𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓟𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓼

Patrick asked me over dinner, "How satisfied are you with your life right now, mahal?" As a girly who compartmentalizes everything,  I obviously had to clarify first. I asked, "In general? Or for every aspect of my life?" In general, I am very satisfied.  I'm at a point in my life where I can provide for my loved ones. We can do our groceries without looking at the prices of the things we put in our cart. I'm able to share the overflow with our friends and family. We can buy things we want without feeling guilty about splurging once in a while. Being able to do these things feels really good because I know how much work it took for me to get here.  It's not even really about being able to afford things. It's about the feeling of being able to give without worrying if I'll have enough left for myself. To be in a position where I can say, "go let's get it", without having to overthink it. That kind of abudance is something I'm gen...

We live in a world that is obsessed with presentation. Every day, we scroll through feeds filled with lifestyles and creative projects that look effortless. It is completely natural to see someone doing something beautiful, whether it is painting, baking, or starting a blog, and feel a spark of inspiration. Most of the time, that kind of imitation is just a normal part of life. But there is a sharp line between being inspired by someone and trying to mirror their identity. When we pick up a hobby, a style, or a voice simply because we saw someone else get attention for it, things get complicated. You cannot fake a real connection to a craft. Genuine interest is built over a long time through personal memories, history, and real curiosity. When someone tries to replicate the outer shell of someone else’s creative outlet without having that same internal drive, the project eventually starts to feel empty. That empty feeling is exactly where the trouble starts. When people realize they ca...

Adulthood has a weird way of handing us a scorecard the moment we cross the threshold. We are taught to measure our value by a rigid checklist of ages and titles. If you hit a milestone at nineteen, people call you a prodigy. If you land a specific job by twenty-three, you are labeled a success. We are constantly pressured to compare our speed to everyone else, as if life were a sprint with just one finish line. For a while, I let those external metrics make me question my own direction. Don't get me wrong, if you've achieved all of these early on, I'm happy for you. You got there because of your hardwork. In school, I always knew my potential. I graduated high school as the Valedictorian of my batch and earned a scholarship at MSU-IIT, which is a place that demands a lot from its students. But as life moved forward into my twenties, my timeline started to look different from the people around me. I finished my degree at my own pace at age 26, and in a completely different ...

Out of boredom, I asked AI to generate some writing prompts for me. It has been a while since I wrote anything here, and I really wanted to give my mind a little exercise. The system gave me a lot of suggestions, but one specifically caught my eye: Describe your perfect rainy day. I figured it would be interesting to look at this through different phases of my life When I was a kid, back around 2007 to 2009, a rainy day meant sitting right by our window to watch the pitter-patter on the glass. We were living in a small subdivision at the time. My late mommy Belen absolutely loved flowers and plants, so whenever it rained, I made sure to sit there and watch her garden get watered by the downpour. Looking back, this is probably the reason why I recharge in isolation and love silence. That was basically my childhood. My family was never really sociable, and we kept to ourselves most of the time. Socializing is actually an aspect of my life that I am still actively working on in adulthood....

I honestly don't know where and how to start with this blog entry. I am rambling incomplete thoughts and broken sentences this week in my journal because I can't contain my emotions.  How should I start this? I asked myself. It's 7:30 AM and I am typing away my thoughts at work. Earlier today, I was journaling at 4:20 AM, and I asked God, "Lord, why do I feel this way towards my work? Why do I feel dissatisfied? Why do I feel impatient towards the job that gives me income and is funding my travels, hobbies, my stomach, and munchkin's needs? A job that placed us in a privileged state -- a roof over our heads, 24/7. A spacious apartment for me and my sister to live in. Clothes to wear, gadgets to feel connected to the world, shoes to protect my feet from blisters and calluses, and among other things - this job helped me get my diploma." Then I came across a post on Threads, they quoted Jodi Sta. Maria, a Filipina actress, "I am tired but I have to be gratef...

