Something about that trending reel made me write this, exactly when I am in vacation and feeling the whole of it.

My body presses softly on the sand and I let the crashing waves lull me to sleep. I do not mind the sun beating my eyes. I do not mind the clock this time. I do not mind a thousand things on my plate. Funny how things just make sense when the only loudness in your head are not voices, but the natural things around you.

Everything felt still. The kind of stillness that doesn’t ask for anything, only invites you to notice. And in that quiet, it came to me: THIS IS THE WHOLE POINT.

Not the chaos. Not the trying. Not the endless reaching for something or someone to explain why I felt so far from myself. Just this. The sun on my skin. The rhythm of the sea. The soft realization that I am allowed to simply be.

I’ve been thinking about all the ways I searched for answers in other people. How I spent so much of my time offering pieces of myself in places that couldn’t hold them. My time, my softness, my thoughts that never made it into words. I gave parts of me like offerings, quietly asking to be seen, to be held, to be chosen.

I kept thinking how maybe I am too much to hold. You know that quote that has been circling the internet for a while? “Does knowing me lead to loving me less?”. I understood. I created this life with so much depth only to realize that I am offering in shallow waters. I kept mistaking closeness for safety. I thought presence meant care. And each time, when I wasn’t met fully, I told myself to shrink. To soften further. To ask for less. To be more understanding, more patient, more forgiving. How am I giving more and more and somehow receiving lesser and lesser still?

It took me a long time to see that it was never about being unlovable. I wasn’t too complicated, too quiet, too deep. That love, real love, begins in the way I care for myself. That wholeness doesn’t come from being seen by others, it comes from seeing myself clearly. That every moment of clarity I was chasing was already within me, waiting for my return.

For the first time in a long while, I’ve let my body exist without demand. No performance, no pressure, no fixing. Just being. I’ve let it rest. Let it carry me through slow mornings and aimless walks, through sunrises and solitude, through a life that asks nothing but presence.

This body is not broken. It never was. It has carried me through every version of myself. And if there are cracks, they’re not signs of damage. They’re spaces that have been filled, over time, with experience, with wonder, with quiet joy. This body remembers things I’ve forgotten. It has held pain, yes, but also beauty. It has witnessed small miracles — like healing in the absence of noise, or feeling safe in my own breath again.

This body has seen things no one else has. It holds a story that belongs entirely to me. And now, more than ever, I move through the world with a kind of quiet reverence for this body, not for how it looks, not for what it can do, but for how it continues to carry me home, again and again.

I used to think I had to earn this kind of peace. That I needed to prove something before I was allowed to live fully. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. Life doesn’t ask for permission. It simply wants to be lived.

This is the point. Living softly. Living honestly. Living fully in your own way. Creating a life that is yours alone — not perfect, not polished, but real. Something you can look at and say, yes, I made this. I chose this. I was here.

And silly me, I forgot.

"I've always been aware of being an inconsistent personality. Of having a lot of contradicting voices inside my head." As Zadie Smith wrote.

I've never really been someone who feels like I am destined to be one person who has mastered one thing and I'll do that thing for the rest of my life.

Most people would have one big dream that they will chase for the rest of their lives, but I've always felt like I'm not meant to just be one thing. And I've always known that being a creative person has always been my path, but in what way? I never really thought about being specific with it. I wanted to try them all. Most people would also say being a jack of all trades will result to being a master of none, but do I really want to master everything? Do I really want to pressure myself so much? I don't think so. All I know is I wanted to see the limits of my potential, and once I do, I'll move on to the next. Curiosity has always been a compass that my mind tends to follow. Not in a way where it knows whether a decision is right or wrong, but rather, "What will happen next if I do this?". There are multiple possibilities that could lead to either an answer or lead to my demise, but both results to one thing: finding out.

What do they say about curiosity? "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

But having way too many paths to follow also results to being lost. It felt like that for a while, but I figured, am I really lost or do I just like to wander?

