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.

For Zenai, With Love

There are people you meet for the first time, yet somehow, it feels like your souls skipped the introduction and went straight to familiarity. Like you've known each other in another lifetime, or at least in a group chat you forgot about.

Once upon a time, I met a girl.

She's the kind of person you notice immediately because she's very noisy, bubbly, kind, effortlessly beautiful and overflowing with joy. The type who can walk into a room and without trying too hard, make it feel lighter. She laughs easily, talks warmly, and makes friendship look so natural, as if she's been practicing it her whole life.

But like most beautiful stories, hers has depth.

Behind that cheerful facade is a quiet battle she fought, darkness that once lingered, waiting for the right (or wrong) moment to surface. Yet somehow, she chose differently. She chose to fight. She chose to heal. And most importantly, she chose God and herself. Not perfectly, not all at once, but faithfully.

And maybe, that's why we connected.

Because in so many ways, she is like me. She loves God deeply, above all else. Her faith is unshaken. She's loyal, strong, and surprisingly...a cry-baby. Give her a slight sad ending, and booom! Tears. Honestly, I've never met someone who can cry that fast. It's almost a talent at this point.

Today, April 26, 2026, I celebrate her life.

Zen, 

I thank Jesus Christ for you. I thank God for bringing someone so genuine into my life. Someone beautiful not just in appearance, but in heart and spirit. They say it's hard to find true friends when you're far from home, living abroad, trying to build a life from scratch. But I've always held on to God and in His perfect timing, He brought you to me, because He knew I needed someone like you.

And I really did.

Thank you for being unapologetically you. Thank you for your kindness, your strength, your faith, even on days when it feels like you're still healing. Because yes, you may not be 100% there yet (who is, really?), but I believe with all my heart that God is preparing a kind of happiness for you that will make every past pain make sense.

A thousand folds, just like I always say..

And listen, our friendship? It's not the kind that fades with distance or time. Whether we see each other every day or not at all, that doesn't change a thing. Once you're my friend, you're my friend for life. No returns, no exchanges. So sorry, you're stuck with me.

And even if one day we're no longer physically in the same place, remember this: we are sisters at heart. And anyway, we have social media. You're not escaping me that easily.

So today, laugh a little louder, smile a little brighter, and maybe cry just a tiny bit less (no promises, I know).

Happy, happy birthday, Zen 💛

You are loved, you are seen, and you are deeply blessed.

A Kindness I Kept

I had just finished my 7-3 shift that day, the kind that leaves you kinda drained in some way. I remember checking my pocket and realizing I did not even have a single 20 peso bill left. Nothing. It was one of those brutally hot afternoons too! The kind where the air itself feels heavy. And having experienced heat stroke before, back when I was still working in Saudi Arabia, I knew better than to rush out into it. So I stayed for a while, waiting for the heat to ease, trying to steady myself.

While standing in front of the hospital's entrance, I saw one of my colleagues (we were still quite new to each other at the time). She had just arrived, driving her mum to the hospital's dialysis centre. Her mum had been a dialysis patient for quite a few years. I walked over, and that's when I had the chance to meet her, such a lovely, gentle woman. You could immediately see where my colleague got her beauty from.

We spoke for a bit, and i'll admit, I hesitated for a long time...but eventually, I gathered the courage to ask if I could borrow some money. I just wanted to get home. But she didn't have anything to spare that day either. So I nodded, smiled it off, and made my way to the hospital canteen instead, thinking I'd just sit there until the sun wasn't so unforgiving, and before deciding to walk home. 

I tried to distract myself, scrolling through my phone, pretending I wasn't worried about how I'd get home. Then suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around and there she was.

She looked at me and said, "Ate, I found 50 pesos. You can use it to go home."

I don't think I'll ever forget that moment.

It wasn't the money that broke me. It was the thought behind it. The fact that she remembered. That she cared enough to come back for me. That somewhere in her mind, she was worried about me walking home alone in that heat.

Something in my heart just...stopped.

We weren't even close yet, but in that small, quiet act, she showed me a kindness that felt so rare, so genuine. The kind that doesn't ask for recognition. The kind that just is. 

When I finally got into the cab, I waved goodbye to her...and then I cried.