Listening to Olivia Rodrigo’s Honeybee , I found myself thinking about how rare and fragile human connection really is. It’s not just about being in the same room, or sharing the same silence, it’s about one soul reaching out to another, and being met with recognition. Love, when stripped of its illusions, is presence. It is not ownership, not control, not the attempt to mold another into your image. It’s the way someone sees you, not as a puzzle to solve, but as a whole being to embrace. To be known deeply, and still chosen, is the kind of intimacy that binds two people beyond circumstance. It’s about the invisible thread that ties you to another person, reminding you that you are not alone in this vast, chaotic world. When someone knows your rhythms, your pauses, your unspoken words, that’s when love becomes more than feeling. It becomes understanding. And yet, connection is fragile. It asks for vulnerability, for the courage to be seen without armor. It’s terrifying to let someone w...

I once agreed with the thought that letting go is the final act of love, because love is never about possession. Loving someone and loving yourself are different, but both ask for acceptance. Acceptance is peace, knowing you can give your whole heart, hold on to make it work, and still let go when it becomes too heavy. When people say letting go is the final act of love, they’re pointing to the truth that love isn’t about possession. You don’t own someone; you share a part of life with them. And when holding on starts to hurt more than it heals, letting go becomes a way of honoring both yourself and the person you love. But acceptance is what makes that letting go possible. It’s the recognition that you gave your whole heart, you tried, and now you choose peace over struggle. Acceptance doesn’t mean the love was wasted — it means the love was real, and it shaped you into who you are right now. I’ve always believed love isn’t about ownership, it’s about presence. To love someone is to w...

I finished Obsession and it had me gripping for what’s coming next. It’s not the kind of horror that lets you off easy — the suffocating feeling clung to me all throughout the movie. Nikki is the one I pity the most. Her obsession isn’t loud or obvious at first; it’s quiet, invasive, and then suddenly overwhelming. The scene where Bear asked if her father had cancer, and everything that followed, scared the hell out of me. Watching her spiral felt like watching someone unravel in real time, and it made me think about how love can slip into control when boundaries collapse. https://ph.pinterest.com/pin/1141592205570242515/ Bear, on the other hand, is painfully human. His desperation to be loved, to be noticed by Nikki, to bend reality just to keep her close, it’s tragic and sickening. I kind of love that he got what he deserved after bewitching Nikki into seeing him through a romantic lens. That choice, the “One Wish Willow,” is what led him to realize that being obsessed with someone...

There are instances when I notice the little things: the tone of someone’s voice, the way they show (or don’t show) care. Lately, I’ve been feeling under the weather, and in that state of quiet observation, I found myself watching the people I spend time with. I suppose I could call them my friends now. Human as we are, we make mistakes and mishaps . Sometimes, they’re not as mindful as I expect them to be — not in the same way I try to be mindful whenever I sense someone needs help or an extra dose of TLC. And maybe that’s just human nature: to be selfish, or at least unaware. A small example: I wasn’t offered a seat during lunch. I stood while waiting for my food yo be ready, and it was fine, the table was tall enough for me to eat comfortably. But deep inside, I felt a pang of disappointment. The empty chair was right next to my friend, and I suppose she didn’t notice me standing. The tricky part is that not everyone has the same sensitivity or awareness. Some people — like me — exp...

This year I challenged myself to read 25 books, and I’ve just finished my 14th. If Cats Disappeared from the World by Genki Kawamura was a short, poignant read that I devoured in less than 24 hours. It’s a story about loss, love, and the bargains we make with time. The narrator’s deal with the devil — trading away things from the world in exchange for more days to live — forces us to confront what truly matters. The simplicity of the prose carries a surprising emotional weight; each disappearance feels like a mirror reflecting our own attachments. As a cat mom, the thought of a world without cats struck me deeply. The book isn’t really about cats alone, but about the irreplaceable threads, things, and even people that gives meaning into our lives. It left me asking myself: what would I be willing to give up, and what would I fight to keep? If I were to die sooner than expected, I imagine the things I’d surrender for a 24‑hour extension of life. My choices might look like this: Cellphon...

