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.

The Kind of Loss

 It’s the fear of losing someone again—but this time, it’s not through death. It’s a different kind of loss, one that demands I give up pieces of myself in the process. No matter how much I try to think it through or prepare for it, the truth is: we never really know how much pain we’ll feel until we’re right there in the middle of it.

What’s ironic is that I’ve spent so long being guarded. I’ve built walls, protected myself from hurt—whether from family, friends, or people I’ve loved. I thought that would make me safe. But breaking a heart, even your own, is never easy. No amount of preparation, no amount of past experience, can ever make it less painful. No one is truly brave enough to face heartbreak head-on.

Lately, I’ve been overwhelmed by all these thoughts and emotions. It feels like I’m laying all my cards on the table, and it’s terrifying. A part of me wants to retreat, to hold back—but I can’t. I’ve found a kind of love that’s real enough for me to move forward and believe in. And the deeper it goes, the more vulnerable I become—the more it hurts.

It’s not about labels. It’s not about how others see us. It’s about knowing each other’s soul. That’s what matters.

People have always seen me as the tough one, the hard one—not easy to deal with, maybe even hard to love. And honestly? That’s true. My toughness is the armor I’ve worn since I lost my mother. Being hard was how I coped with the pain. I didn’t allow softness in. But today, I feel it. I feel myself breaking. I’m more emotionally sensitive than I’ve ever been. Who would have thought?

Love has changed me. Pain has reshaped me. I wasn’t even looking for it—but somehow, love found me.

When Silence Becomes Too Loud

 I woke up as early as 5:15 AM and couldn’t go back to sleep. My mind has been racing—and this time, it's not just my mind. It’s my heart too. Everything feels tangled. I don’t even know how to compartmentalize it all anymore. Maybe because, for the first time in a long while, I’m not just thinking—I’m feeling.

Lately, I’ve been asking myself hard questions: What am I doing? How am I really doing? Where am I going? There’s so much swirling inside me, and I don't remember ever being this emotionally sensitive. I didn’t even want to admit it at first. I’ve always been the tough one—resilient in all things, through all seasons. But today feels different.

I don’t know what I’m trying to convince myself of anymore. I’m tired of lying to myself. Everything started shifting around the first week of April 2025. That’s when the questions crept in: Am I confused? Bored? Curious? Or is it all of the above? Day by day, the weight has been getting heavier.

I’ve been discovering parts of myself I never paid attention to before. And now I wonder: what parts of me am I still willing to share with the world? With the people around me? Society can be harsh—it teaches us to silence ourselves. And here I am again, retreating inward. But this time, it’s not because of others. It’s about me. About what I’m feeling.

I keep asking myself: What am I still afraid to say to someone whose intention is to love me? To truly see my soul and hear even my silence? It’s not easy. It’s not simple. I don’t even know where to start—or where it will all lead.

This is a battle I haven’t faced in a long time: the battle between me, myself, and I. And honestly, these are the things I’ve never really talked about. I didn’t want to. I told myself it was okay—“ganon talaga.” But it’s not.

Because when something feels real—when you know exactly where you want to go, when someone comes along who sees your softness and chooses to stay—why does it still feel so hard?

Maybe because being vulnerable doesn’t get easier, even when it’s right. Maybe because when love is genuine, it demands honesty—not just with them, but with ourselves too.

Middle of a Busy Day

 Even in the middle of a hectic day, I found myself thinking deeply. I was tired—mentally and physically—and for a moment, all I wanted was to rest my mind. Just to pause and feel the things I’m grateful for today.

There’s really so much to be thankful for.

While reviewing patient diagnoses and client cases, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own journey. I’ve carried my own cross when it comes to health. Honestly, I didn’t manage it well before—stress often took over, and I rarely took a day off to care for myself. But somewhere in the middle of it all, God whispered, “It’s time to see life’s beauty.”

That quiet moment made me realize that being constantly busy without taking time for God and for myself isn’t really living. He made me rethink so many things—things I had overlooked, things I needed to change.

