A Little Bit Personal

 

Therapy last week was heavy.

Not in a way that broke me but in a way that peeled back layers I didn’t know I still carried. It was one of those sessions where a single question lingered long after the room got quiet:

“Do you feel like you’re still the same person you were in high school?”

And I didn’t even have to think about it. I said no.

I’m not that person anymore.
Back then, I had no boundaries. I didn’t know I was allowed to say no. I made myself so available to everyone that I didn’t leave anything for myself. I was everyone’s friend, sometimes to the point of losing who I actually was. I wore my people-pleasing like armor thinking it kept me safe, thinking it made me lovable. I said yes to things that didn’t feel right, stayed in spaces that drained me, and smiled when I should’ve spoken up.

But I’ve grown.

Now I can stand on my own even if that means standing alone.
I’ve learned that solitude is not loneliness. It is clarity. It is power.

I’ve built boundaries not as walls to shut people out but as doors to protect what I’ve worked so hard to rebuild in myself. I know what I tolerate. I know what I deserve. I know what I will never accept again.

And it’s wild, honestly, to look back and see how far I’ve come. To grieve the old version of myself while still feeling so much compassion for them. Because that person—naïve, tired, too nice for their own good—was just doing their best with what they knew.

But now I know better. I am better.
And that deserves to be honored.

🧠✨ #TherapyReflections #SelfGrowth #HealingIsNotLinear #ThenAndNow #PeoplePleaserNoMore #BoundariesAreLove #InnerPeace #ForTheSoulPh

Why Is It So Hard for Filipinos to Say “No”?

 Have you ever invited a Filipino friend to a party, a gathering, or even just a casual hangout — and instead of a direct yes or no, you got a vague answer like “Tingnan ko pa,” “Bahala na,” or the classic “If I can, I will”? You’re not alone. Many people, both Filipinos and foreigners alike, notice this cultural quirk: we rarely say “no” outright.

But why is it so hard for us to say no?

1. Pakikisama: The Need to Maintain Harmony

At the core of Filipino culture is pakikisama, or getting along with others. We value relationships and social harmony so deeply that we often prioritize them over personal comfort or honesty. Saying no can feel like a form of rejection — not just of the invitation, but of the person extending it. So instead, we give a non-committal answer, hoping it softens the blow.

2. Hiya: The Fear of Embarrassment

Hiya, or shame, also plays a huge role. We avoid confrontation and the possibility of making someone feel awkward or offended. Saying “no” directly might feel bastos (rude), even if the reason is valid. So instead, we say something that leaves room for interpretation. It’s not that we’re being dishonest — we’re just trying to save face (both ours and yours).

3. Utang na Loob and Obligations

Sometimes, we feel pressured by unspoken social debts. If someone has done something for us in the past, saying “no” feels like a betrayal of utang na loob. Even if we’re tired, busy, or uninterested, we’ll still hesitate to decline, out of a sense of moral or emotional obligation.

4. Fear of Missing Out — or Being Left Out

There’s also a cultural version of FOMO. We want to be included, to be part of the community, to not miss out on shared experiences. So even if deep down we know we can’t go, we’ll still entertain the idea, just in case plans shift in our favor.

5. We Were Raised That Way

From childhood, many of us were taught to be polite, respectful, and agreeable — sometimes to the point of self-sacrifice. Disagreeing with elders, declining an offer, or refusing a favor is often seen as walang modo. So we learn to cushion our rejections with vague answers or white lies: “May lakad ako,” “I’ll try,” or “Di ko pa alam eh.”

---

So What Now?

We’ve inherited a culture that leans toward indirectness and people-pleasing — and while it comes from a place of kindness, it can also lead to confusion, false hope, or even burnout. The good news? Cultural awareness can lead to cultural evolution.

There’s power in learning how to say no with kindness and clarity. It’s okay to honor your boundaries. It’s okay to disappoint others sometimes, especially if it means being true to yourself.

Because at the end of the day, isn’t honesty also a form of respect?

