Fallen future

Little life update. Life looks a little different now.

I have new routines, new fears, a second tattoo, and new things that make me smile. Some dreams changed, while some stayed exactly the same.

I’m still cooking. Still finding little joys in ordinary days. Still trying her best to become the best mom she can be.

I don’t really know what life will look like a year from now, but I hope when I come back to watch this, I’ll smile knowing I kept going.

I used to think the food was enough to tell the story. And maybe, for a while, it was.

Cooking has always been my way of expressing things I couldn’t quite put into words. Every recipe, every meal, every quiet afternoon spent in the kitchen carried pieces of me, even when I wasn’t in the frame.

But lately, I’ve been realizing that maybe it’s okay to be seen too. I’m finally feeling a little more comfortable taking up space in my own story.

So you’ll probably be seeing more of me there. Still cooking. Still sharing recipes. Still finding joy in the ordinary. Just no longer hiding behind the things I create.

My bank account would probably have a few things to say about this. 😂 But this is one of the reasons I’ll always be grateful for the years I spent building my little candle business. I stopped selling retail a long time ago. Life happened. Motherhood happened. Priorities shifted. Yet every now and then, someone from that chapter of my life finds their way back. Not because they need a candle. But because somewhere along the way, a scent became part of their home.

Her name is Shen. She was a mom first before anything else. Most of her days revolved around her son, Bem, and a lot of the choices she made were quietly shaped by what would help him grow, learn, and feel loved.

She was the kind of person who could turn ordinary things into stories—grocery runs, cooking dinner, a trip to the palengke, a childhood memory, a pair of heels, a random thought at midnight. She noticed things other people walked past.

She loved feeding people. Cooking wasn’t just a task for her; it was one of the ways she showed care. She came from a family that worked hard, helping run a vegetable stall in the market, and she carried that same work ethic into everything she did.

She built a life online, sharing motherhood, food, and everyday moments. Thousands of people followed her content, but she seemed to care most about being relatable rather than perfect.

She was creative in a dozen different ways—writing, making candles, creating content, taking photos, coming up with captions, and finding beauty in ordinary days.

She worried a lot. She loved deeply. Sometimes those two things looked very similar.

She carried heartbreaks, disappointments, and regrets, but she kept moving anyway. There were moments when she genuinely thought she wouldn’t survive certain chapters of her life, yet she did. Every time.

She adored her family. Her dad’s opinion mattered to her more than she probably admitted. When he was hospitalized, she dropped everything to be there.

She had dreams that changed shape over the years. Some became businesses. Some became the life she built around her son.

More than anything, she was someone who kept showing up—whether for her child, her family, her audience, or the people she loved.

And if they asked me for the shortest description, I’d say:

It makes me wonder… did we get there? Did we become the people we said we’d be 10 years ago? Did we make it to the places we spent hours dreaming about back then?

Whenever I cook for a lot of people, I usually end up not enjoying the food myself. By the time everything is done, I’ve already spent hours planning, preparing, tasting, cooking, and cleaning. When it’s finally time to eat, my appetite is gone.

Today was one of those days.

My lower back is aching, I’m exhausted, and all I really want is to sit down for a while. But seeing the table full and knowing that family and friends are enjoying the food makes it worth it.

Here's life lately.

Cooking and vlogging as usual. Somewhere along the way, I learned how to share this part of my life with other people.

A tiny kitchen that has witnessed countless meals, late-night preparations, and small victories.

A mirror selfie from the cinema restroom after watching Toy Story 5 with my son.

A simple dinner I made without filming it. just food, just family, just a moment that didn't need content.

A quick selfie while running errands with my sister.

Another selfie, simply to remind my socials that I'm still here.

And meals prepared to share with people who need them more than I do.

Nothing extraordinary.

I made the crack sauce, boiled the pork belly so I only have to fry it tomorrow, and now I’m just waiting for the jelly to set before mixing it into the buko pandan salad. After that, I’m officially done for the day.

Tomorrow’s list is already waiting for me: spaghetti, vegetable salad, and sushi.

I’m tired. My feet hurt, the kitchen is a mess, and I can still smell garlic and onions on my hands. But this is the kind of tired that makes me smile.

The kind that comes from preparing something with love. The kind that fills the fridge, makes tomorrow a little easier, and turns ordinary ingredients into something people will gather around.

Not all happiness is loud. Sometimes it’s just standing in a quiet kitchen, looking at everything you’ve finished, and thinking,

Fiesta is only two days away, and my friends are coming over for dinner. Will I get tired? Definitely.

I miss the internet from years ago. the kind where people cared more about what you wrote than who you were. Where words were allowed to exist without becoming an invitation for judgment, assumptions, or endless opinions.

Maybe that’s what I’m looking for.

A small corner of the internet that’s just mine. No expectations, no pressure, no need to explain myself. Just random thoughts, stories, small victories, and things I want to remember.

Okay naman. Ikaw kamusta? Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time reflecting.

Parang ang daming years na puro responsibilities, routines, at pag-aalaga sa ibang tao. Ngayon, I’m trying to make space for things that make me feel like myself again.

Funny how a few years ago, I hated this life.

Funny how I spent so much time questioning my worth simply because I had time on my hands. I thought being busy was proof of significance. I thought success had to look loud.

But now, I see how lucky I am to live this slow, gentle life.

If my late twenties could see me now, she would finally exhale. She would stop chasing every version of success that wasn’t meant for her.

She wouldn’t want any other life.

And maybe that’s the most beautiful thing about getting older: realizing that the life you once overlooked was the one you were praying for all along.

If I could hug the version of me from a few years back, I would. I’d sit beside her and tell her to stop worrying so much. I’d tell her that not everything has to happen right away. That her life isn’t falling behind.

I’d tell her that one day, she’ll wake up and realize that everything she spent years searching for was quietly finding its way to her.

And most of all, I’d tell her this:

I didn’t believe it at first. I kept thinking there were so many creators doing the same thing, so what made mine any different?

Then I realized maybe the hardest person to convince was myself.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve been consistently good at, it’s not creating content… it’s doubting myself. 😅

But every time someone tells me they tried a tip I shared, saved money because of a post, or felt less alone in their journey, I’m reminded that maybe there’s a reason I’m here.