As I return to my work—doing interviews, checking documents and requirements—I’ve come to call this season the "groundwork" of my calling. Each file I read, each story I come across, reminds me of how tough life can be. And yet, despite the pain and limitations, especially when financial help is scarce, people still push through. They fight. They survive. That alone makes me want to silently pray for every individual whose name crosses my desk.

It reminds me to reflect every day—not just on what’s wrong or missing, but on what we do have. The truth is, we have far more reasons to be grateful than to complain. Many of these people aren’t complaining. They’re simply doing their best to make it through the day.

Life is short—that’s true. But it feels even shorter when we fail to live it well. On the other hand, when we embrace each day fully, there are no regrets. We live beyond what we thought was possible.

Even in the hardest moments, life remains beautiful. It all depends on how we choose to see it. And often, while we’re hoping for just one flower to bloom, God is already preparing a whole garden for us.

Quietly and All at Once

From Me to Wey

In the middle of all the chaos and noise, I find myself here—finally trying to say what my heart has been holding in since the beginning.

From the start, there was something about you that felt familiar, almost like I’d known you in another time, another life. It was as if a part of me had been with you all along… we just hadn’t crossed paths yet. Maybe the universe waited until we were both a little more whole—until the timing was just right. Not when we were broken, but when we were ready to understand what something real could feel like.

Looking back, I remember being hesitant. I wasn’t even comfortable with how things began. It was unexpected and unplanned. I had so much on my plate, too much going on, and yet—there you were. And somehow, everything just flowed. Effortlessly. Naturally. It caught me off guard.

Sometimes I look back and ask myself, “How did this happen? Why did it happen?” And honestly… “Shaks!” How did I miss this? How did I almost miss you?

You struck something in me that made me pause. For the first time in a long time, I paused. I reflected. You made me feel something deep and grounding, like I needed to stop and finally take in what was unfolding in front of me. Who would’ve thought?

You bring out a version of me that I should’ve embraced a long time ago. Being with you feels like time slows down—in the best way. A day feels like a month, not because it drags, but because it's full. Peaceful. Present. Everything you said felt so sincere, and that’s why I didn’t hesitate to give it a chance. It was nothing like what I was used to. At first, it was all curiosity and confusion, but slowly, it became something real. You made it real.

And what surprises me most is how unguarded I am with you. I always thought I’d be the first to put up a wall, to walk away, or to overthink and block someone out before they could even try. But with you, I didn’t. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t doubt. I let it happen. And everything changed from there.

You awakened parts of me that I’d forgotten. For that, I’m deeply grateful. You’ve calmed me, softened me, changed me in ways no one else ever could. Maybe you’ve always been the person I was longing for—but it just wasn’t the right time.

You’ve shown me what it means to be truly seen, truly heard, and deeply loved. I love you, Jewey! :) 

In the Chaos, I Found Calm

My heart and mind are full—overflowing, even. There’s so much I want to say about my personal journey, but I haven't quite found the right words. Maybe it's because there’s simply so much happening all at once.

Life has a quiet way of teaching us things—often through the people we never expected to meet. Sometimes, without searching or asking, someone arrives just when you need them the most. And it’s true: they come not when you're ready, but when your soul needs them—often at the most unexpected place and time.

I wasn’t even being kind to myself back then. I was chasing something greater, constantly trying to meet everyone’s expectations, always striving for more. In the process, I forgot what it meant to simply live, to breathe, to be present. And then you came—calmly, gently—reminding me that it’s okay to slow down. That life is meant to be felt, not just survived.

What we have might not be conventional, but for me, it's everything. It's the kind of "different" that feels right. The kind of "unexpected" that feels like home. You've helped me rediscover parts of myself I thought I had lost—tamed the storm in me, brought calm to my chaos, and allowed me to feel what it means to depend on someone without fear.

From the very beginning, my heart whispered: you’ll never know until you try. So I did. And not for one second have I regretted it.

