January, and Letting My Inner Child Breathe

January feels different this year.

Softer. Lighter. Healing.

For the first time, I’ve been doing the things I wanted to do all my life. The things I kept postponing. The things I told myself weren’t practical, weren’t allowed, weren’t for “someone like me.” I didn’t realize how restrained I’d been until I finally stopped holding myself back.

That changed in 2026.

Somewhere along the way, I decided to choose myself. Not in a selfish way. In an honest way. I started listening to what makes me feel alive, calm, excited, at peace. I stopped asking for permission to enjoy my own life.

I’m being unapologetically me.
Intentional with my happiness.
Careful with my energy.
Protective of my well-being.

For once, I’m thinking about myself without guilt. Without explaining. Without shrinking.

It feels like I’m giving my inner child the things she waited so long for—freedom, joy, softness, and space to exist as she is. No more “later.” No more “someday.” Just now.

Life is short. Painfully short.
And if I’m still here, then I want to live it well.

Happily.
Fully.

Unapologetically.

Three Months After

It’s been more than three months since you left.

October 27, 2025 still feels unreal when I say it out loud.

Grief is strange like that. Some mornings I wake up fine. Other days, it sits beside me.

You were my stepfather, but you never made me feel like I was anything less than your own. You didn’t try too hard. You didn’t force affection. You just showed up. And somehow, that was enough to make me feel safe.

I am deeply grateful for that.

I’m grateful for the way you loved my mom. Steadily. You chose her every day, even on the ordinary ones. Watching you love her taught me what commitment looks like. What real partnership means.

Sometimes, I still see you. In small moments. A familiar posture. A habit. A memory that suddenly feels present. For a split second, it feels like you’re still here.

And then reality gently taps my shoulder. Maybe I just miss you. The kind that carries gratitude alongside the pain.

Thank you for loving us the way you did.
Thank you for choosing to be part of our lives.

You may be gone, but the way you loved stays.
And I think that’s why I still see you.

INDIFFERENCE

I read The Stranger a couple of years ago, and I realized I never posted the book talk I wrote for it. Looking back at it now, I remember exactly why this book is part of my *Top 10 Most Recommended Books*.

It has a very simple plot. It is a story about an ordinary man living a simple and quiet life in Algiers. But the whole point of the novel goes deeper than the events in it.

What Camus is really showing is that ***nothing truly matters and nothing has any built-in meaning. The universe does not care, and most of the things we treat as important are only important because society tells us they should be.

Meursault, the main character, characterizes his Philosophy. He does not cry at his mother’s funeral. He does not pretend to feel anything he does not feel. And instead of understanding him, people judge him for not acting the way they think he should. When he goes on trial for killing a man, it becomes clear that he is not being punished only for the murder. He is being punished for not fitting in, for not performing the emotions society expects from him.

Even the murder itself feels empty to him. No grand meaning or a dramatic motive. It just happens under the blinding sun.

In the end, Meursault finally accepts the truth of the world he is living in. He accepts ***the benign indifference of the universe. And instead of feeling afraid or remorseful, he feels FREE???

INDIFFERENCE is scarier than the word itself. It leaves no space for redemption, apology, and explanation.

#SugarQuoted #TheStranger #AlbertCamus

I Will Find My Strength Again

this year humbled me in ways i never expected. i genuinely thought that by my mid-30s, i would already have things figured out, my life, my career, my emotions, my direction. instead, it felt like i went back to zero. lost. uncertain. struggling to find the same fire that once came so naturally to me.

there were days i had to force myself to stand up not just for me, but for the people who believe in me and depend on me. i questioned my choices, my capability, even my own identity. i carried everything silently, the disappointments, the doubts, the dry tears, the heaviness of every day.

right now, i don’t have a grand realization yet. i am still in the middle of it, still trying to understand everything. but i am holding on to the hope that one day, something will finally click, and when it does, i will find my strength again. i will stand up.

