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…
 

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.

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.

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.