Dear John ❤️

Dear John ❤️

There’s so much I want to say, but words always seem to fall short when I try to capture how much you mean to me. Still, here I am, hoping that I can put even a fraction of my heart into this.

You’ve been my loudest cheerleader, even when I couldn’t hear my own voice.

You clapped so loud that I could barely hear the voices within, the doubts, the fears, the endless critics. Every time I was ready to shrink back or give in to self-doubt, you stood there, reminding me of my strengths and anchoring me to my core self. Your love has been my compass, guiding me back whenever I felt lost.

In moments when I questioned my worth, you saw my potential before I even recognized it. You never let me forget who I am, even when I was too tired to see it for myself. You carried me with your trust and belief, giving me the courage to keep moving forward.

You’ve been my safe place. In a world that often feels too loud and demanding, you’ve given me a quiet corner where I CAN JUST BE. You listen when I ramble about my thoughts. You hold space for all the versions of me: the career alpha woman, the fangirl, the emotional thinker, and most importantly, the wife and mom who sometimes just wants to cry for no reason.

You love me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. You show up, not just in the grand gestures but in the everyday moments. From the little things like preparing my favorite food daily, peeling my shrimps and dried fish, to silently staying by my side when I’m overwhelmed, you prove that love is felt most in the quiet, consistent ways.

Our journey hasn’t always been easy, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. You’ve been my rock through life’s highs and lows. When I was navigating emotional phases, financial challenges, and moments of doubt, you were there, patiently, lovingly, reminding me that I’m not alone.

And when life got chaotic, you didn’t just stand beside me, you carried me. You gave me the space to be vulnerable, the strength to rise, and the courage to dream even bigger.

I’m here today, stronger and more confident, because you’ve never stopped believing in me.

Di, thank you for being my constant. For loving me through every season... when I’m at my best and even when I’m far from it. For being the kind of man who doesn’t just say “I love you,” but lives it in every action, every word, and every sacrifice.

I don’t say this enough, but I’m beyond blessed to do life with you. And if I had to choose a thousand times over, I’d still choose you. Always, you.

I love you more than words can say. ❤️

With all my love,
Your Queen Sugar Bee

ILLUSIONS and MY REALIZATIONS

I have always been skeptical of books that promise enlightenment wrapped in poetic metaphors. Maybe it’s the existentialist in me. So, when I picked up Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah by Richard Bach, I wasn’t expecting anything more than a light, philosophical read. But as I turned its pages, I found myself wrestling with thoughts I didn’t expect.

Existentialism tells me that life has no predefined path, that meaning isn’t handed to us but forged through our choices. Illusions presents a different kind of freedom... one that suggests reality itself bends to belief. This idea unsettled me. If the world is an illusion, then what of suffering? What of pain? I’ve had my share of losses, of moments where control felt like an illusion in itself. If I had the power to change my reality, then why couldn’t I undo those moments? Why couldn’t I will away pain, regret, or mistakes?

But maybe I was looking at it wrong. Maybe control isn’t about manipulating events but about shifting perspective. I’ve always felt at odds with the world, as if I were a spectator trying to make sense of an absurd play. What if I stopped trying to rationalize every twist in the plot and just played my part fully? What if freedom lies not in rewriting reality, but in embracing it without resistance?

There’s a line in the book that lingers: Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, they’re yours. It reminded me of the countless times I’ve told myself, I can’t do this. This is just who I am. I am not built for this.

I’ve always struggled with self-doubt, not because I don’t believe in my abilities, but because I know how fragile belief itself can be. And yet, I’ve seen how the labels we give ourselves become self-fulfilling prophecies. I’ve lived it. The more I insist that I am introverted and reserved, the more I shrink from experiences that might prove otherwise. The more I say I am bad with numbers, the less I try to learn. Illusions didn’t give me a new revelation, but it did remind me that limitations are often choices we make without realizing.

One thing I’ve always struggled with is letting go--- of people, of relationships, of the idea that I can help someone if I just try hard enough. Donald Shimoda, the so-called messiah in the book, chooses to step away from saving others. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he understands that people will only change when they choose to.