I’ve never been good at saying thank you—not in the deep, sincere way I wish I could. I’ve always been the one who gives, who listens, who holds space for others. But with you, Wey, I want to try. Because you deserve to be seen, too. And I want the world to know how deeply grateful I am for you.

Thank you...

– For being a "let’s fix it together" kind of person, not a "think whatever you want" one.

– For saying "I was wrong, I’m sorry" and meaning it—not brushing things off with a passive "okay, I am."

– For choosing "I love being with you" over a distant "stay if you want."

– For asking "tell me what you need" rather than withdrawing behind "I don’t know what you expect from me."

– For responding to my rough days with "what can I do to help?" and not dismissing it with "we all have problems."

– For appreciating even the little things I do with "thank you" instead of "that’s the least you could do."

– For listening with "I hear you" instead of shutting me down with "you're going to start again?"

– For being willing to grow and say "I can adjust so we’re both okay" instead of "you have to get used to it."

You’ve shown me that love can be gentle. That it can be safe. That I don’t always have to carry everything alone.

And so, even if I haven’t found all the words yet, this is me trying. This is me saying thank you. And this is me letting the world know that something real, something grounding, something good—is here. And I am grateful beyond words.

When Everything Feels Too Much, I Write

 Lately, I’ve had so many thoughts running through my mind. It’s overwhelming. But I’m trying to start fresh—by writing everything down. I hope that one day, when I look back, I can remember how all of this felt. Writing has always been my way of expressing what I struggle to say out loud.

With all the workload piling up, my mental health has started to break down. I remember a psychologist once asked me, “Do you have a journal to track your progress?” I didn’t, but now I think this might be it—my way of healing. Putting my thoughts into words helps me reflect, and maybe one day I’ll see how far I’ve come.

At the same time, I’m growing in many aspects of my life—professionally, emotionally, and spiritually. I’m learning to rebuild relationships within my family and give more quality time when it matters. Reconnecting with my spiritual journey has given me clarity, and for a while, it felt like things were slowly falling back into place.

But then, there’s my dissertation. It feels like the one thing holding me back—the heartbreak I haven’t quite healed from. I’m no longer trying to prove anything to anyone, yet this unfinished dream weighs heavy on me.

There came a point when I had to pause that dream. It burned me out. For four long months, I felt drained. And it hit me even harder when I saw my batchmates graduate in May 2025—while I didn’t. That was a painful moment. I know it was my failure to manage time well. I’m not here to complain, but I can’t help feeling like time slipped through my fingers.

Still, I hold on to hope. I choose to believe that in His time, God will make all things beautiful according to His will.

Burnout turned into procrastination, and my mind feels exhausted from the endless cycle of writing progress reports, narratives, assessments, audits—everything, all at once. But here I am, trying again. Writing. Processing. Healing.

What I Couldn’t Say Last Night

 I’ve decided to let my thoughts out again—there are just so many of them, all tangled up and overwhelming. It’s hard to write them down, even harder to speak them aloud.

It feels a little awkward that you—the person I now share my life with—had to read blog posts I wrote a year ago. Those posts were written in a different chapter of my life, one filled with pain, confusion, and a mess I thought I'd long buried.

This time, things are different. We're no longer strangers to each other. So when I saw your face last night as you read those words, I realized I should’ve looked more closely at how it made you feel. The hurt. The jealousy. The confusion. And you know what? I get it. Because if roles were reversed, I might’ve felt the same.

I can't justify those feelings, nor should I. They're real, valid, and I recognize them. It was never my intention to stir old emotions or create discomfort. But unintentionally, I think I did. And that thought worries me.

It was an awkward moment—one where I couldn’t just reach out, hug you, kiss you, and tell you that all of that is already in the past. Forgotten. Buried. The truth is, when I read those words now, I feel nothing. I barely even remember how I felt when I wrote them.

