The Audience of One

I am almost at the end of my Bible reading journey, and to be honest, I thought I would quietly finish the remaining chapters without crying, or anything surprising happening. After all, I had already read so many verses, stories, and lessons along the way.

Then I came across Colossians 3:23

"And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men."

For some reason, those words struck my heart again.

Perhaps it is because I have spent so much of my life working hard. Like many people, I have had moments when I wondered if my efforts were being noticed. Moments when I felt exhausted from giving so much of myself, especially to work, to family, to friendships, and to responsibilities that seem endless.

There are days when appreciation is scarce. Days when the things we do go unnoticed, or when we quietly carry burdens without anyone realizing how heavy they are.

And there have been times when I felt discouraged because of that. 

But the verse gently reminded me of something I often forget. That not everything I do is meant to be seen by people. That not every act of kindness I do requires recognition. And that not every sacrifice I do needs applause. 

God never asked me to work for compliments. He never asked me to serve only when others are grateful. He never promise that people would always understand my intentions or appreciate my efforts.

He asked me to do everything wholeheartedly, as if I were doing it for Him.

That changed the way I see my daily life. It changed the way I approach my work when I am tired. It changed the way I treat people when kindness is not returned. It changed the way I handle responsibilities that nobody noticed.

Because if God is the ONE I am ultimately serving, then every effort has value.

Every long day, unseen sacrifice, prayer, and act of love, matter.

Reading this verse near the end of my Bible reading felt like receiving a quiet reminder from God at exactly the right time.

Faithfulness is not measured by how many people notice what we do.. It is measured by the heart with which we do it.

From this day forward, I choose to keep doing my best. Not for praise, or for recognition, and neither for approval.

But for the One who sees every unseen thing. 

And somehow, knowing that GOD sees it all, makes every effort worthwhile.

-Have a good day to you, all.💛

My Husband vs My Horror Movie Addiction

Even when I was still young, I had always been fond of watching horror movies. But when I was pregnant with Lee, I suddenly developed this strange obsession with horror movies. Not romance, or comedy, nor documentaries about healthy pregnancies.

No.

I wanted ghosts, haunted houses, and Thai horror movies with background music that could send your soul out of your body.

Every. Single. Night.

And my poor husband had absolutely no choice.

Now let me tell you something about this man.

He is the type of guy who falls asleep five minutes into a movie. Especially horror movies. He says they're "boring". Imagine calling a woman in white crawling from the ceiling boring.

But because I was pregnant, he tolerated all of it like a patient public servant assigned to a supernatural duty.

One night, we were watching another horror movie marathon. I was so determined to stay awake and finish the story. 

Five minutes later? I fell asleep.

Completely unconscious.

Then suddenly, I woke up in the middle of the movie. The screen was dark. Someone was screaming. There was probably a ghost dragging somebody down the hallway. I immediately pretended I had been awake the entire time.

I gasped dramatically and whispered, "wala na nakaon na siya sa ungo." 

My husband slowly looked at me. Straight into my soul. 

And said, "Pag sure. Natulog ra baya ka."

😆

Because this man. THIS MAN - watched the entire boring horror movie alone while I was peacefully snoring beside him like a retired farmer.

Honestly, at that point, my husband was no longer watching horror movies. He was babysitting a sleepy pregnant woman with supernatural interests.

Then one night, karma arrived.

I had the worst nightmare of my life.

In my dream, I was trapped walking down a never-ending spiral staircase. Everything was dark. I kept shouting for help, but nobody answered me. I could hear echoes, footsteps, whispers...typical horror movie package.

I woke up panicking.

My husband immediately woke up too and asked what happened. 

I explained my nightmare dramatically like I survived an actual haunting.

And this man, instead of comforting me emotionally like a normal husband, looked at me and said,

"Mao nani resulta sa sige nimog tan-aw ug horror movie."

😂😂😂

And you'd think after that traumatic nightmare, I would finally stop watching horror movies, right?

Wrong.

The very next day, I asked him again, "Tan-aw ta horror movie?"

He would just roll his eyes and once again...

I slept.

Completely.