Not because she helped me financially, but because, in that moment, she touched my life in a way I knew I would never forget. I remember thinking to myself, this is someone I want to keep in my life forever.

And as time went on, I got to know her more. I learned about her strength, how her father had passed away from cardiac arrest, and how her mum continued to fight through kidney failure, going through dialysis week after week. And yet, despite everything she carried, she remained one of the kindest, most selfless people I had ever met. 

We grew close. Really close. Not just colleagues, but sisters at heart. And I was lucky enough to work alongside her for a while...until life took me abroad again.

Then one day, while I was away, I received the news. Her mum had suffered cardiac arrest and was admitted to the ICU. I prayed so hard for her, asking God to give her strength...to carry her through something so heavy.

But then...her mum passed away.

And I wasn't there.

That's something I still carry with me. That quiet regret. That wish that, somehow, I could have been by her side when she needed someone the most.

Even now, I include her in my prayers every single day. I pray for her full healing, for her peace. And I miss her.. more than words can ever fully explain.

And every time I think back to that hot afternoon, to that simple act of kindness...I can't help but feel everything all over again.

If you're reading this, you know who you are.

I just want you to know that I miss you. Deeply. And I hold onto the hope that we'll see each other again soon. 

I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me the most. Truly.

But please never forget this: God loves you. And you are, without a doubt, one of the strongest women I have ever known, not just in body, but in heart, in spirit, in everything that you are.

I cannot wait to see you again.

A Conclusion, Not a Debate

Luke 10:16 states;

"He that heareth you heareth Me; and he that despiseth you despiseth Me; and he that despiseth Me despiseth Him that sent Me."

This verse holds a very special place in my heart because it is not just merely a line of scripture to me. It marked a moment of interruption, a decisive point when I was close to giving up.

At that time, I was so overwhelmed with emotions I can no longer contain. Anger, resentment, and a profound sense of loneliness had accumulated to the point where everything felt final. I genuinely believed that time that I had reached the end of myself. 

I found myself weeping in a public place, surrounded by strangers, yet entirely alone in what I was carrying. 

But even if I was in that state, I opened my Bible app without expectation. And this verse appeared. There was no build-up, no searching. Just...this. And it was enough to stop me.

Luke 10:16 is often understood as Jesus speaking to His disciples, affirming that those who receive them receive Him, and in turn, receive the One who sent Him. But in that moment, it was not theology I encountered. It was His presence. 

I wept even more, but this time not out of despair. What become undeniable to me is this: Jesus is not distant. He speaks, and He is heard. He knows not in a general sense, but in precision. Every thought, or hidden weight, nor every unspoken struggle, nothing escapes Him.

And more than that, His authority is not independent. He made it clear Himself: He and the Father are one in purpose and will. To reject Him is to reject the One who sent Him.

This is where my position becomes firm.

I do not understand why, even now, there remains persistent insistence that Jesus Christ is merely an ordinary man. I am not concerned with the variety of sources or interpretations that lead to that conclusion. What I know is grounded not only in scripture, but in encounter.

I suddenly recall a conversation at Souq Waqif. A woman asked me directly about my faith specifically, who is Jesus to me. My answer was straightforward. He is the Son of God. She responded with a spit to my answer. She insisted that He was simply born as a human being, nothing more.

I was prepared to respond. However, language stood between us. The conversation ended there, not because there was nothing to say, but because there was no shared means to say it.

So, I WILL STATE IT HERE WITHOUT AMBIGUITY:

Jesus Christ is the Son of God. If you hold a different view, you are entitled to it. But understand this. My conviction is not casual, nor borrowed. It is formed through experience, through scripture, and through moments like the one I have described. 

If you intend to challenging that, then do so with clarity, substance, and understanding. NOT ASSUMPTION. 

Because this is NOT A DEBATE. It is A CONCLUSION. 

Walking in the Light (John 11:9-10)

I wrote this for myself. No filters. No pretending. Just the truth I once tried to bury.

When I read that passage, it didn't just move me...it shook me. It pulled me back into a season of my life I can never fully forget. A time when I was completely consumed by darkness. Not the kind you see, but the kind that blinds you from within.

I was lost. Truly lost. And now I understand why I kept making destructive choices, why my thoughts turned against me. It's because I couldn't see the light. I didn't even know where to look for it. Everything inside me was clouded. 

