YSA PA, with feelings

I’m watching you watch over me, and I’ve got the greatest view from here ✨

Six years ago, I felt the pain of being retrenched from a company I loved and served for more than a decade.

Last month, I rendered my last day and resigned from Accenture.

I can honestly say: the feeling of being laid off and the feeling of leaving by choice are worlds apart.

And yet, what a gift it is to have experienced both.

To have stood on opposite ends of the spectrum within the span of six years. To look back on a journey that still feels too profound to fully put into words. And to remain deeply grateful for the people who made every step worthwhile.

What a gift.

Thank You, Lord, for everything. I can clearly see everything you’re doing. Thank you for being the most faithful and the most generous.

After five years, I’m closing an important chapter and saying goodbye to Accenture with a grateful heart.

I remain especially thankful to the team who welcomed me in 2021. At a time when employment opportunities were limited and uncertainty was everywhere, they took a chance on me. That opportunity became a journey of growth, challenge, and accomplishment.

One of the first things I learned as a new hire was Accenture’s tagline: Let There Be Change. Over the years, I embraced that change wholeheartedly—evolving as a writer, contributing to pursuits, celebrating shared wins, and learning from some of the most talented and supportive people I’ve had the privilege to work with.

As I move forward, I carry with me not only valuable experiences and lessons, but also a deep appreciation for the brilliant people who made this journey meaningful.

Four years of ranting and raving here <3

From someone who would do things over the top—overthink, overexplain, overdefend, and even overforgive—I have quietly shifted to honoring the f*cks I just suddenly ceased to give. Perhaps this silence was born during the pandemic and solidified further every year that followed; and I am so grateful for realizing that it’s called ‘inner’ peace for a reason. It’s something that no other external thing can give you: no relationship, no friendship, no tangible validation.

It’s something you grant yourself as many times as you need to. I am okay with losing anything and everything that no longer serves me, things that do not exist on the same page where I am. And there is no explanation needed from my end or their end. They’ve made their choices, and I have earned the right to make my own too. After almost four decades, I finally know what I deserve and what people deserve from me.

“Meet people where they meet you.” Yep.

I don’t have to overextend subscriptions that do not meet their due worth and proper appreciation. I value selection and intention more than anything now. I will never let anything or anyone undermine my value again.

When I was about 8 or 9, my dad was rushed to this place, and because I was too young, the hospital prohibited me from visiting him. I wasn’t able to see him for a few days. That was quite traumatic for an only child. In 2013, my paternal grandmother was confined in Intensive Care, and I visited her every day for a week or two at this place. I was so thankful I was allowed to visit this time around, and that my office then was just nearby.

Funny how I remember details like these but can’t seem to remember Trigonometry formulas or how to balance chemical equations anymore.

The heart remembers so much better than the mind does. And by God, does it remember a lot.

Some random cups of coffee with strings of words that seem to echo my weary—but now hyper-aware—soul.

Almost forgot I had these photos from La Union last year.

February 2026

I wasn’t done loving you yet, but some stories have to end midway even if we really cannot comprehend why. I’ve been constantly hating the Universe since 2020, so this feeling isn’t new at all. I also know what it’s like to have pets dying every now and then—some of them in old age and some of them in terminal illnesses. This, however, marks the very first time I’ve had a pet gone suspiciously missing. And a fragile little kitten at that. How ridiculous. How unfair.

You were always afraid to get out of your little corner in the house. You always hid behind plant boxes whenever there’s a delivery or a visitor. I will miss your playfulness and silliness and the weird sounds you make when you’re obsessed with the food we give you, as if expressing just how thankful you were every single time.

We really felt your love everyday. I can only hope a loving family thought you were a kawawa stray, and they took you in, and now you’re having the absolute time of your life. I’ll keep going back to this narrative whenever I am paralyzed with the most brutally negative thoughts. I need to stay sane in this cruel world.

He walks as if the world were slightly behind him, long strides stitching distance into something smaller, as though the pavement owes him passage. It isn’t arrogance. It’s just height, and the quiet inevitability of it.

His words don’t arrive; they flow— like a melody that never falters, each syllable placed with a kind of effortless precision that makes listening feel less like a choice and more like surrender. He carries a tune so well, he carries my heart with him when he does. And I am not easily caught, yet he gathers my attention without trying, keeps it from drifting, my soul from disassociating.

His voice: I could find it in a crowded room, in the next room, in the spaces between noise. It has a shape, a signature— something unmistakably his.

