because even in the heaviness, God always provides.

if you asked me a few years ago what i wanted most, i would’ve said: a little breathing space. a life that didn’t feel like it was running me over. time to actually pause, rest, and choose how i spend my days. for the longest time, that felt impossible... it's just a prayer i’d whisper whenever life got too loud.

and then, without me even realizing it, here i am. living with a flexible schedule. having space to breathe, reflect, and actually write again. it’s not perfect, but it’s something i once prayed for. and it’s here.

i think that’s the thing about gratitude... it’s often found in the places we don’t immediately notice. not in the big wins, but in the quiet corners of everyday life.

like my family. my mom still cooks me delicious, savory meals that make me feel taken care of, even at 29. my lola brings me coffee in the afternoon while i’m working, without me even asking. my brother and sister, who never get tired of my little requests, whether it’s carrying my laundry or helping out with things i could probably do myself. they don’t make a big deal out of it, but to me, it means the world.

and then there’s my boyfriend. he’s the one who takes on the things i can’t do, who steps in where i fall short. sometimes it’s in the quietest, simplest ways, but that’s exactly what i love about it. love doesn’t always need grand gestures. it shows up in the small, steady ones.

even our sari-sari store is something i’m thankful for. it’s not just a business, it’s a part of our home, a part of our rhythm. our suki customers come and go, and in their own little ways, they sustain us too. it’s humbling, really, to realize that something so simple can be such a blessing.

but above all—what i’m most grateful for is God. if i look back at every season of my life, one thing has always been true: He never left me. not once. on the days i thought i couldn’t make it, somehow He carried me through. on the days i felt empty, He provided—sometimes through people, sometimes through unexpected opportunities, sometimes in ways i can’t even explain.

honestly, there are moments i think… maybe i’m His favorite. because He always, always finds a way to sustain me. even when i doubt, even when i feel unworthy, even when i don’t see the path ahead, He shows up. quietly. faithfully. always.

gratitude doesn’t take away the burdens of life. they’re still there, still heavy at times. but gratitude reminds me to look around and see what’s also here: love, family, provision, small joys, answered prayers. and above all, a God who never fails.

and maybe that’s what keeps me going. not the absence of struggle, but the presence of grace.

sometimes, i wonder if being the eldest daughter means carrying an invisible weight that no one else can quite see. on the surface, everything looks fine. i go about my day, i do what’s expected, i try to be dependable. but underneath, there’s this quiet exhaustion, this ache that comes from always feeling like i have to hold myself together for everyone else.

i’ve spent so much of my life being careful. careful with my words, careful with my choices, careful with how i live. not because i’m naturally cautious, but because i feel like i can’t afford to slip. others have already pushed boundaries, made decisions that shook our family in one way or another. and in the middle of it all, i decided (without anyone really asking me to) that i couldn’t add to that. that i had to be the one who stayed safe, who didn’t stir up more worry, who didn’t give anyone another reason to shake their head.

but what happens when “being safe” starts to feel like living half a life? what happens when the things i want (not even reckless things, just simple human wants) start to feel like luxuries i can’t touch? it’s frustrating to silence myself before i even begin, to measure every possibility against what others might say or think. i’ve trained myself to put their peace of mind before my own, and it’s exhausting in a way i can’t always explain.

the hardest part is the quietness of it. there’s no big confrontation, no one standing over me saying “don’t do this.” it’s just me, carrying these unspoken expectations in my chest, telling myself to stay in line, to be the steady one, the reliable one, the one who won’t disappoint. and in that silence, i feel myself shrinking, like i’m folding away parts of who i am just to keep up an image that maybe no one even asked me to hold in the first place.

i am proud of the sacrifices i’ve made for my family. i love them, and i know they love me. but i can’t deny this part of me that is aching for freedom. freedom to breathe without guilt. freedom to make decisions without the constant fear of what everyone will say. freedom to live a little messy, a little imperfect, without feeling like i’ve failed some invisible test.

i don’t want to keep pausing my life just to prove that i am the “good one.” i don’t want to keep hiding behind the role of the panganay, as if that’s all i am allowed to be. i am human, too. i have dreams, flaws, desires, and i want to be brave enough to choose them without apology.

tonight, i let myself write this down because maybe the first step is admitting it to myself: i am tired. i am frustrated. i am longing for a life that feels like mine, not one that’s constantly measured against other people’s approval.

