What 20 Years of Marriage Taught Me About Life and About Myself

Twenty years of marriage have been my ultimate teacher. Not because it was perfect, it wasn’t! But because it forced me to face life, love, and myself… often with coffee in one hand and a sigh in the other. And oh! coffee is our love language. When we call each other for “coffee talks,” it usually means we need to discuss something important… or that one of us is dealing with life’s chaos and needs a listening ear.

So grab your coffee and let me spill the tea! :-) ☕

1. Life is messy, and marriage is messier

Love isn’t neat. There are misunderstandings, frustrations, and those “why did I marry this person?” moments. Coffee talks help. Sometimes they’re about big things, sometimes about tiny annoyances like leaving dishes in the sink. But the act of sitting together, mugs in hand, beans freshly ground, brewing the perfect cup makes the chaos feel manageable. Life and love are messy, but having a partner willing to share the mess with you makes all the difference.

2. Commitment is more than comfort

Choosing to stay through hard times isn’t easy. True commitment is intentional a daily “yes” to growth, love, and figuring out how to share one bathroom without war. Coffee talks often happen here too: one of us venting, the other listening, sometimes with advice, sometimes just with silence and a sip of freshly brewed coffee. That ritual grinding, brewing, talking it out is where growth really happens.

3. Self-discovery never stops

Marriage is the ultimate mirror. It reflects your strengths, your quirks, and your shadows. I’ve learned where I shrink, where I overgive, and where I need to speak my truth. And yes! some of those discoveries happen mid-coffee talk, when we’re honest about our fears, frustrations, or dreams. Long-term love shows you that evolving as a person matters just as much as growing as a partner.

4. Friendship and laughter beat romance every time

Let’s be real: lasting love isn’t just fireworks or Kama Sutra positions. It’s inside jokes, quiet mornings, honest talks, and mutual respect. The things that actually hold a marriage together. And often, those laughs happen over coffee. Spilling a little, making a mess, teasing each other about who can grind the beans or brew the coffee, and that’s love in action.

5. Gratitude makes the ride worth it

After two decades, I appreciate the memories, the resilience, and the lessons. Life and love are richer when you celebrate what you’ve built instead of only worrying about what you hoped for. And nothing reminds you of that more than a quiet morning coffee together. It's a simple ritual that says: we’re still here, still choosing each other, and still laughing about the chaos.

My Takeaways?

Marriage teaches you about life, love, and yourself… and also that the secret to surviving 20 years together might just be: laughter, snacks, coffee, and letting them think that being “okay” is right.

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This post is my tribute, my dedication to my husband, G, and our 20 years of marriage. He has been my guiding light, helping me navigate life, myself, and everything in between throughout our relationship and as we’ve grown together as parents.

much love,

Ai

When Your Body Is Tired but Your Mind Refuses to Sleep

Last night was one of those nights that remind you how complex rest truly is.

My body was exhausted after a long, hectic day at work. On top of that, my spine pain was intense — the kind that drains you quietly but deeply. I crawled into bed before 10PM, hoping to give myself the gift of early, restorative sleep.

Midnight came.
I was still awake.

2AM came.
Still awake.

My mind was telling stories like random scenes, different situations, unfinished thoughts replaying themselves as if it didn’t get the memo that it was time to rest.

I even took a melatonin pill, thinking it would gently guide me into sleep. But it didn’t “kick in” the way I expected. Eventually, around 2 or 3AM, I drifted off not deeply, not peacefully. I woke up at 6AM with my alarm, turned it off, and crawled back into bed until past 8.

It was a restless night.

And it reminded me of something important.

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Sleep Is Not Just About Being Physically Tired

We often think that exhaustion guarantees sleep.
But that’s not always how the body works.

Sometimes:

• Your body is tired.

• But your nervous system is still alert.

• Pain signals keep your brain on guard.

• Mental overload continues processing in the dark.

When we experience long workdays, physical discomfort (especially back or spine pain), or emotional and cognitive stress, our bodies can stay in “survival mode” even when we are desperate to rest.

Melatonin can support sleep timing, but it does not override an overstimulated nervous system.

And scrolling on the phone something many of us do when we can’t sleep often stimulates the brain even more. The light, the information, the endless input… it keeps the mind in motion.

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Why the Mind Becomes Active at Night

When the day is busy, we don’t always process everything in real time.

At night, when it’s finally quiet, the brain sometimes uses that silence to:

• Reorganize thoughts

• Replay conversations

• Imagine future scenarios

• Release stored stress

Add physical pain to the equation, and your system becomes even more alert. Pain activates stress pathways. The brain reads it as a signal to stay attentive.

It doesn’t mean something is wrong with you.
It means your system is overloaded.

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Gentle Wellness Reminders After a Restless Night

On mornings like this, it’s easy to panic:

“I didn’t sleep enough.”
“Tomorrow will be ruined.”
“I need to fix this.”

