Passing lives

We see them every day,

but we don’t really know their names.

The woman selling siomai by the station.

The guard who never forgets to say “good morning.”

The bus conductor who still cracks jokes at 6 a.m.

The stranger who gives up their seat without being asked.

They don’t know your story either.

But somehow, your lives intersect for a few brief minutes,

and it’s enough to remind you that the world still runs on kindness.

We often think impact has to be big.

A promotion.

A project.

A breakthrough.

But sometimes, it’s just the way someone smiles back after a long day,

as if saying, “Same.”

You’ll never know what these people carry,

just as they’ll never know the battles you fight.

But for those few seconds in transit,

you share the same air,

the same exhaustion,

the same small hope

that tomorrow might run smoother than today.

And maybe that’s enough.

Because even when life feels heavy,

there will always be people who lighten it.

Not by fixing anything,

but simply by showing up,

just like you.

4 hours on the road

#Employed #Blessed

but #Tired

Being tired from work is one thing.

Being tired from the commute is another.

A bus ride.

A train ride.

A jeepney ride.

All in one way.

I don’t usually drive on weekdays. Not because I can’t, but because I refuse to wrestle with the horrors of EDSA traffic. If you know, you know.

On average, it takes me two hours to get to work.

Another two to get home.

That’s four hours a day on the road.

Four hours that could have been spent on something “productive.”

But can it, really?

At first, I tried to make the most of it.

I read books.

Listened to podcasts.

Wrote down random ideas.

Sometimes, I planned projects while standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers on the train.

Other times, I just stared out the window and let my thoughts breathe.

Watched the city move.

Watched people rush.

Watched life happen.

And maybe that’s productive too.

Not everything has to be a hustle.

Some days, being still is also work.

Some days, letting your mind wander helps you find your focus again.

The commute will always be long.

But time spent thinking is never wasted.

We deserve better, yes.

But we cannot always be complaining.

Because if you use those hours to slow down, reflect, or simply exist,

then you’re still going somewhere.

Paid in grace

On weekends, I serve at church.

I said yes to the calling.

For faith.

For gratitude.

As a way of returning God’s gift of speaking to me

by helping spread His Word.

Recently, I was elected as one of the leaders of our church’s special ministry.

I did not expect it.

Maybe this is what happens

after years of simply showing up.

Years of serving weekday and weekend Masses.

Five in the morning before the work commute.

Seven in the evening after a long day.

No spotlight.

No applause.

Just service.

It started as my way of giving back.

A quiet thank-you to God

for the gift of speaking,

and the courage to use it for something that matters.

Yes, it is volunteer work.

Yes, it is unpaid.

But somehow,

I always walk away feeling richer.

Because the return is never money.

It is peace.

It is fulfillment.

It is that quiet assurance

that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Every reading feels like a conversation with God.

Every “Thanks be to God” from the congregation

feels like an answered prayer.

Years later,

I am still grateful for the chance to serve.

Still tired sometimes.

Still juggling responsibilities.

Still showing up.

Still paid in grace.

Short-term slay, long-term stray

My messenger apps have been popping nonstop.

Group chats everywhere.

Christmas parties.

Reunions.

Get-togethers.

And it does not stop there.

Venues.

Themes.

Games.

Gimmicks.

Gift rules.

Someone even makes a spreadsheet.

Another designs a mood board.

Impressive.

Weeks before December, everything is planned.

Every detail.

Every angle.

Every post.

But ask the same people about their five-year plan,

and the chat goes quiet.

No typing bubbles.

No replies.

No reactions.

We pour energy into short-term happiness

because it is easier.

It is concrete.

It is fun.

It is fast.

Planning for life feels heavier.

It demands reflection.

Discipline.

Patience.

And many would rather avoid that.

But here is the truth:

Both matter.

It is not wrong to plan for Christmas.

It is a season worth celebrating.

But the other eleven months

deserve the same intention.

Your joy in December will fade by January.

Your direction will not.

So yes,

plan the party.

Buy the gifts.

Make it special.

But also plan your growth.

Map your goals.

Design your future.

Be as intentional with your life

as you are with your holidays.

Because life is not built

on one perfect season.

It is built

on what you do with all the days in between.

Don't just warn, guide

We all love a good trip.

Driving, especially, is therapeutic for me.

I love the open road.

If I’m alone,

it’s time to think.

If I’m with someone I love,

it’s even better,

especially with good music playing.

*play Passenger Seat by Stephen Speaks*

Windows down. Volume up. No rush.

It feels like freedom.

Until traffic hits.

That excitement fades fast

when you are stuck in a standstill.

Imagine this.

You are on your way to Baguio,

picturing cool air and pine trees,

when Kennon Road turns into a parking lot.

Then a friend texts:

“Traffic here. Not moving.”

Thanks.

But you are already stuck.

Now imagine a different message:

“Accident ahead. Two lanes blocked. Take this route instead.”

Suddenly, you feel better.

You feel informed.

You feel prepared.

You feel in control.

That is the power of Waze.

It does not just point out the problem.

It helps you move past it.

In life, we need more of that.

Some people only point out what is wrong.

Some explain why it happened.

But the rare ones,

the real leaders,

the people who matter,

are the ones who help you find a way forward.

They do not just criticize.

They clarify.

They do not just complain.

They contribute.

They do not just observe.

They guide.

Be that person.

Be the one who offers solutions, not just opinions.

