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 It felt outdated, like flipping through yellowed pages of a book when the world had already moved on to digital screens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.