MEMOIR

The basketball court was where I learned to fail publicly. Missed shots, missed passes—but also the joy of trying again with teammates who never gave up on me.

The jeepney ride through the mountains of Sagada was loud, bumpy, and strangely comforting. I clung to the rail and to the feeling that I was finally somewhere I didn’t need to explain myself.

I wasn’t the fastest on the track, but I showed up every day. Coach said grit beats talent when talent doesn’t show up. That stuck with me longer than any medal.

The medicine tasted bitter, but the nurse’s joke made me laugh. That laugh reminded me I was still me—even when my body felt like someone else’s.

The nurse called me “brave,” but I didn’t feel brave. I felt tired, scared, and small. Still, I smiled—because sometimes bravery is just showing up.

During the retreat, I didn’t find answers. I found a quiet place inside me that had been waiting to be heard. That was enough.

I used to think prayer was about asking. Then my mother prayed without words—just silence and tears. That’s when I learned prayer could be presence.

After surgery, I counted ceiling tiles to stay calm. Recovery wasn’t dramatic—it was slow, boring, and full of tiny victories like walking to the window.

My first bike had training wheels and stickers. I fell, cried, and got back on. That day, I learned falling wasn’t failure—it was part of the ride.

I used to believe the moon followed me home. Every night, I waved at it from the backseat. That small ritual made the world feel gentle and close.

I stood barefoot on a rice terrace in Banaue, surrounded by fog and silence. It felt like the earth was holding its breath—and for once, I did too.

I used to hide under the dining table during storms. The thunder was loud, but my father’s voice reading stories was louder. That’s how I learned safety could be spoken.

In Bali, I watched the sun melt into the sea while a stranger taught me how to say “thank you” in three languages. That moment reminded me how kindness travels faster than planes.