Maybe One Day

I wake up every day with the same ache. It’s already there before I even open my eyes. A quiet, heavy thought that maybe no one really loves me. That maybe no one truly chooses me. That maybe no one cares for me in the way I secretly wish someone would. I don’t tell anyone. I just let it sit with me.

Most days, I go on like nothing is wrong. I get up, fix myself, show up, talk, do what needs to be done. I’ve learned how to be strong. I’ve learned how to hold myself together. It feels automatic now, like something I wear without thinking. And once it’s on, no one really looks past it.

But truth is, I’m tired. There are parts of me that hurt quietly, parts I don’t know how to talk about. I try to ignore them, but they show up anyway. In the silence when I’m alone. In moments when everything suddenly feels louder. When I see people who look genuinely happy. When I catch myself wondering if there’s someone out there who would choose me without hesitation. Someone who wouldn’t make me feel like I’m only an option. Someone who would say, “You matter,” and actually mean it.

It’s strange how you can be surrounded by people and still feel invisible. How you can take care of everyone and still feel unseen. I don’t know if I’ve been strong for too long, or if I learned early on that asking for reassurance makes me feel weak. So I keep everything in. I smile a bit more. I laugh a bit louder. I hope no one notices where I’m breaking.

But every night, when things slow down, the truth comes back. I just want to be loved without doubting it. I want to feel wanted without having to prove myself. I want someone to stay, not because they should, but because they genuinely want to.

Maybe one day I’ll wake up and that ache won’t be there anymore.
Maybe one day I’ll finally believe I’m enough.

How Much Land Does a Man Need? by Leo Tolstoy

Is this a warning from the universe?

Pakhom’s desire to own more land is reasonable at first. He thought that once he has enough, he will finally feel secure. But when is “enough” enough? The more he gains, the more restless he becomes.

When Pakhom is given the chance to claim as much land as he can walk in a single day, I knew it’s too good to be true. He knows he should stop, yet he keeps going and afraid that stopping means losing an opportunity. By the time he reaches the end, his body gives out. In death, he finally receives the only land he truly needs.

As I move through my own life, this story makes me think and align my goals with purpose. As a noob property owner and top performer in my field, I am surrounded by growth, numbers, and the constant push for more. Ambition has its place, and I am grateful for the opportunities I have. But this story reminds me how easy it is to confuse progress with greed.

I pray I never forget how to be grateful. I pray I learn when to stop. I want success that does not cost me my peace, my values, or my ability to rest. Tolstoy’s story becomes a reminder for me to pause, to breathe, and to ask myself not how much more I can take but whether what I already have is enough.

#SugarQuoted #LeoTolstoy #HowMuchLandDoesAManNeed

No Exit

 

No Exit is a one act play by Jean-Paul Sartre about three people locked in a room, slowly realizing that the real pressure comes from being watched and judged.

No Exit exposes how people can become each other’s punishment. Sartre’s idea that “hell is other people” isn’t about disliking company. It’s about how we trap one another with our judgments, how we freeze someone in the worst version of themselves and call it truth.

Rereading it reminds me to do good here on Earth, not out of fear, but because our presence can either suffocate or set someone free. Garcin and the others suffer not from fire or chains, but from the way they refuse to take responsibility and the way they keep each other pinned to old stories.

This play, for all its darkness, teaches something simple: be the kind of person who does not turn another’s life into a small room with no exit. #SugarQuoted #NoExit #JeanPaulSartre #Booktalk

WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS WOULD YOU BE THERE TO SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME?

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

I just finished reading The Metamorphosis, and it left me with some realizations. The story of Gregor hits painfully close to realities we often ignore. What struck me most wasn’t just his bizarre transformation (metaphorical) but how quickly his family distanced themselves when he was no longer useful to them.

It made me think about times in my life when I felt unseen, disconnected, especially when I wasn’t at my “best” or most productive. In a world that often measures our value by our output, this story is a reminder of how fragile human connection can be. Many of us bend over backwards for others, but when we finally need support, we’re met with silence, or worse, rejection.