And when I woke up?

This man was still watching the movie alone.

I genuinely believe my husband deserved an award. For surviving MY pregnancy cravings.

So WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS STORY?

Because love is not always grand gestures, expensive gifts, or dramatic movie moments. Sometimes love is a tired man staying awake through a horrible horror movie because his pregnant wife wanted to watch it. Sometimes love is hearing someone ask for another horror movie after getting traumatize by nightmares.

And somehow...still saying YES.

So please, don't settle for less.

Choose someone kind. Someone patient. Someone who can laugh with you. Someone willing to stay, even during your weirdest phases.

And pray for it.

Because the right person will not only love you during you best moments. 

They will also sit through terrible Thai horror movies while you snore beside them.

My 109

 "What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder" - Mark 10:9 (KJV)

Love can still be sacred in a world that changes so quickly. 

In today's world, relationships are often treated lightly. People leave when things become difficult. Love becomes conditional. Commitment becomes fragile. Yet this scripture reminds me that real love is not built only during easy seasons. It is tested during misunderstandings, silence, sacrifice, waiting, and pain. Unity requires patience, humility, forgiveness, and grace.

My husband is my 109.

Not because our marriage is perfect. Not because we never disagree or become tired from life's heavy seasons. But because every single day, we choose each other again.

And perhaps that is what real love truly is. Two imperfect people learning how to remain gentle with one another despite the chaos of life.

Marriage is beautiful when both people protect it quietly behind closed doors. When they choose understanding instead of harsh words. When they forgive even while hurting. When they remain loyal not only during abundance, but also during silent battles nobody else sees.

Mark 10:9 carries a deeper emotional truth that many people forget today: love is not merely a feeling. It's a responsibility. A commitment. It's patience during misunderstandings, softness during anger, and faithfulness during uncertain seasons.

The real unity is not tested during happy moments, but during exhaustion, sacrifice, waiting, distance, disappointment, and of course, PAIN. But despite all these things, choosing to stay kind to one another becomes one of the purest forms of love.

Also, this verse should never be used to trap someone in abuse or fear. God values peace, dignity and safety too. The heart of this scripture is about honoring genuine covenant and protecting what is pure, respectful, and God-centered.

But sometimes, the saddest thing is not when two people apart. The saddest thing is watching something once beautiful slowly break because people stopped protecting it. 

Love does not usually disappear in one day. It fades in neglected conversations. In pride left unresolved. In affection no longer expressed. And in kindness slowly forgotten.

That is why protecting your marriage matters.

Because in a world where many things fall apart so easily, there is still something incredibly beautiful about two people who continue choosing each other over and over again. 

And as long as God remains at the centre of your relationship, nothing else matters. God believes in things worth keeping together.

I truly hope you find your 109. 💖💛

Jaded

Even when I was young, people already called me a strong, independent woman. Back then, I wore those words like a shiny medal pinned proudly on my chest. And I had one dream. To work abroad, earn my own money, and build a life beyond the tiny corners of the world I grew up in.

And eventually, that dream came true.

At twenty-five, I left the Philippines and stepped into the unfamiliar life of an overseas Filipino worker. And from that moment on, I never really stopped leaving home.

I learned how to survive in foreign countries where even grocery shopping felt like a mission impossible. I learned how to smile politely at people whose language I didn't understand. I learned how to eat eggs and sometimes instant noodles for three straight days while waiting for salary day. I learned how to cry silently in a shared room because homesickness is embarrassing when everyone around you is also homesick.

Saudi Arabia became my training ground. It taught me discipline, patience, and how to survive under forty-eight degree heat without turning into grilled barbecue. (Actually, I had history of heat-stroke, ^_^)

Then, barely a year after leaving Saudi, life threw another opportunity my way, and I found myself packing my bags again. This time for Qatar.

At some point, airports started feeling more familiar than my own hometown. 

I became the kind of person who could identify terminals faster than tourist spots. I mastered the art of converting currencies in my head while mentally calculating how much remittance I could still send home. My camera roll slowly transformed into screenshots of remittances, exchange rates, random sunsets, and photos of food I could not pronounce.

