it’s funny how november always feels like a quiet nudge. like, suddenly, the year is almost over, and you’re left sitting with yourself, noticing all the little shifts you didn’t even realize happened. some of them are good. some of them are messy. some of them are things you didn’t even want to notice.

this year. 2025, has been one of those “quiet but intense” years for me. not in the way you can post on social media or make a highlight reel about, but in the way that life just… asks you to feel more. to grow more. to see yourself more clearly.

i’ve noticed myself reacting differently lately. maybe it’s stress, maybe it’s hormones, maybe it’s just life finally asking me to notice my worth. i’ve been getting mad... at situations, at small injustices, at people who take advantage of kindness. i’ve been sensitive. i’ve been soft and yet easily overwhelmed. and sometimes, i’ve even wondered: “is this me losing it? or am i finally finding myself?”

i think it’s a little of both.

i miss my old self sometimes. the one who was calm, patient, and gentle even when life was hectic. the one who understood before reacting, who gave space instead of tension. but staying exactly the same would have meant ignoring growth. and growing, i’ve learned, is never neat. it’s messy, it’s confusing, and it’s human.

so maybe this is the new me. still me, but with edges i didn’t have before. edges that protect my energy. edges that speak up when something isn’t right. edges that allow me to feel deeply without apologizing for it.

and maybe that’s what turning 30 will be like... learning how to balance softness with strength, patience with self-respect, and vulnerability with boundaries.

december feels like a quiet reset button. not the kind where i have to rewrite everything about myself, but the kind where i slow down, take a breath, and start choosing things a little more intentionally. choosing myself. choosing my peace. choosing my life.

here are some things i want to focus on as december begins. little, intentional steps toward a calmer, more grounded 2026:

reflections & intentions for december

1. pause before reacting

i want to notice my emotions before i act on them. take a deep breath. step back. understand what i really feel instead of letting the moment take over.

2. be gentle with money

not restricting myself, not stressing about it, just being mindful. track expenses. save intentionally. make choices that make me feel secure instead of guilty.

3. care for my body without pressure

more water, more sleep, gentle movement, real food. small routines that make life feel lighter, not heavier.

4. declutter my spaces

clean room, organized files, fewer distractions online. i want my surroundings to support calmness, not chaos.

5. reconnect with my inner peace

quiet mornings, small prayers, gratitude. i want to feel grounded again — even when life feels messy.

6. protect my energy

say no without guilt. walk away from things that drain me. let boundaries exist without explaining them to anyone.

7. choose myself daily

rest when i need it. celebrate small wins. be honest with myself about what i want, feel, and need.

8. invest in relationships that feel good

spend time with people who bring warmth. step back from those who take more than they give.

9. take care of my mental health

journal, talk, breathe. let myself feel everything without apologizing.

10. document the little things

photos, notes, videos. not for anyone else, but for me. for future me to remember what these ordinary days felt like.

11. keep learning, at my pace

try new things, explore new skills, pick up something that excites curiosity. growth isn’t a race.

12. step into my 30s with hope

not pressure. not fear. just gratitude for lessons learned, for the woman i’m becoming, and for the quiet strength i didn’t have before.

——

this december, i don’t want to fix everything. i just want to be present, be soft, be honest, and be intentional. i want to close this year with grace and step into the next one ready to keep growing, without losing myself in the process.

life isn’t about perfect endings or new beginnings. it’s about showing up for yourself, quietly, every day.

here’s to almost december, and to everything it gently reminds us: that growth is messy, human, and worth it.

you might have noticed me writing a lot about this already… about what it feels like to be the eldest. i try not to, but sometimes the feelings get so heavy in my chest that i have to let them out. this blog has become my little corner of comfort, a place where it feels safe to share what i’m really feeling. i’m a little hesitant because these thoughts are private, but i also want this space to witness my growth. and maybe, if someone else reading this resonates even a little, they might find some comfort too. i hope you won’t mind me talking about these things over and over again because it’s my reality right now, and writing it down helps me understand it better.

tonight, i’m writing because i feel this heaviness sitting in my chest, and i don’t want to pretend it’s not there anymore.

last night, i found myself crying unexpectedly. no trigger, no fight, no dramatic moment. just me, alone, and the heaviness of everything i’ve been holding for so long. it came from years of holding things in. it felt like something inside me finally broke open in a way that demanded to be felt.

