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As someone who didn't like studying taxation ever since my undergrad and has it as my lowest score during the CPA board (buti na lang nairaos pa rin), I've avoided studying it thoroughly for the longest time. But reading through a lot of articles about what to expect with regards to the taxation in the Philippines this year, and as we started expanding and working with more local businesses, and the more business owners we talk to, the heavier my heart gets.
Everyone’s just… trying. Trying to survive. Trying to earn. Trying to keep things running even when nothing feels stable anymore. And what makes it harder is that taxes are eating up such a huge chunk of what we earn. Hard-earned. Not passive income. Not cushy profit from somewhere else. Literal blood, sweat, and late nights just to break even, only to have a big part of it go to taxes. Some business owners are even scared to make a mistake, scared to get it wrong, scared of the BIR letters or visits that might come if they mess up. And who can blame them? They do their part. They register their business, pay dues, issue receipts, hire people, create livelihoods. But at the end of the day, it feels like the system keeps taking, and giving very little back.
When we look around… we can’t really help but wonder, saan napupunta lahat ng 'to? Parang wala namang nangyayari.
The country’s still buried in debt. Roads are still bad. Public services are still lacking. Corruption still exists.
So now, I’m all in, learning as much as I can about taxes and bir, so I can help in any way I can.
Let's do what’s FAIR, what’s ALLOWED. Because a lot of people don’t realize they’re overpaying simply because no one told them what they’re entitled to. No one guided them. No one walked them through it.
And I think to myself, what if they could save that money, and instead use it to grow their businesses? Hire additional staff? Buy better inventory? Improve their businesses? Send kids to school? Help their community in their own little way?
That’s the kind of change I want to be part of.
I know we can’t fix the whole system. And honestly? I’ve stopped hoping for big change to come from the top. But I still believe in the kind of change that grows from the ground up—bit by bit, business by business, person by person.
Because I’ve seen what happens when local businesses thrive. They don’t just make money. They give back. They feed families. They help neighbors. They put kids through school. They become a kind of community backbone that no government policy can replace.
That’s where I want to help. That’s who I want to serve.
I want to help as much as I can and I want to learn more about the people and businesses' pain and figure out kung dn nga aspect akon need I-study more so I can help.
Yes, I used to hate studying taxation, but this time, lezz do this!!
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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 ๐), 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.
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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. ๐ป๐ฟ☁️๐ถ♀️
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. ๐
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.
→ If you’re carrying something heavy too, I hope you find a little softness here. A reminder that you're not alone. I'd love to hear your story too — feel free to share it in the comments or send me a message. Let's hold space for each other. Quietly, gently, one tired but hopeful heart at a time. ๐ค
It’s funny—after writing that last post and hitting publish, I felt a strange sense of calm. Like I finally let something out that I’d been quietly carrying for too long.
And while I didn’t promise a comeback plan, I did say I’d be showing up again… slowly.
So here I am, writing another post I wasn’t sure I’d ever get around to—because, if I’m being honest, I thought I’d have it all figured out by now.
Anyway, I don’t know who planted the idea, but somewhere along the way, I started believing I was supposed to have it all figured out by now. I really thought by the time I hit 29, I’d be someone who knew. Knew what I wanted. Knew how to get there. Knew how to be an adult, properly. I used to imagine that by now I’d have a stable career that made perfect sense, a schedule I could actually stick to, enough savings to feel “secure,” and maybe even a place of my own (with white walls, cute mugs, and organized drawers). I thought I’d be living some kind of structured life that looked like growth charts and checklists.
But instead, I’ve found myself in a slower, quieter version of adulthood. One that looks less like progress and more like pausing. One that feels less like arriving and more like wandering. Still learning. Still trying. Still very much in the middle.
And honestly? It’s not as scary as I used to think it would be.
If you read my last post, you know this slower season wasn’t really planned. It just… happened. Work slowed down. Deadlines disappeared. And suddenly, I had time again—something I hadn’t truly felt in years. Not the rushed, in-between kind of time. But real, actual time.
Time to think.
To sit with myself.
To realize I’d been running on autopilot for far too long.
And in the stillness, I started hearing all the “shoulds” I’d been carrying:
I should be more accomplished by now.
I should know my direction.
I should have it together—whatever that means.
But… what if I don’t?
What if I’m just here—half certain, half lost, quietly doing my best?
It reminds me a little of the rhythm of this week: Good Friday, Black Saturday, and Easter Sunday.
Good Friday is the heartbreak—the moment when things fall apart and don’t make sense. Black Saturday is the silence, the waiting, the part where you’re not sure what’s next. And Easter Sunday? It’s the quiet rising. Not always dramatic or loud, but hopeful.
This season I’m in—this slower, uncertain version of life—feels like my own Black Saturday. I haven’t “risen” yet in the way the world might expect. But I’m here, holding space, learning to trust that just like Easter always comes, maybe clarity will too.
