kind of love is rare.

And on days like this, I grieve not just for what I lost,
but for what my girls are still waiting for.

For some of us, this day feels heavy;
from missing our dad's or from wishing someone could love our kids better.
​
Some of us are just learning how to live with a heart that aches-
for the love we had… and the love our children still deserve.
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Because We Are Worth More Than The Sparrows

5/27/2025

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When I was in high school, my sister and I joined a school play called Joseph the Dreamer. We were young, full of energy, and super excited. We didn’t just practice in school. We practiced everywhere. In the kitchen. In the living room. Even while doing chores. We memorized every line, every song. It became a part of us.

But there was one line that stayed with me, long after the lights on stage went out. A simple line, but it felt like a message straight from God.

“See the birds in the air. They don’t plant or harvest, but God feeds them. And we? We are the children of God. We are worth more than the sparrows.”

That line hits different when you're older.

Back then, it was just part of the play. But now, I see how true it really is.

Life is not always easy. There are times when I worry. Times I feel tired. Times I question if all this hard work is really worth it. Being far from home. Missing family. Working non-stop. Sacrificing so much.

But in those quiet moments, I remember that line, and I remember that God never forgets us.
Just like the birds in the air who don’t even try to earn their food, yet God still makes sure they’re fed… how much more will He take care of us, His children?

Sometimes we don’t see the answers right away. Sometimes life feels unfair. But just because we can’t see it yet, doesn’t mean God isn’t working behind the scenes.

So don’t give up.
Do your best, even when no one sees.
Keep praying, even when it feels quiet.
Keep trusting, even when the road is hard.

Because God provides.

Not always when we want,
But always when we need it most.
One day, everything will fall into place.
Not by luck.

But by His perfect timing.

Just like what that school play taught me years ago... we are worth more than sparrows.
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Finding A Piece of Me

5/20/2025

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Not everyone who travels is just chasing sunsets or ticking off countries.

Some of us are healing.
Some of us are hiding.
Some of us are just tired of pretending we're okay.

I’ve walked through cities, mountains, and empty roads, not always because I wanted to explore, but because I needed space to breathe.

Sometimes I travel for the silence, because my life back home feels too loud.
Sometimes I go for the simplicity, because everything else feels too heavy.
And sometimes, I leave because it’s the only way I feel seen… even when I’m alone.

Yes, I love the beauty, the landscapes, the sky, the smell of rain on unfamiliar streets.
But more than the view, it’s the quiet moments that save me.

One bus ride at a time.
One border crossing at a time.
One small step away from who I was yesterday.

So, if you see someone like me, suitcase in hand, eyes tired but searching,
Please think that maybe we’re not just chasing adventure.
​
Maybe we’re just trying to find a piece of ourselves we lost along the way.
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UNTIL THE STORM PASSES

10/6/2024

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​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.


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What breaks my heart sometimes is when I pull away, not just from my own pain, but from the people who need me too. I’ve missed moments when I should have been there for others because I was too tired, too drained by my own battles. I know it hurts them, but they still try to understand. They give me space. They respect the fact that sometimes, I need to close my doors to the world. And for that, I’m grateful. They wait for me, never pushing, always knowing that when I’m ready, I’ll come back.

There are feelings that are so hard to put into words. I don’t think I could ever truly explain the depth of the sadness I sometimes feel. So, I hide it. I retreat into the safety of my room, behind a closed door, where it’s just me and my thoughts. There, in the silence, I don’t have to pretend that I’m okay. I don’t have to explain why I feel the way I do. I just let myself be, and eventually, I heal.

It’s a lonely way to go through life sometimes, but it’s how I’ve learned to survive. And though I choose to disappear when things get tough, I never forget the ones who are always there, quietly waiting for me to return. Their presence, even from a distance, gives me the strength to keep going.
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"SAKTO LANG"

10/3/2024

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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 success, more opportunities, more growth was somehow a bad thing.

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I witnessed this same complacency as I started working overseas, meeting other Filipinos who, like me, had ventured far from home. In Saudi Arabia, I encountered many OFWs who, despite their circumstances, had settled into an attitude of simply surviving, not thriving. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hard being away from your family, living in a foreign land, working long hours just to send money home. But there’s a stark difference between enduring hardship to build a better future and merely accepting that hardship as your permanent reality.

One particular instance stands out in my mind. I met a fellow Filipino who, after working abroad for nearly 10 years, had grown weary of the system but seemed utterly resigned to his situation. When I asked him about his plans for the future, he simply shrugged and said, “Wala na, ganito na lang tayo habangbuhay” (This is how we’ll be for the rest of our lives). My heart sank. Here was someone with the same potential, the same opportunities as me, yet he had chosen to stop fighting, to accept the limits of his circumstances. I felt a pang of sadness and anger. Not at him, but at this mindset that seems to plague so many of us.

Even when I visit home, I still see it - this complacency that trickles down through generations. The younger ones, full of dreams and energy, often get swallowed by this narrative that they can’t aspire for more. I’ve seen bright minds who could do so much, held back by the weight of complacency, as if the world beyond their current life is unreachable. They hear it in the words of those around them, “Okay na ‘yan” (That’s good enough), and soon enough, they start to believe it too.

It’s hard to break free from this, and I don’t mean to judge. Life is difficult, and sometimes we are just trying to survive. But I believe in our potential to thrive, not just survive. I’ve experienced it in my own life, the battle against complacency. I’ve worked hard to push past the limitations I’ve felt, to build something better for my daughters and my family. And it hasn’t been easy. There were moments I wanted to give up, moments I doubted myself and felt it would be easier to just accept things as they are. But each time, I reminded myself that I didn’t want to pass down this mindset to my daughters. I didn’t want them to inherit this complacency.

I often think about the life I’ve built far from home. The sacrifices I’ve made, the dreams I’ve chased. Every time I return to Oriental Mindoro, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come, but also of how much more there is to do. There’s this quiet voice in me that says we don’t have to settle. We can aim for more whether it’s in our careers, our relationships, or the dreams we hold dear. And that’s the message I try to spread whenever I meet fellow Filipinos, whether abroad or back home. I encourage them to see beyond the present, to fight against that little voice that says “just enough is enough.”

I’ve always believed that as Filipinos, we have this unique resilience, a strength that has carried us through countless struggles. But sometimes, that resilience turns into a quiet complacency, and that’s what I hope we can change. I don’t want us to be content with mediocrity. I want us to reach for more, not out of greed, but because we deserve better. We owe it to ourselves, to our families, and to future generations.

At the end of the day, I know it’s a long road ahead. But if we can change the narrative, even just a little, we can transform our future. And maybe, just maybe, we can break free from the chains of complacency that have held us back for so long.

I wish we can all not settle for less than what we’re capable of. We owe it to ourselves to dream bigger, to push harder, and to build a life we can truly be proud of.
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I Need My Sanity

9/29/2024

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​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 that's 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.
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One of Those Nights

9/16/2024

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​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.
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    Happiness

    My happiness comes from the people who believe in me and inspire me every day. They are my strength.

    Life is a beautiful, fleeting journey.

    Despite the challenges, I see beauty and miracles everywhere.
    Growing up was tough, but my Dad was my beacon of hope. He taught me to believe in myself and to embrace life's limitless possibilities. His lessons and spirit guide me still.
    I lost him years ago, but I carry his memory everywhere I go, hoping he's proud of me—as I've always been of him.

    I promised him I'd live life to the fullest.
    ​
    Now, I find joy in writing, traveling, and simply living, cherishing each moment. This, I believe, is something we all should embrace: finding happiness in every part of life.
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