and maybe, just maybe, it’s okay if i stop being the perfect one, and start being real instead.

it’s sunday and the day’s almost gone. i slept in, and then spent most of the afternoon just… thinking. i didn’t really do much, except work a little on some social media posts for our small businesses. part of me feels guilty for not being “productive,” but maybe i needed this.

i’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately. working from home has been something i prayed for for so long, and i’m grateful i get to do it now. but honestly, i’m still figuring it out. i love the freedom — that i can move at my own pace and take on part-time gigs — but i also hate how messy it feels. there are no clear lines between work and life. i’m literally working and sleeping in the same space, surrounded by the sari-sari store clutter. everything feels all over the place.

sometimes i wonder if what i need is a restart. i want to reset my routines, my finances, even my environment. moving out crosses my mind a lot — but then i worry if that’s even practical right now. i don’t know. maybe it’s too soon.

but maybe i don’t need to overhaul everything all at once. maybe it can start small. like clearing one corner of my space. organizing one drawer. maybe if i do enough of those small things, they’ll add up to something bigger.

i think about the people i work with in the us. one’s so young, already chasing multiple ventures like it’s second nature. another is in her 60s, still working because she loves it, and she doesn’t see herself stopping anytime soon. different ages, different lives, but they both care deeply about their families. it makes me think about what i really want, and the kind of life i hope to build too.

today was quiet. and maybe that’s what i needed. a pause. a reminder that it’s okay not to have it all figured out yet.

i still want a simpler, lighter life. and i believe i’ll get there — maybe not all at once, but slowly. one small step at a time.

i first shared this in facebook and facebook has always been a space where i’d share a favorite photo, promote something, or reshare a memory or two — but not like this. not in a journal kind of way. honestly, i get nervous sharing too much — especially when it feels a little vulnerable. but since it’s labor day, a day that honors the heart behind all kinds of work, it feels like the right time to share a few things that have been sitting with me.

lately, i’ve been stepping into spaces that once felt foreign — doing things i never imagined i’d have to do. things that ask me to be seen in ways i’m not used to.

for most of my career, i’ve stayed behind the scenes — happy in my little world of numbers and spreadsheets and month-end reports. i liked it there. i loved the structure and stillness of numbers. i used to think that was enough. that doing good work quietly would speak for itself.

but lately, things have changed. the season has called for more. i’ve had to stretch — to listen more closely, speak more openly, show up more fully. not just for myself, but for the team, for the mission, for the people we want to serve.

and honestly? it still feels a little weird. introducing myself as a co-founder? a coo? that used to feel too loud for someone like me — someone who never really saw herself as the “face” of anything. i used to prefer the quiet, behind-the-scenes kind of life. but i’ve realized that sometimes, being visible isn’t about ego. it’s about responsibility. it’s about standing behind the work you believe in.

so i’ve been putting myself out there — even if just a little. it still feels awkward sometimes (linkedin telling me someone viewed my profile? instant overthinking 😂), but i’m learning to welcome that discomfort. i get it now — this is part of what it means to grow something with intention.

i guess this season is teaching me that showing up can look different than i imagined. it’s not about being loud or performative. it’s about being present. being willing. being honest.

i’ve been listening more — to our team, to our clients, to the people we want to serve. what do they need? what matters to them? where are the gaps we can fill?

and in the midst of all the change, i found myself circling back to my why.

why this company was started. why we kept going, even when things got hard. why we care so much about doing things right — even when no one’s watching.

we’ve been working closely with nonprofit organizations over the years. and that’s not just a niche for me — it’s a calling. who would have thought i'd end up in nonprofit accounting? it wasn't even something i paid attention to in college. now i get to work with mission-driven organizations who are out there doing the real work: feeding, healing, advocating, protecting, educating. and i get to play a small part in helping them keep their finances in order so they can keep doing what they do best.

and we’re doing our best to keep this work going — not just for the clients we serve, but for the people behind the scenes, too. for our team, who have always given so much heart. for the students we welcome in, hoping to give them a space to learn and grow. we’re working toward something sustainable, something rooted in care.

so yeah. maybe this season is awkward and stretching and a little bit scary. maybe i still hesitate when i hit “post.” maybe i still overthink every time i show up online. but it’s also beautiful — because i know i’m not doing this just for me.

i’m doing it for the mission. for the people we serve. for the team i care deeply about. for the dream that’s bigger than me.