150 Days Sober

 150 Days of Sobriety: A Journey from Grief to Healing

Today, July 16, marks a significant milestone in my journey—150 days of sobriety. That’s five months of taking back control, reclaiming my peace, and learning that alcohol was never the answer to my grief. It was just a temporary solution, one that only masked the pain for a little while before it came rushing back, stronger than before.

For so long, I believed that a drink could numb the ache inside me. I thought it would make the sadness, the anger, and the confusion go away. But every time I woke up, the emptiness was still there. The truth I was avoiding remained unchanged. Alcohol, for me, became a coping mechanism, but it wasn’t helping me heal. It was only prolonging the inevitable. The pain didn’t disappear; it just got buried under layers of numbness.

Now, as I celebrate this 150-day milestone, I realize that the journey towards healing isn't about running away from the pain—it's about facing it. It's about allowing myself to feel what I need to feel, without judgment or shame. Sobriety has taught me that healing doesn’t come from drowning in a bottle but from processing emotions, seeking support, and finding healthier ways to cope.

There have been tough moments, times when the urge to reach for a drink felt overwhelming. But with each passing day, I’ve learned to lean into my feelings instead of running from them. I’ve found solace in journaling, in deep conversations with close friends, and in moments of stillness. I've started to rediscover what it means to live fully, not through the haze of alcohol, but with a clear mind and an open heart.

This milestone isn't just about being sober for 150 days; it's about the growth, the self-discovery, and the healing that has taken place in those days. I've learned that grief is a process. It doesn’t just go away. But every day I choose to face it, I get a little stronger, a little more resilient.

To anyone out there struggling, I want to say this: It’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to feel lost, but it’s also okay to seek help and choose a path that leads you to healing. Alcohol isn’t the answer, but you are. You have the strength inside you to move through the pain, one day at a time.

Here’s to 150 days, and to the countless more of growth, healing, and peace ahead. Thank you for being part of this journey.

Weekend Break

 Weekends are usually spent soaking up the sun on the beach—but today, we took a different route. We’re cruising around Nailon, Bogo City, and loving every bit of it. 🌤️🚗 From scenic coastal roads to charming local spots, this little barangay has its own magic if you just slow down and explore. Whether it’s a quick food stop, a peaceful seaside view, or a casual drive with friends, Nailon offers a refreshing take on weekend relaxation.There’s so much beauty in our own backyard—sometimes all it takes is a spontaneous drive to remind you of that.#NailonBogoCity #BogoCityCebu #CebuRoadtrip #NorthernCebu #LocalAdventuresPH #WeekendCruise #HiddenSpotsPH #ExploreBogo #CebuTravel #SupportLocalTourism #PhilippineDestinations France C. Bacasm Frezelia Dela Cruz

Support Like This

 Pay Full Price. Hype Them Up. Be a Real One.

Let’s talk about something that doesn’t sit right with me anymore: the way we treat our friends who are building something for themselves—whether it’s a business, a brand, a side hustle, or a creative pursuit.

You know the ones. The friends selling clothes, baking cupcakes, freelancing their design skills, offering home services, starting their own clinics, or curating thrift drops online. They’re putting themselves out there, taking risks, learning as they go, and working hard.

So why is it that when it’s our friend offering the service, we feel entitled to a discount?

“Pila man ang friends price?”
“Tagai ko ug hangyo beh, ikaw ra gud.”
“Libreha na oi, barkada man ta!”

Don’t get me wrong — maybe those words aren’t meant to hurt. Maybe they’re meant to be playful. But behind that banter is a pattern of not taking your friends’ hard work seriously. Of assuming that their time and effort are worth lessjust because you know them.

And honestly? That needs to stop.

When I support a friend’s business, I pay full price. Not because I’m rich. Not because I can’t use a discount. But because I see the value of what they do. I respect the grind. I know what it takes to build something from scratch, and the last thing I want to do is devalue that.

I don’t just buy from them either. I like and share their posts. I hype them up. I repost their announcements. I leave glowing reviews when I’m genuinely happy with the service. I treat them the same way I’d treat a big business I admire because if I won’t support the people closest to me, who will?

And when they post about me? I don’t mind at all. That’s love. That’s community. That’s how we help each other grow.

