Fragments of the Quiet Mind

I remember the news trickling in, the way the earth gave way in Benguet and Cebu — houses swallowed, lives buried beneath rubble that was once the land we called home. It’s easy to point fingers at mining companies, at open-pit scars carved like wounds across the mountainside. But what about us? What part do we play in this quiet violence? Mining is a cruel pact. We dig not just for gold or minerals, but for the promise of progress. We tell ourselves the earth will forgive us, that the price we pay is worth the convenience and wealth it offers. But the land does not forgive — it remembers. The landslide is not just soil collapsing; it’s the earth’s way of whispering a bitter truth: we are strangers here, not masters. The calls to ban mining are calls to respect a fragile balance we have long ignored. Yet, the complexity of survival in a place like the Philippines makes this no simple moral judgment. The people who rely on mining for livelihood are caught in the same web of contradict...

I used to think growing up meant becoming some grand, polished version of yourself—the one your childhood self would cheer for, maybe even brag about at recess. But here I am, ordering my third cup of coffee at 9 PM, staring blankly at a screen, and wondering if I’ve just been winging adulthood all along. Growing up is realizing you’re your own unpaid intern. Turns out, the kid inside me would side-eye this version pretty hard. Not because I gave up on dreams, but because I forgot how to be recklessly hopeful. The fearless wonder? Buried under endless to-do lists and a growing collection of "shoulds" I didn’t even know I agreed to. Hope is the most expensive habit with the worst Return of Investment. But here’s the twist: maybe that side-eye is a good thing. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of reminding me that I’m still in progress. The kid’s shock is just a mirror—reflecting not failure, but the distance traveled. Sometimes the only thing growing faster than you is your coll...