And yes, living in the Middle East gave me experiences I never imagined I would have. I met people from different cultures, heard stories from every corner of the world, and realized that loneliness sounds the same in every language.

But somewhere along the way, exhaustion quietly moved in beside me.

No. Not the kind of exhaustion that can be fixed with sleep. 

The deeper kind, I mean. The one that settles into your bones after years of constantly starting over. The kind where you become tired of pretending you are okay every time someone says, "Swerte kaayo ka kay naka abroad ka."

Because the truth is, working abroad is beautiful... but it also painfully lonely.

People only see the travel photos, the shopping bags, the carefully filtered instagram stories. What they do not see are the birthdays missed, the funerals attended through video calls, the heartbreaks endured alone in a tiny room. They do not see how OFWs learn to celebrate Christmas with strangers while pretending not to miss home too much.

And now that I am getting older, with a family of my own, I realize something.

That maybe, I have already lived my life to the fullest.

I have wandered enough airports. I have survived enough goodbyes. I have worked enough overtime shifts to know that money can buy comfort, but never stolen time. 

I have spent years chasing a dream only to discover that dreams can also make you tired.

And perhaps that is why lately, I feel jaded.

Not ungrateful of course. Never that. 

Just...tired.

I am already tired of constantly being strong. Tired of acting independent all the time. And tired of carrying everyone's expectations as though I was born without limits.

Because people often forget that strong women also get exhausted. We get homesick. We get lonely. We get burnt out from always being the reliable one. Sometimes we also want someone to tell us, "Pwede naka pahulay.." T___T

These days, my definition of happiness has changed.

It is no longer about collecting passport stamps or proving that I can survive alone anywhere in the world. Sometimes happiness now sounds like eating dinner peacefully with family. Sleeping without setting five alarms for work. Laughing without checking the exchange rate first.

Funny how life works.

When I was younger, I thought freedom meant leaving home.

Now, I think freedom might actually mean finally finding my way back to it.

I guess that's it for tonight. I can't hold back my tears anymore. I still have work tomorrow, and I can't afford to show up with swollen eyes.

And to anyone out there fighting silent battles too, I hope tomorrow feels a little lighter for all of us.

Goodnight.

Sowing Through the Pain

There are seasons in life where I slowly stopped giving. Not because I became selfish, but because I became tired.

I got tired of being the one who understands. 

The one who waits.

The one who forgives first.

And the one who stays soft in a world that keeps teaching people to harden.

I used to think that generosity only meant money. But the older I get, the more I realize that some of the most painful things we give are invisible.

Time.

Patience.

Effort.

Loyalty.

Late-night prayers for people who never even knew we whispered their names to God.

Pieces of ourselves handed quietly to people we loved.

And sometimes, it hurts when you feel like you gave so much only to receive so little in return.

When I get to read the passage in 2 Corinthians 9:6 (KJV), it spoke to me in a way I cannot fully explain.

"He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully."

I honestly misunderstood this verse. I thought it was only about blessings and rewards. But I believe that God was speaking about the condition of the heart. Because pain has a way of making people sow sparingly.

Like after enough disappointments, you stop opening up. You stop trusting easily. Stop loving loudly. And you become careful with your kindness because you are afraid that people will waste it again.

Trust me, I've been there.

There were moments when I wanted to protect myself so much that I slowly became emotionally distant from everyone. I convinced myself that expecting less and giving less would hurt less too.

But the reality is, when you stop sowing good things because life wounded you, your soul becomes empty as well.

Not every seed grows overnight. Some prayers take years. Some kindness returns in unexpected forms. Some love never comes back from the same people you gave it to.

But maybe, maybe that is the point. 

Maybe God asked us to give because love was never meant to survive through fear.

God wants us to continue being kind even the world becomes cold. He wants us to continue loving even after heartbreak. And to continue to believe that what is pure is never wasted.

And maybe, the "harvest" is not always material things...

It maybe healing, peace, a softer heart, and the ability to still love without becoming bitter. 

Choosing to remain genuine is already something sacred in a world where many people only give when it benefits them. 