I don’t understand the architecture of his mind, the way thoughts seem to line up for him, obedient and bright; but it works, beautifully so, and I am left standing in its glow, wondering how something so intricate can feel so natural.

Stop this, silly girl. You are too old to be undone by details. And yet, not old enough, it seems to be immune.

So I place blame where I can: on the cadence of his voice, on the quicksilver of his wit, on the easy gravity of his charm. On his glasses, even— as though they frame more than sight. On the car he drives, the way the engine answers him, like it knows his hands.

On the care he gives to things, to moments, to whatever he decides is worth keeping.

And maybe, one day, I will find him in that city he loves— the one that seems to carry his name in its streets. Maybe he will see me there, not as I am in passing, but as I have always wanted to be seen,

There was once a watch, said to be made in London, named after a king long gone— immortalized, perhaps, because he ruled something once. Now, somewhere inside a dust-lined drawer, the watch does the opposite of reigning: what was meant to shine rests mournfully in a navy-blue box.

The owner no longer knows if it works. Only time outside the drawer could tell— but does the world’s time ever dare reach in? The way the watch curls inward, makes itself small, suggests otherwise.

It hides from its days of glory, from its nights brimming with love. It learns comfort in staying put, inside an old box. The box, in turn, takes pride in serving its sole purpose: day after day, it looks after the watch.

Still, the watch cannot help but wonder:

How is the arm that once wore me— that once flaunted me? The arm attached to a body with a mouth that beamed at me, with eyes that cherished what I meant, with a heart that once threatened to burst from pure, unfiltered joy.

For the person she once loved more than anything, more than everything, gifted her this watch. A watch engraved with a promise:

YOURS ALL THE TIME

A reminder for when doubt crept in, when memory faltered, when certainty wavered.

Now it is the watch’s turn to doubt, to forget, to wonder: about the arm, about the girl who owned it, about what it meant to be a gift, that just one day lost its meaning.

It was made in London. It was named after a king. And now it ticks and tocks, yet no soul on earth can hear. It inhales a failed romance, sucks in an ocean of feelings that it could have immortalized, and exhales a love that, despite its length and depth, will never find its voice again.

Is it ever truly possible to find both the fiercest passion and the safest kind of love in the same person? Are we that fortunate as humans? I do not believe so.

Photo taken by Koharu Haruka

It feels as though love arrives in two separate bodies. One comes like wildfire—bright, loud, uncontrollable—burning through certainty and leaving ash in its wake. It keeps you awake at night, heart racing, always scanning for the next spark or threat. The other arrives like a well‑built home at dusk: lights already on, doors unlocked, the air inside familiar and warm. You can breathe there. You can rest. But the flames, if they exist, flicker quietly behind thick walls.

To hold both in one person feels almost unnatural. To rage and collide with someone and still trust that the ground will catch you when you fall—to fight at full force and land softly in the same arms—feels less like love and more like legend.

Perhaps the gods noticed this imbalance long ago. Perhaps they watched humans reach for too much and decided to intervene. Somewhere beyond time, driven by their jealousy of our flaws and mortality, they must have agreed: no single human should ever be allowed to experience both kinds of love at once, with the same soul, in the same lifetime.

So they split the experience in two and scattered it across different faces, different seasons. They left us yearning, always reaching for what we do not have. They made longing our constant companion. It feels less like a chance and more like a punishment.

Those consumed by fire dream of quiet. They ache for mornings without anxiety, for a love that does not require decoding or defense. They want something steady enough to trust—something that does not invite doubt to pace the room at night, or imagination to sharpen its knives.

Meanwhile, those wrapped in safety lie awake beneath clean sheets and steady breathing, haunted by the idea of intensity. They sleep with one eye open: they imagine thunder instead of silence, heat instead of warmth. They wonder what it would feel like to be shaken, undone, pulled toward something dangerous and alive. They crave a love that leaves fingerprints, even if it costs them sleep. Or everything else.

Sometimes, the calm feels like ruthless torture in broad daylight; while the passion undresses and exposes uncertainty at night. One side dreams of peace. The other dreams of fire. And neither ever feels completely satisfied.

Because wanting, it seems, is our inheritance.

Humans were ultimately awarded the power, nay, the burden of choosing: a heart that never has to ask or a heart that never has to scream? So choose with great care and be wary of regrets. Countless, endless, insurmountable regrets.

Because you will always reach for the love you do not have. You cannot hold both the flame and the shelter in the same hands. That balance belongs only to myths.

And then one day, you suddenly find yourself shaking your head with a somewhat rueful smile because, without even realizing it, you’re just there again. You keep showing up like it’s the first time—despite being there countless times before.

