#prsnlpst

So yes, itatrack record ko yung mga kaganapan sa araw-araw so I have something to look back on and para ma-compare ko if things are getting better or kung kailangan ko na ba humingi ng tulong sa iba.

Day 1 (morning), okay lang naman. Napagdesisyunan ko na ehem gawing hobby ang paglilinis ehem kasi nakaka-relieve pala siya ng stress kapag marami kang iniisip? Medyo gumaan din yung pakiramdam ko noong nakita kong ang linis ng bahay. HEHEHE.

"And I will wait for you to say it's you I want all my life. And I'll be your PRIDE."

Minsan nalang din to kantahin ng GRACENOTE sa Gig kaya nga sabi ko kahapon e hihingi akong sign. Di ko na sasabihin kung para saan or ano basta sinabi ko pag kinanta lang talaga ng GN yung I will wait.

Gabi na, nakalimutan ko yung about sa sign ko nayon. Di ko naalala. Pero kahit antok na ako, nag antay talaga ako na GN na next tumugtog kahit sa VideoCall manlang. So ayun, bigla tumawag din yung tita ko kaya naexit dn ako dun sa VideoCall namin.

Biglang sinend yung video nila na nag I WILL WAIT nga sila 🙈😭 nakakaiyak, nakaka taba ng puso. Napaluha ako actually kasi bigla ko naalala yung sign na hinihingi ko.

tapos yesterday we had a huge fight. tas nagpause kami saglit, i was staring at our pictures, iniisip ko kung pagod na ba siya sakin. when we talked again, i asked if we needed a cool off tas sabi nya lang she was about to say sorry 🥹🥹🥹

then we talked again, admitting our mistakes together. and i remember her saying, sana di ako mapagod na patawarin siya. and that is always her wish whenever our friends asked what made us stay together consistently. i told her there’s nothing that she can do that will ever make me not forgive her. kahit mapagod ako, i just know we will still sleep together at the end of the day.

and we cried. we acknowledged how good we are already at arguments, that instead of her shutting off, we talked. that instead of me second guessing, we held each other’s hand.

sabi nya feeling nya raw lagi akong nakaimpake, aminado naman ako dati. kasi lagi nyang pinapaalala sakin nun na di nya ko kailangan. sabi nya sakin, iba na ngayon. kailangan nya ko, higit pa sa kung anong meron siya. na lahat ng ginagawa nya ay patungo samin, sa hinaharap naming dalawa. kaya kahapon, inassure ko rin siya, hindi ako nakaimpake ;(( at kung aalis man ako, magkasama kaming dalawa.

I used to have a friend—she has three kids.

There was a time when I was unemployed, and most of my days were spent hanging out outside the house. She didn’t have work either, and neither did her husband. Somehow, we clicked—maybe because we found humor in our shared struggles of being jobless.

She wasn’t rich. Neither was I. But we had each other, and I’ve always loved being around kids. I’m good with them. She had three daughters, and her youngest was just around 8 or 9 months old at the time. I would often carry the baby—not just because I loved babies, but because I genuinely wanted to help. I’d take care of her bunso, let her sleep in our house, feed her.

We’d often invite them to eat with us—not out of pity, but because they started to feel like family. We’d even lend her money just so they could buy food, because there were days when they had nothing to eat. Walang trabaho, walang kita, walang makain.

Then I got a job. But nothing really changed in how we treated them. Sure, I had less time because of work, but we still made sure to check on them during meal times—ask if they’d eaten already, and if not, we’d either invite them over or send them food.

We also encouraged her to apply at a BPO. She didn’t have much confidence, but we did our best to push her. Eventually, she got a job too.

But as time passed, she started to distance herself. At first, it was understandable—we both had work. But eventually, she stopped acknowledging us completely.

Was it because she finally had money?

I still remember one thing she said during a fight she had with another person who once helped her:

“Hindi naman utang na loob yung mga tulong na binigay niyo, kasi kusa niyong binigay.”

I wasn’t even the one she said that to, but it stung.

She and my partner had a misunderstanding. My partner warned me about her attitude, but I’m a softy. I saw her like an older sister, so I still kept in touch. I’d lend her money again when she needed it. I’d give her food again when she had none—especially when she lost her job again.

Then she found work once more. And this time, when we needed help—simple things lang like asking for change or a small amount—she couldn’t be bothered.

Still, we gave her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she didn’t have extra.

When we transferred to a new company, we convinced her to apply too because we knew she needed the job. I even referred her. She almost missed her final interview because she didn’t have money for fare, so I booked her a motorcycle ride myself, just to make sure she’d make it.

At first, everything felt like the old days again. But soon after, we found out she had been talking behind our backs at work. We don’t even know if the stories were exaggerated or twisted. And again—just like before—she started ignoring us.

And today… she completely ignored me.

She can’t even pretend she didn’t see me—we were literally beside each other, facing each other.

It’s disappointing. After everything.