Heavy. 

Suffocating. 

I was fighting battles no one could see, drowning in silence, smiling on the outside while breaking apart within.

Those were the days that terrified me the most. The days that tested every part of my will to keep going. I was frustrated, exhausted, and at one point...I genuinely believed the only way out was to end my life.

But I didn't.

Because somehow, when I had nothing left, when I was at my lowest, God called me back. Not when I was strong. Not when I had it all together. But right there, in my weakest, darkest moment.

And that's what saved me.

Those days were real. They were painful. They almost destroyed me. 

But they did not define my ending. 

------------------

I've been sitting with a short passage from the Bible lately - John 11:9-10, and the more I think, the more it feels like something we still struggle to understand today.

"Are there not twelve hours in the day? If any man walk in the day, he stumbleth not, because he seeth the light of this world. But if a man walk in the night, he stumbleth, because there is no light in him." 

At first, it sounds like one of those lines you read and nod at..then move on. But the context? That changes everything.

When Jesus Christ said this, He wasn't just teaching randomly. His disciples were worried. He had just told them they were going back to Judea, the same place where people had recently tried to stone Him. Naturally, there were like, "Wait...were going back there? Are you sure about this?"

They were thinking about safety. About risk. About what could go wrong. And Jesus responds with... a metaphor about daylight. Not exactly what they expected.

But what He was really telling them was this: If you're walking where you're meant to be, if you're aligned with God's purpose, you're walking in the light. And when you have light, you don't stumble.

Honestly, that hits different nowadays. Because If I am being real, a lot of us are not afraid of the dark, because we are afraid of making the wrong move. Surely you will ask yourself "what if I choose the wrong path? or what if this decision backfires? or what if I am not ready yet?"

We overthink. We hesitate. We stay where it's comfortable because at least it feels safe. That's exactly where the disciples were. They weren't wrong to be cautious. But they were letting fear speak louder than purpose.

So what does "walking in the light" even look like now? It's not always something big or dramatic. Sometimes, it's really simple. Like doing the right thing even when no one's watching, or saying yes to something that scares you (but feels right deep down), or letting go of what's easy because you know it's not for you anymore, or lastly, taking one step forward, even when you don't have the full plan. 

Walking in the light doesn't mean everything is clear, it just means you're not walking blindly.

And the "night" part.. that's real too. Let's not pretend we don't end up there sometimes. Walking in the night can look like overthinking until you move at all, or letting fear make your decisions for you, or following what everyone else is doing, even when it doesn't feel right. Ignoring that quite nudge inside you. And then we wonder why things feel off...why we keep stumbling. It's not always because life is against us. Sometimes, we're just moving without light.

So here's the thought I keep coming back to. Jesus didn't say there would be no danger. He didn't say the path would be easy. He just said you won't stumble. if you're walking in the light. And honestly? that shifts everything. Because maybe, the goal is not to avoid hard things. Maybe it's to make sure were not facing them in the dark.

If I could take one thing from this passage and bring it into everyday life, it would be this: You don't need to have everything figured out. You just need enough light to take the next step. And maybe instead of asking, "is this thing the safest choice?" we should start asking "is this the right one?" Because those two are not always the same. 

And according to Jesus Christ...the right path is the one where the light is.

Crash Landing on You

There are stories you watch, and then there are stories that quietly take up residence inside you. For me, Crash Landing on You is firmly the latter.

Okay. I watched it again today. 

I didn't expect it, if I'm being honest. I pressed play thinking it would just another well-made series to pass the time. Instead, it unfolded into something far more intimate. Something that felt less like fiction and more like a lived emotion. And perhaps that's why I keep returning to it, again and again, as though it knows a part of me I don't often put into words.

As someone who has always been a hopeless romantic, I found myself completely disarmed by the love story between Ri Jeong Hyeok and Yoon Se-ri. It was not just grand, cinematic gestures, though there were plenty of those, it was the quiet, almost fragile moments in between.

The way they looked at each other when words were too dangerous. The way love grew not out of convenience, but in spite of everything that stood against it.

Their world was built on impossibility: borders, politics, fear, and the constant threat of loss. And yet, within that tension, their love felt astonishingly real. It was careful, restrained, and at times painfully uncertain. 

