Charm In Ink

  There are days when I wish life had a reset button. Not a full reset—nothing extreme like going back to diapers or elementary school. I’m talking about a rewind. Maybe a decade back. Maybe to 18, when I was still figuring things out, still allowed to stumble. If I could just go back and make different choices—smarter ones, kinder ones—maybe things would look better now. But I can’t. And here I am at 28. Not quite young anymore, but not exactly old. Somewhere in that blurry, confusing in-between. It’s like being stuck in a holding pattern while everyone else’s lives are taking off. The Lie of Having It All Figured Out At 28, there’s this quiet expectation that you should have something to show for yourself—a degree, a stable job, maybe even a relationship, a savings account, or a five-year plan. But what happens when you don’t have any of those? What happens when all you have is a pile of unmet goals, faded dreams, and a voice in your head constantly whispering: You’re behin...

  When I left for Europe, it wasn’t just a trip. It was a mission, a commitment. I went as part of the Philippine UPR Watch delegation, carrying with me the stories of our people, the struggles back home, and our collective hope for justice and accountability. As the Lead Convenor of Defend Southern Tagalog, I stood in rooms and on streets across different cities, speaking not only for myself but for communities silenced and marginalized for far too long. I thought that after fulfilling this deeply meaningful work, I would come home to another dream finally coming true: my graduation. I imagined arriving back home fulfilled, tired but triumphant, and soon after, walking across the stage wearing my sablay — the symbol of years of hard work, sleepless nights, and unending perseverance. But life had other plans. I found out I wasn’t graduating while I was already in Europe. In between meetings, human rights conferences, and advocacy visits, I received the news that shattered me. A ...

  Today, I attended what may very well be my last face-to-face undergraduate class — not just for the semester, but maybe for my entire college life. Not maybe . I hope . I pray . I need it to be the last one. As I walked out of that classroom, I was hit with a flood of emotions. Overwhelmed doesn’t even begin to cover it. There’s still so much uncertainty. I have three major requirements left , and I honestly don’t know if I’ll make it. I’m praying — to every god and force out there — please, help me graduate this semester. It feels so surreal to be here. I started college twelve years ago . Twelve years. That’s a lifetime of starting, stopping, falling behind, trying again. And now, as I stand at the edge of what I hope is the finish line, I’m feeling a mix of fear, hope, nostalgia, and exhaustion . "What happens if I don’t make it this time? What do I do? What face do I have left to show?" Despite the fear, I know there are still things I can do. I can still give i...

I’m just lost. I feel like I’m always one inch away from a panic attack. My emotions are all over the place. Some days I’m okay, and then out of nowhere, it hits me—that wave of anxiety, the lump in my throat, the nausea that tells me I’m overwhelmed again. And the worst part is, I don’t even know where to start untangling it. It’s not just one thing. It’s everything . I’m reconnecting with an ex—something complicated and emotionally layered. I’m doing my best to graduate, to not fall behind. I’m prepping for an overseas trip, which should feel exciting but mostly just adds more stress. I have debts that keep me up at night. I need money. I need to show up at work, to lead by example, to be reliable. I need to convince my family I’m doing okay—even when I’m not. It’s like I’m being pulled in ten directions at once. Sometimes all I can do is focus on what’s right in front of me. But even then, my thoughts feel like static. I can’t process anything clearly. I’m scared—of the future, o...

Sometimes, I think I’ve just grown too comfortable with the way things are. Maybe I’ve stayed in one place—physically, emotionally, mentally—for so long that I forgot to ask myself if I was still okay. But recently, there’s been this unsettling feeling growing inside me. A quiet whisper that I no longer belong here. That maybe I’ve become invisible. That the things I do, the effort I give, and the heart I put into everything I touch are no longer seen or appreciated. I’ve spent over a decade in this space. That’s more than ten years of sleepless nights, of swallowing stress, of tears shed in silence. But also, ten years of laughter, of beautiful memories, of pouring love into what I do. I’ve given so much—but lately, I find myself questioning: Was it ever enough? Am I still enough? I know there were times my worth was seen. I know I’ve made an impact. I’ve had moments of being appreciated, even celebrated. But as people often say, “You’re only as good as your last performance.” An...

They say going no contact after a breakup is the healthiest way to move on — to protect your peace, heal your heart, and start fresh. I believed that too. But after ten months of silence, I realized my version of “healing” was actually hiding. This is what happened when I finally reached out to the one person I wasn’t supposed to miss. For almost ten months, I’ve been convincing myself that going no contact after our breakup was the best way to heal. No texting, no checking in — just silence, with the occasional birthday greeting or “Happy Holidays” message. I thought this was what healing looked like. I thought distance would help me move on. But I was wrong. These past ten months have felt more like slow, quiet torture. Every time I stopped myself from reaching out, I knew deep down that I wasn’t protecting myself — I was just suppressing how much I still missed my ex and wanted to be part of his life. We didn’t end on bad terms. The breakup hurt — God, it really fucking hurt —...