maybe that’s what happens when you’re the eldest. maybe that’s what happens when you’re the breadwinner. the person who somehow ends up carrying everything, even when no one explicitly asked. you get used to being strong until one night, your own heart taps you on the shoulder and says, “hey, you need to feel this too.”

i’m 29, and sometimes i wonder how i got here… to this life that feels both meaningful and heavy at the same time. i imagined a different version of myself by this age. i thought i would be building my own dreams freely, exploring life without the constant pressure of responsibility. i thought i’d be choosing for myself, discovering who i am outside of the roles i’ve been expected to fill. but reality had other plans. family had other plans. and being the eldest kind of meant i didn’t get to choose as freely as i wanted.

so my life became a series of responsibilities. a series of choices i made for the sake of the people i love. and i don’t regret loving them, but i can feel the way it shaped me. i can feel the weight of it now.

and i want to be clear… i’m not ungrateful. i love my family more than anything. i’m thankful that god gave me the ability to provide. i’m grateful that i can carry them through difficult seasons. but loving them doesn’t mean i don’t get tired. being grateful doesn’t cancel out my exhaustion.

tonight, i just want to say it plainly: i’m tired. and i’m human. and i need to feel this.

there are days when i feel so unappreciated. not because anyone is intentionally ignoring me, but because i’ve always been the “strong one,” the reliable one, the responsible one. and when you play that role for so long, people start to believe you don’t need comfort, or softness, or help. they start to believe you’ll always be okay, even when you’re not.

sometimes, late at night, i feel this quiet loneliness. the kind that doesn’t look dramatic from the outside but feels heavy on the inside. and sometimes i feel a sting of envy, not the bitter kind, but the quiet, aching kind, when i see my siblings living their own lives, making their own choices, moving through the world freely.

i don’t hate them for it. i don’t want to. but there’s a part of me that whispers, “why not me? why didn’t i get that kind of freedom?”

it’s not jealousy out of anger. it’s jealousy out of longing. longing for the chance to choose. longing for the chance to live freely. longing for a life where my timeline belongs to me.

and that’s the part i hate admitting. i don’t want envy in my heart. i don’t want comparison. but it just… happens. because i see them moving, choosing, living. and here i am, still carrying most of the responsibilities so they can live the lives they want.

i try so hard not to feel this way because i don’t want resentment in my heart. i don’t want to hold grudges. but i’m human, and sometimes these emotions come up simply because they’ve been ignored for so long.

it hurts because… i also had dreams. i also had a timeline. i also wanted to choose freely. but i paused my own life because i wanted to make things easier for my family. i took the heavier load because i thought that was my role. and in doing that, i don’t know if anyone noticed. or if they ever realized how much i actually carry.

i think about my mom sometimes… about her decisions, her habits, the financial choices she made. i don’t blame her. she did the best she could. but i can’t deny how much of my adult life has been spent carrying the consequences of those choices. and acknowledging the truth isn’t blame. it’s simply admitting that her choices shaped my life in ways i’m still processing.

it’s strange how people talk about me “almost being 30” and not having my own family yet. they say it like a joke. they don’t understand how it feels to carry the pressure behind those words. and my mom always saying “indi danay...” it feels so unfair. it makes me wonder if my life is still on hold and my timeline needs to wait a little longer because there’s still more i need to carry first.. i’m not even rushing to have my own family. that’s not the point. the point is: why does everyone else get to move freely while i have to wait? sometimes i feel like my life has always been waiting.. waiting for the right time, the right moment, the right situation… waiting for things to stabilize at home. but when will that be? and how long do i have to wait?

i feel like i’ve spent so many years putting myself last without even noticing it. and now that i’m almost 30, there’s this quiet sadness in me (a kind of grief, maybe) for the life i didn’t get to live. or at least, not yet.

i don’t want pity. i don’t want anyone to feel bad for me. i don’t want to blame anyone or point fingers. i don’t want to be the victim in my own story.

i just want to acknowledge what i feel. i want to allow myself to be honest. i want to admit that i’m hurting. and that i’m exhausted. and that i’m human. i just want to stop minimizing what i feel. because for so long, i’ve been the one who absorbs everything. and tonight, i want to be the one who releases something.

