Everyone who lurks here knows that I’ve only just begun to rebuild my life after years of quiet survival.
I finally found myself catching a break after such efforts of balancing heartbreaks, transitions, and silent prayers. For the first time in a while, my life is beginning to shape into something I want to hold onto: being progressive in graduate school, grasping new career opportunities, and reclaiming my identity as a woman, a mother, and a dreamer.
But it seems the world goes the other way around. With the existent crises in the economy and the global tension fueled by greed and ulterior motives, my surroundings are becoming less of a safe place for me and more of a threatening force that endangers the future I’m working so hard to build.
… and it is making me feel heavy. As I do my best to be stoic, the quiet panic that creeps into my system is becoming inevitable, knowing that these things are beyond my control and there’s no escape for me and my son once these problems completely reach my country. Chances might disappear, and I have no idea what it is going to be by then.
This is supposed to be a diary for Caleb.
I’ve been envisioning my life as something Caleb can cling to for hope, like a testimony on living life. At the heart of everything I do is him, the reason I choose to rise every day, even when my inner demons tell me not to. Every move I make in all aspects is made with him in mind and heart.
I don’t want love, healing, and freedom to become merely theories in his understanding. I want him to see and realize that, in spite of the chaos, we can always be capable of emulating these and sharing them with others. The increasing doom of war and instability diminishes these chances, and it honestly terrifies me, as if all of the things I do are for nothing.
I’m not just rebuilding for myself, but for him, for us, for the people I love, and for my younger self who got broken and believed she had no right to dream beyond survival.
The Fragility of Peace and the Fierceness of Hope
Peace, once you’ve tasted it after chaos, becomes sacred. It becomes something you hold close, like a prayer you whisper on your way to work or before you go to sleep. And yet, that peace feels fragile lately.
I’ve organized my schedules, balancing academia, work, motherhood, and rare pockets of leisure. I’ve envisioned new opportunities abroad. I’ve dreamt of building something lasting, not just for me, but for my future. But every economic shift, every alarming headline, makes those dreams feel a little more out of reach.
Still, I keep going.
Because fear cannot have the final say.
I may not have control over the global stage, but I do have control over how I show up today: for my son, for my values, and for my healing.
Towards A Gentle Resolve
Writing these resolves for the days I might forget.
I promise not to stop healing and dreaming of a better life. I will not let the fear of what-ifs shatter the peace I’ve earned. I will be constantly present even when it’s hard at times. I will be vigilant and do my best to prepare and not panic as much as possible. In spite of how cruel this world gets, I will always choose softness over despair and madness. I will continue to love and to believe.
And even when the world becomes hell for me to live in, I’ll always return to this truth: it’s always brave to build a life anyway, with no regrets.
If you’re feeling the same blend of being anxious, uncertain, and stretched thin between headlines and hope, I see you. May we all keep finding strength in the small routines, in the people we love, and in the quiet rebuilding of our days.
The world may tremble, and so can we. But let’s not forget: we can still choose to rise.