It was Saturday, the last of my two rest days. I woke to the pitter-patter of rain on my apartment roof, with Munchkin curled beside me — cold, a little scared of the morning downpour, but safe in our blankets.  I couldn’t fall back asleep, yet I didn’t turn on the lights. It was a cozy, gray morning, the kind that makes you want to linger longer in bed and relax for a while.  Munchkin ran across the bed, meowing at the window — her way of telling me to open the curtains. I obliged, and there she was, wide-eyed at the world outside. Her energy made me laugh, and I realized how much lighter mornings feel when the chores are already done the night before. A small discipline, a big reward: peace, and more time to redirect my energies to the activities I want to do before going back to work.  I picked up my current read, The Witch of Portobello by Paulo Coelho , scribbled in my journal, and recited my morning affirmations. The day was already starting beautifully. Hours passe...

I suddenly thought of traveling in the Visayas region again. Today is a Sunday and I am prone to daydreaming. My Spotify daily mix playlist transported me back to the time I was in Victorias City in Negros Occidental in 2017.  It was my first time crossing from island to island, and was fortunate enough to do it for free because I was with my step-grandmother. We were doing "workcation" before it became a thing. My grandfather had employed me to manage their business in Cebu, and I got the chance to hop on one of their work trips.  Strangely enough, I didn't miss home. I do miss my maternal grandmother, but I feel leaving my hometown was necessary for my growth. And surprisingly, I was right. Leaving home opened my eyes to how vast the world is. One thing I'll never forget from that trip was the night we stayed in Daanbantayan before crossing to Negros Occidental. The land trip was exhausting since we were just sitting the whole time from Lapu-Lapu. I woke up early to...

I finished my Psychology degree last year, and now I’m standing at that strange crossroads where everyone seems to have an answer for what comes next. “Review for the board exams, take the HR certification, apply for jobs in your field…” The list goes on. And yes, those things are part of my plans — someday. But right now, I’m talking about the present. The quiet, uncertain space between endings and beginnings. I don’t want to spike my cortisol by rushing through every checklist at once. I’m learning that the “in‑between” is not wasted time. It’s where I get to listen to myself, to notice what excites me, what drains me, what feels true. To notice how my shoulders loosen when I stop rushing, how my breath slows when I stop forcing clarity. It’s where I remind myself that clarity doesn’t always arrive on command. Sometimes it comes slowly, like dawn breaking. So for now, I’m choosing to sit with the pause. To trust and savor every silent mornings, and cozy nights. To believe that not ...

Why I'm No Longer a Girl's Girl I used to be one a few years back. I support all women doing whatever the fuck they want. Unfortunately, I wasn't too distinct with me being a "girl's girl" , and the version I was introduced to was too narrow. Mind you, I used to wear that label proudly.  I remember how I was so assertive about it as well — at work and in my relationships. Until I realized I was only into the positive and encouraging aspects of femininity. And in some ways, I still believe in supporting women's freedom — the right to education, the right to vote, our choices, and our voices.  Girl's girl and femininity is a double-edged sword.  Yes, we can be as supportive as we want to be, especially toward our friends. But what we don’t talk about enough is the envy and competitiveness that can exist within a friend group. The subtle comparisons, unspoken rivalries, that often go unnoticed because we're too busy performing solidarity.  Somewhere ...

There are moments when life feels like a series of waiting rooms, each minute teaching us something about patience, timing, and trust. On my second lunch break during a Friday shift, I found myself in one of those moments, watching Begin Again with Keira Knightley and (yes) The Hulk -- in human form. Kidding, of course.  Then came the train scene. A line struck me: God is always on time. He's never late or early, Just in time. I sat with that thought. It rang true to me. God doesn't rush, no does He delay. He places the right people in our lives exactly when we need them.  I used to be restless with time, always measuring the distance between what I wanted and when I would get it. There's a fragile line between waiting for something to possible and clinging to something impossible-- and I often blurred it. But I've grown. I've learned to stretch my patience, to move with intention while waiting. And in that space, I've discovered that waiting itself  has value...