There’s no rule that says you have to stick to one thing forever. Some people are wired to specialize, and others are meant to explore. What if following way too many paths doesn't really mean being lost along the way, but expanding the map you were given. What if it's like those open world RPGs we play that unlocks new territories each time you explore?

This curiosity, this "fucking around and finding out", or even having way too many creative outlets that leads to too many different paths doesn't mean being aimless. It means being alive. The idea that you have to pick just one thing and master it is outdated. There’s power in versatility. You get to experience the world in so many different ways, and each new thing you try adds another layer to who you are. If you had forced yourself to pick just one, you wouldn’t have discovered half of what you're capable of.

Mastery doesn’t always have to be the goal. Maybe the purpose is to create, to experience, to move through different forms of art and expression without boxing ourselves in.

And if you do feel lost, I'll tell you, you're not. You are expansive. You are evolving. Maybe we're someone who thrives in the process of learning, trying, and moving forward. Not everyone is built to follow a straight path—some people are meant to weave through different roads and create their own map. And if that’s what feels right to you, then that is the right path.

Have you ever lost track of time doing something you love? That moment when everything else fades, and it’s just you and something that you’re passionate about? That’s how I feel whenever I’m holding my camera or writing something like this.

There was a time when I put my camera down for months, buried under deadlines and the pressure to ‘be productive.’ I told myself I didn’t have time for photography, I’m already filled with so much workload and my words are running the show now. But the more I ignored it, the more I felt disconnected from myself.

In a world obsessed with productivity, it’s easy to neglect the things that bring us joy. Studies show that people who regularly engage in their passions experience lower stress levels, greater life satisfaction, and improved mental health. Yet, so many of us push aside the things we love because we’re ‘too busy’ or ‘it’s not practical.’ I’ve even used the excuse (I’m pretty sure it’s not an excuse, but sure) that a girl holding a camera in Manila is a dangerous combination and just screams two of the words that I am most afraid of as a girl that starts with the letter “R”.

But here’s what I’ve learned: passion isn’t just a hobby you indulge in when you have the time—it’s a vital part of who you are. When we constantly push aside the things that make us feel alive, we start to lose pieces of ourselves. We become shells of who we once were, consumed by the idea that our worth is tied only to how productive we are.

We live in a world that glorifies hustle culture, where every minute is expected to be spent chasing success, meeting deadlines, or proving our value through output. But what if fulfillment wasn’t just about work? What if carving out time for your passions—whether it’s writing, photography, music, or anything that sets your soul on fire—is just as important as chasing career goals?

If you’ve ever felt like you’ve abandoned the things you love in the name of being “productive,” then maybe this is the reminder you need: you are more than just the work you do. And the things you love? They matter.

Pursuing what you love isn’t just about enjoyment; it’s about self-discovery. It teaches you who you are beyond work, beyond expectations. It builds confidence, fuels creativity, and gives life a deeper sense of purpose.

I have always been someone who liked to explore activities that make me learn something. I’ve always said that I am much more of a student of life rather than a student at school. I enjoyed expanding my skills towards activities that I find fun and since I was a kid, I tried to dip my feet into many passion points such as learning guitar, piano, bass, painting, volleyball, badminton, cooking and photography, apart from the things that I’m naturally good at. It seemed a lot, but my mind is just restless and I am taking advantage of the good side of having ADHD.

But despite having so many things that set my soul on fire, the weight of responsibilities felt heavier. The stacks of deadlines turned into mountains, and somewhere along the way, I got buried in the avalanche.

What I’ve realized, though, is that our passions aren’t just side interests—they are reflections of who we are at our core. They allow us to express ourselves in ways words often can’t. They are the most authentic parts of us, untouched by expectations or the need for validation. That’s why embracing what makes you unique—whether it’s through art, movement, music, or something unconventional—isn’t just a luxury; it’s a necessity. My most favorite TED Talk of Ethan Hawke talks about how art is not a luxury, it’s sustenance. What we do in our daily routine is our way of creating our lives. It is our art.

So if there’s something you love, something that makes you feel like yourself, don’t let it slip away. Make space for it. Let it be a part of your life, not just an afterthought. Because the things that bring you joy? They are worth fighting for.

