Hello Hivers,
Good day! This week has truly been a whirlwind—a nonstop ride of responsibilities and commitments. It feels like the “uninterrupted” days are over, and now, the real world calls again. For us teachers here in the Philippines, June marks the beginning of the busiest days. As my summer class wraps up this June 5, I can’t help but feel that reality is knocking louder than ever.
Starting tomorrow, I’ll be attending another seminar. Honestly, I don’t have much choice, it’s part of the calling. I’m not complaining though, just feeling the shift from calm to chaos again. But that’s the beauty of this life too, there’s always something new to learn, someone new to meet, and something new to give.
Earlier today, I found myself scrolling through the photos in my gallery. Most of them were from the beach trip I had with my family recently. I paused and stared for a while. Wow. Just wow. I didn’t feel any of the stress I’m feeling right now when I was there. All I could see was the blue sky, the waves dancing along the shore, and the pure joy on my face. It’s true, there’s a kind of healing that only nature can give. Reconnecting with it reminds me that no matter how fast-paced life becomes, there’s always a stillness waiting for us somewhere. And I was lucky to have that moment, even just for a while.
One of the photos brought a mix of emotions—it was taken during a despedida for one of my closest friends. She’s about to leave for the US to pursue her dream of teaching abroad. While we’re all incredibly proud of her, it’s hard not to feel that pinch in the heart when someone so dear is moving far away. But such is life—people grow, explore, and chase dreams. And though it’s sad to see her go, I’m cheering her on every step of the way. Our picture together in that gathering will always remind me of the bond we share—distance may change the setting, but it won’t change the friendship
.
Another photo brought me to tears, the one we took during our recent visit to my father’s grave. It’s been months since he left us last December, yet the pain still feels fresh. Visiting him has become a quiet ritual for us, a way to stay close even when he’s no longer here physically. Every visit brings back a flood of memories—his voice, his laughter, his quiet strength. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline, and I’ve come to accept that healing is not about forgetting, but remembering with love.
Then there are photos of my daily life, the simple, yet fulfilling moments of teaching reading to my summer class students. For 20 days, we dove into stories, letters, and laughter. Their little progress, their innocent questions, and their big smiles make every sacrifice worth it. It's not always easy, but it’s always meaningful. I feel grateful to be part of their learning journey, even for a short while.
As I look back on all these snapshots—each one a piece of my April and May—it fills my heart. These months were not just about checking things off my calendar; they were about living, loving, letting go, and holding on. The joy of spending time with family, the bittersweetness of goodbyes, the ache of loss, and the passion of teaching—they all come together to paint a story that’s mine.
I hope I can sneak in more memories like these amidst the busyness of the coming days. Life moves fast, but I’ll keep trying to slow down, to breathe, to look back and smile.
Thank you, Hivers, for letting me share this part of my journey.
Until next time. Keep safe, keep kind, and keep going.
