Fortunate Life

I’m sharing this not for sympathy, but for awareness. Honestly, I still cannot believe this happened to me. I am usually very careful. I double check names, numbers, and details before sending money. I am the type of person who pauses and verifies. But this time, I was busy. Distracted. Multitasking. And that was all it took. An online friend messaged me asking if I had a GCash balance. Let’s call her Friend A. I said yes. She told me she urgently needed to borrow money and promised to return it the next day. At that time, I was working, so my replies were delayed. But she kept following up, asking if I had already sent the money. What made it convincing was this: after some time, she started asking about work related topics. Exactly how we normally talk. The flow of conversation felt natural and familiar. There were no obvious red flags. In fact, just two hours before that, we were having a completely normal conversation. So I sent the money. She asked for a screenshot. I sent i...

  Last Sunday, we went to Montemaria to experience the glass walk. I had seen photos of it before. People standing on a clear platform, high above the ground, with nothing but glass beneath their feet and sky all around them. It looked beautiful and terrifying at the same time. On the way there, I kept asking myself, “What if I get scared? What if I freeze in the middle?” I have never really considered myself afraid of heights, but it is different when you know you will actually step on transparent glass and look straight down. Part of me wanted to back out. Another part of me wanted the thrill, the story, the feeling of doing something that stretches me. When it was finally my turn, I took a deep breath and stepped forward. To my surprise, I did not feel fear. I was waiting for my heart to race. I was waiting for my knees to shake. But none of that happened. Instead, I felt calm. I looked down through the glass. I looked around at the wide view, the sky, the horizon. I felt p...

  We are taught that change must begin with a blank page. A fresh start. A clean slate. As if becoming better requires erasing everything that came before. But your life is not a notebook. It is a living story. And you don’t rip out all the pages because one chapter was painful. You turn the page. For so long, I believed that growth meant starting over. That if I wanted a better life, I had to become a different person altogether. Leave behind the past, forget the missteps, distance myself from versions of me that didn’t get everything right. But life doesn’t work that way. You don’t wake up one day completely new. You wake up aware . And that awareness changes everything. The idea of a clean slate is comforting because it promises relief. It tells us we can undo mistakes, rewrite decisions, and escape the weight of our history. But real transformation is not about escape — it is about integration. You carry your past not as a burden, but as proof that you lived, trie...

There comes a quiet moment in life when you realize something important: you don’t actually need a brand-new life — you just need a clearer one. It doesn’t arrive with fireworks. No dramatic announcement. No life-changing event that forces your hand. It comes in stillness. Maybe while washing dishes. During a long travel when you’re staring out the window, watching the world move while your mind goes somewhere deeper. Or in the middle of the night when your thoughts won’t rest and your heart finally speaks. You begin to feel it: something inside you wants to shift. For a long time, we are taught that transformation has to look like destruction. Quit the job. Walk away from toxic relationships with acquaintances or friends. Move to a new place. Change everything. We imagine that growth must be loud, painful, and disruptive. But real growth is rarely that dramatic. Most of the time, it is subtle, internal, and deeply personal. It is the decision to stop living on autopilot. Th...

Yesterday, we had a photoshoot. Complete hair. Proper makeup. Coordinated outfits. Professional lighting. Different poses. Different expressions. Different versions of ourselves. On the surface, it was simple—we needed professional profile photos as freelancers. Something polished. Something credible. Something that says, “I take my work seriously.” But somewhere between the camera clicks and outfit changes, I realized something deeper was happening. This photoshoot wasn’t just about images. It was about permission . For many years, I showed up for others—clients, students, organizations, communities. I taught skills, built systems, trained people to believe in their potential. I helped others step into their professional identity, even when they doubted themselves. Yet like many freelancers and trainers, I often put myself last. “I’ll update my profile later.” “This old photo is fine.” “As long as the work is good, that’s what matters.” But yesterday reminded me of an impo...

There was a quiet season in my life when I realized something uncomfortable: I was not stuck because life was hard. I was stuck because my mind was untrained . No one tells you this growing up. We are taught to follow our feelings, trust our thoughts, and protect our comfort. But after years of working with people, teaching, coaching, training, and walking through my own reinventions, I learned a harder lesson: If you don’t understand your mind, it will quietly run — and ruin — your life. Here are the five truths I wish someone had told me earlier. 1. Your mind is not your friend — it is a survival machine Your mind’s job is not to make you fulfilled. Its job is to keep you safe . Neuroscience confirms it. Ancient wisdom warned us. Your brain is wired for threat detection, pleasure-seeking, and energy conservation. That’s why change feels terrifying. That’s why discipline feels painful. That’s why growth feels unnatural. Every time I avoided a hard decision, postponed an imp...

