Heart on Fire, Flags in Flight

    

     The sun had been our first audience, watching us struggle day after day. It burned, unyielding, as we moved across the field, sticks in hand, sweat dripping down our backs. Sunscreen, hoodies, caps, and bottles of water became our armor, but they could only do so much. And the stick, 60 inches of pure defiance, towering over me like an opponent I hadn’t signed up to fight. After enough pleading, we had it cut down to 50 inches. Still tall, still challenging, but at least now, it felt like something I could conquer.

    Weeks of practice bled into the big day. High School Day. The theme? Lady Gaga, pop culture, and equality. This wasn’t just a performance; it was a statement. Our flags weren’t just props; they were voices. The LGBTQ+ colors danced in the wind as we moved, the beat of the music thrumming beneath our skin. And the crowd? loud, alive, feeding us their energy as if willing us to shine. I felt it, that rush, that spark that made every sunburn, every ache, every drop of sweat worth it. The energy was vibrating, that I, myself couldn't help but to smile through the heat of the sun.

Then came the results—4th place. No championship, no title. But as I stood there, breathless and spent, I knew we had won something far greater. Because long after the rankings fade, long after the scores are forgotten, people will remember the way we made them feel. And that? That’s a victory no trophy could ever truly match.

Beyond the Frontpage: A Reflection

This quarter was quieter than the rest. No grand realizations, no life-changing lessons, just Microsoft FrontPage, a software older than most of us in the room. It felt outdated, like flipping through yellowed pages of a book when the world had already moved on to digital screens

I won’t lie, it wasn’t the most exciting lesson. There were moments when I stared at the screen, wondering if learning this would even matter in the future. But maybe that’s the thing about learning. Sometimes, it’s not about immediate usefulness but about understanding where things started. .

The challenge wasn’t the difficulty of the lesson but the motivation to care about it. But I did what I always do, I showed up, I listened, and I tried. And in the smallest way, I still learned. How to organize elements on a page. How websites used to be built. How patience plays a role in even the simplest tasks. Even if i clearly lacks patience.

Moving forward, I won’t stop at what’s given. If FrontPage was a glimpse into the past, then I want to explore what the future holds. There’s more to learn, more to create, and more pages waiting to be written.

Between Pages and People: 15 Years From Now

          

Fifteen years from now, I hope to be free. Not just successful, not just stable—but free.

I see a version of myself who has finally built a life she does not need to escape from. A woman who no longer carries the weight of unmet expectations, who has carved a space where her dreams are valid. Maybe I will be a poet, leaving pieces of my soul in ink, we never really know. But if I ever get myself together, if I learn to unchain myself from the cage of my brain, if I find the strength to heal rather than just survive—I would want to be a psychologist

Because if there’s one thing I know deeply, it’s pain. The kind that lingers, the kind that turns people into ghosts of themselves. I’ve spent years carrying wounds I didn’t have the time to tend to, but maybe, one day, I’ll be the one helping others stitch themselves back together. To listen, to understand, to be the person I once needed. A psychologist who doesn’t just diagnose, but sees, the way a poet sees, the way a broken soul recognizes another.

And I don’t just want to understand people, I want to write them. Stories that feel like home to those who have never had one, poems that bleed truth, books that remind someone, somewhere, that they are not alone. A published author, a poet whose words outlive her, whose ink becomes a testament to every battle fought, won, or lost.

Fifteen years is a long time, yet I know time alone does not heal, nor does it guarantee change. I will have to fight for the life I want, to break the cycles I swore to end. I hope by then, I have learned to love without fear, to let people in without building walls too high to climb.

And maybe, just maybe, by then, I will have found peace in knowing that I was never meant to be everything for everyone. Just something for myself.

The Man

The world has long echoed the voices of those who fought for equality, but the battle is far from over. We, a simple yet powerful word, holds the weight of a shared fight, a collective yearning for a society where gender does not dictate worth, opportunity, or freedom.

Growing up, I used to believe that a woman’s role was to serve her husband, to be soft-spoken, obedient, and content within the walls built by men. It was the story I was told, the script I thought I had to follow. But as I grew older, resentment brewed inside me, not just against men, but against the invisible rules that dictated what women should be.

I realized then: none of it was true.

I refuse to be confined by outdated expectations. No one can put a stop to me. I had long opened my eyes. And as the people for leni had said, back in the election for presidency, ang namulat na ay hindi na muling pipikit. Women are not born to serve, to be tamed, or to be second to anyone. We are born to lead, to dream, to take up space.

But the world isn’t kind to women who refuse to shrink themselves. "When everyone believes ya, what’s that like?"—Taylor Swift, The Man. A question that lingers, because no matter how much women achieve, society still questions our worth, our authority, our place at the table.

This year’s theme, WE for Gender Equality and an Inclusive Society, reminds us that the fight isn’t just ours to carry alone. Women’s struggles should not be women’s burden to bear alone; equality demands that everyone takes part in dismantling the systems that hold us back.

We are not just fighting anymore—we are winning. And the best part? We cannot be stopped.

