and it’s good.

it’s been good.

i’ve come to understand joy better by memorizing where it likes to sit when it comes to visit. it’s a different spot each time; always some place unexpected and unthinkable. and, no matter what, joy always has a space for me even when i don’t think i could fit.

but, once, in one of our conversations over hot chocolate, over warmth and a mutual love for questioning, joy reminded me that it’s the other way around: it’s i who make space for it—in my own home, even between the cracks in the walls, with everything i got.

and then, at times when it leaves, all i could think of is the next time i’ll be sitting across it. what things i’ll tell it about, what stories, what questions. like a little kid just waiting for her chance to tell tale.

because, finally, joy is a friend that knows me well.

hi, how’s everyone here? 🤍

it’s been so long but i just wanted to post a little life update! 6 months ago i moved to the US to get married to my now-husband. we had been waiting for about 2 years before it finally happened. 😊 i miss home but i’m doing great with adjusting to a new environment and i’m happy here!!

i hope everyone’s doing well, too!

thank you so much. i'm so happy you found your way to my words just when you needed that kind of comfort the most. i hope my books help more with your healing!!! i'll be thinking of you always. 🤍🕊️

hi!!! i still have one copy left with me! if you're from the Philippines, we can arrange for a Shopee checkout. let me know if you'd like that! 🥰❤️

oh but there was a time when i knew what i was doing.

even while my bones were going through the worst storms, it was easy to anticipate the aftermath. accept them as they are. cracks to me were just cracks and they were powerless. i didn’t get lost in the dark because i patiently watched. what trees do when the whispers start spreading through the night. how lovely it is to have stories that you can carry with you.

if only you were patient, too.

wherever you are in the world i hope i taught you a little something about love.

i hope you took with you my grit when i had to brave whatever that came our way all by myself. i hope you remember every word i said, even the ones that had hints of regret. i hope you learned the lesson of not walking away when things are good.

i hope you see the good.

and know that i’ll always remember the better.

caught in a riptide of greys, you with your changing depths, all of my hollow grounds. yet when i look at the sea all i could think of is the once-in-a-lifetime. the pull in my gut that tells me i would be missing something if i just stand by the shore. and ignore the hums of the waves. will i ever learn? how lovely and unsettling it all is to think that you’re just passing by.

what was your one confession? late at night when you were down on your knees, for the first time in years, weak at the gravity of it - what was it that you mumbled into thin air, coupled with a held-back hiss?

were you heard? given the space to finish naming all your regrets, stopping mid-sentence trying to act like you forgot, sounding like a fool?

were the bridges you burned worth the smoke that occupied the entirety of you?

what was your one confession?

late at night when you were down on your knees, i hope it finally felt freeing to crumble like that.

you owed me that.

but you’re always going to be forgiving.

you’re always going to remember the sound of their laugh and decide that you still have a space in you for when you get to hear it again. you’re always going to have them in the back of your head, those tiny, silly things they say and do, and you’re always going to smile remembering, more than you’d care to admit. you’re always going to remember every word in their favorite song. how, when it’s just you, you catch yourself humming it, and you’d stop at the way it still drowns out the silence after all this time. there’s always going to be things that remind you of the good. of the lonely. of the back and forth.

and you’re always going to be forgiving.

but, damn, you will be fiercer in your decisions. in what you say and do, in what used to sound stupid even for you, in what used to mean less. you will be more out there. confident in your love and toughness. not questioning your every move and if it will hurt. you will be better at holding yourself together, because you learned a great deal of things while picking yourself back up.

and they will know.

because you will be loud about the empire you’re building within yourself.

i. it was greener where my friends and i used to laugh.

ii. once, i had to rest my hand on the small of her back so she doesn’t forget to be happy. it was raining then. the kind that lasts for a whole day and just quietly falls. i remember vividly because her tears were the same. i guess i’ll never forget the faint sound, her weak grip.

iii. most people remember where they were when they had their first heartbreak. i don’t. but i remember who i was. i remember the heart that i had and failed to ready. i always wished that i remember places instead and not the core of the storms.

iv. i hope you never come to me to tell me that you always see me in your dreams.

v. one day it will make sense why you had to protect your corners.

there is no perfect dream—

the night is supposed to be foolish and rocky

—Irally Cariaso

you write about what you learn but what if it’s all about flowers. the newness you feel in early february when you thought that it’s not going to get stuck in the haze. mirrors and crazy dancing in the dark and wet pavements. the familiar sway. lights that eventually dim after years of being present. and then the absence. so what if you only feel for the wind. who’s to say that’s not something. anything.

nostalgia is when you ask about what’s coming but you’re answered with the past. it’s wondering if places did get suffocating, or if you’re just breathing differently now. today is no different. the question remains about remorse. how soon in life you learned about it. who. when exactly. how to crawl out of it. is there even an opposite? no place can teach you this. but nostalgia tries and you give it a shot.

you’re free to ask more.