Summer Is Ending

Summer is coming to a close; cooler nights and changing evening light have me reflecting, with a kind of summer melancholy, on childhood days in the Philippines. I remember running our little halo-halo stand, a popular and colorful cold dessert made with shaved ice, milk, and various sweet toppings.

The picture I was able to find of a halo-halo is a depiction of what it should look like, but I can’t remember if we served it the way it should have been – after all, we were just kids.

The front of our house served as our carinderia (a small eatery where my mom served home-cooked meals), with a tin roof that opened every morning and a bench worn smooth by shoe factory workers who ate their breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the same seats, day after day. When summer came, my sister and I would set up our halo-halo table right out front, where anyone walking by could see it. That was the whole announcement — no sign, no calling out, just the stand itself telling the neighborhood we were open for the season. No one questioned why kids were selling halo-halo. As I later learned, it was our version of lemonade stands here in the US.

We shaved the ice by hand with an old aluminum shaver that made your arm ache after enough cups and your hands grow cold. But I didn’t mind — this was ours: our stand, our summer, our own little business.

I didn’t think of it as work back then. It was just what summer was like growing up and how you’d beat the unbearable heat of Manila summers.

Reflecting on it, I always smile thinking about what that small stand taught me. Throughout my adult years, I’ve focused on working and creating—first a job, then a business, a plan, and always a next step—and I believe some of that started right there, with a homemade stand and an aluminum ice shaver. It was there I learned that when you showcase something good where people can see it, they will come.

As summer winds down for you too, I’m curious: what did your summers look like growing up? Was there a job, a routine, or a small tradition that may have shaped more of who you are than you realized at the time?

I’d love to hear about it — tell me in the comments. Here’s to whatever season is next for all of us. 🌻

The Room I Grew Up In

I woke up very early this morning, and in our darkened room, I was thinking about a mosquito net (the picture below is similar to what we had growing up). It’s been a year since I last sat down to write anything, and I don’t know why this memory came back first — except that maybe, when you’re trying to remember how to do something, you go back to the beginning.

I didn’t have a dedicated room growing up. Instead, I had a corner on the open second floor, and each night followed the same routine: unrolling the banig, a handwoven Filipino mat mainly used for sleeping, pulling the mosquito net over the three of us, and settling into our spots — me at one end, my middle sister in the middle, and my other sister at the far end. This same setup repeated every night, reflecting our birth order. 

We talked before we slept. I don’t remember most of what we said — the ordinary chatter of three girls winding down — but I remember it happened every night under that net. And when one of us woke from a nightmare, it was always our middle sister who noticed first and reached over to gently shake us out of whatever had scared us.

Then came the sounds from all around: a lizard ticking somewhere in the darkness, cats swiftly running and meowing across the tin roof overhead, then disappearing. The net, acting as a barrier against pesky mosquitoes, trapped the heat, just as Manila nights demand. The hard floor pressed against our bodies and the tight space that offered little room. 

I wasn’t aware we were struggling financially, nor did I realize that lacking a room or a bed meant we were poor. No one ever mentioned it, and those nights never felt lacking. I had two sisters nearby, a mosquito net, and a place to sleep. We were genuinely happy — not because of our circumstances, just because.

I didn’t get a room of my own until I got married. Even now, decades later, on a different continent, thousand of miles away from the Manila, in a bed I can adjust instead of a banig — I still share a room. My husband is beside me instead of my sisters. There’s no net, no tin roof, no lizard ticking in the dark, and with central air conditioning. Everything about the room has changed, but one thing remains – I am still with someone I love, and that has always been the only measurement that ever told me anything true in life. 

I hadn’t written for a year until this morning, when I woke up thinking about a mosquito net. Perhaps that’s how it is — you don’t reconnect with writing or anything else through major moments. Instead, it’s in a small, unexpected memory that you find your way back.

So I’ll ask you what I asked myself: What’s the room you grew up in — the real one, or the one that wasn’t really a room at all? Who was in it with you? What did it teach you about what you had, or didn’t have, without you knowing it at the time?

I’d love to hear it. Tell me in the comments or sit with the question for a while. Either way, thank you for reading — it’s good to be back.

The Dawn of Change: A Spring Reflection

I am sharing this picture I took this week because Spring gifts us with the loveliest of sunrises. The sky burned with color as I drove into work, an unmissable display of reds, oranges, and golds stretching across the horizon. Spring is arriving, and with it, the early morning sunrises seem more vibrant, more alive. I felt compelled to capture the moment, knowing full well that my phone’s camera could never do justice to the depth of color I saw with my own eyes.

The clouds swirled like brushstrokes on a canvas, their fiery streaks both wild and intentional. There was something in their movement—an energy both grounding and electrifying. Standing there in the parking lot, in the crisp morning air, I could feel it: a shift, a quiet transformation unfolding, the whispering of new beginnings. Whether it’s the changing of a season, the stirring of a long-lost dream, or the courage to finally take the next step, the message was clear – change is here. Be it a season, a mindset, or a long-awaited dream finally taking shape. 

Winter has a way of settling into our bones, its weight slow and quiet. A feeling of isolation due the long stretch of night and darkness. But then, just like that, the light returns. It starts subtly—the days stretch a little longer, the mornings feel a little softer, and hope, once dormant, begins to stir. There’s something about this time of year that feels like a reset, an invitation to step forward, even if we’re unsure of the path ahead. The heaviness of winter lifts, making space for something new.

It’s as if the universe itself is whispering a promise: A new season is here, and with it, a fresh start to boldly step forward into what could be. I feel that for many, there is a shifting that is coming, a time of letting go. Time to start a new beginning no matter how daunting it is to take the first step. It is a chance to shake off the weight of winter and step into the possibilities of a fresh season.

I feel that shift deeply. At almost 50, I’m starting over. It’s daunting, uncertain, and yet—filled with possibility. I am remembering my dreams, allowing myself to believe in something bigger, something bold. The journey isn’t easy, and no two paths look the same, but one thing is certain: the light always comes after the dark.

Maybe you need to hear that today. Maybe this is your sign to step into something new, to let go of what no longer serves you. You are not alone. The days are growing longer, the world is waking up, and so are you. Tomorrow, take a moment to look at the sunrise. Let it remind you that no matter how long the winter, the light always returns. The season ahead is yours to embrace. New beginnings are shaping. Can you feel it? Hope is not lost, it may be deferred, but it springs eternal. 

Weekend Reset

It’s been a little while since my last update, and as I near the big 5-0, I’ve been reflecting on this journey before summer comes. I intended to share daily snippets, little sparks of insight, even if it felt a bit whimsical. My goal was to offer a guiding light for anyone navigating similar emotions. I hoped to offer little bits of support for anyone going through similar feelings.

Now, I am ready to share what has been going on with me for the last six months. But before that, I need to go to a lacrosse scrimmage this morning so I want to share this post first. I feel like there are folks out there who are trying to lift the seasonal fogginess of life.

So here I am, to say: it’s perfectly okay to feel a whirlwind of emotions—doubts that creep in like shadows, insecurities that dance on the edges of our thoughts, and that tingle of anxiety about the future.

If you find yourself caught in this emotional kaleidoscope today, take a breath and know that you’re not alone. Trust me, you will navigate this journey with grace and strength. Still dare to dream big, to hold onto hope, and to feel gratitude for every moment. Embrace the chaos, give grace to yourself, and let’s dream together! Adventure awaits us.

Happy Saturday folks!