What's On Your Mind?

Don't know if I should fight or fly.

"Papa left, but this time, it’s different."

Growing up, I was incredibly close to my dad. I called him "Daddy" with so much affection, and he was always my favorite parent. Whenever I did something wrong and Mom would punish me, I’d run straight into my father’s arms for protection. Every day, when he came home from the office, my sister and I would play hide and seek. It became a ritual. As soon as we heard his car pull up, we’d hide, and the moment he walked through the door, we’d shout, "Where am I, Daddy? Find me!" He’d always play along, pretending not to see us, even when we were hiding in the most obvious spots like under the bed or beneath his writing table. Those moments were a haven of joy and laughter, the kind of memories that seem eternal in a child's heart.

He was one of my first teachers, next to my mom, and he was the first person who taught me to pray. He introduced us to the church, to God, and he was the reason I had faith. He taught me the importance of prayer and how God hears us, even if we cannot express ourselves too much, He can read our hearts. He also taught me to play musical instruments, his voice a constant guide as my fingers stumbled over the keys. In every note, every chord, there was a connection to him, a bond that felt unbreakable.

Twenty-six years ago, our family decided to move back to the Philippines. I thought Daddy was coming with us and staying for good, but he had to leave. Leaving was always painful. He told me that he had to go back to work so we could go to school, have a good life, and fulfill all those dreams he nurtured for us. I still remember crying so hard whenever my dad left, the ache in my chest as if a piece of me was being torn away. I would say a lot of prayers for him, asking God to keep him safe until he could come home again.

He would make long-distance calls once or twice a month. I really don’t remember how often, but he’d call the school to connect with us (my siblings). We would exchange “I love yous” and “I miss yous,” and the inevitable, “When will you be coming home?” But he would never give us a definite answer. Since he was calling from the school principal’s office, I was too shy to tell him exactly how I felt, too embarrassed to let him hear the depth of my longing in front of strangers. So, I kept it inside, a growing well of unspoken words.

He always came back, like he always promised me. He came home every year (?) —at least, that’s how I remember it. There was a time he didn’t come home for two or three years. The reason? I do not know. But with every absence, a part of our bond frayed, and though I tried to hold onto it, the threads began to slip through my fingers.

As I grew older, my love for him matured, but it also changed. I didn’t get as close to him as I once did. When I was a child, I used to sleep beside him, feeling safe and loved. He was my favorite parent, my hero. But as I grew up and found my own voice, we began to have disagreements. I would occasionally argue with him, and we never reconciled. I would talk to him, but I never said sorry for any misunderstandings we had. Stubbornness? Pride? I’m not sure, but I let the distance grow.

That continued for years. He was no longer the parent I adored, and I had become someone he couldn’t quite reach. I changed, and the person I became was colder, less forgiving. April arrived, and I found myself standing beside his casket, looking back and wishing I had been kinder and gentler with him while he had time. Time—my most relentless enemy. I reflected on all the chances I had wasted and desperately wished I could have them back. Despite all the shortcomings, despite the truth that had hurt us both, none of it matters now. When you lose someone, the regrets come like a flood, drowning out everything else.

I am left with memories of what was, and a deep sorrow for what could have been. If only I had known this time would be different. If only I had known that when Papa left, he would never come back.

A list of items that I take for granted, which might not be available to people in other parts of the world.

Wow. This is tough. Just thinking about it makes me realize how unappreciative I am of the little things that would mean a lot to other people if we were to trade places.

House - I own a house, though it's not entirely mine yet. This place is where my trauma began, and every visit brings back painful memories. As a result, I often find myself in other cities, feeling out of place. While I am thankful for having a house, I can't call it a home. It's a gift that I dread because of the emotions it evokes. However, through therapy, I've started to adjust and view it from a different perspective.

Food - I sometimes skip meals intentionally, driven by my concern for my weight due to scoliosis. I feel guilty about not eating regularly, knowing that many people struggle with hunger daily. I should appreciate the privilege of having food readily available and make healthier choices.

