The language i couldn't keep

I found myself staring at my laptop for quite some time, wondering how I could possibly put into words what I feel about you. It isn’t just a thousand thoughts running through my head—it’s also everything my heart is trying to say but doesn’t quite know how.

Right now, as I watch you on the other side of the line, traveling back home to Zamboanga City, I can’t help but be reminded of the days when we were just two people talking—conversing about everything and nothing, yet still finding a kind of peace in each other’s presence. Communication, I’ve learned, is the key to any relationship, but what follows right after is consistency. And you, in your quiet way, remind me of that every day.

Lately, my life has been a whirlwind—changes, transitions, and the uncomfortable process of leaving my comfort zone. It hasn’t been easy. There are moments I wanted to break down, to cry, but I’ve kept myself still because this is the life I’ve been given. And in that life, you are an unshakable part of it.

Every time I see you—whether in person or through this screen—I begin to understand more about the world, and more about myself. Yet, I know I’m far from perfect. I have my flare-ups, my moods, my inconsistencies. Sometimes, I falter in the promises I make, and sometimes I don’t meet my own standards. But what comforts me is your patience, your steady “sorrys,” and the way you stay, even when things aren’t smooth.

Love, I’ve realized, is never enough on its own. It takes two people—working, understanding, compromising, choosing each other day after day. And that’s what I want with you. Looking at you now, on the other end of this call, I feel both wonder and excitement for the life we’re building together. I won’t just “try” with you. I will do this with you, for as long as we can hold on and as long as we choose to stay.

Wey,

Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for being here now, and for the days still to come. I know the road won’t always be easy, but I promise we will walk it side by side. Not only will we reach my dreams—we’ll reach yours too. We’ll win this life together. And when time has taken us through countless seasons, I hope that your hand will still be in mine, just as it is today.

I love you, always, in all ways.

The Chaos and Growth

 I never really imagined what “adulting” would feel like. And now, here I am—right in the middle of it. Who isn’t, right? I used to hear people complain about chasing due dates and running after bills, and I thought, that’s just part of life. But when it finally became my reality, it hit differently.

Back in Bukidnon, I lived for almost ten years without ever thinking about paying for electricity, water, Wi-Fi, or any other household bills. That comfort shielded me from many responsibilities. But when I moved here to Ozamiz City, I suddenly had to face it all—where to stay, what to eat, how to do my laundry, and basically how to start from scratch.

And starting over, I realized, is no joke. It’s exhausting, overwhelming, and sometimes hilarious. I get stressed just thinking about who will do my laundry, especially when I have an urgent trip and my uniforms aren’t ready. Food is another challenge since I have to be mindful of my health and can’t just eat anything. Recently, I transferred to a new studio pad. It’s a bit farther from the office, but it gives me a sense of comfort and safety—something I’ve been longing for. Finally, I can sleep at peace, and that’s priceless.

When I first settled in, the smallest things made me laugh. I never imagined I would be the kind of person searching for towel hooks, rags, walis tingting, and walis tambo. Yet there I was, standing in the market, realizing that these little things are part of what it really means to build a life of your own. My place is still bare, but it’s a work in progress. Starting out truly demands time, patience, and more finances than I expected.

The real challenge now? Squeezing into my schedule when to pay the bills—electricity, water, Wi-Fi, and everything in between. Thankfully, I have Wey, who often reminds me of the things I tend to forget or wouldn’t normally care about. It makes the adjustment a little lighter, and for that, I’m grateful.

Sometimes, I try to take all these struggles as fun—little adventures that come with growth. Even when it feels frustrating, I remind myself this is part of becoming who I am meant to be. Still, there are moments when I feel the distance. My family is about five hours away, so I rarely get to go home. I miss them, especially my little niece who’s growing up so fast. Whenever I do visit, I realize how much I miss talking to her—this tiny human who now converses with me as though she’s already an adult. (In Bisaya, we say makatubay naman sa storya—meaning, she can already keep up with my stories.)

Oh, life! It really does take courage—not just to exist, but to truly live. Adulting is more than paying bills and managing chores; it’s about finding meaning in the everyday grind, learning to embrace the chaos, and building a life that feels like your own. For me, it’s about living with purpose and, in the middle of it all, choosing to be happy.

Between Bukidnon and Ozamiz City

For weeks, I kept telling myself I would update this blog. But it always stayed inside my head, never quite reaching the page. Life has been moving so fast that I sometimes lose track of what day it is. The transition I’ve been through feels sudden, almost surreal. Even when I’m exhausted at the end of the day, my thoughts still race ahead—planning tomorrow, the next week, and the weeks beyond.

I haven’t fully settled since leaving Bukidnon. For the past ten years, it had been my comfort zone—my quiet place, my anchor, the home I looked forward to returning to. Life there was steady, simple, predictable. I once thought I would remain that way: just a researcher after graduate school, no lofty ambitions, no pursuit of higher positions. In my mind, those things seemed impossible anyway.

But God had other plans.

One unexpected turn led me here, to Ozamiz City—a place I never imagined I would live in. I left Bukidnon almost abruptly, stepping out of my safe space in search of growth. I ran not only after who I wanted to become, but also after a future that, in some small way, could bring me closer to my person—si Wey. That chance, however slim, was worth the risk.