I finished Priscilla , directed by Sofia Coppola (she's one of my favorite filmmakers), and I'm still sitting with the weight of it. The film showed us a glimpse into Priscilla and Elvis's marriage, but what it really reveals is the hollow core behind the most prestigious and controversial marriage.  At first, I wondered if what they had was just limerence, you know, just a fleeting teenage obsession. But in interviews and memoirs, both claimed they were in love. And yet Priscilla herself says in the film, "we were living separate lives." I neither see nor felt romance in the movie, I get it-- maybe it was the way how the story was portrayed  and all. But all I see is a little girl obsessed with an older man, a rockstar to be exact. I saw an emotionally abusive and  controlling man, and a loveless marriage.  Don't get me wrong, sometimes love can really consume us if we let it. Unfortunately, for this girl, she lets it. Leaving everything behind in Germany to ...

Directed by Sofia Coppola I just finished The Virgin Suicides two nights ago, and it left me in a melancholic mood. I am haunted by the hazy atmosphere of the movie, the dreamlike portrayal, and the isolation of the Lisbon girls, as well as the way the boys next door narrate and recall the girls and their tragic ending. The boys’ narration reminds me that memory can be both tender and cruel, most especially to me! They describe the girls in a way that makes them appear hauntingly mysterious, almost mythical, and I found myself perceiving them as angels suspended in time. Lux Lisbon’s eyes, as seen through the boys’ memories, embody this paradox. Their gaze freezes the sisters into symbols of beauty and longing rather than full human beings. The girls were denied the chance to live ordinary lives, and in the boys’ recollections, they are denied the chance to be understood deeply. The Lisbon parents believed they were protecting their daughters by shielding them from the dangers of the ...

I just finished watching Turtles All the Way Down , the movie adaptation of John Green’s novel. The story follows Aza Holmes, a teenager living with OCD, whose intrusive thoughts often spiral into endless loops. At its heart, the film isn’t just about solving a mystery, it’s about Aza’s struggle to navigate friendship, love, and identity while living with a mind that constantly questions reality. As a psychology graduate, I found it fascinating how John Green captured the lived experience of OCD. Clinically, OCD is defined by two main features: (1) Obsessions - unwanted, intrusive thoughts, images, or urges that cause distress. These includes fears of contamination, doubts, or seeking reassurance. Then we have, (2) Compulsions - repetitive behaviors or mental rituals performed to reduce anxiety, such as checking, cleaning, counting, or seeking reassurance.  People with OCD often recognize that their thoughts and behaviors are excessive, yet feel powerless to stop them. Research s...

Why is forgiveness treated like a moral duty, something we owe to those who have wronged us? Why does society place such heavy pressure on us to let go, to move on, to release the pain — even when the wound is still fresh, even when the apology never came? Forgiveness is often painted as the “right ” thing to do, the noble path. We’re told it’s the key to peace, to healing, to freedom. And maybe, sometimes, it is. But what if forgiveness feels impossible? What if it feels unfair? What if it feels like another burden placed on the shoulders of the one who was already hurt? There’s a quiet cruelty in the way society romanticizes forgiveness. It can make us feel guilty for holding on to anger, for protecting ourselves, for saying "no, I’m not ready" . It can silence the complexity of our emotions, reducing them to a simple binary: forgive, or remain bitter . But life isn’t that simple. Healing isn’t that linear. Forgiveness isn’t a switch we can flip just because others expect ...

Two weeks after I officially moved in to my coastal apartment, I felt bored. Bored in a sense that my life is hauntingly quiet and peaceful. I  have always prayed for this life. I begged God to give me peace and when peace came --- I didn't know how to react. I am grateful for it and I thank God for giving me peace, actually. I've resolved to find the beauty in the mundane. Yesterday, Pat and I agreed to go for a walk to the spot he recommended the day I moved in. But the plan changed and we decided to take a dip in the sea near my apartment. We talked, looked for shells (I am now collecting shells and is planning to illustrate it) , and watched the sun set. The waves were forgiving enough to console us in our woes and disappointments for this year. I’ve also started my 2026 curriculum. I curated what media to consume, what books to read, and who to be friends with. I don't have the energy and time for unnecessary silent competitions between my friends and I certainly don...