Sometimes life teaches us its deepest lessons not in thunderous moments, but in quiet ones — when we find ourselves alone with our thoughts, sipping tea, scrolling through memories, or simply noticing the way the sky shifts toward dusk. As this year comes to a close, more often than not I find myself looking back, not with pressure, but with curiosity. I’m curious about what this year taught me. What it gave me. What it asked of me. What I surrendered. And what I fought for. I think we all know, deep down, that we can’t change the past. Regret comes not from what happened, but from how we responded to it and whether we treated ourselves with enough love, patience, and honesty. That’s what I’m learning now — that regret is not a punishment from life, but a teacher if we’re willing to listen. So as I prepare to release 2025, I don’t want to do it with regret. Instead, I want to let go with gratitude, learning, and intention. 1. Accept That Every Experience Was a Lesson First, let y...

  Today I sat quietly and thought about responsibility. Not the kind that involves work, deadlines, or obligations to others, but the deeper kind. The responsibility I have for my own inner world. My thoughts. My emotions. My reactions. My peace. It is easy to blame circumstances when I feel unsettled. A message. A tone. A delay. Someone’s behavior. I catch myself thinking, If this did not happen, I would be fine. But Stoicism gently reminds me that while I cannot control what happens outside of me, I am always responsible for what happens inside me. This realization feels both heavy and freeing. Heavy, because it means I can no longer point outward when I am unhappy. Freeing, because it means my peace is not at the mercy of other people’s actions. Today, something small triggered an emotional response in me. Nothing serious. Just a familiar feeling of being overlooked. I noticed the reaction forming before it fully took shape. The thoughts started quietly. Maybe I am not impor...

Today reminded me how tempting it is to prove a point. To explain myself. To correct misunderstandings. To make sure my side is heard and validated. There is a quiet urge inside me that wants to be understood, especially when I feel misread or unfairly judged. I think this is very human. We all want to be seen clearly. But today, I noticed something else. I noticed how heavy it feels to carry the need to be right. There was a moment earlier when I could have defended myself. I could have explained my intentions, clarified my words, and pointed out where the other person was mistaken. And for a brief second, my mind started preparing its argument. I felt my body tense, my thoughts sharpen, my emotions rise. Then I paused. I asked myself a simple question. What will this give me. Will it bring peace. Or will it only satisfy my ego for a moment. The answer was clear. So I chose silence. Not the kind that comes from fear or avoidance, but the kind that comes from wisdom. The kind tha...

Today, while scrolling through my feed, I came across a video about The Top Five Regrets of the Dying by Bronnie Ware. I have seen this list before but for some reason, seeing it today felt different. Maybe it is because I am now fifty and life looks and feels more real. I know that time moves in one direction and I am not getting any younger. I know that one day I will also leave this world and the thought stayed with me longer than expected. There are still so many things I have not done. So many dreams I postponed. So many moments I let pass because I was busy or afraid or unsure. That is why the video resonated with me. It felt like someone gently tapping my shoulder reminding me that I still have time to choose differently. Here are the five regrets Bronnie Ware heard in her years as a palliative care nurse. As I reflect on them, I realize they are not just regrets from people at the end of life. They are guidance for those of us still living. I wish I had lived a life true to mys...

This morning I sat with my coffee and watched the light slowly fill the room. I noticed how peaceful everything felt. Quiet. Uncomplicated. And I realized that the only time my life feels heavy is when my mind starts wrestling with things that are outside my control. It is almost embarrassing how often I do this. I replay conversations in my head. I wonder what people are thinking about me. I try to guess outcomes. I try to shape situations that are clearly not mine to fix. I hold on to timelines that do not belong to me. And every time I do this, I lose my peace. I am learning that there is a boundary in life. A simple invisible line. On one side are the things I can influence. My attitude. My choices. My reactions. My habits. My words. On the other side are the things that are none of my business. How people behave. What they choose to love or neglect. What they give. What they withhold. The pace of life. The unpredictability of the world. And yet, I still find myself crossing tha...

