As I March into the life I prayed for

April 6, 2026

Could it be true that sorrow breeds creativity and happiness suppresses the genius? I started writing this piece on the 2nd of March, and the title itself is a dead-giveaway of the kind of time I’m having- a pretty good one. I say the first statement because despite multiple attempts to sit down and finish this essay within the same month, nothing more than a few sentences and maybe three bullet points came out. I was right- between my budding relationship (feels surreal to be able to label it now), an out of the country trip with my best friend, and all the good food consumed, the month of March had indeed been (for a lack of better word) pretty awesome. There was, however, a brief few days riddled with shock and confusion. Unsurprisingly, it was during this time that I have managed to write and publish a couple pieces over the span of one afternoon.

For the longest time, I can recall writing only about pain- the things that hurt me, the regrets that haunt me, the dreams that never came true. Writing has always been a form of release, an avenue to let go of any excess baggage. But this year I want to change that- whatever it takes. One day, I want to be armed with a vocabulary so vast, it will allow me to describe my feelings and experiences with utmost accuracy. The words will string together to form essays and prose so well-written, both academic and personal, its sole existence will be an accomplishment in itself. But today I want to be able to write about things that make me happy (too) even if I do it badly. This is my first attempt.

March 3, 2026

I have a good feeling about March

Some posts ago, I wrote about feeling stuck and listless, knowing the possibilities of who I can be (and who I may want to be), but still unable to commit or take a significant step to advance in one path. My comfort zone has always been the most lucrative venue for my demise. I would admit this trend is not accidental- with all the drastic changes I was thrown into in 2025, whatever was left of the year, I lived indulgently. All I tasked myself to do was survive, try and find intrusions of joy both in small things and big things, and focus merely on feelings. 2025 was the year I gave myself grace to slow down and do nothing, to give into the rush and experience everything, to live in the present as if it’s all that existed. In letting go of my past, I developed an extreme longing for the present. To live in it. Last year was a much needed escape, but it has ran its course. As the new year came in, I felt a bit of pressure to get back on track, whatever that means.

That my life exists for far bigger reasons than just perpetual survival and futile attempts at recovery became my guiding principle. I have always been someone who wanted big things out of life. Stomach-aching laughter, multiple suitcases, big leaps, unforgettable meals, fireworks over the horizon. No heartbreak can take that desire away.

I consider March to be the official start of my new year. In January, I was still keeping up with the previous year. February was too short. This month, I’m finally ready. Fueled by a blend of vanity and sheer determination to change, to maximize what little time I have left of life (I’m not expecting to die anytime soon, but I believe all the wise men who came before me who said one lifespan is never enough), I attempted to create a vision board for who I want to be in the beginning of this year. And what I learned is that I have always been more words than vision, hence the vision board turned into what I fondly call my 2026 Syllabus.

Here are some of the things I’m finally in active pursuit of, starting this month:

Graduate school applications

I’ve managed to create a spreadsheet of schools, programs and application timelines. In this world of mine, that’s how you know something is real- when a spreadsheet records it. The options are narrowed down to three programs, applications for two of which run throughout March. This will be my main focus after returning from Korea. Thinking about it makes me giddy and excited. I think the best thing to come out of this so far is knowing that I don’t need to get stuck in my day job- there are still other things waiting for me. How I feel about my job lately, this is a most welcome contradiction. Not to mention academic pursuits are most in line with the woman I want to be- disgustingly educated and cultured, more than anything. Additionally, it wouldn’t hurt to acknowledge that further studies can help advance my career if I play my cards right.

April 6, 2026

Informal art studies, exposure

I started reading about the history of impressionism after my trip to Paris in June of 2025. As with many things I start, it quickly got lost in the sea of all other things I want to do, all the books and essays I want to read, all the writing I want to sink into, all the friends I want to spend time with, all the sleep I want to get- I can go on and on. Admittedly, this is something I need to do a better job at. Intentional pursuit. I should say it more often.

The internet tells me that your environment teaches you and shapes you just as much as- if not more than- your destination; what you purposely go after. The point of pursuit is attainment- there is beauty in embracing the sense of accountability and responsibility required to prepare for something, putting in the work to achieve it, to be it. But there is also meaning and significance to be found in where you are currently. Often times, we are shaped by our surroundings, our reality. But does not always have to be taken negatively. In the context of pursuing my interest in arts and culture, I am glad to report that while I have not been doing as good a job in sitting down to read and study lately, I’ve found myself exposed to and immersed in it more than before. Coincidentally, in the same venue, I took part in a wildly stimulating conversation with someone who is actively advocating for non-traditional mediums of learning. We talked about some classes she’s planning to hold, which I’m genuinely excited to attend.

Another thing - there is not much to be said about this (I prefer to keep it that way), but I am slowly learning to play the ukulele. Very slowly. Without pressure. I just like it, there’s no need for me to be good at it.

Intențional literary consumption

Late last year, for no particular reason, I decided to be done with mainstream books and start reading classics. The first few steps down this path proved to be very difficult- I am barely halfway through the first book (Tender is the Night) and F. Scott Fitzgerald has already gotten into my nerves. At the risk of sounding stupid (i.e. not the target audience for this type of literary work, not smart enough to enjoy it), I find his writing to be longer than necessary. Every now and then, I would stumble upon a few lines that hit me like a brick - this, this is why his works are considered the classics - but a good portion of what I’ve read so far, I feel, could be written so much more concisely. One of my smart friends had said authors were paid by the page back in the day. Whether my experience is consequential to the author needing money or manifested by something internal (preference, maybe? Relativity?), I will never know.