But I guess that's precisely what made it soooo powerful. It wasn't perfect. It was REAL.

Every time I rewatch the series and I've already lost count at this point, I find myself feeling the same rush of emotions. The same tightness in my chest during moments of separation. The same quiet joy in their fleeting happiness.

It's almost strange, how something so familiar can still move me in exactly the same way, as though my heart has not learned to brace itself. 

Perhaps that's the beauty of it. Some stories don't dull with repetition; they deepen. They settle into you, layer by layer, until they become part of how you understand love itself.

What Crash Landing on You did, more than anything, was remind me why I believe in love the way I do. Not the easy kind, not the convenient kind, but the kind that waits, that risks, that chooses again and again, even when the odds are impossibly high. The kind that feels like it might break you, but is somehow still worth everything.

This is the first time I've ever written about a series like this, and maybe that says something in itself. Not every story lingers long enough to be written about. 

Not every story asks you to sit with your feelings and give them a voice. 

But this one did.

And maybe, in some quiet way, it always will.💕

Knock Knock.. Who's There? Faith.

There's something so beautifully simple and slightly funny about Luke 11:9-10 (KJV):

"And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened."

If I am being honest, most of us treat this verse like a spiritual vending machine.

We "ask"...once.

We "seek"...for about five minutes.

We "knock"... and if no one answers immediately, we assume heaven is closed for renovations.

But this verse? It's not about a one-time request. It's about persistence. 

Think about it. Have you ever had someone knock on your door like this:

knock knock (wait 2 seconds) louder knock knock

"HELLO?? I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE."

That's the energy. 

Not rude. Not desperate. But determined. And honestly, that's where the humor meets the beauty. 

Because God is not sitting there irritated like, "Oh no...it's her again." He's more like, "Yes, keep coming. Keep asking. I love that you're not giving up."

Ask. Even when you feel awkward. Sometimes, we don't ask because we think our requests are too small. "Lord...it's just a small thing..." Meanwhile, we'll ask a friend for Wifi without hesitation.

 If it matters to you, surely it matters to Him.

Even if it's as simple as: "Lord, please help me survive today without losing my patience...or my mind." (Relatable, right?)

Seek. Even when you feel lost. Seeking implies movement. It means you don't just sit there waiting for answers to fall from the sky like notifications. 

You open your Bible. You pray. You reflect. You wrestle a little.

Sometimes, seeking feels like trying to find your phone...while it's in your hand. You're searching everywhere, frustrated, only to realize later:

"Oh...God was here the whole time." 

Knock. Even when it feels repetitive. This is where it gets real. Knocking means you didn't get the answer yet. So you knock again.

And again.

And again.

Not because God didn't hear you, but because something is happening in you while you wait. 

Faith is being built. Patience is growing. Trust is deepening.

What makes this verse so comforting is this: it doesn't say maybe. It says:

• Ask... you will receive
• Seek... you will find
• Knock... it will be opened

Not always in the way you expect, nor in your timing. But always in a way that is good. So if you feel like your prayers are on "read" but not "replied"... please don't stop.

Keep asking.

Keep seeking.

Keep knocking.

Because one day, the door will open, and you'll realize God was not ignoring you. 

He was preparing something better behind the door, while you kept knocking like a slightly persistent, faith-filled human. 😉

Eyes Forward: A Life Fully Committed. (Luke 9:62)

There is something about the past that quietly pulls at us.

Sometimes it's comfort, familiar habits, familiar people, familiar ways of thinking. Other times, it's regret. The things we wish we handled differently, words we wish we never said, choices we wish we could undo. And if we're honest, there are moments when we try to move forward... but a part of us keeps turning back.

The moment I get to read Luke 9:62, it hit me so deeply. Jesus was speaking directly to a man who said he wanted to follow Him, but first wanted to go back home. So Jesus responded in verse 62. "No man, having out his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God."

Jesus was telling the man like "If you really want to follow Me, you must be fully committed, not half in half out."

At first, it sounds strict. Almost harsh. But when you sit with it, you realize, it's actually very honest.

Jesus is not just talking about farming. He's talking about focus. About direction. About the kind of heart that truly wants to move forward. 