on this labor day, i’m holding space for the ones who quietly carry the weight of the work — the steady hands, the listening hearts, the behind-the-scenes souls. i see you. i’m with you. and i hope you’re proud of the work you do.

happy labor day to all the hardworking workers — especially those who don’t always raise their hands first, but still choose to show up anyway.  💻🌿☁️🚶‍♀️

and happy labor day to the incredible team i've had the privilege to work with. grateful for your heart, your effort, and the quiet strength you brought into everything. wherever life takes us, the work we shared will always mean something to me. 💙

——

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there are days when i feel like i'm holding the whole world on my shoulders. days when the weight of everything — responsibilities, expectations, dreams i haven't reached yet — feels almost too much to carry.

but somehow, i'm still here.

still trying.

still hoping that maybe, one day, all of this will mean something.

this is one of those days. and these are my notes from a tired, but still beating, heart.

lately, it feels like i’m carrying a weight i can’t put down. it’s heavy in ways that are hard to explain. being the breadwinner isn’t just about paying the bills. it’s waking up every day knowing that if i stop, everything else might fall apart too. it’s choosing to keep moving even when i’m tired, even when i feel like i’m losing pieces of myself along the way. it’s holding everything together when it feels like i’m falling apart a little more every day.

we started a small business because i wanted my mom to finally stop working in that toxic job. i couldn't watch her get drained like that anymore. we thought maybe the business could give us some peace. a softer life. a new start. and for a while, it felt like hope. when we moved here in the store, we had so much hope. we thought maybe it could help us. maybe this could be the start of something better. but living here blurred all the lines. it’s like i haven’t had any space to breathe. our home is the store. the store is our home. i’m always on. always available. and i feel like i’ve lost myself along the way. i don't know when i’m supposed to rest anymore. every moment is tied to the store. every space is about survival now.

most days, time feels like sand slipping through my fingers. i wake up and before i know it, it’s already 5pm. it’s like i blink and the day is gone. i hate how fast time moves when you’re exhausted. it’s frustrating — like no matter how hard i try, i’m still falling behind.

we stay open past midnight because that's when most customers come. we stretch ourselves, hoping for a little more income. but it feels like we are still not earning enough. still, i pay the rent. i pay the water and electricity bills. i pay the bills at home too. sometimes it feels like money just slips through my hands, no matter how hard i try to hold onto it. i’ve been working for seven years already. and yet, i don’t have enough savings. i don’t have enough investments. i still think twice before buying anything i want. i still feel trapped, like freedom is this faraway thing i can’t seem to catch.

what hurts even more is seeing my mom. she’s the one doing most of the work now. she wakes up early to cook for the carinderia. she stays up late, tending to the customers while i try to get some rest for my full-time job. she barely sleeps. she’s older now, but she keeps pushing herself. and it breaks my heart more than anything. she deserves to rest. she deserves to slow down. she shouldn’t have to work this hard anymore. and yet here we are.

sometimes, i wish my siblings could see how much i’m struggling. how much i’m trying. how much i want them to make better choices, so they won’t have to go through what i’m going through. but at the same time, i don’t want them to see how tired i am. i don’t want them to feel guilty or worried. i just want to protect them from this. it’s a strange kind of loneliness — wanting to be seen but also wanting to stay invisible.

when i look around, it’s hard not to notice how everyone else seems to be moving forward. friends are traveling, reaching milestones, building lives they’re proud of. and i’m still here — stuck, tired, surviving. i don’t even have the energy to see them anymore. sometimes it’s easier to stay away than to sit there feeling like the one who’s been left behind.

i don’t really like being this vulnerable. i don’t enjoy laying all this out like a confession. but let’s be real — i’m just human. and right now, this is my truth. i don’t have it all figured out. i’m tired, i’m doing my best, and sometimes, i break a little too.

i’m not writing this to complain. i’m just trying to be honest with myself. to finally say it out loud: i’m tired. i’m hurting. and i wish things were different. but even after admitting all that, i know tomorrow i’ll still get up and keep going. because that’s what i’ve learned to do. even when it’s hard. even when my heart feels like it’s carrying more than it should.

maybe one day, all of this will make sense. maybe one day, life will feel lighter, and all these hard days will add up to something beautiful. maybe one day, time won't feel like something i’m constantly losing — but something i finally get to live fully, freely, and without fear.

for now, i’m just holding on the best way i know how. and maybe, for today, that’s enough.

——

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