I’ve had friendships where I poured my energy into trying to “wake” someone up, to help them see what I saw, to guide them toward growth. But existentialism has taught me that self-realization is a solitary journey. No one can do it for us. We have to come to our own reckoning, in our own time. Maybe the best thing we can do for others is to live our truths and let them find their own.

I won’t say Illusions changed my life, because no book truly does that. But it did make me pause. It made me reflect on the weight of belief, the illusions I’ve built around my identity, and the way I perceive control. Existentialism tells me life has no meaning except the one I create. Illusions suggests that reality itself is shaped by belief. Maybe they are not so different after all. Maybe the only real difference is whether I see life’s absurdity as a weight or a playground.

In the end, I don’t need to believe that reality bends to my will. But I do need to remember that I am the one who gives it meaning. And that, I suppose, is its own kind of magic.

BREATHTAKING DUBAI DESERT

The moment my foot touched the golden sand of the Dubai desert, I just stood there, overwhelmed, emotional as h*ll. It wasn’t just the breathtaking view or the vastness stretching endlessly before me...it was the weight of everything I had been through to get there. A flood of emotions rushed in, and for a second, I felt like my younger self again - the child they once said would never make it.

Growing up without a father, I heard the whispers, the doubts, the quiet judgments. Society often paints a picture of what success should look like, and according to them, I was at a disadvantage. They said I’d struggle, that I wouldn’t go far. But here I was, standing in a place I once thought I’d only see in pictures. Life has a way of proving people wrong when you choose to believe in yourself.

This journey wasn’t easy. It was built on long nights, sacrifices, setbacks, and the constant battle against self-doubt. But with every challenge, I pushed forward. I worked hard, I failed, I learned, and I kept going. I carved this path with resilience and faith, and stepping onto that desert was proof that I had made it. Maybe not to the ultimate destination, but to a place I once only dreamed of.

If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s this: "where you come from doesn’t define where you’re going". People will doubt you, circumstances will test you, and life will challenge you. But at the end of the day, it’s your belief in yourself and your relentless pursuit of your dreams that will take you places.

So, to anyone who’s ever felt like they weren’t enough because of where they started, keep going. The world is big, and your journey is just beginning. Onto the next...

To Christ Through Mary

Whenever we visit Cebu, we never leave without paying a visit to Mama Mary of Lindogon in Simala. There’s something truly miraculous about being there. It’s a place where I can pour out my heart, shed tears without fear of judgment, and leave feeling relieved, heard, and comforted.

I vividly remember my first visit to Simala, where I prayed fervently for more closed deals, specifically hoping for a sale exceeding 5M. Just a few weeks later, I closed a deal worth 5.4M. Since that moment, visiting Simala has become an annual vow, my "panata." 

Mama Mary of Lindogon has also been a beacon of hope when I sought guidance for my husband’s board exam. I left feeling assured, and soon after, my husband became a licensed real estate broker.

I had promised to visit Mama Mary again after our national convention, but a typhoon disrupted our plans, canceling all boat schedules. We had to reroute through Santander, the southernmost part of Cebu, a 7-hour long drive, followed by a short boat ride to Dumaguete, and another 6-hour drive home. Unfortunately, this unplanned detour meant missing our visit to Simala. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that this misstep affected our business, as we hadn’t closed any deals since.

In December, we returned to Cebu, determined to visit Simala again, but time constraints due to our flight schedule foiled our plans once more. Another failed promise, and December passed without any sales.

Finally, on January 7, we returned to Cebu for a business event and allocated a day to visit Simala. After a nearly three-hour taxi ride, we arrived. It was a relief to be there again and fulfill our promise. We spent several hours at the sanctuary, lifting the weight of guilt off our shoulders. Right after, we headed to the airport. Just a few days later, on January 11, we secured our first sale of the year, a smooth and successful transaction.

I know this was no coincidence. Thank you, Lord God, and thank you, Mama Mary, for interceding for us. To Christ through Mary. 

Reflections of Friendship

In March 2024, I penned an entry in my journal about a blossoming friendship that I feared had ended due to a petty mistake I did that resulted in some misunderstanding. It took me nine months to find the courage to address it when my friends visited my house again. I knew it was the perfect moment to clear the air and define what our relationship truly was. As you know, I am not one for ambiguous, half-hearted relationships, especially in friendship, where I have learned just recently that reciprocity is essential. When I love, I love deeply, truly, madly.