And there’s this invisible race happening all the time—on social media, in catch-ups with old friends, even in random conversations with relatives. It’s the race to “get there. Where “there” is depends on who you’re talking to. But for most of us, it sounds like:
A stable job title.
A ring or a baby (or both).
A life that looks like it’s working.
I’ve realized how heavy that invisible timeline can be. We don’t always see it, but we feel it:
The pressure to be somewhere by a certain age.
The fear of being left behind.
The guilt of not having a “clear direction.”
But the truth is, life isn’t linear. Some people bloom at 25. Some at 35. Some at 60. Some reinvent themselves again and again. And that’s okay.
And maybe… we don’t need to figure it all out.
Maybe what we need is permission—to just be where we are.
Maybe being 29 can look like becoming, not arriving. In between. Uncertain. Trying.
I used to think “figuring it out” meant having all the answers. Now I think it means learning how to be okay with not knowing.
These days, I’m trying to:
- Hold space for the in-between.
- Give myself grace for the days that don’t look productive.
- Redefine what success feels like—not just what it looks like.
Because sometimes, the biggest shift isn’t in what changes outside, but in what softens inside.
If you’re in a similar season—feeling a little stuck, a little unsure—I hope this post reaches you in the right way.
You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re just here. And here is still worth something.
You’re not alone. You’re not failing. You’re just living your way through it.
So no, I don’t have it all figured out. But I’m learning to show up anyway. I’m learning to trust the slow days. To be gentle with my questions. To believe that becoming takes time—and that maybe we never fully arrive, anyway.
If you're in your twenties and you feel like you're fumbling through it—me too. But hey, we’re still here. Still becoming. And for now, that’s enough.
๐ค
So… it’s been a minute. Or months, actually.
My last post was all about being buried in work and feeling completely burnt out. And that was true. I was drowning in deadlines, and life felt like one never-ending to-do list. Honestly, I was just trying to survive the chaos.
But things have changed—kind of unexpectedly. The crazy workload slowed down (not by choice, let’s just say that), and suddenly I had something I hadn’t had in a long time: time. Not just five-minute-break kind of time. Actual time. The kind that makes you sit there and go, “Wait, what do I do with this?”
At first, I didn’t know. I felt weird, honestly. After months—years—of go, go, go, sitting still felt… off. But now that I’ve had a bit of space, I’m starting to ease back into the things I used to enjoy. Like writing. Like this blog.
I’ve been feeling this quiet nudge to come back here. To write again. To reconnect with this version of myself I kinda forgot about. I miss this little space. This little corner of the internet that doesn't move a mile a minute, that doesn’t demand perfect lighting or bite-sized captions. Just words. Just thoughts. Just me.
And today, I did something I haven’t done in a while—I went for a walk.
At first, I didn’t want to. I was scared, honestly. I had no one to go with, and that made me want to stay in. But then I stopped and asked myself: what exactly am I afraid of? And I realized… it was just the gaze of strangers. People I don’t even know. And people who, realistically, don’t care. So why was I holding myself back for them?
So I went. Alone. I walked and ended up hitting 8,000 steps. It’s not a big number, and maybe it’s not even enough—but it’s a start. And today, that felt like a win. I passed by people jogging, running, strolling—different ages, different social statuses, different everything. And somewhere along the path, a stranger greeted me with a kind “good evening.” I was caught off guard so I just smiled, but it warmed my heart. Funny how little things like that can lift you up.
Anyway, I’m happy I’m back in this quiet little space.
If you've been here a while, you already know the drill—my posts tend to come in waves. Long gaps. Sporadic updates. The occasional “hi, I’m back” energy. It's not that I don't want to write. It's just... life. Life happens. And sometimes, it pulls you so far from yourself that even logging into your blog feels like a task. But somehow, I keep finding my way back here.
I’m not promising anything big. No full-on content calendar, no deep life updates (not yet, anyway). Just me, showing up again—little by little.
To be honest, I’ve always had a love-hate thing with putting myself out there. I like sharing the good stuff, the aesthetic stuff. But I also enjoy keeping people guessing. There’s something fun about being half-open, half-mystery. I love posting pretty moments, but I also love disappearing. I love being seen, but I really love being unknown. I don’t know if that makes sense, but if you’ve ever felt the same—hi, you’re not alone.
So again and again, here I am, crawling back to my blog, one post at a time. No pressure. No full-blown comeback plan. Just me, trying to figure things out again, slowly.
I still don’t know who reads blogs in 2025, but if you’re here—thank you. Whether you’re a regular, someone who stumbled in by accident, or just lurking (we love a quiet reader), I’m happy you made it to the end of this ramble.
Let’s romanticize the restart. ๐ค
→ If this post made you feel a little seen, leave a comment or just drop a “hi.” I’d love to know who’s out there. And if you’re also easing your way back into something—you got this.
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