I didn’t expect anything in return.

This badminton game had been in the works for a while — a plan that started from a casual convo with Ate Jo. Ever since she mentioned it, we’d laugh every now and then, wondering if it would really push through or end up as another “drawing” plan. Just like most barkada ideas, it kept getting bumped off by spontaneous eat-outs and random bonding moments. But finally, it actually happened.

And I’m so glad it did.

It’s been more than 10… maybe even 15 years since I last held a racket seriously. I used to play, back when my body didn’t scream at me for running back and forth on the court. Life happened, priorities shifted, and slowly, that part of me faded into the background. I never really noticed how much I missed it until I stepped on the court again.

Sure, my smashes were off, my reflexes felt rusty, and my lungs almost gave up on me, but it felt so good. Not just physically, but mentally. It moved muscles that haven’t been active in years, and more than that, it released a kind of stress I didn’t even realize I was carrying.

Although, let’s be real, with my current eye grade, tracking the shuttle was already a challenge. Add to that the sweat dripping into my eyes… it was a full-on struggle. 😅

Laughing, catching my breath, teasing each other about missed shots. It was the kind of fun that fills you up. No pressure, no overthinking.. just a good game with good people.

And now, I want more of that.

TW: Self-harm, mental health struggles

Hindi ko alam paano ko sisimulan to nang hindi ako kinakabahan. Hindi ko rin alam kung may magbabasa ba nito o kung may makakaintindi. Pero sige, lalabanin ko na lang yung hiya, kasi baka ito na lang din yung paraan para kahit papaano… gumaan.

Lately, sobrang bigat. Hindi lang basta pagod. Hindi lang basta stress. Parang literal na binubuhat ko lahat ng sakit at pressure ng mundo sa dibdib ko. Kahit simpleng bagay, nakakadrain na. Kahit yung mga dati kong kinagigiliwan, parang wala na akong gana.

Ang dami kong kailangan isipin, lalo na expectations ng tao, sa pamilya, sarili kong pagtingin sa sarili ko. Tapos sa gabi, tahimik na lahat pero utak ko, gising pa rin. Ang ingay. Ang gulo.

At eto nanaman ako.

I hate to admit it pero parang bumabalik ako sa version ng sarili kong ayokong balikan. Yung ako na… nagsusugat. Hindi dahil gusto ko ng attention, pero kasi hindi ko na alam paano maglabas ng sakit. Yung physical pain, kahit papano, nakakapanlamig ng emosyon. Kahit ilang segundo lang… may peace.

Alam kong hindi ito tama. Hindi ito healthy. Pero yun nga yung nakakatakot—hindi ko na alam paano maging okay ulit. Kasi kahit ilang beses ko sabihin sa sarili ko na “kaya mo yan,” parang hindi na siya naniniwala.

There’s something strange about how a tattoo can heal you.

The needle hurts, yes — but it’s a pain you choose.

With each sting, it feels like the weight you’ve been carrying slowly lifts.

Stress, sadness, memories — they rise with every line, and somehow, they fade.

It’s not just about the art.

It’s about feeling something real.

It’s about taking control, even for a moment.

And when it’s done, you’re different.

There was a time when I told my parents everything—from the little things like what I ate for lunch at school, to the big things like who my crush was or how I did on a test. It was easy back then. I was a child, and their presence felt like a safe bubble. I never thought twice about opening up. They were my first home, my first comfort.

Even through high school and into college, I kept that habit. I’d come home and tell them about my professors, my friends, my problems. I believed in honesty, in transparency. I thought that’s what made relationships strong. And I trusted them enough to carry the weight of my small world.

But something changed.

Maybe it was the pressure of adulthood, maybe it was the way some of my truths were met—not with comfort, but with worry, judgment, or unintentional invalidation. Eventually, I started keeping things to myself. I didn’t even notice it at first. It began with skipping the small details, like why I was quiet at dinner, or why I suddenly lost interest in things I used to enjoy. Then I stopped sharing the bigger stuff—like my fears, my mistakes, the way my thoughts sometimes spiraled out of control.

It wasn’t because I didn’t trust them. It was because I felt uncomfortable. I became scared of their reactions. Not that they were harsh—just that their worry made me feel worse. I hated seeing the confusion in their eyes when they couldn’t understand what was wrong. I didn’t want to be the reason for their sadness. It started to trigger me. My mental health was fragile, and every conversation that was supposed to help started to feel heavy instead.

Still, I remember people telling me, “Don’t keep everything to yourself. We’re here. We want to know.”

So I tried.

I tried to open up again, little by little. A text here, a story there. But every time I did, I overthought everything—Did I say too much? Did I make them worry again? Should I have just kept it to myself?

Sometimes, I wished I didn’t know what was happening. I wished I could stay unaware, detached, numb. Because knowing—feeling—made everything so heavy. And even when I wanted to be strong and open and honest, the weight of it all made me want to hide again.