Let’s not lose ourselves trying to meet everyone’s expectations. Let’s surround ourselves with people who love us for who we are, not just what we can give.

May we also reflect on how we treat others when their “shine” fades. Do we stay, or do we turn away? #SugarQuoted

Her Super Power

 

she's tired. not because she’s weak, but because she gives her best in everything... always.

she shares what she knows, helps when she can, shows up even when needed.

she doesn't expect anything in return.

misunderstood? often. unappreciated? most of the time.

but she’s used to it.

she keeps giving anyway.

out of love.

because that’s just who she is.

and maybe… that’s her super power.

— Sugar Quoted

Hapy Father's Day, Jani Kins!

You may not know it, but I'll always be the lucky one. You always claim to be the lucky one for having me as your wife, but I believe otherwise. Thank you for being my calm, my nourishment, my everything. I can't imagine life without you, and I always say this: if it's not you, wala na lang.

Thank you for your life. I wish for nothing more but to journey through this life with you 'til the end. Happy Father's Day, Daddy Kins.

A Memory I Wasn't Supposed to Have

Today marks the 33rd death anniversary of my Lolo. And as strange as it sounds, I feel like I remember him vividly.

I was born in July 1991. By the time my Lolo passed away, I wasn’t even a year old. A baby. Not even talking, walking, or forming memories, at least according to science.

But somehow, I have this scene in my mind.

I’m on his lap. We’re sitting in an open kubo right in front of our old house. It’s a quiet day. The air feels soft and warm. I can see the sidewalk just infront of us, and out of nowhere, a couple of pigs are being transported  from a house on our left to the exit alley of our Purok. The pigs are loud and I remember being startled, but safe. Because I was in my Lolo’s arms.

Now, every logical part of me knows I shouldn't remember this. Scientists call it infantile amnesia where babies don't form clear, retrievable memories before the age of two. But this one… this one has been with me for as long as I can remember. Not a dream. Not a story someone told me. Just… mine. Stored somewhere deep in the folds of my being.

Maybe it’s just a constructed image built from old family photos, but as far as I can recall, we didn’t have many, given our financial situation. Or maybe it came from stories told over meals and family gatherings. But when I asked my mom and grandmother about it, they said they had no idea about the specific memory. What they did confirm was the kubo I described. There really was a small structure like that in front of our old house. And the pigs? Our neighbor used to raise them as a business, and it was common to see pigs being transported when someone bought from them.

Or maybe just maybe it’s a spiritual memory. Something my soul tucked away before my brain had the ability to label it.

But I like to believe this: that in those few short months we had together, he made me feel so loved, so held, so safe that even if the memory itself wasn't meant to stay, the feeling did.

And maybe that's the kind of legacy we hope to leave behind, not grand stories or loud legacies, but the small, quiet comforts that last long after we're gone.

To my Lolo, whose arms I barely knew but somehow still remember, I carry you in me, even if I never got the chance to truly know you. Your lap was the first seat of safety I ever knew, and I’ll always be grateful for that single, sacred moment... real or not.

Why Are Some People Like That?

"I believe self-preservation and transformation begin by cutting connections and burning bridges that no longer serve you." ~SUGARQUOTED

There are people who suck the life out of your kindness, as if it’s something they're entitled to. You give once, they ask again. And again. Say “no” and suddenly, you’re the bad one. You’re selfish, you’re greedy, you’ve changed. Say “yes” and they take without a second thought. Not even a damn “thank you.”

They’ll be sweet when they need something. Play nice. Act close. But there’s always a catch. A favor. A follow-up. And when their life’s good? They forget you. Like you never mattered.

What I can’t wrap my head around are the ones who think they’re the only ones struggling. Who believe their pain is bigger, louder, more important. And when they finally realize you're hurting too? They still won’t care. They won’t ask. They won’t check. They won’t show up.

And that hurts in a way I can’t always explain.