Google search bar: are Simone de Beauvoir’s works considered classics? One thing I’m happy to report, however, is that I found a writing style I genuinely enjoy. I read The Inseparables in November, and while it was atrociously traumatizing, it led me to the conclusion that I like de Beauvoir’s voice and style of writing. And while my pride dictates that now is not the time to give up on Fitzgerald, I feel a quiet excitement to read more of her writing.

On days where my window time for reading is shorter, or when my brain is refusing to cooperate, I’ve been turning to Substack for inspiration and stimulation. What a gift this platform has been not only for my writing, but also for cultivating (and routinely restoring) my fondness for reading.

Showing up for people, letting them know they matter

For half of the woman I am, I have my friends to thank. How do I process my emotions? I talk to my friends. How do I make decisions? I weigh the options with my friends. I’m feeling down? Excited? Conflicted? I tell my friends. The tumbleweed of thoughts and emotions that plague my brittle being, making me uncertain, panicky- they untangle in the company of and conversations with the people I trust. When you look at the architecture of the person I have become, you will see all of my friendships intertwined.

There is a flower whose pronunciation will always crack me up because of the way one of my best friends said it, walking back to our hotel after a long day of exploring Seoul. People say shrimps are the cockroaches of the ocean and I believe them. I never cared much for it. But one of my friends love shrimp in Sinigang, so I always think of her each time I see it on the menu. I know the best streets to buy hard to find cameras in Taipei because I once spent an afternoon and the next morning going through shop after shop, trying to find the last unit of a particular model my friend saw on Instagram the week before. We found it and she sold it a few days after we returned, but the search will always be a core memory for us. A few of my childhood summers were spent in Boracay. As an adult, I didn’t have much excitement for the island. That is until one of my friends moved back to her hometown of Kalibo last year, and since then, I’ve had flight alerts turned on for both airports. Becoming a lawyer was never my dream, but I like to think I understand the sacrifices it takes and the kind of support one needs while in pursuit of it, because it has been the lifelong dream of my best friend from college. Last year, I watched one of my friends go through heartbreak in the bravest yet kindest way. So now I approach all my relationships with good intentions, with vulnerability, with kindness. Because she taught me that the kind one always wins. I will say it again. For half of the woman I am, I have my friends to thank.

You cannot mistake it when reading anything I wrote- my friendships breathe life into my being.

Growing older means losing a few people along the way. It requires you to accept that some people found you when you needed each other, but after this purpose has been fulfilled, they will quietly walk out of your life. Most of the time, they leave inside jokes, memories that not even time can fade. Sometimes, they leave empty spaces, reminding you of the connection and companionship that once were. I’ve been blessed to keep two of my best friends over the years, but this isn’t the case for everyone. This year, I started writing more letters, cooking for my friends, showing up even when it’s inconvenient. Because tomorrow, their favorite soup may change. They may no longer ask me to come. Life can take them to a different city, a different role. Their priorities can shift. As exhilarating as being single in our twenties is, it does not last forever.

So I show up for them as much as I can. All we have is now.

Minimizing social media presence

Earlier today, S noticed that I change my Instagram profile picture pretty often. “I’m always overthinking things,” I explained. “I want to control my online presence- it affects the profile picture too.” The high and mighty in me does not want to be online at all, but the reality is that I’m not above it. In the digital age, no one is. I like taking pictures and providing short contexts that tie together to create the perfect Instagram carousel. It looks good, yes, but more than that, it does a good job at triggering a memory. On the other hand, it is with a hint of shame that I admit to subscribing to the idea that social media profiles can introduce you before you even speak. You cannot control how people perceive you, but you can make a pitch through a curated feed. But what really ties me to these platforms, to Instagram in particular, is that it allows me to see and to be seen. While I’m less interested in what’s going on with other people’s lives compared to the average person, I’m always glad to see the people I care about doing well. I like to think at least a few of my friends feel the same way towards me, so I post about the things I love and the things that make me happy every now and then. To provide a semblance of assurance, yes- I’m still here, living, you do not need to worry about me- but also to remember.

I read an article entitled Nobody Gets To Be A Mystery Anymore And It’s Fucking With Us, and it struck me with this equally realistic and profound line- “We’ve lost the ability to not know things. And I think that’s making us insane. … There’s a violence in that. In being denied the mercy of mystery.” I don’t trust my ability to capture the wholeness of its depth, so there will be no such attempt, but the entire piece is incredible. Read it here.

How I’m trying to approach my use of social media is to treat it like an admin tool at work- for documentation and progress updates. Photos, videos, and text to give a glimpse of my humanity. To have something to show for the people, places, and things I care about. That’s all it needs to be.

Opening my heart

I want to write about opening my heart again, but I will save it for later.

Today is April 7, 2026, finally finishing this piece, over a month in writing. I want to say keep your palms open both receive and to let go. The universe is always rooting for a willing heart.