i’m writing this because i think i owe myself the honesty. i owe myself the space to say, “this hurts,” without feeling guilty about it.

next year, i hope things change (even just a little). i hope life feels lighter. i hope i can still support my family without losing myself in the process. i hope i can love them without carrying everything on my own shoulders. i hope i find balance, a way to be there for them while also letting myself grow, explore, rest, and become the person i want to be.

i want a year where my dreams matter too. where my wants aren’t always last. where my timeline isn’t always paused. a year where i can start living freely in ways i’ve never allowed myself to before.

through everything, i’m grateful to God. He has never left me. even in the moments when i cry quietly, when i feel unseen, when i feel like everything is too much. He sees every tear. He knows every burden i don’t speak out loud. He has never left me, and he never will. He’s the reason i can keep going, even when i feel empty.

but tonight, i’m choosing to sit with my truth.

to acknowledge the pain without running from it.

to let myself be soft.

to let myself be human.

to let myself feel.

and maybe this is where healing begins.

ari na naman ang magamo nga sistema sa paghatag ayuda para sa mga affected sang bagyo. super annoying. wala gid pagbag-o.

every time there’s a calamity, it feels like we go through the same cycle all over again. confusion, frustration, and disappointment. you’d think by now the system would have improved, that the people in charge would have learned from the last disaster. but no. the same chaos repeats itself. and the people who need help the most are always the ones who suffer.

i used to work part-time in the government before. i joined out of curiosity. i wanted to understand how things really work, how decisions are made, how people serve the community. i was young and hopeful back then, thinking maybe i could do something good, maybe i could somehow make a small difference.

but the truth i saw behind the scenes was disheartening. the system is broken. everything feels disorganized, and no one seems to know what’s really going on. and the people assigned to do the work? most of them are trying their best, but they simply don’t have enough knowledge or capability to handle such important tasks. it’s not entirely their fault. they were just told to do it. but that’s where the deeper problem lies: the people in position, the ones who are supposed to lead and make sure everything runs smoothly, are also not knowledgeable or capable enough to lead. it’s like an endless cycle of inefficiency and misplaced responsibility.

sometimes it feels like no one really cares about doing things right. they just care about doing them the way they’ve always been done. and when you’re young and idealistic, that kind of environment can crush you. i remember wanting to speak up before, to suggest better ways of handling things, but i didn’t. i was scared. it felt like a losing battle, like standing up against a hundred people who’ve already accepted that this is just “how it is.”

and that’s what frustrates me the most. this collective acceptance of a broken system. people joke about it, shrug it off, or even defend it. “amo na gid na ya,” they’d say. as if the lack of order and fairness has become a part of who we are.

it’s disheartening to watch, especially during times like this, when people are already struggling after a storm. when they’re tired, hungry, and desperate for help that should’ve been there days ago. it shouldn’t be this hard to care for our own people.

what makes it even more painful is seeing how floods and disasters are often worsened by negligence and corruption. drainage systems left unmaintained, flood control projects half-finished or poorly executed, budgets spent without accountability.all of it leaves communities exposed, and lives at risk. it’s not just nature’s fury we’re facing; it’s a system that fails to protect us when we need it most.

and when aid finally arrives, it’s often handled so poorly that it barely reaches those who truly need it. favoritism, mismanaged funds, and bureaucratic delays mean that people have to wait, navigate chaos, or beg just to survive. it’s frustrating, heartbreaking, and maddening all at once.

sometimes i wish i could do more. i wish i had the power to fix things, or at least the courage to speak up louder. but right now, i just feel small. helpless. angry, even. because no matter how much you want to help, the system makes you feel like you can’t, like your voice doesn’t matter, like your efforts won’t change anything.

still, deep down, i hold on to a little hope that someday, someone brave enough will break this cycle. that we’ll finally have leaders who are not just in position, but truly capable of leading. people who listen, who plan, who care. because our communities deserve that. our people deserve that.

until then, i guess i’ll keep hoping (and writing) about it. because even if my voice feels small, it’s still something. and maybe, that’s a start.