  While browsing Facebook, a short reel appeared on my feed. It was Tim Minchin giving a graduation speech, and somehow his words stayed with me long after the video ended. It resonated with me in a way I did not expect. So I thought I would share it here, in case someone else needs these reminders today. Every now and then, someone gives a speech that does not just entertain but quietly rearranges something inside us. Minchin’s words are blunt, warm, funny, and surprisingly comforting. They remind us that life is not a straight line and we do not need to pressure ourselves into knowing exactly where we are going. Here are the nine lessons from his speech, shared in a way that helps us reflect on our own little journeys. You do not need to have a grand dream For most of our lives, we were told to “dream big” as if having one huge clear dream is the only way to succeed. But Minchin reminds us that it is perfectly fine to be micro ambitious. Focus on the small task in front of yo...

Today I learned something about myself. Or maybe it is something that has been quietly growing inside me for a long time. I am becoming someone who pauses. Someone who does not let every emotion spill out the moment it arrives. Someone who chooses their response instead of letting reactions take over. It still feels a little strange to admit this, because I have never been the overly reactive type. I rarely say things I do not mean. I rarely send messages I later regret. I am usually careful, even when I am hurting. But in the past, my emotions would stir so strongly inside me that I could feel the urge to respond quickly, as if speaking immediately could save me from misunderstanding or disappointment. Those were the moments when I wished I had given myself more time to breathe, because clarity always arrives after the first wave of emotion. Stoicism teaches the value of the pause. That small moment between stimulus and response. That breath. That quiet space where the heart softens...

Today I learned something simple but important. I realized how often I drift away from myself without even noticing it. It happens quietly, almost gently. I shift my focus to what other people think. I adjust my tone to make someone comfortable. I soften my boundaries to keep the peace. I silence what I truly feel so I do not create conflict or appear difficult. I do not do these things out of weakness. I do them because I care deeply. I pay attention. I value harmony. I want connections to feel safe, warm, and steady. But sometimes, in my effort to be gentle to others, I forget to be gentle to myself. The Stoics teach that we should guard our inner peace the way we guard something priceless. They remind us that the world will always have noise, expectations, and opinions, but our inner self is something we can always return to. Today I thought about that. How many times have I abandoned myself just to be understood. How many times have I minimized my own feelings just so someone els...

Today felt like one of those quiet turning point days. Nothing dramatic happened. No big life event. No sudden revelation from the sky. But something inside me loosened, something I had been gripping too tightly without even noticing it. It is strange how the things we hold on to the hardest are usually the things we were never meant to keep. People. Expectations. Old versions of ourselves. The idea of how something should have been. The fantasy of how someone should show up for us. The timeline we imagined our life would follow. I do this sometimes. I cling to what feels familiar even when it no longer feels right. I replay the same memories. I revisit moments that hurt me. I hold on to the invisible thread connecting me to people who have already walked ahead without me. It is not because I am weak. It is just because my heart remembers deeply. But today I woke up feeling a quiet shift inside me. Maybe it is the Stoic principle sinking in. Maybe it is simply maturity. Maybe it is ...

Today I found myself thinking about the things in my life that feel heavy. Not the dramatic ones, just the quiet struggles that sit in the background. The small disappointments. The unspoken worries. The responsibilities that stretch me. The moments when I feel unsure of myself. I realized how easy it is to treat these moments as burdens, as proof that something is wrong, as signs that I am falling behind. But this morning, while brushing my hair, a thought came to me so softly that it almost felt like someone whispered it into my mind. What if this is training. Not punishment. Not failure. Not chaos. Just training. I paused and let that idea settle. Life has a way of placing us in situations that we did not ask for but somehow need. The challenges that frustrate me are often the ones that shape me. The moments that disappoint me are usually the ones that push me closer to who I am becoming. I started to see my struggles through a different lens, not as obstacles but as exercises. A...

There are times when my emotions feel like a tidal wave—overwhelming, relentless, and impossible to control. Even though I know I am blessed with a loving family and friends who care about me, there are moments when I feel deeply alone. Frustration builds up inside me over the things I cannot achieve or the dreams that seem just out of reach. And yet, I often hesitate to share these feelings with the people around me. Why? Because my struggles feel petty compared to theirs. I don’t want to burden them. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. Society often teaches us that gratitude should cancel out emotional pain. “You’re lucky, so you shouldn’t feel depressed,” they say. “You’re loved, so why would you feel unseen?” But feelings don’t follow logic. Emotions are not about fairness—they are about human experience. And sometimes, our minds get caught in loops of negativity that feel impossible to break. For me, these moments are even more complicated because I notice how much my body and min...