So from now on, I pray differently.

Not: "Lord, give me more.."

But: "Lord, do not let pain turn me into someone who is afraid to love, afraid to give, afraid to care."

Because I want my life to be remembered not for how much I kept for myself, but for the seeds I planted in the lives of others, even the quiet ones nobody ever saw.

\^___^/

Well, I hope you understood what I was trying to say. I know it was a lot, but I couldn’t sleep, so I ended up writing something just to ease my mind a little.

Goodnight.

Left Behind Again

There is a different kind of pain that comes from feeling unheard by someone you once considered safe. 

Not anger, nor hatred. Just that quiet ache that settles in your chest when a person who calls you a friend chooses doubt over understanding.

I kept asking myself after what happened today, "Do you really see me as a real friend?" Because to me, friendship was always built on trust. Not perfect trust, not blind trust, but the kind that says, "Even if I do not fully understand you right now, I will still listen. I will still believe that your heart is good." 

And maybe that is why it hurt so much.

Because when someone immediately questions your intentions, dismisses your words, or makes you feel like your voice no longer matters, it feels less like a misunderstanding and more like abandonment. Like being left behind in the middle of a conversation you thought was safe enough to speak honestly in.

I have always tried to be a good friend. The kind who stays, who listens, who remembers small details, checks in quietly, and gives people the understanding I wish someone would give me. I carry people gently because I know how heavy life can already be.

Sometimes I wonder why it's so difficult to find someone who does the same for me.

Why is it so rare to find a person who does not make you feel like you constantly have to explain your heart?

Someone who trust you even the situation is messy. Someone who does not make you feel guilty for feeling hurt. Someone who chooses to protect your friendship instead of protecting their pride.

And what broke me the most was not even the disagreement itself. It was the feeling of suddenly becoming alone in a place where I thought I belonged.

And maybe that is what hurts about disappointment. It does not come from strangers. It comes from people you once felt safe with.

Still despite everything, I do not think I will ever regret being genuine. I would rather continue loving deeply, listening sincerely, and caring wholeheartedly than become someone cold just because others failed to value my heart.

and I HOPE someday, I meet people who choose me the same way I choose them.

People who stay when conversations become uncomfortable. People who listen before judging. People who understand that friendship is not only about laughter and convenience, but also about trust during difficult moments.

BECAUSE BEING A GOOD FRIEND SHOULD NOT FEEL THIS LONELY.

A Mind That Never Rests

 
The moment I created this blog, I already accepted the fact that I would slowly become an open book. 

Every word I write carries pieces of me that I once tried so hard to hide. This weblog has become part of my life because it is no longer just me who knows what I have been going through. All of you who take the time to read every piece I write have somehow become part of my journey too. You have seen fragments of my heart through paragraphs, quiet cries hidden between sentences, and thoughts I could never say out loud in real life.

Lately, I have been struggling more than I care to admit.

I realized that keeping everything inside is not healthy at all. Pretending to be okay, swallowing every emotion, and staying silent about what truly hurts me has slowly started consuming me day by day. The scary part is that I no longer react the way I used to. Terrible things that once broke me now feel normal. Being verbally hurt. Being mentally exhausted. Being emotionally drained. Somehow, I became so used to pain that I stopped questioning it.

And honestly...that scares me.

People always say, "It's okay to not be okay." But no one ever talks about how long a person can survive feeling that way. How long can someone carry heaviness in their chest before it completely changes them? How long can someone cry silently before they no longer recognize themselves?

Because I am scared.

I am scared that one day, I will wake up and no longer be the person I used to be. The soft version of me. The hopeful version of me. The person who used to smile genuinely, laugh loudly, and believe that life would eventually get better. Right now, everything feels heavy. Every day feels like a battle inside my own mind.

And the hardest part of all is being torn between leaving and staying.

Leaving the things that hurt me feels terrifying. But staying feels like slowly losing myself too.

I wish people understood how exhausting it is to fight battles inside your head while trying to look normal on the outside. Sometimes I want to disappear from everything just so the noise inside me would finally become quiet. Sometimes I just want someone to hold my hand and tell me that I do not have to carry all of this alone.