This is your reminder that your support doesn’t always have to come in the form of money, though paying full price is a huge help. Support can also look like sharing their posts, commenting “🔥🔥🔥” under their launch photos, tagging them when someone asks for recommendations, or simply telling them, “Hey, I’m proud of you.”

So let’s stop making our friends feel awkward for charging what they’re worth. Let’s stop expecting free labor from the people we say we love. Let’s normalize saying:

“I’m happy to pay.”
“You deserve this.”
“Let me post about your business real quick.”

We rise by lifting each other.
Support your friends like you support influencers you’ve never met. Because your friend’s hustle? That’s something to be proud of, not bargained with.

The Filipino LGBTQIA Community Has A Long Way To Go

 

Lately, it’s been heartbreaking to see members of our own community tearing each other down in the comments section. We should be lifting each other up, not breaking each other apart.

The words we use carry weight. They can heal or harm. They can empower or destroy. Just because someone doesn’t share your exact view doesn’t make them any less valid. Diversity in thought doesn’t have to lead to division.

Inclusivity means no one gets left behind.
Not the femme, not the masc, not the loud, not the soft-spoken. Not the ones still figuring it out. Not the ones who’ve known all along. We are all part of this fight, and together we stand—divided, we fall.

Beyond those words, I see fear. I see pain that has been in us for so long. Pain that stems from years—decades—of rejection, ridicule, and having to constantly defend our right to exist. That kind of trauma doesn’t disappear overnight. But it’s time. It’s time to move away from the pain and the ridicule. It’s time we stop projecting that pain onto each other and begin healing as one community.

Trans women are women. Let’s start from there.
If you don’t share the same belief, at the very least—listen. Listen without attacking. Learn without mocking. Disagree without dehumanizing. You can’t claim to be for equality and then draw the line where your comfort ends.

We’ve all felt what it’s like to be silenced, invalidated, erased. Let’s not recreate the very same systems of exclusion inside our own spaces.

Let’s educate ourselves, listen more, and judge less. The goal is progress, not perfection. We are all learning. Let’s build a community where we can grow and evolve together, with respect, empathy, and love at the center.

Because if we can’t stand for each other—who else will?

Happy Pride

Happy Pride Month 🏳️‍🌈

This month is a celebration of love, identity, freedom, and the long journey toward being seen, respected, and understood. But today, I want to use this moment to say something simple and deeply personal:

Thank you.

Thank you for accepting me—not just tolerating me, not just quietly coexisting with me, but truly accepting me for who I am. You didn’t ask me to explain myself. You didn’t ask me to change. You simply opened your arms, your heart, and your life to me. And that kind of acceptance is a rare, beautiful gift I will never take for granted.

You made space for me when I was still learning how to make space for myself.
You reminded me that I don’t have to be quiet to be respected.
That I don’t have to hide to be loved.
That I don’t have to shrink to fit into someone else’s idea of what’s comfortable.

I am allowed to take up space.
I am allowed to be proud of who I am.
And I am allowed to feel joy—not just in private moments, but out loud, in the light, without fear.

Thank you for being the kind of friend who sees me fully and loves me anyway.
Thank you for showing up, not just in words, but in presence, in patience, in action.
Thank you for holding space, even when you didn’t fully understand.
Thank you for standing beside me, especially in the moments when I felt most unsure of myself.

Pride is not just about parades and rainbow flags. It’s about people like you—people who choose to love out loud, who choose kindness over comfort, who choose allyship over silence.

I carry your friendship with me every day, and I celebrate it this month especially.
Because your support has helped me grow.
Your love has helped me heal.
And your presence has reminded me that I belong.

So again—thank you. For everything.
For the love. For the laughs. For the light.
For being a safe space. For being my friend.