WEY:

I can’t erase who I was or the things I’ve been through. I can’t undo the past or pretend those moments never existed. But what I can do is show you what I’ve learned from them—that every mistake, every wound, every experience helped shape the person I’ve become today.

The beginning of us wasn’t easy for me. It felt uncertain, even uncomfortable at times. I had so many questions in my mind—about where I was heading, whether I was ready to let someone in, or if I was even capable of love again.

I wasn’t looking for anyone. I wasn’t searching for love, not even a second chance. My focus was on myself—my growth, my career, my goals. Then you came along… and everything changed.

Suddenly, the idea of “us” didn’t feel like a distraction. It felt like purpose.

There are things I never thought I could do—emotional leaps I thought I wasn't capable of. But with you, I’ve done them. And more than that, I wanted to do them. Not to prove my love to you, but to prove to myself that I can love fully and even better than before.

Even if our beginning was unconventional—even if I had to shift the very foundation of what I thought I wanted—loving you feels natural.

There are so many things I never did for anyone before, and now, they come so easily with you. There’s no fear. No doubts. No second-guessing. You’ve made me braver. You’ve made everything feel lighter.

I know storms will come. Life will throw its chaos at us. But this time, I don’t want to be behind you, watching you face it all alone. I want to be right beside you, holding your hand through everything.

I don’t worry about things falling apart—not because I’m afraid of another heartbreak—but because I can’t afford to lose someone like you.

You are rare.

You saw me—my soul—in ways no one ever has.

My personal numbness

 There were times—maybe even now—when I’d catch myself wondering how it feels to be hurt again. To be in pain. And then I'd stop myself and say, “God, no!” But the truth is, I’ve carried so much for so long that sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is on me. I’ve felt it so deeply that eventually, I went numb.

I remember how I used to react to things—especially when my sister would tell me what relatives were saying about us. My response used to be, “WTF?” I’d take everything seriously, let it consume me. But somewhere along the way, I just stopped caring. I stopped reacting. Whatever people said, even those closest to me—it didn’t matter anymore. I carried my life alone. If I got sick, so be it. If I was in pain, then so be it. Angry? Fine. I didn’t care. I just didn’t give a damn.

All I did was focus—on studying, working, and teaching. Those things grounded me, helped me survive in a world that once terrified me. I used to be so afraid to face life. I lived in the shadows of expectations until I burned out. And then, I felt nothing.

At one point, I started to worry: why couldn’t I feel anything anymore? Why didn’t I care? Why did love and empathy feel like distant memories? Then I remembered—when my niece was born, I smiled for the first time in months. I held her in my arms, and for a fleeting moment, I felt something again. When she would reach out to sleep beside me, when my sister and brother-in-law would leave her in my care—I saw something in that tiny human. A glimpse of beauty. A reason to keep going. Life still had meaning, even if I had forgotten how to see it.

I didn’t hate the world; I just didn’t want to feel anymore. I had gone through so many rough times all at once that I couldn’t process it all—not in my head, not in my heart. I had been strong for so long. Too strong. I poured myself into achieving something, anything, just so no one could look down on us ever again. I didn’t want to succeed to prove others wrong—I wanted to rise so I could lift others up too.

I thought I had already made it through the worst. But now I’m realizing maybe this is just the beginning.

Back in college, I had a self-development class. I remember breaking down—not with visible tears, but with a silent scream no one heard. It was one of those moments where I let it all out because I had to. And it helped. It helped me grow. Pain does that. It changes people. It can either destroy you or shape you—it’s all in how you choose to carry it.

Now, here I am again—with so much on my plate. I try to check in with myself, but I don’t know what’s missing. I don’t know what will help me heal. I’m trying. Really, I am. But it never feels like it’s enough. Not for anyone else—but not even for myself.

I want a break. But not like before—not the kind of break that came at the cost of my health. That kind of break changed me completely. And yes, things got better after that. But here I am again—feeling scared by the stop-and-start of my dreams.

Still, I try. Every single day, I try to be better. To cope. To live—day by day.