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.