And in many but subtle ways, the place keeps showing up for you too. Quietly. Certainly. Tirelessly.

Every year, my memories of you grow dimmer.

Sometimes, I don't think I can remember the sound of your laughter.

Or your snore. Your sighs of frustration. Your sighs of desire.

The way you click a pen before figuring out an idea.

The way I make you angry. The way I make you forgive.

The way we used to kiss.

Sometimes, I try so hard to remember.

Sometimes, I try even harder to forget.

It's there, I know, somewhere at the farthest back of my mind.

It seems impossible when I try to unearth it.

But on a mundane day, it just breaks my train of thought out of nowhere,

like an unwanted visitor.

Like a love letter forever lost in the secret pocket

of a pair of jeans that you no longer wear.

Like skeletons that you have no permit to exhume.

Like a U-turn slot that has long ceased to exist.

There is really no point left, I tell myself.

My thoughts wander, and I let myself wonder,

How are you?

I ask you in a scene I concocted in my head.

I imagine it so hard with my eyes tightly shut,

and with my heart wide open. Why the fuck is it always open?

I could never get a response.

I am the ghost in your passenger seat,

and you are the ghost in mine.

And so, I do my best to keep forgetting,

I think I've almost made it to the finish line.

One day I won't even remember what these words mean,

or whom they're for,

or why I wrote them on a day like this.

Back in 1999, we just moved to Filinvest Homes QC. I was an only child then. Dinner was an exercise in patience—you stayed at the table until everyone was finished. TV was not allowed while we ate; mobile phones were non-existent; even radios were turned off so we could really be present as we talked about each other's days. It's almost as if it were a different lifetime from the time we live now.

Anyway, Monday nights meant Dawson's Creek would air at precisely 8 o'clock, so I had to really sweet-talk my folks to eat dinner a bit earlier, because I desperately did not want to miss an episode. There were no subtitles then; no rewind or pause button; no streaming platforms to binge-watch or catch up when you missed an entire episode or an important scene. Most importantly, we didn't have cable service to cut back on expenses. As I said, we just moved in. I'm pretty sure we had to tighten our belts.

My parents were kind enough to excuse me from the dinner table three minutes before 8 o'clock. I'll always be grateful for that. It meant I could hear Dawson's overdramatic lines and how he would say Spielberg movies encapsulated the meaning of life. Pacey and Joey's budding love affair. Jen's wildness that would leave you in awe. (Come to think of it, Jen actually embodied YOLO long before it even was a term.) Capeside's calm, serene, and quiet beauty. But Dawson's beautiful, beautiful soul that was never perfect nor faultless—that landed on my top spot. It's his flawed, bitter, kind, romantic, even vindictive-to-some-extent character that draws you in the most.

Yep, I remember it like it was yesterday. Watching by myself in my room, fully immersed in the storyline. Getting up every now and then to adjust the damn antenna just so I could get a somewhat clear, mediocre screen from a small TV. I so loved being in that little bubble. I was happily lost in my own little world at 13, and it was, well, heaven.

Rest in peace, James Van Der Beek. Imagine leaving this world at merely 48. My age isn't even far from that. I mean, wow. The urge to just suddenly disappear so I could do everything I've always wanted to do but haven't been able to do so yet—hits even closer to home now.

"In some unearthly way, it's always gonna be you and me. What we have goes beyond friendship, beyond lovers. It's forever." - Dawson Leery

I really did not mean for this post to drag on this long, but here we are.

January 1, 2026

2025 had to officially end before I could give it a proper farewell. I guess it only goes to show I didn’t believe it deserved any kind of speech or thank you note from me. Don’t get me wrong; it had its glimmers and some silver linings and quite a handful of distinctive reasons to be grateful for. But if I’m being truly honest, I wouldn’t ever want to go through it again.

When I look back and remember all the things that year took from me, including my dog, I just feel waves of defeat once more. I try to keep in mind what Haruki Murakami said: “Such wounds to the heart will probably never heal. But we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever.”

Thankfully, I intentionally decided to end the year soft and slow by revisiting a city I last saw nine years ago, with the bonus of good food, cold weather, a lovely display of fireworks, and lastly—but most importantly—some quiet moments to just sit with my thoughts, listen to my soul, forgive where I failed, fuel whatever hope remained, kill whatever does not serve me anymore, and try to befriend myself again.

I sometimes forget that I am myself’s oldest friend.

Happy new year, one and all! Being kind to others is great and noble. But you know what’s the most underrated thing these days?