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.
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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.

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.

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.
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Maybe we’re just trying to find a piece of ourselves we lost along the way.

​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 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 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.

​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 like 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 but 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.  
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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.