D.E.

It’s nice to hope. But to hope for the future doesn’t guarantee its arrival. You might live through today to see another day, you might not.

How cruel it is, that your time was forfeited in the midst of your suffering for a future you will never come to see?

But still, it would be more peaceful to die hoping, wouldn’t it? To know you didn’t resign into despair. You died not a quitter, but a fighter.

So to August—here’s to the hope of it all.

25th July, 2025 | Friday

have you ever noticed how quickly we judge someone for sharing good news? when they post an achievement, a promotion, or something they’ve just bought—many are quick to label it as bragging or showing off—without knowing the full story.

maybe they struggled for it. maybe they didn’t. no one will ever know the truth behind every post. find your own peace and let others be. let them be happy. let them celebrate.

there’s this quiet tendency to dim others’ light—to make them feel like they’re not allowed to post, talk, or even smile at their success just because someone out there is struggling. but pain doesn’t cancel out the right to joy.

if you choose to celebrate your milestones by giving back, that’s beautiful. or maybe you choose not to celebrate at all out of sympathy. maybe you’re too sad with the way of the world that you feel like you don’t deserve to be happy while someone is suffering somewhere.

but here’s the truth: you still have the right to celebrate, even if the world isn’t perfect.

we can’t force others to act and think like us. and just because someone has a different way of showing their gratitude doesn’t make them a bad person. it doesn’t mean they’re not keen on helping others either.

we are on our own. each of us dancing to the role we are given—players tied to fate’s cosmic strings, subject to her savage whims. other people are not responsible for your life choices—and they’re not obliged to adjust their lives to soften the repercussions of those choices.

more people nowadays are open to sharing their pain online—and still, some would assume they’re being dramatic or seeking attention and validation. maybe they are. or maybe they really are calling out to the world because they’re suffocating. or if they aren’t? we’ll never know.

most of us choose to show and document our lives—especially the bright bits—not for anyone else, but for ourselves. for our past selves. to let the kid inside of us see that we’re doing it, and we’ve come far. far enough to say: i’m glad you kept swimming. this is for you.

there will always be someone, somewhere who is suffering. it’s bitter, but that is our reality. the least we could do is be compassionate. kindness is the only free thing that comes with a change. we should give more of it.

before we can help and nurture others, we should nurture ourselves and let ourselves grow first—or grow together, too.

13th July, 2025 | Sunday

she used to think she was a mistake—a product of infidelity.

growing up, she was content, happy, and loved. but buried deep within her are questions. what ifs. whys.

she have been treated well by her family, her neighbors, her friends. but somewhere within her soul, she felt out of place—like a gatecrasher at a party she wasn’t invited to. like she shouldn’t have been born because someone was hurt by her existence.

not all days, but sometimes—on a random tuesday—that thought creeps up on her and suffocates her.

but one sunday, at church, the father said: God made you and God does not make mistakes.

she felt it in her heart. it dawned on her—like waves crashing over her being—an enlightenment. a realization: she have meaning.

her existence has purpose. because God made her. He put her here. He allowed her to breathe. to witness the world—and there’s reason for that.

later that sunday, she went home and scanned her old notes. she read her words from when she was 18, and saw a person full of rage. she have no idea where that anger came from. rereading those entries, she realized— every time something bad happened to her, anger was her answer.

she don’t blame the 18-year-old her. she was confused. but she still wonder—where did the anger came from? in several of her entries, she concluded: she was being punished for her parents’ mistake—she was born to suffer because of it. maybe the anger came from the longing of a complete family. from the what could have beens. or maybe she was just hateful. and jealous. or all of it.

but because she was loved unconditionally, that thought never took root. and after that faithful sunday, she never again thought of herself as an abomination—because she is loved and needed.

she see the world in a peaceful perspective now, she’s still short-tempered, but she learned to exhale through it—to let it out in a way that doesn’t hurt the people who cares for her. she jot it down and ponder if it’s worth getting angry about.

on listless days, grey thoughts used to occupy her mind—why am i breathing? why am i here?

but now, she’s filled with gratefulness—despite the way how she come to be, she’s grateful to be here: breathing. witnessing the world unfold, driven by the elements. laughing with her friends. singing along to songs. hearing her cats meow. seeing the beautiful disaster of a storm—flinching as lightning splits the sky in half and whimpering at the roar of thunder. feeling the sun. the ocean. falling asleep to the patter of rain. mesmerized by ripples. watching the sky change hues. hearing the beat of her own heart. and most of all, she is grateful for every challenge she faced and survived. to everything that shaped her to be how she is now.

so heres to everything we’ve seen;

everything we’ve yet to see;

and to all that we are;

drowning even though there’s no water

suffocated by the redundancy of everything