I used to have something to say about everything. These days, I’m learning that having an opinion doesn’t mean I owe the world an argument.
I recently caught myself doing something ridiculous.
There I was, scrolling through TikTok, minding my own business, when a video appeared on my feed. It was one of those videos that could make your blood boil within the first five seconds.
Naturally, I opened the comment section.
And naturally, I started typing.
One paragraph became two. Two became five. Before I knew it, I had practically written an entire editorial, complete with arguments, counterarguments, and enough sarcasm to offend three generations of someone’s family.
Grabe, mura na gyud kog naghimo og essay sa comment section.
I was ready to hit Post.
Then I stopped.
I read everything I had written, stared at my screen for a few seconds, and asked myself a surprisingly simple question.
“Is this really worth my peace?”
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Swipe up.
And just like that, I moved on with my life.
Funny enough, I felt better. Apparently, typing all that rage was enough to let off some steam. I didn’t need strangers to read it. I didn’t need anyone to agree with me. I didn’t need to win an argument that nobody had officially invited me to.
Maybe that’s what growing older does to you.
Or maybe, kapoy na lang gyud ko.
I used to be that person.
Years ago, especially during my Twitter era, I remember a very different version of me.
Opinionated. Fierce. Occasionally confrontational. Someone who would happily participate in an online argument as if my entire existence depended on proving a point.
I recently revisited some of my old tweets.
My God.
Ka-isog ba diay nako sauna, uy!
The younger me had an opinion about practically everything. Politics, social issues, celebrities, controversies. You name it, I probably had something to say.
And if someone disagreed?
Well, congratulations. You just earned yourself a lengthy reply.
But here’s the funny part.
Years later, we’re still having the same arguments.
Same issues. Same political personalities. Same promises. Same disappointments. Different hashtags.
At some point, I found myself thinking:
THIS. IS. GETTING. TIRESOME.
Not that my beliefs have changed. I still care about the issues that affect our country. I still get angry when I see injustice. I still believe that people holding public office must be held accountable.
But the older I get, the more I realize that being angry all the time is an exhausting way to live.
And anger, no matter how justified, has a cost.
The cost of being angry in a country that keeps testing your patience.
Let’s talk about something that has become increasingly difficult to ignore.
Living in the Philippines is getting expensive. In short, kapoy na mahal pa.
Groceries, electricity, transportation, and practically everything else seem to demand a bigger portion of our income. Meanwhile, salaries don’t always keep pace.
I’m fortunate enough to live comfortably, and I recognize that privilege. I can pay my bills, put food on the table, and enjoy the occasional things that make life worthwhile.
But comfort doesn’t mean immunity.
I feel the rising costs, too.
Money that could have gone into my savings now goes into maintaining the same standard of living. The little extra that used to feel like a reward for working hard has become smaller.
Sige lang ug trabaho, pero nganong murag wala man gihapoy sobra?
And then you open the news.
Corruption allegations. Political controversies. Officials trading accusations. Public outrage. Another hearing. Another investigation.
Last year, I wrote about the flood control controversy in The Flood Control Issue is Going Nowhere.
I also wrote The Devils Wear Prada, sharing my frustration over the displays of extraordinary wealth linked in public debate to politically connected families.
Those pieces came from a place of genuine anger.
And looking at the headlines today, that frustration hasn’t completely disappeared.
Yes, investigations have moved forward, and cases have been filed. I recognize that. But the distance between legal proceedings and the kind of accountability ordinary Filipinos are waiting to see can still feel painfully long.
The Philippines is a beautiful country. We have extraordinary natural resources, talented people, and so much potential.
And yet, there are days when I look at what’s happening around us and wonder how a country with so much could leave so many people struggling.
To be honest, I even catch myself thinking that perhaps this country has no hope.
That’s a painful thought to admit.
I don’t know if it’s true. Deep down, I hope it isn’t.
But I would be lying if I said I haven’t felt it.
I see people defending the same political figures, repeating the same excuses, and fighting the same arguments we’ve been having for years.
Kapoy na kaayo, uy. Balik-balik na lang.
I want to be angry. I want to join the discussions. I want to write another lengthy commentary explaining why things shouldn’t be this way.
But then I remember something.
I’ve done that before.
Many times.
And I can’t keep giving every frustrating headline the best part of my day.
Maybe silence isn’t surrender.
For a long time, I thought having an opinion meant expressing it.
That if I stayed silent, I was somehow allowing something wrong to happen. That walking away from an argument meant losing it.
But I’ve started questioning that belief.
Do I really need to respond to every ridiculous statement I see online?
Do I need to spend my evenings arguing with someone whose only intention is to provoke a reaction?
Do I really need to sacrifice my mood, my time, and my emotional well-being just to convince a stranger that they’re wrong?
Dili man siguro.
Don’t get me wrong. Speaking up matters. Public criticism matters. People who demand accountability have every reason to make themselves heard.
And I’m not telling anyone to stop.
There are voices doing meaningful work, and I respect that.
But I’m learning that I don’t have to participate in every argument to prove that I care.
Sometimes, I can be informed without being consumed.