I do not really know what to do anymore.

But I think writing this is my way of asking for help without directly saying the words out loud. Maybe this blog is not just a collection of thoughts after all. Maybe this is me trying to survive. Trying to breathe. Trying to remind myself that I still exist underneath all this pain.

If you are reading this and feeling the same way, please know you are not alone.

And maybe...maybe we are all just trying to find our way back to ourselves again.

The Softest Kind of Love

There is something deeply tender about loving someone enough to accept the place they can give you in their life, even if it is not the place your heart secretly longs for.

"If being friends with you is the only way to be with you, then so be it.."

It sounds heartbreaking, honestly. But the more I sat with those words, the more I realized how rare and gentle that kind of love truly is.

Most people only stay when they are promised more. Attention. Affection. Or certainty. But there are few souls who choose to remain even when love asks them to stand quietly at the side instead of at the center.

And somehow, that kind of love feels softer, pure, and unselfish.

This has been one of the sweetest things I have ever heard. The fact that someone, no matter how deeply he likes a person, chooses friendship instead of forcing something further..says so much about the kind of heart he carries. It means he values the person more than his own desires. It means he wound rather protect the connection than risk breaking it with pressure, expectation, or selfish intentions.

There's just maturity in there. But more than maturity, there is kindness.

Love is not about possessing someone. Sometimes, love is simply saying, "I care about you enough to stay in whatever way you are comfortable with.." 

Some people underestimate how beautiful friendship can be when it is built from genuine affection. Because you know? there is something comforting about a person who stays without demanding labels, without making you feel guilty for not being ready, or without turning tenderness into obligation.

A love like that does not scream. Doesn't beg. And it doesn't manipulate.

It just simply remains. Quietly and patiently.

I think that is why those words lingered in my heart for so long. In a world where people often leave the moment they cannot have what they want, hearing someone say "I will be here, even just as your friend." feels pure.

Because not everyone knows how to love without ownership.

And maybe, maybe, that is the sweetest part of all. Being chosen gently, without pressure, without conditions, without fear.

Just a soul saying, "having you in my life in any form is already enough for me.."

The Boy Who Left His Slippers Behind

 

Story written by: Rossengel B. Pareda

Humility is not loud. It doesn't demand attention or applause. It doesn't try to win the room. It simply exists. Steady, grounded, and sure of itself. It is the quiet strength of knowing who you are without needing to prove it to anyone. It's choosing to listen before speaking, to learn before assuming, and to serve without seeking recognition.

Last Wednesday, during our midweek prayer meeting, I saw something that stayed with me long after the service ended.

There was a young boy, just a teenager. Nothing about him screamed for attention. But as he reached the doorway of the church, he quietly slipped off his sandals and left them outside. Then he walked in barefoot.

In the middle of a crowd.

In a place where people notice everything.

For a second, I froze. Not because it was strange, but because it felt...sacred. Like I was witnessing something deeply personal between him and God.

And then a verse came rushing back to me: "Take off your sandals, for the place you are standing is a holy ground." Exodus 3:5

He did not say a word. He didn't look around to see who was watching. He didn't hesitate. It was as if, in his heart, he already knew, this place, this moment, deserved reverence. 

But not everyone saw it that way.

Some people, especially those his age, laughed. Whispered. Judged. To them, it looked like ignorance. Like something odd, maybe even embarrassing.

But he didn't flinch.

He walked in barefoot, found his seat, listened intently, and bowed his head in prayer, as if nothing else in the room mattered. 

In that moment, I realized something that hit me deeper than expected. Humility is not weakness. Its courage. The kind of courage that chooses obedience over approval. The kind that honors God, even when people misunderstand. 

That boy was simply following what his heart believed was right. And somehow, that quiet act spoke louder than anything else that night.

Humility, I realized, is not about blending in. Sometimes, it means standing out in the most unexpected way. Without pride, without noise, without explanation.

Just a heart fully surrendered.

And that night, a barefoot boy reminded me what that truly looks like.

Selective Presence

There's always a kind of silence that does not come from distance, but comes from realization.