Yet in the middle of all these changes, I realized this season is not only about me. It’s about rediscovering what I want, finding my true purpose, and learning how my life can also help others grow.

Still, the adjustments weigh heavily. My dissertation hangs over me, delayed by this sudden shift. It has only been a month since I left Bukidnon, and life here sometimes feels like starting over again—like I did ten years ago: no friends, no family close by, only work and myself. The difference this time is that weekends can bring a little comfort, as Wey can visit whenever our schedules allow. Even then, unannounced meetings and weekend work trips remind me that life rarely follows our plans.

But life, after all, is full of surprises. What felt uncomfortable at first has slowly become bearable once I accepted that everything happening now is simply part of what lies ahead. These changes are not punishments; they are preparations. And so, I continue to pray—asking God for strength and clarity, trusting that even in the twists and turns, He is leading me toward the story He has written for me.

Someday, this season will be a memory—a chapter in my life’s book. For now, I choose to live it fully, to embrace the discomfort, and to keep moving forward with faith.

When Someday Becomes Never

For some, it was just another headline.
For me, it was a soul-shaking reminder of how fleeting and unpredictable life truly is.
Four lives. Four stories.
Each one a mirror—reflecting something profound about time, purpose, and the fragile beauty of every passing moment.
First:
A family who had spent years dreaming of a new life in the UK.
Delays. Responsibilities. Life always getting in the way.
They finally boarded that flight… but never arrived.
And I understood—
We all have plans for “someday.”
But the truth is, if we keep waiting, someday can slip silently into never.
Second:
A woman who was meant to be on that flight.
She arrived late. Missed check-in. Pleaded to be let on.
She was angry, heartbroken—until she learned the plane had crashed.
That delay? It was protection in disguise.
Because sometimes, we don’t get what we want…
Not because we’re unlucky, but because God sees what we can’t.
His “no” may be the very thing that saves us.
Third:
A man who survived.
The aircraft split. He happened to be in the section that didn’t catch fire.
He walked away—shaken but alive—from a tragedy few lived to tell.
It wasn’t just luck. It was purpose.
And I was reminded of these wordssimply
Fourth:
Those who didn’t make it.
People with families, dreams, and stories still unfolding.
They said goodbye that morning, never knowing it would be their last.
Their lives echo a sobering truth:
Time is not guaranteed.
We’re not promised old age.
We’re not promised “later.”
All we truly have is now—this breath, this heartbeat, this fleeting chance.
So while you still can—
While you’re breathing, loving, living—don’t waste it waiting.
Love now. Apologize now. Forgive now. Dream now. Speak now.
Because life doesn’t always give second chances.

And sometimes… “next time” never comes.

What I Have Now Is Worth Everything I Lost

In the middle of the day, I paused—just briefly—from the endless reports, a growing pile of communication letters, and that manual that's been sitting untouched because, honestly, my brain just refused to function. Haayyss.

Earlier this morning, a thought crossed my mind. The idea of being in a long-term relationship where your present love feels like it could never match the intensity of what you had before. I reflected on it deeply. I realized—there really are different kinds of love. Some are wild and consuming. Others are quiet but grounding. And not all couples are connected deeply; some stay just because they’re available, because there’s no choice, because it’s convenient—or worse, because they love someone who no longer loves them back.

We all learn the hardest lessons in the most unimaginable ways. At first, it tears you apart. The pain is unbearable. It crushes you until you finally accept: hindi na talaga pwede. No matter how hard you try to fix what’s broken, some things are just beyond repair. The damage has been done. The cracks are too deep. I remember telling myself—this is the end. Because the more you hold on, the more it hurts.

There’s a picture I once saw that pushed me to finally let go. It reminded me: Don’t force what’s no longer meant to be.

Looking back now, I feel nothing. Not even a trace of what I once felt. I've even forgotten how it felt to love in that way. And that’s okay. Because if those things hadn’t happened, I wouldn't be the person I am today. I wouldn't have discovered my capacity to love—fully, fearlessly, and freely.

God gave me the space and grace to love myself first. That’s what allowed me to pour so much more into my present. This—what I have now—is beautifully made. Because today, I’m no longer living from pride, no longer protecting myself from pain at all costs. I’ve softened. I’ve grown. I’ve learned to live with purpose.

Before, I used to think of myself first—I had to. I was in survival mode. But today, I think of my person first. This love? It’s real. It’s pure. It’s selfless. I am at my best, and this love brings out even better in me.

Maybe this is the love I was always searching for before, but couldn’t find—because I wasn’t yet the person who was ready to receive it. I was still becoming. And now that I am here, I can love deeper, stronger, and more fearlessly.

Now, I take risks with love—without hesitation. I don’t even entertain the thought of losing, because I am all in. I want to win with what I have now. I’ve never been this sure of my feelings. It’s a wholehearted yes, every single day.

And so today, and every day forward, I promise:

To give more of myself,

To stay present,

To remain intentional,

To keep choosing this love,

And to become even better—not just for myself, but for us.

