ESSAYS
Poems in the Margins
I was never the kind of student who underlined neatly or took careful notes. While teachers filled the board with numbers and dates, I filled the margins of my notebooks with poems. Small, crooked lines—sometimes only a phrase, sometimes whole stanzas pressed tightly against the edge of the page, as if they were afraid of taking up too much space.
Built on Bare Skin
I watch girls in the mirror, dabbing concealer beneath their eyes.
A Sanctuary Between Sentences
In a world that often rushes young people to define themselves too quickly, writing offers a quiet dwelling—a sanctuary between sentences—where they are allowed to linger. It is where words learn to breathe, and where young voices are given the freedom to exist unafraid, unhurried, and whole.
A Hundred Days: The Quite Work of Grace
There are seasons when leadership is loud, but other times, almost hidden. There are moments when guidance is offered not through command, but through presence. In such times, the truest measure of direction is not how fast we move, but how faithfully we remain rooted in love, mercy, and hope.
When Pain is Transformed into Art
Pain aches for understanding and light shed upon it. It is complex—sometimes too overwhelming to put into words. When it has nowhere to go, it often finds a voice in art, music, films that don’t erase the pain but hold it, offering space to exist.
A King Like No Other
In a world that crowns power with noise and authority with applause, it's easy to forget that not all kings rule with spectacle. As the Church's year turns quietly like a page turning itself, we arrive at a throne unlike any other — one carved not from marble nor gold, but from mercy.
Two Sides of the Same Coin
I’ve always noticed how the loudest person in the room is often expected to have it all together, while the quietest one in the corner is assumed to have nothing to say.
A Voice Amidst Chaos
A gentle voice sings out in the open, asking for help. Soon, many flock to its cries—their voices joined together in a melodious tune. Yet, those wishes turn into noise.
The Call to love
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.
In today’s fast-paced world, we often miss the chance to pause and notice this very feature—the one that quietly reveals a little secret, an invitation to glimpse beyond someone’s outer walls.
At the dawn of September 7, the bells of St. Peter’s did not merely ring; they quivered with the weight of eternity, their bronze voices carrying across the city of Rome as though all of heaven had leaned close to listen. Within the Basilica, the faithful gathered in breathless anticipation, longing for words destined to echo through the ages.
Ano ang pinakakinatatakutan mo?
Kadalasan, ang sagot ng marami ay ang kanilang walang kupas na takot sa kadiliman. Tuloy-tuloy ang agos ng pagkabahala tuwing nilulukob ng kawalan ng liwanag ang ating kapaligiran.
Tahimik akong nakaupo sa gitna ng pagtitipon. Ang bawat tinig ay tila unti-unting humuhupa, naglalaho hanggang sa tanging salita ng Ebanghelyo na lamang ang maririnig. Sa katahimikan, ramdam ko ang pagdaloy ng presensya ng Diyos—banayad, ngunit malakas na kumakatok sa aking puso. Habang dahan-dahan kong pinakikinggan ang tinig ng tagapamuno, wari’y ang mga salita ay hindi lamang lumalabas sa kaniyang bibig, kundi unti-unting umuukit sa aking kaluluwa.
To those who felt like an outsider, watching the world unfold behind glass. To those who sat at the edge of the lunch tables and classrooms, not because they wanted to but because there was no seat waiting for them at the center. And to those whose houses don't carry the warmth and comfort worthy enough to be called a "home," God will always have a place for you.
Walang hanggan.
Sa bawat pag-ikot ng daigdig, ang aking dalawang mata ay mulat. Sa pagtama nito sa paligid, malimit kong nasisilayan ang mga pusong puno ng pagsusumamo at paghihirap—mga pusong naghihintay na marinig Niya ang isinisigaw ng damdamin.
Has there ever been a time in your life when you cried silently? Maybe it was during the darkest hour of the night, when the world was asleep, and you clutched your tear-stained pillow tighter. You held your heart, hoping to repair what was slowly falling apart. But why do we often shield our vulnerabilities from others, only to let grief pour over us once no one is looking?
There was a time in my life when I used to believe God moved swiftly. I thought that if I prayed hard enough, fasted persistently, and believed deeply and wholeheartedly, answers from Him would pour down like rain. I even thought faith was a transaction: effort in, miracle out. In my mind, God was a responder—swift and sure—ready to act when called upon. I expected Him to move quickly, especially in moments when I was desperate for direction.
Falling apart is like a ticking bomb—a terrifying countdown of witnessing myself slowly fail until there’s no time left. I feel imprisoned inside a jail I made for myself; stuck in here, avoiding every possible bustling crowd I could encounter going out. I fail, for I feel chained to my own expectations, unable to break free and discover beyond what’s truly meant for me.
The sun beamed brightly, as the seed of this flower grew her stem. She impatiently pushes outward, selfishly reaching for the rays of the sun. As she continued to pave her way through the shell of her seed, her passionate bloom began to blossom. The sun smiled at her, leaving her in a trance.
The wind seems to whisper a familiar breeze, making trees sway in harmony. In the middle of the night, bustling crowds move from side to side, while silent sleepers remain unfazed by the clanging noises of plates in preparation for the New Year's Eve, joined by the sound of ear-splitting horns children blow, resonating from every corner of the street.