Imagine a farmer plowing a field. His hands are steady, his path is straight. But the moment he keeps looking behind him, everything starts to shift. The lines become uneven. The work loses its direction. Not because he lacks ability, but because his attention is divided.

And isn't that exactly how life feels sometimes?

You want to grow. You want to heal. You want to follow God.

But part of you is still holding on to a past relationship, or a past version of yourself, or even a past pain you've learned to live with.

You move forward... but you keep glancing back.

This verse is not about perfection. It's about commitment.

It's about the quiet but firm decision that says: "Sure! I may have a past, but I'm not going to live there anymore."

Because following God means letting go. Not because the past didn't matter, but because it can't lead you forward. You can't walk into a new life while constantly turning around to revisit the old one.

And maybe that's the real challenge here.

Not starting. But staying.

Staying committed when it's uncomfortable. Staying focused when distraction comes. Staying faithful when the past feels easier than the future.

Luke 9:62 is a reminder for me that moving forward requires intention. It requires a heart that chooses, again and again, not to go back.

So if you find yourself stuck between where you were and where you're trying to go, ask yourself gently: 

"What am I still looking back at?" and more importantly, "Is it worth losing my direction?"

Because the truth is, the life ahead of you needs your full attention. 

And sometimes, the most powerful step forward...is simply, choosing not to turn back.

A Quiet Pause, Not a Goodbye

Some of you who regularly visit this website may have been wondering what happened to me and why I suddenly stopped writing. The truth is, I never really stopped. There were simply a few unfortunate things that happened recently, things that are too personal for me to share right now.

These experiences affected my well-being, my peace of mind, and even the way I process my thoughts and decisions in life. Because of that, writing became difficult for a while. I had so many things on my mind that it was hard to put my usual ideas into words. I am writing this now just to let you know that I haven't disappeared. I've simply been taking a quiet pause because I couldn't bring myself to write the way I normally do.

Please bear with me for a little while longer. I promise I'll be back soon, and when I return, I hope to write with the same voice and passion you've known before. To those who never stopped checking this website (yes, I can see the visits and when you're from), thank you. Your continued presence truly means more than you know. 

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for staying. I'll be back soon.

When Charm Isn't Character

There are people you meet in life who arrive like sunlight. Warm, bright, and almost too easy to trust. And then, slowly, like a shadow stretching at dusk, something shifts.

I once knew someone like that.

At first, everything about them felt effortless. They spoke with confidence, laugh easily, and carried stories like polished stones; smooth and convincing. But over time, I began to notice the cracks beneath the shine. Words did not always align with actions. Truth bent just enough to make you question your own memory.

It reminded me of what the Bible say:

"A double minded man is unstable in all his ways" - James 1:8 (KJV)

Instability is subtle at first. It disguises itself as misunderstanding, as busyness, as coincidence. But patterns don't lie. When someone's character is questionable, it's rarely because of one mistake and it's the repetition that reveals it.

There is a kind of grief in realizing that someone you wanted to believe in, may not be who they presented themselves to be. It feels like betrayal, even if no dramatic offense occurred. 

Scripture warns gently but clearly:

"He that walketh uprightly walketh surely: but he that perverteth his ways shall be known." - Proverbs 10:9 (KJV)

Character always reveals itself. Maybe, not immediately. Maybe, not loudly. But SURELY.

I wrestled with myself once again. I asked if I was being judgmental. If I was too sensitive. If I expected too much. But I believe, discernment is not cruelty. In fact, it protected me.

The Bible also reminds us:

"Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners." - 1 Corinthians 15:33 (KJV)

I become like what I tolerate. I slowly excused what once disturbed me. And without realizing it, it lowered my standards just to maintain proximity. 

So I stepped back.

Not with anger or resentment. Not with any dramatic confrontation. 

Just quiet distance.

Because peace is more valuable than any other things for me right now. Because once you lose my trust, nothing will ever be the same. 

This acquaintance taught me something important. Charm is not character. Words are not integrity. And familiarity is not loyalty. 

In the end, I prayed for wisdom more than approval. To ask God not only for kind people in my life, but for truthful ones.

And perhaps, most importantly, to examine my own heart too.

Because it is so easy to write about someone else's questionable character.

It is harder, and holier, to guard my own.