With all my heart, and with so much pride,

🌈💖 

 

Yes, I have an Attitude

 YES, I HAVE AN ATTITUDE AND I OWN EVERY BIT OF IT

But let’s be real, this attitude comes with something rare
a loyalty that’s unshakable, untouchable, and unapologetic
I’m the type to ride for the people I care about like it’s my full-time job
I defend, protect, and stay solid even when no one’s watching
I don’t flinch, I don’t fold, and I don’t play pretend

I’ve been through enough in life to know who I am
and I won’t tone that down just to make anyone comfortable
I’m not built to sugarcoat, stay silent, or play submissive to keep people around
If you're in my world, you get the real me
fire, flaws, heart, and all
And trust me, my loyalty is a luxury
It’s not cheap, it’s not common, and it’s definitely not for the weak

You want someone quiet, passive, and easy to manipulate
Wrong girlie. Wrong energy
You want someone who won’t call you out when you’re wrong or stand up for what’s right
Keep scrolling
Because I’m not her

This attitude
It’s built from scars, survival, and self-respect
It’s shaped by lessons people tried to teach me the hard way
And now I wear it like armor

So yeah, I talk back when disrespected
I set boundaries when needed
And I will never beg for a seat at any table I can flip over

We ride hard or not at all
And if you can’t handle the fire
then baby, you were never meant to sit beside me in the first place

#AttitudeWithPurpose #UnapologeticEnergy #RealOnesOnly #TakeMeAsIAm #RideOrDieLoyalty #BuiltFromFire #IfYouCantHandleMeDontComeCloser

People I follow on TikTok who aren’t celebrities… but absolutely are in their own right.

 People I follow on TikTok who aren’t celebrities… but absolutely are in their own right.

No Oscars, no Met Gala invites — but in my algorithm, they walk the digital red carpet every day.

Jamie Xie
I think she’s Chinese, and she is Rich Rich. I watch her TikToks for the glam, the luxury, the “my life is a Vogue spread” aesthetic. Just in case I randomly marry rich or win the lottery — I’ll be ready. I won’t act brand new. I’ve studied the material.

Cottage of Brunswick
It’s literally someone restoring a cottage in Brunswick, and yet I wait for updates like it's a Netflix series. The peeling walls, the rustic tiles, the weird DIY choices that somehow work? Comfort content. Like a warm cup of tea but make it interior design.

Back to the Studs
Two gay men in NYC flipping homes and narrating it like it’s a fairytale — but with wood beams and emotional trauma. The voiceover? Soothing. The storytelling? Top tier. They could literally be reading plumbing instructions and I’d still watch.

angelinapj
Yes, I’m Angelina certified. There’s something about her accent, her humor, her storytelling — like I’m on FaceTime with a chaotic but lovable cousin who always has tea. I never swipe past her. She’s a core memory.

diabe.tech
I’m diabetic, and he’s like the Anderson Cooper of Diabetes TikTok. Updates, tips, tech reviews — all served in an easy-to-digest way (pun intended). It’s the only kind of “news” that doesn’t give me anxiety.

1. sherwinables
   Unhinged in the best way. Every post is something totally different — a chaotic costume, a mini play, a or a jest about the upper management. I never know what to expect, and that’s exactly why I’m watching. Niche internet gold.

90 Days

 

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything personal, so this one goes in deep.

For a while now, I’ve been struggling—really struggling—with grief. It’s the kind of weight that sneaks up on you, settles in your chest, and stays there no matter how loud the world gets. I didn’t really know how to cope. So I did what many people do when they don’t want to feel: I hid. And my hiding place? Alcohol.

It started as a way to get through the nights. Then the days. Then everything in between. I told myself I was living, but really, I was just surviving.

But here’s where the story shifts.

I’m 3 months sober. 90 days.

That might not sound like a lot to some people, but if you’ve ever struggled with addiction or even just relied too heavily on something that numbed you, then you know—90 days is everything. It’s the raw part. The part where you’re still learning to live without the thing that used to hold you together (even if it was actually tearing you apart).

It hasn’t been easy. There have been days when I’ve felt like I was unraveling. Days when I had to sit with pain that I used to drown. But there’s a strange beauty in the clarity that comes with sobriety. In feeling everything, finally. In healing, slowly.

I don’t have it all figured out. I’m still grieving. Still learning. But I’m proud—so damn proud—to say I’ve made it through these 90 days.

If you’re reading this and you’re in the thick of it too, I see you. I’m rooting for you. And I promise, even when it feels impossible, there is light on the other side of numbness.

Here’s to the next 90.