But here’s what I’m learning:

• Rest is still rest, even if it wasn’t perfect.

• One bad night does not destroy your health.

• The body is far more resilient than we give it credit for.

Instead of forcing recovery, I try to respond gently:

• Light stretching for my spine.

• Warm compress to ease tension.

• Writing down thoughts before bed the next evening to “empty” my mind.

• Replacing scrolling with calming audio.

• Practicing slow breathing to signal safety to my nervous system.

At this stage of life, I value sleep deeply. When I sleep well, I feel grounded, clear, emotionally steady, and strong. Good sleep feels like greatness from within.

But I am also learning that sleep cannot be forced.

It needs safety.
Not pressure.

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A Weekend Reset Ritual

As the weekend begins, this feels like the perfect reminder to slow down.

Instead of carrying the week’s tension into Saturday and Sunday, try creating a small ritual that tells your body: “You can relax now.”

For me, that ritual is simple but intentional.

It’s deep cleansing time for both body and face.
A proper deep cleanser.
A mask on.
Eyes closed.
Slow breathing.

It’s not just skincare. It’s a nervous system reset.

In those quiet moments, I allow my body to soften. I let the week go. I prepare myself not only to sleep, but to restore.

Sometimes wellness isn’t about grand gestures.
It’s about small, consistent signals of care.

How about you?
Do you have a weekend ritual that helps your body truly unwind? 

Position: Ate - Resume of an Eldest Sister/Daughter

Position: Ate – Resume of an Eldest Sister/Daughter

Yes, I am an Ate - a leadership role assigned at birth, with strength tested daily.
Full-time stabilizer, emotional shock absorber, and pillar of the family.

An Ate in Filipino culture is more than an older sister. It is a title, a role, and often an unspoken contract. It carries warmth and authority, love and leadership. It means being the firstborn daughter, but also the quiet second parent, the emotional bridge, the steady ground everyone steps on.

There is a reason why Sinong Magmamahal Sa Akin? by KZ Tandingan resonates so deeply with me. When she sings:

you can listen to it here: Sinong Magmamahal Sa Akin?

“Iiyak lang ng mahina
’Di pwedeng magmukhang mahina
Wala bang takbuhan ang takbuhan?
’Di pwedeng sumandal ang sandalan?”

it feels like the performance review of an Ate.

If I were to write my experience formally, the way I would, as an HR professional write it, it might look like this:

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Position Title: Ate (Eldest Daughter & Only Girl)
Department: Family Operations
Employment Type: Full-Time | Permanent | 24/7 Availability

Role Summary:
Appointed at birth to a leadership role requiring accelerated maturity, advanced emotional intelligence, and high-capacity burden management. Accountable for maintaining family stability, modeling resilience, and protecting household harmony during periods of uncertainty and crisis.

Core Responsibilities:

• Fast-tracked emotional development to meet early leadership expectations.
• Provided psychological safety and emotional readiness for younger siblings and extended family members.
• Served as Quiet Stabilizer during family crises, ensuring continuity of peace and functional normalcy.
• Acted as Primary Role Model, setting behavioral and moral standards for siblings.
• Functioned as Emotional Shock Absorber, discreetly processing tension, conflict, and fear to shield others from distress.
• Protected Parental Peace through mediation, silent support, and proactive burden-sharing.
• Assumed additional responsibilities without formal delegation, driven by intrinsic obligation and loyalty.
• Demonstrated composure under pressure; limited visible vulnerability to sustain collective morale.

Key Competencies Developed:

• Advanced Emotional Intelligence
• Crisis Management & De-escalation
• High-Pressure Decision-Making
• Silent Endurance & Compartmentalization
• Leadership by Example
• Resilience Under Continuous Expectation

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And yet, behind this “job description” is a human story.

When my brother went through difficult years, I did not simply observe, I absorbed fully: the pains, the struggles, the challenges. I carried the worry, the fear, the unspoken tensions in the house. I learned to navigate emotional storms at full speed and steady hands, controlled breathing, no room to break down. I mastered the art of crying quietly. I understood that looking weak was not an option because someone might collapse if I did.

“Iiyak lang ng mahina.” (cry silently)
Crying became private.

“’Di pwedeng magmukhang mahina.” ( you can't look weak)
Strength became mandatory.

But the line that echoes the loudest remains:

“Wala bang takbuhan ang takbuhan? ’Di pwedeng sumandal ang sandalan?” (“Is there no place to run for the one who always runs? Can the pillar not lean on someone too?")

In HR, we talk about sustainability, support systems, streamlined processes, capacity planning, and burnout prevention. Yet as an Ate, I rarely applied those principles to myself. The stabilizer carried everyone else. The sandalan (the one meant to lean on) carried the weight. The leader remained composed.

Being an Ate is a privilege. It builds resilience, empathy, and strength. But it also creates an internal standard that says: You must hold it together.

Perhaps the deeper reflection is this:

If I can professionally articulate boundaries, capacity, and support frameworks at work or for organizations, can I also design them for myself?