So, I brought up the unresolved issue that, in my view, needed to be addressed and discussed like the mature adults we aspire to be. I’m glad I did. I received the clarity we had neglected for so long, and hearing from them, I realized they value me as much as I value our friendship. That was comforting and reassuring.

This was the most significant event for me in the fourth quarter of the year. The clarity, maturity, and understanding I longed for in friends, I found in them. Now, I can move past it and welcome 2025 with a light heart, free from pretenses and without walking on eggshells around my newfound friends. I love them, they love me, and I hope our friendship will be so deep that no petty mistakes or misunderstandings can break us.

Dear R,

Thank you for your understanding and forgiveness; I have longed for it. I cherish you like a siszter, and it's comforting to know you feel the same.Thank you for backing me up when everyone else's ignores. We've a lot in common, I believe so, and I am glad I have you. Thank you for sharing your world with me, as I have with you. Thank you also for the patience, and for never invalidating my feelings during my outbursts. I appreciate you. May you continue being awesome, or even better. I,too, aspire to be a better friend for you. May we grow together in faith, love, and our careers. I love you, my sister!

Love,

Sisz

Day 1 of 365: This Year Is Gonna Be Different

It's been a long time since I last felt this serenity within me. For as long as I can remember, Christmas and New Year's have always been difficult for me. These holidays, meant to be a time of laughter, warmth, and togetherness, have often felt like a mirror reflecting back all the ways I feel lacking. It’s as if there’s a gap I’ve been trying to fill. All I know is that, year after year, these seasons leave me emotionally drained and vulnerable.

The twinkling lights and cheerful carols, ironically, seem to amplify that emptiness. I see families gathered around lavish dinners, friends exchanging thoughtful gifts, and social media flooded with carefully curated snapshots of joy. And yet, there I am, wondering why I can’t feel the same unfiltered happiness. Despite being surrounded by people, there’s always been an unspoken loneliness, a heaviness I couldn’t quite name.

Growing up, the holidays weren’t defined by material abundance or grand celebrations, but they carried a weight I struggled to understand. Perhaps it was the pressure of unspoken expectations, or the realization of what wasn’t there. Each year, I’d replay the "what ifs" and "should haves" in my mind, trying to piece together an elusive sense of wholeness.

But this year feels different. For the first time in a long while, I’m beginning to embrace a quiet kind of peace. Instead of chasing after some ideal version of the holidays, I’ve started to redefine what they mean to me. I’m learning to focus on the small, genuine moments that truly matter: the sound of my son’s laughter, a heartfelt conversation, or the simple act of sitting by the Christmas tree, basking in its soft glow.

I’m also confronting one of my deepest fears---the fear of becoming the person I don’t want to be. For so long, I’ve carried the pressure of not turning into my father. It’s been a constant shadow, an anchor weighing me down. I’ve worked tirelessly to distance myself from the patterns I saw growing up, but in doing so, I’ve realized I was still letting those patterns define me. This year, I’m choosing to let go of that fear. I am not my father’s mistakes, nor am I bound by his shortcomings. I have the power to break cycles, to choose kindness, understanding, and love as my guiding principles.

Letting go of this weight hasn’t been easy. Undoing years of emotional baggage never is. But I’m learning to forgive myself for not having all the answers. I’m learning to release the pressure of making everything perfect. Most importantly, I’m learning to offer myself grace. 

Perhaps the gap I’ve been trying to fill isn’t meant to be patched with grand gestures or external validations. Maybe it’s about sitting with the discomfort, acknowledging its presence, and finding beauty in the imperfect moments. It’s about showing up, even when I feel like retreating. It’s about choosing love---for myself, for the people who truly matter, and for the life I’ve been given.

So this year, I’m letting go. I’m choosing to let this newfound serenity guide me into the new year. For the first time, I’m approaching the holidays not with dread, but with a quiet hope that things can be different. That I can be different. And maybe that’s the real magic of this season---not the gifts, the parties, or the traditions, but the chance to rediscover myself amidst it all.