I used to think I mattered in people's lives in the same way they mattered in mine. I would show up, check in, remember the little things, make time even when I was tired. I gave without keeping score, because that's what genuine care looks like, right?

However, as time goes by, patterns reveal what words try to hide.

The messages would only come when there was a need. A favor. Or a question. Or a moment of inconvenience they could not solve alone. And of course, I would respond. I would. Because that's who I am. I help. I stay. I understand.

Til silence returned.

Not the peaceful kind of course, but the kind that feels selective. Intentional. The kind that makes you question whether your presence only exists in someone else's life when it's convenient for them.

It's a strange feeling, to be remembered only when you're useful, and forgotten the moment you're not. 

At first, I made excuses for it. "They're just busy." or "Maybe they're going through something." nor "It's not personal." I gave them the benefit of the doubt so many times that I forgot to give myself the same kindness.

Because the truth is, it is personal in the sense that you're allowing yourself to be placed in a role you never deserved. 

A convenience. A backup. A temporary solution.

And the hardest part?? Realizing that I participated in my own exhaustion. Not because I am weak but because I was sincere in a world that sometimes treats sincerity as something to use, not to value. 

There comes a moment, though, when your heart gets tired of explaining what your silence finally understands. 

You deserved to be remembered even when you have nothing to give.

Not just when you're needed. Not just when you're available. Not just when you're useful.

But when you're simply you.

So maybe, I will start to choose differently. Not out of anger nor revenge but out of respect for myself. I learned that stepping back is not losing people; sometimes it's losing the version of yourself that kept settling for less than you deserved.

If they only remember you when they need something, let them.

But don't forget yourself in the process.

Because the right people won't treat your presence like a resource.

They will treat it like a gift.

Unclenching My Fist

I have been struggling emotionally lately with someone. Not the kind of good feeling, but more of an abhorrence. Days turned into weeks, then months, until it became a year. Him being a bully and arrogant, I sometimes describe him as if he's possessed by some kind of an evil deity. It makes me feel like I always want to punch his face every time he does something so bad that it pulls my emotional strength down into the pit. 

And honestly, it is exhausting to keep carrying this kind of feeling for so long. Until the time came when silence was no longer peace, but rather a form of restraint.

I remember carrying words I never said, responses I rehearsed in my head, and pain I quietly nurtured like it was something I had to protect. I told myself I was just being strong, that walking away made me the bigger person. 

But deep inside, I was not at peace. I was just waiting for the right moment to feel justified.

Then just this night, while reading the Bible, I came across this verse:

"Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord." Romans 12:19 (KJV)

At first, I did not like it.

Because If I am being honest, a part of me wanted justice on my terms. I wanted him to feel exactly what he made me feel. I wanted answers. I wanted balance. I wanted closure that looked like accountability. Immediate and visible.

But God's words didn't negotiate with my emotions. They gently, but firmly, redirected them.

"Give place unto wrath."

That line stayed with me.

It did not say deny the anger. It did not say pretend it doesn't hurt. It didn't say forget. It said make room, not for revenge, but for God to step in where I am tempted to take control.

And that is when I realized...holding onto anger was never giving me power. It was quietly consuming me.

Letting go of revenge did not mean what happened was okay. It didn't mean my pain was invalid. It meant I was choosing to trust that God sees everything I cannot explain, hears everything I never said, and understand every tear I tried to hide. 

There is something humbling about stepping back and saying, "Lord God, I won't fight this battle the way I want to. I will let You handle it."

Because truthfully, my version of justice is often fueled by emotion. But His? It is perfect, complete, and never ever late.

I am still learning this.

Sure, there will be days when these old feelings will resurface, or when memories knock like they still have access to my heart. But now, I think, instead of entertaining them, I surrender them.

Not because I am weak, but because I finally understand that I don't have to carry what God already claimed as His responsibility. 

"Vengeance is mine; I will repay."

That's not just a warning. It's a promise.

And for the first time, I feel free not needing to prove anything, not needing to get even, and not needing to win.

Just...trusting. 

And somehow, that feels like the greatest victory of all.