Past Rhythms and Beats of the Future

There’s a moment when the air in Ilocos Sur grows heavy, not with heat, but with history. It’s in the sound of drums that pulse through the streets, calling the people home—not just to a place, but to a time. A time when the stories of ancestors were written not in books, but in the soil and in the winds. The Kannawidan Festival isn’t just a celebration; it’s a homecoming, a quiet invitation to remember.

"Generation to generation, come together to celebrate," the words echo, and with them comes the understanding that this isn’t merely a festival—it’s a gathering of the past and present. It’s the Ilocano heart, beating as one, pulsing through the rhythm of dance, the chorus of voices, and the food that fills the streets. The old ways are alive, not in whispers but in full song.

There’s a distinct joy in the air during Kannawidan, a joy that doesn’t just come from the music or the movement—it comes from the knowing. The knowing that the traditions we hold aren’t just for show, they’re for survival. They are threads that stitch us together, from the very first to the very last. The beat of the drum is more than an invitation to dance; it’s a reminder that we’re still here, that we haven’t forgotten how we got here. We’ve carried it through, against the weight of time, against the pull of the world beyond our mountains and fields.

Every movement, every step, is a conversation with the past. The dancers don't just perform—they speak, their feet tracing out the struggles and triumphs of their forebears. The colorful fabrics of their costumes shimmer, not as decoration, but as proof: we are still standing, we are still proud, and we are still here.

And the food—oh, the food. It doesn’t just satisfy hunger; it fills something deeper. Empanadas fried golden with stories of hands that worked the land, pinakbet steaming with the essence of earth and sky. The scent of it all is a link to something older than time itself, a quiet prayer whispered in every bite.

Yet Kannawidan is not merely about looking back; it’s about asking: What will we carry forward? Will the next generation hear the drumbeat as clearly as we do? Will they feel the weight of tradition, or will it dissolve into the rush of a world that forgets to listen? The festival is a question. A challenge to honor what has been given and to pass it on with grace, so the rhythm doesn’t stop

In the end, Kannawidan is not just a festival, it’s a promise. A promise that as long as the people of Ilocos Sur is one, as long as the drums beat and the voices rise in song, the past will never be forgotten. It will live on, in every movement, every smile, and every soul that walks these streets. The rhythm may slow, but it will never die. 

PICTURE REFERENCES: 

Provincial Governor of Ilocos Sur. The official Facebook page of the Provincial Government of Ilocos Sur. Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/share/1BKDgmHnBK/

The Pulsating Heart Beat Beyond February

Valentine’s Day, that little red reminder hanging in the middle of February, draped in hearts, chocolate, and syrupy declarations of love. Yet, for all its talk of romance, I cannot help but wonder: What of those who do not fit neatly into the box of heart-shaped gifts and candle-lit dinners? The concept of love, so often reduced to intimate moments between two people, should not be tethered to a single idea of affection.

Love is vast, love is far-reaching, love is in the gestures you give when no one asks. And this, this should be what Valentine’s Day celebrates: not the singular act of lovers, but the quiet, understated expressions we offer one another every day. It should be a day for all kinds of love—between friends, between strangers, between the distant arms of humanity itself.

Why, then, do we still attach such weight to the concept of romantic love? Perhaps because we yearn for validation. We ache for the acknowledgment of affection, an approval that says, “You are worthy, you are seen, you are desired.” And so, we pick this day to shout it from the rooftops, convinced that only this particular kind of love matters. But I say to you: No one should need a day on the calendar to prove their love or to feel loved.

What if we shift our gaze? What if we, instead of buying into the grand display of grand gestures, begin to see the tender whispers between friends? The brief text, the knowing glance, the shared table wherein we do our homeworks? Love isn’t loud. It is soft, a quiet presence that lingers. I express my love, not through the typical lovey expression, we are taught to recognize—but in subtler ways. As somone that enjoys writing, my affection takes form in letters, pages filled with words that carry the weight of emotion. There is nothing physical in these exchanges, yet everything is felt, a deep resonance that lingers long after the paper is folded and put away.

And as a friend, I express my affection in the space I make for others. I listen, i absorb, offering the rare gift of being fully present. I do not need to touch; I do not need to hold. My mind, my heart, my empathy—these are my offerings. As a friend who also happens to be a therapist, I give my quiet counsel, the kind that slips between the cracks of everyday conversation. The kind that says, “I see you,” even when you cannot see yourself.

It is not the grandiose gestures that speak to me. It is the gentle rhythm of kindness that beats between the lines of our lives. The delicate thread of a conversation that meanders into shared silence. The delicate thread that ties us all together, whether we know it or not

So, on this day of “love,” I implore you: do not allow the frenzy of Valentine’s Day to dictate your worth or the depth of your relationships. For love is not bound by a date on the calendar. It is a continual, ever-shifting expression, carved into the ordinary moments we live. And if we dare to see it, to let it flow freely, we will find that we need not wait for February 14th to feel loved. We will discover that the everyday gestures of the heart are the truest forms of affection, waiting to be embraced.

Behind this perspective are these people:

: )