Because when I give, I give fully. No hidden motives. No scoreboard. Just love. But I’m tired. Tired of being expected to pour from an empty cup. Tired of being guilt-tripped when I say, “That’s enough.”

Maybe it’s how they were raised. Or maybe they’ve just always been like that. ENTITLED, BLIND, SELFISH at the core. I don’t know. I just know I grew up with nothing, and maybe that’s why I VALUE everything.

Done bending.
Done bleeding for people who wouldn’t even flinch if it were me on the floor.

So, I’m cutting them off. Slowly, surely, and with no regrets.
If your presence costs me my peace, you’re too expensive.

And I’m not paying anymore.

What You Don’t See

Sometimes people look at me and say,

"Ang swerte mo."
"Buti ka pa... blah blah blah"
"SANA ALL!"

I never really know how to respond.
Because how do you explain that the life they see
is built on sacrifices that didn’t always make sense while I was making them?

I’m grateful. I truly am.
But behind everything I’ve built… are parts of me I’ve buried.

I grew up without a father.
That absence shaped me more than I can ever explain.
I was raised by my grandmother with all the love she had, but not much else.

We didn’t have the means. We just survived.

And while others were out being carefree teenagers,
I was already trying to figure out how to earn,
how to study with an empty stomach, 
how to stretch coins to last until Friday.

I was a working student.

I swept floors. I ran office errands.

I walked into class with worn-out shoes and a worn-out spirit, and still pushed to be a Dean's Listee.

I didn’t have a backup plan.

No safety net. 

You didn’t grow up with my constant fears,

or carry the long-term effects of a head injury from 2010

that changed the way I remember, think, and live.

You didn’t feel the weight of trying to be strong

as a mom, a wife, a career woman

while sometimes wishing I could just pause and be held.

You didn’t see me whisper to my husband, “Dad, I want to cry,”and not even know why.

Quarter-life crisis hit me like a truck.

Everyone around me seemed to have found their rhythm.

I was still trying to find mine

trying to prove that I belonged in rooms where I always felt like an outsider.

I’m 80% introvert.

I build walls naturally out of protection.

Because when you grow up with only yourself to depend on,

you learn to survive in silence.

You learn to observe, to overthink, to hide your softness.

And people… didn’t like that.

I had bullies, not the childhood kind,

but the adult kind: the ones who smiled at me then questioned my worth behind my back.

They called me hard to approach, too guarded.

They didn’t know how hard it was just to show up,

to speak, to try to be present.

So if there’s something I wish people knew, it’s this:

    Don’t reduce anyone’s life to a headline.

    Don’t box up someone’s growth into a single quote or caption.

    Because behind every “Sana all,”

    is a story you haven’t heard.

And behind mine,

are pieces of me I’ve had to lose

and rebuild over and over again.

People look at me now and see someone who’s “made it.”

In real estate, in family, in life.

But I didn’t magically arrive here.

I crawled here.

Sometimes in silence, sometimes in pain,

sometimes with nothing but faith and one last option left.

And every step forward came with a price

my time, my peace, my health, my past self.

So instead of comparing your journey to mine,

honor your own.

Because this...

this life of mine that looks “put together” from the outside

isn’t perfect.

It’s patched, scarred, healing, honest.

And very much real.

So now when people say, “Sana all,”

I just breathe.

Because no one saw the nights I cried quietly,

wondering if I’d ever be enough for myself, let alone anyone else.

You see the strength now.

You see the wins.

But you didn’t see what it cost to get here.

And that’s why I say

You didn’t grow up in my silence. You didn’t earn these scars.

You didn’t bury the parts of me I had to lose just to keep going.

I am proud of what I’ve become,

Because it was painful...

And I survived it anyway.

So instead of wishing you had someone else’s story,

hold your own a little closer.

It’s valid.

It’s beautiful.

And it's yours.

PS:

If you're also building a life from scratch,

If you’ve been your own hero more times than you can count,

Just drop me a “Still rising.”

We don’t need to explain. We’ll know.

~SugarQuoted