sauvée

I realized once again that life can surprise you in the best and worst possible way. But aside from my worries and constant overthinking, and despite how busy my life has been, I've noticed that I've been receiving good things lately.

It's the small things that accumulate into something meaningful—tiny bits of happiness that remind me there are reasons to be thankful that I'm alive. Is it petty to notice things like this? Maybe. Honestly, it seems small. All I got were tickets to concerts I thought I wouldn't be able to attend. But I realized that the good things I did before somehow came back to me as quiet surprises.

This feels like life telling me to stop doing things that only add to my anxiety—to think before I act and speak, and to remember that whatever I do or say has repercussions—to just wake up each day, work, and do what I'm supposed to do—to keep going, and to give myself more chances to notice these small glimpses of happiness.

They're small but they give me something to smile about. Something to be grateful for.

12 January 2026

I had everything planned.

I deliverately cleared my schedule from January 9 to Janaury 12 so I could fully enjoy a stress-free birthday weekend—no work, no duties, just time. At first, I debated whether I'll travel alone to Fukuoka as a birthday trip or fly to Iloilo to indulge in favorite Ilonggo dishes. Then I decided I would just stay, amybe check in at a hotel like Okada, and enjoy spa and wellness. After thinking it through, I realized I didn't need anything extravagant. I could save the money and book my usual lymphatic massage at Mandarine Spa, where I always go.

Everything felt settled—sounds like a plan.

January 10 and 11 would be spent with friends to watch the RunSeokjin movies. I'd sleep leisurely on the night of the 11th and wake up on my birthday with no alarm. I'll then get a maasage and have a delight ful meal by myself—alone, unhurried, intentional.

That was the plan.

All of it vanished.

Today is my birthday. And, I am sitting at the airport, waiting for my fligh to Iloilo. This is not the gastronomic trip I originally planned. Three days ago, my cousin from Canada called. She told me her dad—my tatay—is already on his deathbed. Lung cancer, then brain metastases. The same story. The same words. The same ending I already know too well.

I was the one who told advised her to hold off CPR and intubation. Just pain medication and IV fluids. Comfort.

In my head, I've been through this before, and I didn't want to relive the same pain. But my cousin told me that if I went to Iloilo with her, this time I would be there. Whether he survives or not, I would be there.

These were the things I couldn't do for Papa.

I was away when he was brought to the hospital. I wasn't beside him when his breathing changed. I wasn't there when he took his las tbreath. I wasn;t the past person he saw when he closed his eyes.

People might call these regrets. Maybe they are. And now I find myself wondering—am I flying to Iloilo so suddenly, on such a whim, because of what I couldn't do for Papa, an now I have a chance to do it for Tatay? Am i trying to make peace with something unfinished?

It's strange how hen everything feels calm and carefully planned, life interrupts without warning. It pulls memories from the back of your mind—the one you don't want to forget, but also don't want to love in. I wanted this birthday to be quoet, restful, uncomplicated. Instead it's filled with reflection, grief, and questions I didn't plan space for.

Today is my birthday. And instead of choosing rest, I am choosing presence. Instead of celebration, I am choosing to show up.

I bought this book because it was set in Barcelona. I imagined myself reading it there, but I never did. For a long time, I didn't even open it—partly becuase life got in the way, partly because I assumed it would be boring. Even now, I don't think it's an extraordinary book. And yet, I found myself highlighting and annotating page after page.

Every line I marked pulled me back to familiar pain. The first time I lost my mother—that strange realization that someone you speak to every day can suddenly be gone. Growing up with just my dad, then losing him to cancer too. And, living alone now. The book reminded me that death doesn't happen once; it arrives and stays, plitting life into before and after, and never fully leaving.

It also brought back the ache of a heartbreakOne line felt uncomfortably familiar:the kind that follows a breakup, when the person who knew all your stories and ways chooses to walk away. THe book understands that death and heartbreak overlap. They pile up, happen at the same time, while the world keeps asking, "how you're doing?," if that question still makes sense.

One line felt uncomfortably familiar:

"My body has become an armoured shell capable of attacking the trenches to keep advancing, but with the end of each war, I discover small internal wounds weakening me, confirming my resistance is waning. I wonder how long this war will last and how long will I be standing."

It mirrored th experience of surviving one loss after another—pushing forward, only to realize later how much each battle quietly took from me.

Grief, I realized, is deeply personal. Pain can't be compared ore measured. Advice, even when well-intentioned, often misses the point because no one else lives inside my life. My pain is mine, and it doesn't need explanation or correction.

01.Jan.2026

A new year begins, and with it, a choice: to write whenever and wherever my thoughts need somewhere to go. I've tried this before many times, and the pattern was always the same — two months of energy, then silence. Laziness, excuses, life getting in the way. But after everything I've experienced from 2022 through 2025 (since I came back home and lived alone), I feel a shift in mydelf. Maybe this can be more than just a habit; maybe it can be a release, a way to breathe, to let go, and to ease my mind.

This year, I want to let go of negativity. I want to change the habits and attitudes that make me unhappy, and leave behind the worries that weigh me down. If something can be solved by staying quiet, then I'll choose silence. I don't want to react to everything anymore — I want to protect my peace and choose calm over chaos.

I will work hard — not to prove anything to anyone, but to build the life I want for myself. I want to earn enough to enjoy what genuinely makes me happy. I won't for myself to stay where I no longer feel appreciated: with with people who don't choose me, not with friends who drift away, not in jobs that drain my energy. I won't push myself into situations where I don't nelong. I won't chase after anyone or anything that doesn't bring joy, respect, or fulfillment into my life.

I want to choose ME. I want to be healthy. I want to be able to do the things that I want to do. I want to travel more. I want to read more books and experience the peace I find within them — where I waste time wisely and not consumed by media, but instead of culture, learning and lived experience.

I won't let envy, comparison or outside pressure shape who I am or the choices I make. I will stay focused on my own path, and trust that what is meant for me will come, what isn't will fade without needing a battle.

This year is for my happiness — for choosing it, protecting t, and working toward it with intention. I'll write when I can, not to impress anyone, but to remind myself of what I promised today.

Here's to beginnings.

Here's to growth.

Here's to choosing MYSELF.

PAPA IS MY HOME. Wherever I am, all I needed to do is call him and I'll instantly feel at home. But, he's not around anymore sooo...

YES, I miss HOME.

Love for Imperfect Things