⏳ Author’s Note (2026) I wrote this in 2017 as a journal entry. At fifty-eight, I thought I was simply trying to stay fit enough to enjoy life with my children and grandchildren. Looking back now, I realize I was giving my future self a gift. I had no idea life would ask much more of me in the years that followed, but I’m grateful I listened to those quiet words that came during prayer: “Love yourself.”

“His ex is pretty.” It shouldn’t be a problem. You’re beautiful. Then again… it’s true. His ex  is  pretty. I have always been the kind of mother who worries about what my children might be feeling—often even before they realize they are feeling it themselves. So, the moment those words left her mouth, out came my complete litany of motherly advice: “Yeye, you have to remember that physical appearance is not what strengthens and sustains a relationship.” “Be gentle with the past. Don’t let it tempt you into overthinking. And whatever you do, don’t compare yourself with his past.” “A man may first be attracted to a woman’s beauty. Maybe that’s how it started for the two of you. But beauty alone cannot keep a relationship alive. Only love can.” “And dating isn’t just about looking pretty when you’re out with him. It’s about becoming beautiful inside and out—even on ordinary days when no one else is looking.” Then, suddenly remembering my true role in the house, I quickly added: ...

There we were, happily exchanging stories on our way home. It had been one of those drives every parent treasures—easy conversations, effortless laughter, and the comforting feeling that your grown children still genuinely enjoy talking to their mother. Then we got home. One simple question. One simple answer. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, it became a complete misunderstanding. A sudden “cold war” erupted out of nowhere between me and Tenten. Anyone who knows me knows this isn’t how I usually handle conflict. My children have often heard me firmly declare:  “Hangga’t hindi tayo nagkakaintindihan, hindi ko kayo titigilan. Kahit maghapon at magdamag tayong mag-usap.” But that afternoon, the rule failed. We both retreated to our own rooms. Instead of talking face-to-face, our conflict unfolded silently through text messages. “Ikaw, Ma… napakamatampuhin mo po.” He thought my question had come from deeply hurt feelings. I quickly replied: “Alam mo, Tenten, magagalitin ka kasi.” He th...

Heartbreak happens. Heartbreak hurts. Eventually, heartbreak disappears. But I never actually experienced my own heartbreak. I had a boyfriend when I was sixteen. After high school graduation, we simply drifted apart without ever talking about breaking up. I left home for college, and from then on, we had no communication. “Why didn’t I experience heartbreak?”  I sometimes asked myself. Maybe it was because we never had the kind of relationships young couples often have today. There were no all-day digital updates, no private dates—my parents were very strict—and no grand romantic moments. We simply saw each other in school and exchanged small conversations. But God had other plans. Two years later, we found our way back to each other. Seven years after that, we got married. Reading the Headlines As the years passed, my grown-up children handled their own relationships. Like many young adults, they probably found it easier to share their joys and struggles with friends rather than ...