On the passing of time, the existential crisis on never really arriving on time.

Time moves in ways we don’t always notice. Some days, it feels like a slow, steady rhythm. Morning turns into afternoon, then evening, and the day ends just as quietly as it began. Other times, it rushes forward without warning, slipping through your hands before you even realize it was there.

It’s in the small moments: the way the streetlights hum at night, the way the seasons shift before you’ve had the chance to catch up, the way people around you seem to move forward while you’re still trying to find your footing. You don’t always feel behind, but every now and then, you wonder—when did everyone else figure it out? And why does it feel like you’re still waiting for something to begin?

By the time we reach our mid-to-late twenties, there’s an expectation that we should have everything figured out—careers, relationships, experiences, and personal achievements. But what happens when that isn’t the case? What happens when you look around and realize that while others seem to have moved forward effortlessly, you’re still trying to find your footing?

In moments like this, I try to forgive myself for not being able to reach the things I said I should be doing by now, in time. I try to remind myself that I just had a restart, and with that comes new learnings, new ways of adapting.

Two years ago, I left everything I knew in my career as a starting journalist and jumped the gun towards a more creative path. I spent 6 years in school for that and about 3 and a half years trying to forge a career out of it. I said I was only doing it out of spite. Just because someone told me I couldn’t do it. In a way, I did get to do it. But I guess carrying the burdens of this world in my brain and writing about it isn't really my forte. It drove me crazy. (And let’s be honest, writing about the bullshit this government–or anywhere else–spouts on a daily basis isn’t really anyone’s cup of tea).

I gave myself a challenge. To leave everything I knew about it and restart and go towards a creative path. Find a place where I can still use my words in telling stories. I never really saw myself working in advertising, but I guess, I am seeing myself flourish. I would say I’ve never had as many winning moments here as I did back when I was a journalist. It felt like home.

But in quiet moments like this when the impostor syndrome eats you up, when you see your peers excelling in their careers, or those who came after you thriving. You see engagements, anniversaries, new cities to live in, new businesses, marriages and children all over your timeline, how do you forgive yourself? How do you calm yourself down?

There’s a certain heaviness that comes with feeling like you’re behind in life. It's not just the thought that you’re moving slower than others—it’s the weight of seeing your peers thrive, reaching milestones that you once promised yourself you’d achieve, only to realize that you’re still here, still figuring things out.

It’s not that you’re unhappy. It’s just that question, quiet but persistent: Am I late?

But late for what, exactly? That’s the part that’s harder to define. There was never a clear deadline, no rulebook that said success should come by a certain age, no universal timeline that everyone is meant to follow. And yet, it still feels like there was some invisible race you were supposed to be running—one you somehow fell behind without even realizing when you stopped to catch your breath.

I’ve always thought I’ve got it all figured out. I’ve spent my youth looking for my purpose instead of giving my time to the meaningless and the temporary. Those are the things I’ve only recently enjoyed, now that I’ve got time. But still, even in those meaningless and temporary times, I still felt left behind. Now that my purpose is not in theory, but in practice, I suddenly have no idea what to do.

Maybe it’s because we grew up with these quiet expectations, ones we never really questioned until we found ourselves outside of them. By twenty-five, you should have a stable career. By thirty, you should have it all figured out. At some point, you should have found the thing—the passion, the purpose, the certainty that tells you you’re on the right path.

But life rarely moves in straight lines. Some people find success early, others take years to figure out what they want. Some take detours, some start over completely. And none of it is wrong. It’s just that no one really talks about the in-between—the part where you’re still figuring things out, where progress feels slow, where you’re not exactly where you thought you’d be, but you’re not nowhere, either.

And maybe that’s the real truth of it: feeling late is less about time and more about comparison. It’s not that you’re not moving forward—it’s that you’re looking to the side, measuring your steps against everyone else’s. I’ve always said that I shouldn’t compare myself to others because we all have our own timelines, and we should just trust ourselves and our own progress, and so I guess this serves as a reminder again.