And for everyone who has ever been the strong one in their family:

When the stabilizer reaches capacity, do we allow ourselves to seek support, sent support ticket ( like how we does at corporate work) or do we keep performing strength because we believe love depends on it?

xo,
Ai

 

Between Compliments and Slurs

I have lived in Poland for twenty years now. Long enough to feel rooted, and yet long enough to feel suspended between who I was and who I am becoming.

People often compliment me with my skin color, my hair, how “cute” I am. They tell me I don’t look my age. Some joke that I am immortal, a vampire who does not age. I am 48 this year. Yes, I almost 50.

I know these words are meant as compliments, and sometimes I try to receive them that way. But there is another side to them one that presses quietly on my chest. My mind whispers: Keep up. Don’t disappoint. Stay young. Stay beautiful. Stay worthy.

That pressure is real, even when wrapped in praise.

There is no doubt that in some phases of my life here, I questioned my identity, myself, and where I should be. I often defined myself as stuck in between.

I was born and raised in the Philippines, yet I have built a life and a home in Poland. For a long time, I didn’t know where I truly belonged.

Living here widened my perspective. Being far from where I came from taught me how to see the world with softer eyes. I learned to love myself more deeply and to appreciate life more honestly. Whether I look back to my origins or around me now, I still believe the world is beautiful.

Because yes, the world is also harsh. And sometimes, cruel.

There was a moment I will never forget. A stranger told me to “go back to China.” Then came the words that cut deeper: Chinese prostitute.

I felt myself drop and then, strangely, I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was absurd.

How could they be so sure I was Chinese?

Do I really look like one?

Yes, part of my bloodline traces back to China through my grandparents. But blood does not define worth, and ancestry does not justify insult. And certainly, it does not make me a prostitute. Not all Chinese are prostitutes and of course, this goes for any nationality. My words are not meant to discriminate, only to reclaim my own identity from ignorance and hate.

That word was foul. Violent. Dehumanizing.

I carried the sting of it, but I chose not to let it define me. I reminded myself that this hatred comes from a small, loud minority of people who have never looked beyond their narrow borders, people unaware of the vastness of the world and the people in it.

Their ignorance is not my identity.

Over time, I realized something gentler, something freeing: home is not only a place on a map. Home is where your heart is. It is where you feel at peace.

Living between cultures did not erase me, it expanded me. I am made of many histories, many places, many truths. And even when the world tries to reduce me to a stereotype or a slur, I refuse to shrink.

I am still here.

Still learning.

Still loving.

Still becoming.

And I am me.

No one else....only me.

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Disclaimer: This post is based on my personal experiences and thoughts. It is not meant to offend or generalize any individual or minority. If you can relate to this post, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments and I would love to hear your perspective.

 

A Reflection on A Perfect Christmas

A Perfect Christmas by Jose Mari Chan has always been close to my heart. This year, we sang it during our Christmas Carols or Kolęda in Polish at our church Christmas carol concert. It is a song filled with hope, longing, and the desire for love and togetherness.

This year, however, singing it felt different.

During rehearsals, I struggled to get through the song. Every lyric spoke directly to my heart, reminding me that for me, there is no longer a “perfect Christmas.” Not because of a lack of blessings but because someone I love deeply is missing. I lost my brother, and with him, a part of the Christmas I once knew.

Last Christmas, I longed for home and for family that felt so far away. This Christmas, the ache is deeper. It hurts to imagine the season without his presence, without his familiar greeting, without the simple but precious words, “Merry Christmas… I love you, Ate (big sister).” Those words now live quietly in my heart.

I am still grieving. There are moments when my heart aches deeply, longing for a hug I can no longer give or receive. In my humanity, I mourn what was lost. But in my faith, I hold on to what is eternal.

And yet, even with all the loss, I have also found peace peace in knowing that my brother is no longer struggling, no longer carrying the pain he once endured. I trust that he is now resting in God’s presence, reunited with my dad. I believe they are at peace, praying for us, watching over us especially over his children. This faith does not erase the pain, but it gently steadies my heart. It reminds me that love does not end with death; it is transformed by God’s grace.

I also believe that wherever he is now, he is still wishing me the best Christmas, ending it the way he always did with an “I love you.” This belief was especially close to my heart when he appeared in my dreams on the second day of Christmas a quiet reminder that love remains, even beyond this life.

Though I can no longer see my brother or hear his voice, I carry him with me in my prayers, in my memories, and in my heart. God reminds me that He is present in my grief, near in my sorrow, and faithful in every season.

I may never experience a “perfect” Christmas again by the world’s standards. But I am learning that a Christmas filled with faith, love, remembrance, and hope is still holy.

I love my brother deeply, and I trust that one day, by God’s promise, we will meet again. Until then, I walk forward with faith entrusting my grief to God and holding on to the hope of eternal life.

much love,

xo

Ai