Who listens before reacting.

Who helps others see options when they feel stuck.

Because everyone hits traffic in life.

Delays.

Setbacks.

Mistakes.

Detours.

And in those moments,

what people need most

is not commentary.

It is direction.

So be the Waze in someone’s life.

Find the cause.

Offer the route.

Keep them moving.

Life, not lifestyle

“Why are you always traveling?”

I get asked that a lot.

Fair question.

Some of my colleagues save because they are breadwinners.

Some save for stability.

For emergencies.

For the future.

That is responsible.

That is wise.

Then there are those who live by one line:

#YOLO

Buy now.

Enjoy now.

Post now.

Worry later.

Chasing what can be bought.

The new phone.

The designer bag.

The bigger car.

The next upgrade.

And there is nothing wrong with nice things.

But here is my honest answer.

Traveling has always been my dream.

Not just around Asia.

But the world.

Because you can own something for years

and forget how it felt to get it.

Yet you can remember a moment forever.

The sunrise in a city you have never seen before.

The laughter with friends in a place you cannot pronounce.

The wrong train that led to the best story.

The feeling of being small in a very big world.

Those moments do not depreciate.

They do not need upgrades.

They do not go out of style.

They do not lose value.

When I look back one day,

I will not count the gadgets I owned.

I will remember how I felt

when I was present,

curious,

alive.

So maybe this is me justifying my wanderlust.

But if money is a tool,

I would rather use it

to collect stories

than storage.

Because in the end,

memories are the only investments

that appreciate with time.

Why I still teach

During weekdays, I call people “Sir” and “Ma’am.”

On weekends, I become “Sir” too,

when students call me “Prof.”

That still feels special.

There are many things people don’t talk about when it comes to teaching.

The random “Good morning, Sir” that lifts your mood.

The quiet satisfaction of being part of someone’s journey.

Those are some of the perks.

They make the long hours feel worth it.

But they don’t always talk about the weight.

About the nights spent staring at ungraded papers,

wondering if it even matters.

About worrying over a student who stopped showing up.

About questioning yourself

when assignments keep going missing.

They don’t tell you that the job doesn’t end when the bell rings.

Because the truth is,

their stories follow you home.

There was one semester I almost quit.

The pay was low.

The noise was high.

And the fire that once fueled me felt dim.

Every class felt heavier than the last.

I thought maybe I was done.

Then one afternoon,

as I packed my things,

I found a small folded note on my desk.

It said:

“Sir, thank you for believing in me.

No one ever did.”

That line hit harder than any lecture I had ever given.

It reminded me why I started.

Teaching is not just a profession.

It is an act of faith.

You show up even when you are tired.

You plant seeds you may never see grow.

You hold space for students carrying more than they should.

That note saved my fire.

I know I am not the best professor.

Far from it.

But if I can reach even five percent of my students,

if I can change five lives out of a hundred for the better,

that is not nothing.

That is purpose.

And yes, sometimes I read notes that say,

“Prof, I love you”

(or “crush po kita,” as they’d say).

I guess that counts as bonus points. *wink*

What laughter hides

On Sundays, I served at church.

On weekdays, I worked.

On weeknights, I attended postgrad classes.

On Saturdays, I taught.

Being a part-time lecturer meant long days, short rest, and very little pause.

So when I finally had a free weekend,

I treated myself to something simple.

A nearby bakery.

Comfort bread.

A bottle of Pepsi Blue.

Quiet.

Then one of my students suddenly approached me.

Feeling familiar, he jokingly asked if I could treat him.

Slightly annoyed. But I obliged.

What’s twenty pesos, right?

Choose kindness.

This was not a fancy university.

No air-conditioned rooms.

No ergonomic chairs.

No polished hallways.

It was a state college,

where I taught as a way of giving back,

paying forward what I had learned.

Just bare walls, wooden desks, and students who showed up anyway.

Back in class, that same student was loud and lively.

He recited confidently.

Cracked jokes from the back row.

Played the class clown.

The kind people call “bibo.”

Sometimes charming.

Often distracting.

Fast forward to one afternoon.

I was heading home when he saw me and asked where I was going.

I answered politely.

Again, choose kindness.

He said he was headed the same way and asked if he could hitch a ride.

I agreed,

though I was still a little irritated.

Near a construction site, he asked to be dropped off.

I waited for a moment.

Curious.

Then I saw him walk straight inside.

Safety hat.

Vest.

Gloves.

Hollow blocks.

That noisy student.

That joker.

That “class clown.”

A 17-year-old construction worker.

Working nights.

Carrying not just cement,

but responsibility.

Pressure.

Survival.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Maybe that’s where his energy came from.

Maybe that’s why he joked so much.

Maybe that’s how he stayed awake.

Stayed hopeful.

Stayed strong.

After that day, I paid more attention.

He was a Boy Scout.

Active in volunteer work.

Quick to defend classmates being bullied.

He wasn’t trying to be funny.

He was trying to cope.

Trying to carry more than most people his age ever should.

That realization humbled me.

This was different from the world I knew.

It reminded me why I teach.

Why I give back.

Why I try to see people beyond first impressions.

Because we all carry weights the world cannot see.

Some hide them behind smiles.

Some behind jokes.

Some behind noise.

So be careful how quickly you judge.

Not every clown is carefree.

Not every jester is shallow.

Some are just doing their best

to survive

and still make others smile.