The truth is, no one is ever really late. Life doesn’t happen on a fixed schedule, and meaning isn’t reserved only for those who figure things out first. Some roads take longer. Some journeys have more detours. And sometimes, the path only makes sense when you look back, not while you’re still walking it.

You are not falling behind. You are arriving—at your own pace, in your own time. The milestones that matter will find you when they’re meant to, just as you will find them when you’re ready.

“I am afraid that if I open myself, I will not stop pouring. Why do I fear becoming a river? What mountain gave me such shame?” - Jamie Oliver

There are moments when we feel as though we are carrying entire oceans inside us. It feels like we are too vast and too deep and too untamed. I drown in my own self a lot of times. We have so much to express, so much to pour, yet we hold back. Not because we have nothing to say, but because we fear what might happen if we let it all flow. Will we be able to stop? Will we drown in our own emotions, our own thoughts, our own art? Jamie Oliver’s quote—“I am afraid that if I open myself, I will not stop pouring. Why do I fear becoming a river? What mountain gave me such fame?”—has been something I've always seen around the internet for quite a long time and has always something I resonated with. I also think that it is a universal struggle: the fear of vulnerability. If we let our emotions, thoughts, and creativity flow freely, they might become uncontrollable. But where does this fear come from, and why do we hesitate to let ourselves be seen?

To be a river is to move, to shape the world, to exist in constant transformation. And yet, I hold back, afraid that if I open myself up, I’ll be swallowed by the very things that make me who I am. Maybe it’s because I’ve been made to feel like my emotions, my creativity, my essence—are either too much or not enough. Maybe it’s because the world has taught me that vulnerability is a risk, something to be guarded, something to be ashamed of.

As someone who creates—whether through my art, photography, poetry, writing, music, or anything else—I feel this even more deeply. The world is vast, filled with so many voices, so many ideas, so many people who seem bigger, louder, more significant. Sometimes, it feels like my ocean is just a puddle in comparison.

But does the size of an ocean define its worth? Even a small ripple can create waves. Even a puddle reflects the sky. A river isn't weak. It moves, it carves landscapes, it brings life. Maybe the real question is, who told us that flowing, that feeling deeply, was something to be ashamed of in the first place.

So maybe it’s not just about the fear of vulnerability, but about the shame tied to it. Vulnerability is often met with judgment, and that makes it hard to let others see us as we are.

But what if we stop seeing it as a weakness? What if we stop comparing my ocean to someone else’s? No two rivers flow the same way. No two oceans hold the same depth. And maybe, that’s the point. Oceans don't pour; they ebb and flow, they have tides. Maybe our art can move in waves, at our own pace. We can have our own currents, our own depth, our own stories.

The ocean doesn't compare itself to other oceans. It just exists. It moves and it shapes the world in its own way. Even if we feel there are too many better oceans around us, that doesn't mean we don't have space for it.

Maybe the rivers inside of us is a source of water of someone who's dying of thirst. Maybe the oceans inside us is someone release, someone's peace.

In the midst of the mess of my room, I am compelled to write. It's been a long long while, but on most days, like all things that I used to love coming back, I think about re-visiting this tiny corner of the internet where I grew up, knowing it's where my love for words flourished.

I'll tell you something though. In the long long while I was gone, I've been a hundred facets, and have lived and died and lived for as much as I couldn't even count. I am very much alive again. Older, but I'm not entirely sure if wiser. I've been brave and incredibly fearful. I forgot how old I was when I started you. I forget a lot of things. I even forgot who I was for a while. But I think, things made out of love will never really be lost. It will always find its way back to you.

You won't believe the growth I've been through though. What I can tell you is, we used to pray about this. Weirdly enough, in some way, shape, or form, all the things you whispered to the universe came true.

Of course, not everything is set in stone yet. Of course, not everything is true yet.

But here we are, creating that truth. Here we are, creating.

I'll tell you another thing: so many my fears have been surpassed and so many new ones built itself and need to be surpassed.

Maybe that's why I'm here again. Not that anyone watches, but there is a need to overcome the fear of being seen.