She’s nineteen when he gives her the first yellow rose. He’s 21, uncertain, hesitant.

Glimmers are micro-moments of regulation that foster feelings of well-being.

She thought that at this age, the questions would no longer keep her up at night.

I’ve already established that cooking, for me, is pure experimentation, which is why I can never cook the same thing twice.

Hello, and welcome to my newly revamped blog! I don’t even know why I’m doing this but I’m enjoying myself and that is reason enough.

“I’m kurutuy-kutuying,” he says, getting up from his desk after nearly three hours of work.

It’s 9:30 am and she’s barely awake. Perimenopausal insomnia is its own kind of hell, even for someone who’s always been a night owl. Sleep is elusive and five hours have been her average for weeks.

A message from R, on his last day in Pangasinan

My annual journaling prep usually starts around October/November but for 2026, I dragged my feet until the last week of December. And it took me until only last week to finally narrow everything down to these four journals.

1. Letting go without guilt. Of things, of attachments, of emotions that no longer serve me. People-pleasing is its own kind of hell, and learning to let go is one step to healing.

I recently developed a severe allergy that left me with itchy rashes around my neck. According to my dermatologist, the culprit could’ve been anything - from our laundry detergent, to my perfume, to the dozen trinkets I insist on wearing around my neck.

This recipe came about out of necessity, adjusted and perfected with love. 

If your child goes no contact with you, refrain from going the usual route of questioning and blaming.

I'm on a Celeste Ng roll. After reading Everything I Never Told You a few months ago, I got a copy of Little Fires Everywhere which I finished reading last week, and currently, I'm on page 205 of Our Missing Hearts.

In alphabetical order:

1. Art -- in all its forms --is, and will always be, life.

2. Black coffee and prayers are spiritual sustenance

Odd that I would actually post a recipe here because I hate cooking. Like, seriously. I’ve had my fair share of legendary culinary disasters: overflowing rice cooker, burnt half-cooked rice, fried ham bursting into flames, inedible eggplant omelets, burnt eggs, the list goes on.

My mental health over the past few years has been a mix of self-defeating thoughts and empty dreams. I know, I should be more optimistic than that.