I Was Wondering Maybe...

Happy New Year everyone! It’s noisy out here! ♥️ Despite of all the noise around, I’m doing a movie marathon of LOTR and The Hobbit. Hope you’re having a blast tonight! 💗

Any good series recommendations besides Reacher?

Why People in Relationships Who Stay in the Dating Pool Are the Worst 🙄🙄🙄

Let’s get one thing straight: if you’re already in a relationship and still lurking in the dating pool, you’re playing with fire—and not in the fun, adventurous way. You’re deliberately hurting people, and no matter how you spin it, that’s just plain selfish.

For starters, relationships are built on trust. When someone chooses to be with you, they’re committing their time, emotions, and often a big part of their life to you. By keeping one foot in the dating world, you’re betraying that trust. It’s dishonest and manipulative. You’re leading people on, both your partner and anyone you’re flirting with in the dating scene, giving them false hope or expectations.

It's not just about hurting your partner either. The people you’re chatting up on dating apps or meeting through other channels? They're being deceived too. No one enters the dating pool thinking they’re going to be someone’s backup plan or side fling. Most people are there hoping to build something genuine, and by pretending to be available, you’re wasting their time and energy—time they could be using to find someone who's actually emotionally and physically available.

Then there’s the emotional damage you're causing. People who discover their partner is still dating on the side often end up with trust issues, insecurities, and emotional scars that last long after the relationship ends. You’re not just making a mistake in the moment; you’re causing long-term harm to others.

Being in the dating pool while in a relationship is an act of selfishness. It shows a lack of respect for your partner and for the people you're stringing along. If you're unhappy in your current relationship or seeking something new, the mature and respectful thing to do is end things before involving other people. Otherwise, you're just proving you don’t value honesty, loyalty, or the feelings of those around you.

In short, if you’re in a relationship and still trying to date, you're acting like an asshole. It’s toxic, harmful, and deeply disrespectful to everyone involved. Do better. 💅

Life sucks.

And i wanna sleep.

Don't know if I should fight or fly.

This summer, I’m heading to Iloilo... alone. My best friend was supposed to join me, but she has important things to take care of, and I don’t want to get in the way.

I’ve already envisioned all the things I want to do in Iloilo. Plus, I’ll be attending a wedding in Capiz, which makes me even more excited for the trip!

This isn't because of insomnia, it's the trauma.

I was watching a Netflix feature on the Old Testament book of Exodus today when my son burst in, looked at the screen, and asked, "What are you watching?" I told him, thinking that would be the end of it. Nope. A while later, he casually dropped some knowledge about Exodus 10:13 like a tiny theologian. I had to look it up just to keep up. Kid’s putting me to shame over here!

It was 2021, and I had just come out of a relationship with someone who was extremely possessive. It was like I could finally breathe again. For the first time in years, I felt free—free to hold my phone without constantly glancing over my shoulder, free to choose what I wanted to wear, free to spend time with friends, and attend parties without the weight of someone else’s control. It was empowering.

But that freedom didn’t come without its struggles. In the first few months of being on my own, I was hit with a wave of anxiety and uncertainty. I had been so used to someone else dictating my life that I didn’t know how to fully navigate it on my own. It was a strange feeling—after fighting so hard to get out of a relationship that stifled me, I found myself a little lost.

No longer having someone control me was a relief, but it also meant I had to adjust to taking responsibility for everything myself. The simple things I’d once been comfortable letting him handle were now on me. It was daunting, but I reminded myself that I’d fought for this freedom. I wasn’t going to let the discomfort pull me back into old habits.

One of the hardest parts was getting back online and socializing again. I had fallen off the radar for almost two years—no social media posts, no updates, nothing. So when I finally reappeared on Facebook, my friends were shocked. The first messages I received were along the lines of, "Wow, where have you been?!" They were right—two years is a long time to go dark.

Reconnecting wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. I struggled to respond to messages and reach out to people. It was like I had forgotten how to socialize after being isolated for so long. I felt out of place, like I didn’t quite belong in the world I’d left behind. I wanted to rekindle friendships, but I was afraid. Afraid of rejection, afraid of the awkwardness, and afraid of not being the same person they used to know.

But little by little, I’m finding my way back. It hasn’t been smooth or easy, but I’m learning to embrace this new chapter of independence. Every day, I remind myself that this journey is mine to navigate, and no matter how slow the progress, I’m moving forward.

There’s something irresistible about seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, isn’t there? The way everything glows with possibility, how hope somehow softens reality’s harsh edges. I’ve always been that person—the one who walks straight into the fire, not quite realizing until it’s too late that I’m bound to get burned.

When I meet someone new, be it a friend or a lover, I’m quick to embrace the beauty in them. I’m captivated by their quirks, their charm, their flaws that I somehow convince myself I can fix. It’s as though I’m spellbound by the idea that, despite what everyone else sees, this connection is different. "No," I think, "they don’t understand." And while the people around me see warning signs flashing like bright neon lights, I remain oblivious, wrapped in the fantasy I’ve built around this person or situation.

Perhaps it’s my unwavering belief in the good in people, or maybe it’s the romantic in me that refuses to let go of the narrative that love, friendship, or loyalty can conquer all. Others whisper in my ear, gentle but firm, “Can’t you see? This is going to hurt you.” But their words are like smoke in the wind—there one moment, gone the next—unable to penetrate the dream I’m living in.

Time and time again, I find myself drawn to those whose hearts are closed off, whose intentions aren’t pure, or whose presence in my life is anything but good for me. Yet, I stay. I convince myself that if I just hold on a little longer, the tide will turn, the light will shine through the cracks, and things will change. I remain, steadfast in my denial, until—inevitably—the story crumbles, and the weight of reality hits me like a wave.

And then, there’s the aftermath. The unraveling of everything I thought I knew, the sudden clarity that leaves me breathless, wondering how I didn’t see it all along. It’s a bittersweet symphony, really—this constant cycle of falling for the wrong people, making excuses, ignoring the inevitable, only to be left standing in the ruins of what could have been.

But I suppose that’s the price of seeing the world in a way that others don’t. I chase after the dream, the ideal, the promise of something beautiful, even if it’s fleeting. And though it often leaves me with scars, there’s something tragically romantic about the fact that I’m willing to risk the fall. Because deep down, I believe that one day, amidst all the red flags I so easily ignore, I’ll find something real, something worth holding on to.

Until then, I’ll continue to stumble blindly through the mess, still hopeful, still searching, and still seeing the world with those rose-colored glasses—until they finally shatter.

Good night!