Because what I have now isn’t just love.

It’s home.

It’s peace.

It’s my best chapter yet—and I’m writing it with you. 

From This 12th to the Next

 It’s never that I run out of words—it’s just that sometimes, I don’t know how to arrange them the way my heart feels them. All the things I’ve been wanting to say today, on the 12th… the things I’ve carried with me for the past two months… they’re all here, overflowing, like I’ve loved you for years already.

It’s too early, maybe. But my heart has never been this sure. This kind of feeling—this deep, steady pull toward you—I would choose it in a hundred lifetimes, across a hundred worlds, in every version of reality. I would always find you… and I would always choose you.

I don’t love you just for your best. I want to love you in your worst, too—especially in your worst. If there’s one thing life and love have taught me, it’s this: real love doesn’t only shine when things are beautiful. Real love stays when the lights go out. When you’re tired, when you feel like you’ve run out of strength, I want to be there. When you’re not at your best, I want to stay—not out of duty, but because I love you through and through.

Let’s choose that kind of love—the kind that fights, stays, and grows even through the storms. That’s the kind of love I want with you. That’s what I promise to give.

Looking back, I wasn’t searching for love. I wasn’t looking for you. But then you came… right when I was finally ready. Ready to believe in what my heart truly wanted. And in these two short months, you’ve changed me. You’ve helped me see parts of myself I never knew existed—and that, to me, is the most beautiful kind of love: the one that helps you grow.

I thank God it’s you. I really do. He wrote a story for us that I never imagined—one I couldn’t have written myself. It feels a little magical, doesn’t it? Funny, too. And yet there’s something about you, about us, that I can’t explain. I just know it’s real. I just know… I love you. In the deepest way I know how.

And more than anything, I want you to stay. Not just in this lifetime, but in every lifetime that follows. Through all the seasons. Through all the changes. You are my constant.

My favorite person. My kakulitan, my kainisan, sometimes my kaaway—but always, always my kakampi.

I love you, Babi. Always.

A Team Building That Turned Into Something More

 Team building, November 2024. Everyone was buzzing with excitement, catching up after years of not seeing each other. The entire department had been apart for so long that the energy felt like a reunion—people were greeting each other with loud laughs, warm hugs, and stories that spanned years. It was chaotic in the best way.

As for me? I was physically present but mentally drifting elsewhere. I had just finished my dissertation proposal defense and was still processing everything—still in awe of joining the audit team, with the pressure of the upcoming audit report hanging over me. And to top it off, that same week, I had a family trip to Davao. It was hectic. It was overwhelming. It was... life happening all at once.

Despite the noise, the laughter, the music, and the fun retros happening around me, I found myself seated in the middle of the crowd, scrolling through my phone. Detached. Zoned out. Until something—or rather, someone—snapped me out of it.

I stood up and turned around, almost bumping into a person. We didn’t physically collide, but our eyes did. And in that brief 5-second moment, it felt like the world paused. A strange, almost cinematic kind of stillness. There was no introduction, no words spoken—just our eyes locked in what felt like an eternity inside a single second.

I shook my head awkwardly and walked away quickly, internally screaming:

“Sheeett! Who was that?! I didn’t even say hi. That was so awkward! Kahiya!”

The room was packed, but all I could think of was that encounter.

What just happened?

Why did it feel so significant? Why did my heart skip like that over a stranger’s eyes?

The next day at breakfast, I saw the person again, but I couldn’t recognize her fully. Instead, I randomly asked someone, "What happened to her?" And they told me, “Her dog died.” I quietly responded in my thoughts, “Ohh... I see.” There was a sense of empathy. A feeling of being drawn to her, though I still couldn’t explain why.

Later that day, at the reception area for our adventure tour, I spotted her again. I felt the same pull. The same magnetic energy. Yet, I still couldn’t confirm if she was the one I had that surreal eye contact with the day before. But the feeling wouldn’t leave me.

Now, looking back, it’s wild how I remember that moment so vividly. I didn’t even need to convince myself it happened—it etched itself in me like a memory carved by fate. And somehow, I knew it wasn’t random. That kind of moment? It wasn’t nothing. It was something.

Fast forward to March 2025—Audit Week for one of our branches. I had no clue that she—yes, the same person—was there. I didn’t realize it immediately, but there was something unmistakably familiar about her. It was a quiet recognition. A soul memory.

And then, life surprised me in the most beautiful way. A month later, this person—whose eyes once stopped my world for five seconds—became my favorite part of every single day.

She became my person. The one who sees me beyond words. Who understands my silence. Who walks with me through every version of myself.

Now when I look back, I ask myself:

How did the universe do that?

I wasn’t even looking. I wasn’t searching for love. I was busy building myself—my career, my goals, my healing, my faith. I was chasing wholeness on my own.

But maybe that’s what made it the right time. Maybe the universe was just waiting for me to stop searching—so that it could finally give me what was always meant for me.

And now I know—this was the missing piece.

The moment. The person. The love I didn’t expect.

Right time. Right person. Right everything.

Because sometimes, the universe writes the best stories when you’re not even holding the pen.