Sometimes, I can disagree without responding.
Sometimes, I can type an entire novel in a TikTok comment section, delete it, and continue scrolling.
Bahala na mo diha. Basta ako, matulog ko’g tarong karong gabii.
And maybe that’s enough for today.
A year away from blogging. A year of finding myself again.
My last blog entry was written on my 38th birthday.
It was an emotional one.
I wrote about grief, expectations, disappointments, and the strange feeling of growing older while carrying the absence of people who used to make life feel complete.
I called it I Have Been Changed… Not Sure If For Good.
Back then, I wrote about accepting defeat and protecting whatever peace I had left.
Looking back, perhaps I was already beginning to learn what I’m writing about today.
I just didn’t fully recognize it yet.
After that entry, I stepped away from blogging.
Not from writing, though.
In fact, I spent much of the past year doing the exact opposite.
I rediscovered an old piece of fiction I had written years ago. Something I had left behind, waiting for the right moment to be revisited.
That story became Mutant Prism.
What started as revisiting an old work eventually turned into rewriting, rebuilding, and completing it as a full novel.
And now, I’m preparing to release it on my birthday.
There’s something strangely satisfying about that.
My previous birthday gave me an entry filled with sadness and reflection. My next birthday is giving me a book.
A story that finally gets to exist beyond the files on my computer.
Of course, self-publishing comes with its own headaches. Writing the novel is one thing. Convincing people to discover and read it is another story entirely.
Lisod pud baya mag-market sa kaugalingong libro, especially kung ikaw ra halos tanan.
But it’s a challenge I’m willing to spend my energy on.
And perhaps that’s the biggest change I’ve noticed in myself.
I’ve stopped wanting to pour so much of my time into arguments that leave me exhausted.
I’d rather spend that time creating something.
Writing something.
Finishing something I can be proud of.
The anger hasn’t disappeared. Neither have my opinions.
They’ve simply found another place to go.
Into my characters. Into fictional worlds. Into stories where I can explore the things that frustrate, frighten, and fascinate me.
At least sa akong mga sinulat, naa koy mahimo sa akong kasuko.
And for someone who has spent years turning feelings into words, that seems like a much better arrangement.
The Phoenix isn’t dead. She’s just resting.
If you’re familiar with X-Men, you’ll know who Jean Grey is.
And you’ll probably know what happens when the Dark Phoenix comes out.
I’ve always been fascinated by that character. The immense force within her. The struggle to contain it. The idea that something extraordinary can remain hidden beneath an otherwise ordinary appearance.
In a strange, dramatic, very-me kind of way, I sometimes think of my younger self as my own Dark Phoenix.
That fierce version of me who wanted to fight everything, question everyone, and refuse to stay silent.
He’s still here.
Wala nawala. Nagpahulay ra.
Choosing my peace doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned everything I once believed in.
It means I’m learning to conserve what I have left for the moments that truly deserve it.
I still hope that someday, someone will emerge who can help lead this country out of the darkness we’re experiencing.
Someone who can remind us that change is still possible.
And I hope I’m still around to see it.
I hope that when that day comes, the part of me that still believes in fighting for something better will be ready.
Maybe I’ll raise my voice again.
Maybe I’ll write another furious blog entry.
Maybe that inner Phoenix will finally spread her wings.
But for now?
I’ll let her rest.
I’ll let her exist in the pages of my novels, in the stories I tell, and in the fictional characters who get to fight battles I no longer wish to fight in real life.
And so, here I am again.
Almost a year later, I’m back on this little corner of the internet.
I’m not going to pretend that I’ve become a completely different person.
I still get irritated. I still judge ridiculous TikToks. I still occasionally compose imaginary arguments in my head while taking a shower.
Usahay, lami gihapon kaayo mangaway. HAHAHA!
And there will probably be days when I forget everything I’ve written here and find myself furiously typing another comment.
That’s fine.
I’m human.
But as I approach another birthday, I’m beginning to appreciate something I didn’t value enough when I was younger.
My time.
My energy.
My peace.
I’ve already spent so much of my life grieving things I cannot bring back, expecting things from people who cannot give them, and fighting battles that never seem to end.
I don’t want to spend the years ahead doing more of the same.
There’s still so much I want to write. So many stories I want to tell. So many ordinary days I want to enjoy without allowing the latest outrage to ruin them.
And I think I owe myself that much.
This isn’t a declaration that I’m giving up.
It’s simply me learning to choose where my energy goes.
The world will continue making noise, with or without my participation.
The arguments will continue. The headlines will change. Tomorrow, there will probably be another controversy waiting on my TikTok feed.
But I don’t have to carry all of it.
Dili tanan away, akoa. Dili tanan problema, kinahanglan nako pas-anon.
And if choosing myself means stepping away from the noise every once in a while, then so be it.
At this age, I don’t need to win every argument. I just want to stop losing myself in them.
The Phoenix can wait.
For now, I have a novel to finish introducing to the world.
And a life I’d very much like to enjoy.
Welcome back to my diary.
I guess I still have a lot to say. I’m just learning when to say it.
Leave a Reply