it’s sunday night again. the kind where the air feels heavy and quiet, and all i can think about is how fast the weekend went by. i wish i could say i was productive... that i got up early, cleaned my room, organized my thoughts, or worked on something meaningful. but the truth is, i didn’t. i spent most of my time in bed, scrolling endlessly on my phone, jumping from one random video to another until i lost track of time.

and now that it’s already evening, i feel that familiar guilt, the kind that creeps in when you realize you let the days pass without doing anything “worthwhile.” it’s funny how even rest can make you feel like you’ve failed at something. i keep telling myself it’s okay to slow down, but sometimes it’s hard to believe it.

still, if there’s one thing i don’t regret doing this weekend, it’s spending time with my family yesterday. we lit candles, offered flowers, and said our quiet prayers for our loved ones who have passed on. it’s something we do every year, but it hits differently each time. there’s this stillness that settles when we’re all together. watching the candles flicker, remembering faces and moments that used to be so alive. it’s bittersweet, but in a comforting way. it reminded me that no matter how fast life moves, there are traditions and people that ground me.

after that, i found myself thinking a lot... maybe too much. about turning 30 soon. about how much has changed and how much hasn’t. about how i’ve been craving independence, maybe even wanting to move out, but also worrying about the cost of it all... financially, emotionally, mentally. sometimes i feel like i’m behind, like i should’ve figured things out by now. but at the same time, i know i’m doing my best with what i have.

i’ve been wanting to “get my life together” lately. to be more organized, more intentional, more put-together. i imagine waking up early, keeping my space tidy, planning my days, having that sense of control over my life again. but right now, i’m not there yet. and maybe that’s okay. maybe it’s okay to admit that i’m still learning how to show up for myself, even when i don’t feel like it.

sometimes i think being in my late 20s feels like standing in the middle of a bridge, one foot in the comfort of who i used to be, the other trying to step into who i’m becoming. it’s messy and confusing, but i guess that’s part of growing up too.

so tonight, i’m trying to give myself some grace. maybe this weekend wasn’t wasted. maybe it was just a pause i needed. a moment to breathe, to reset, to remember what actually matters.

i didn’t clean my room or cross anything off my list. but i spent time with my family. i remembered people i miss. i thought about my life and what i want it to look like moving forward. maybe that’s a kind of productivity too, the quiet kind, the one that happens in your heart.

so here i am, ending this sunday night a little more forgiving of myself. i’ll try again tomorrow. i’ll keep trying until things start to feel lighter. for now, i’m letting the silence of this night remind me that it’s okay to rest. that i’m allowed to pause. that i’m still moving, even when it doesn’t look like it.

here’s to a gentler start to the week, and to slowly figuring things out, one quiet sunday night at a time.

hi loves, it’s the weekend and i planned to run some errands, but it’s been pouring rain nonstop since morning. the whole town is flooded, and it’s terrifying to see the news. thankfully, we’re safe where we are.

and tonight, i'm just sitting down and letting my thoughts find their way out.

well, lately, i've been thinking more about work and how i’ve been feeling the pressure more than usual. it’s not just the deadlines or the tasks piling up. it’s the weight of expectations that never seem to ease.

what’s hard is that the pressure doesn’t always come from the work itself, but from the top... from the higher-ups trying to please clients, to maintain a certain image, to hit every target. but the ones who pay the price are the people on the ground. the ones doing the actual work. what makes it tricky is that the higher-ups aren’t unkind, and sometimes they even express genuine care. but some days, when there is pressure, they seem to act differently.

it’s heartbreaking, really. because most of us actually want to do good work. we want to make things better. but how do you thrive when you’re constantly made to feel like you’re not doing enough?

some nights, i lie awake wondering if they even notice. the fatigue behind the polite “noted.” the quiet sighs after meetings. the heavy eyes behind the camera during virtual calls. the way our smiles have slowly become just part of the job.

we’re all trying our best. holding on to whatever patience, kindness, and hope we have left. but it gets tiring when the higher ups only sees the numbers, the outputs, the results… and not the people behind them.

sometimes i wish they’d pause and listen, like really listen. to understand that pressure doesn’t always bring out the best in people. sometimes, it breaks them.

all we want is to be heard. to be seen. to work in a place that values both excellence and empathy. because the truth is, we can endure the hard days if we feel supported. we can face the pressure if we know it comes with understanding.