Water - Clean, running water is something I seldom think about. I can turn on the tap and expect it to be there, but many people around the world have to walk miles for access to water, and even then, it's not always safe to drink. I'm grateful for this basic necessity that's so easily accessible to me.

Electricity - From charging my phone to lighting my home, I rely on electricity every day. Power outages are rare inconveniences, whereas for some, electricity is a luxury they can't afford or only have sporadically.

Healthcare - Access to medical care is something I often take for granted. When I'm sick or need a check-up, I can see a doctor without worrying too much about the cost or availability. Many people don't have this privilege and suffer from preventable or treatable conditions due to lack of access.

Education - I had the opportunity to go to school and pursue higher education. This has opened many doors for me, but for millions of children and adults, education is out of reach due to various socioeconomic barriers.

Internet Access - The internet is an integral part of my life, providing endless information and opportunities for connection. Yet, there are many areas in the world where internet access is limited or non-existent, cutting people off from these resources.

Clothing - I have a wardrobe full of clothes for every occasion, while others have to make do with the bare minimum. Having adequate clothing for different seasons and activities is something I often overlook in terms of privilege.

Transportation - Whether it's public transit, my car, or even a bike, I have multiple options to get where I need to go. In contrast, many people have to walk long distances or rely on unreliable and unsafe transportation methods.

Safety - Living in a relatively safe neighborhood is something I take for granted. The peace of mind that comes from feeling secure in my environment is a privilege that not everyone experiences.

Freedom of Speech - I can express my opinions and beliefs without fear of persecution. This freedom is not universal, and many people live in fear of speaking out due to oppressive regimes or societal norms.

Job Opportunities - Even though I have faced setbacks and challenges in my career, I still have access to job opportunities and the ability to seek new ones. Many people struggle with unemployment or underemployment, unable to find work that provides a livable wage.

It's true that life can sometimes feel overwhelming, but taking a step back to appreciate what we have can bring a lot of peace and motivation. What are some things you're grateful for today?

Daily affirmations

I am healthy, I am wealthy, I am rich, I am that bitch I am gonna go get that bag and I am not gonna take your shit I am protected, well respected, I'm a queen, I'm a dream I do what I wanna do and I'm who I wanna be 'Cause I am me

Thanks, Flo Milli!

I mourn my youth

I mourn my youth with a sorrow that feels almost unbearable. Not because it’s gone but because I realize I never truly lived it.

I ache for all the moments I let slip by, the countless chances I ignored, thinking there’d always be more time. I regret the nights I should have spent out, surrounded by laughter and people who would have helped me feel alive. Instead, I stayed in the shadows, clinging to comfort and safety, only to find out too late that those things would cost me the memories I could never make.

I think of all the times I chose sleep over adventure, the days I kept my life small and predictable instead of going somewhere new. I missed the thrill of being spontaneous, of packing a bag and leaving without knowing where I’d end up. I missed places that could have shown me how vast and beautiful the world really is, places I’ll only ever know through the stories of others who dared to go.

And the people—I mourn them most of all. I wonder about the friendships that never had a chance to grow, the faces I never got to know because I was too scared to take a step toward them. There were probably kindred souls, people who would have understood me better than I understood myself, waiting somewhere in the world. But I kept to my familiar circle, never daring to reach out, and now they’re strangers I’ll never meet.

I look back, and it’s almost unbearable to realize how much I lost. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to be brave, to take the risks, to live as if these days would eventually run out. But all I have now is this ache, this haunting feeling of a life half-lived. And the hardest part is knowing that these missed moments will forever be just that—echoes of a life I could have had but never did.

Hahahaha!

My mind won’t let me rest at night

Re-reading 1984 today. ❤️ What are your plans?

"Not Wasting My Time on People and Things That Don’t Deserve It"

There’s a point where we start to realize that time is one of our most valuable resources. Every moment spent on people or things that don’t uplift, inspire, or even respect us is a moment we can never get back. Whether it's relationships that drain us or tasks that don’t align with our goals, learning to say no is a form of self-respect. It's about choosing wisely—investing time in people who genuinely care and things that truly matter. The more I understand this, the more I protect my peace and prioritize my energy for what’s really worth it.