but when expectations keep rising while compassion stays missing, it’s only a matter of time before even the most passionate ones burn out.

and i don’t think any of us deserve that.

and so, i’ve found myself thinking about where i am and how much has changed.

i’ve been with this company for almost eight years now. it's a place i once thought i’d stay in forever. i used to picture myself growing old here, maybe even retiring with the same faces i’ve worked with for years. i’ve poured so much of myself into this place. and for the longest time, that felt like enough.

but there’s a certain kind of exhaustion that comes from being here and being in the in between. not quite at the top, but not on the ground either. just somewhere in the middle, catching the weight that falls from above so it doesn’t crush the people below.

i’ve been living in that space for a while now.

i’ve always tried to understand. to see things from every side. and i get where the higher-ups are coming from. they care deeply about the company... maybe even too deeply sometimes. i see how much they pour of themselves into the work, how much they want things to succeed. they want excellence. they want to deliver. they want the company to grow. i understand that... deeply.  i admire that kind of passion. but sometimes, it feels like in chasing those goals, they forget that even capable people have limits.

we get tired. we get overwhelmed. we try our best, but some days it’s hard to keep up with expectations that never stop growing.

they often say they’re open to suggestions, that we can share our thoughts, raise concerns, be honest. but for some reason, it doesn’t feel safe to do that. not because they’d get angry, but because it just doesn’t feel safe. there’s that quiet fear of being misunderstood, of being seen as negative, that being honest might be seen as complaining.

so we keep quiet. we nod, smile, and adjust. again and again. we just figure things out silently.

it’s disappointing, really... to want to do good work, to give your best, and still feel like it’s never enough. to constantly stretch yourself thin just to meet standards that were not that realistic to begin with.

and for the longest time, i try my best to protect the rest of the team. i filter the pressure, soften the tone, carry what i can before it reaches them. i  try to make sure they feel safe, that they don’t wake up every day dreading their work. i try to remind them that they’re valued, that what they do matters.

and i try not to complain. i try not to talk bad about the higher-ups or anyone. i just quietly take the hit, fix what i can, and keep things moving.

but lately, it’s been getting harder to hold it all together. you understand the higher-ups’ side. their drive, their sacrifices, the way their minds never rest. but you also feel the people’s side. their exhaustion, their quiet longing to just breathe.

i see the team giving their all. trying, learning, staying loyal. but when the pressure comes directly from the top, i can only do so much to shield them. and i’ve seen what happens when that shield isn’t there. those who dealt with the pressure directly… they’ve left. they couldn’t take it anymore. and honestly, i can’t even blame them.

and these days… i’ve felt something shift.

i’m still doing my work, still showing up, still giving what i can, but i no longer carry it the same way i used to. i’ve stopped trying to hold everything together. i’ve stopped taking the pressure too personally. i’ve stopped measuring my worth by how much i can endure.

i don’t resent anyone. i just wish it didn’t have to feel like this. that ambition didn’t always have to come with so much pressure. that appreciation didn’t have to coexist with exhaustion.

because even when you love your work, even when you’re thankful for the trust and opportunities, it still hurts to constantly feel like you’re one mistake away from disappointing everyone.

i’m learning that appreciation alone isn’t enough to sustain people. what sustains us is balance, understanding, and a kind of leadership that knows when to push and when to pause.

i still believe in leading with empathy. in creating spaces where people can grow without burning out. but lately, i’ve realized that even empathy has its limits when you’re the one holding the weight for everyone else.

maybe someday, the world will learn that people don’t perform better under pressure. they perform better when they feel safe, supported, and trusted.

now, i’m just going with the flow.

and maybe it’s not giving up... it’s acceptance. it’s understanding that i can only do so much, and that’s enough. that if they ever decide to let me go, i think i’ll be okay. because i’ve given enough of myself to know that my value isn’t defined by how tightly i hold on.

i don’t see it as betrayal. maybe it’s just… growth. i’m learning to protect my peace, to focus on the things that truly matter to me. the things that make me feel alive, grounded, and human.

maybe this is what happens when you’ve carried too much for too long. you learn to set it down, quietly, without bitterness. you start to see the difference between loyalty and self-sacrifice.

and maybe this is what peace looks like. not the absence of pressure, but the decision to stop letting it consume you.

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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