… I never had. I’ve been running for almost a year now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned (or rather, still learning the hard way), it’s PATIENCE. Because to be honest patience is a virtue I never had.
When I first started, my pace was a painful 14–15 minutes per kilometer. I remember feeling breathless after just a 30second jog, wondering why on earth people would find this enjoyable. Fast forward to today, I ran 15 kilometers along the Han River in Seoul, and my pace? STILL SLOW … a whooping 10 minutes per kilometer. Others who’ve started later than I did are now flying past me like gazelles, and here I am still trudging like a tortoise.
But as I caught my breath near Yeouido Han River, after what was supposed to be a 15-minute walk from my hotel that turned into a one-hour detour, I couldn’t help but laugh. I had literally gone the long way around. What was meant to be a straight route became a scenic but confusing journey. And it hit me … it’s the perfect metaphor for life.
Earlier during my run, I was listening to a podcast on Genesis, about how the Israelites wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. They weren’t lost because God had abandoned them. They were there because God was preparing them. The episode mentioned how “Anah” a word that can means “to afflict” or “to humble” and how sometimes God leads us to our “wilderness” seasons, not to punish us, but to humble us, to prepare us.
As I reflected, these contrasts stood out and spoke deeply to my own journey, both in running and in life.
Oppression or Opportunity When we face delays or detours, it’s easy to feel oppressed by the weight of unmet expectations, whether it’s in our goals, our careers, or even our personal growth. But maybe what feels like delay is actually divine preparation.
In running, every slow kilometer is a chance for endurance to build quietly beneath the surface. In life, every pause, setback, or unanswered prayer can be God stretching our spiritual lungs, conditioning our faith for longer runs ahead. The Israelites thought they were stuck, but they were being trained to depend on manna, not on their own might. Our “oppressions” may just be disguised opportunities to grow stronger where it matters most … in TRUST.
Trap or Test When things don’t go our way, it’s tempting to see it as a trap. “Why am I here again? Why is this happening?” But maybe it’s not a trap, rather, it’s a test. Like my long, lost detour to the Han River, what seems like going in circles might actually be God rerouting us to discover who we are becoming in the process. A test isn’t meant to destroy us; it’s meant to reveal us.
In those moments when we feel trapped, by our own pace, our circumstances, or our limits, God might be testing the posture of our hearts. Are we still willing to trust His pace even when it feels painfully slow?
Punishment or Preparation There’s a fine line between feeling punished and being prepared. Sometimes, slowness feels like punishment in a world obsessed with speed and progress. But in the wilderness of waiting, God is at work. He slows us down to strengthen what can’t be seen. the inner muscles of character, humility, and endurance. Just like every run trains not just my legs but also my will, every “slow season” in life builds unseen strength for future speed. Slowness is the soil where strength quietly grows.
Running has become my wilderness classroom. My pace may be slow, but my heart is learning endurance. God leads us through routes we don’t know, so that He can show what’s in our hearts and so that we can know His plans.
Maybe the point isn’t to get faster, but to get formed. Maybe the goal isn’t the finish line, but who I become along the way.
So yes!, Patience is a virtue… I never had. But maybe, through these slow steps and long detours, I’m finally learning it one 10-minute kilometer at a time.
“Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years, to humble and test you in order to know what was in your heart.”– Deuteronomy 8:2 (NIV)
The last time I saw Koyang Zaro (my uncle) alive was in January. We went for a slow jog at the University of the Philippines campus, a place filled with trees, laughter, and movement. Looking back, it feels almost poetic that the last memory I hold of him alive is of us running side by side. He wasn’t just running on that track. He was running the race of life – STEADILY, JOYFULLY and FAITHFULLY.
This week, when we laid him to rest, our family is also gathered earlier at U.P. for a run. The timing felt bittersweet, as if God Himself had set this stage: one race ending, another race beginning. It reminded me that life is indeed like running. Sometimes we run fast and strong, sometimes we slow down, sometimes we stumble and fall. But what matters most is that we get back up, keep moving, and never give up until we reach the finish line.
A Life Well-Lived Koyang Zaro lived a life that could only be described as full. He stood as a second father to us when our own parents were gone. He filled the gap with laughter, energy, and a steady support at times we needed a wall to lean on. But more than that, he was passionate in his faith. He wasn’t just a man of words; he walked the talk. His faith was active, not passive. He lived it out in the way he served, cared, and loved.
He taught us that living well doesn’t mean being free from struggles, but being anchored in something greater than yourself. His anchor was Christ.
Lessons From the Race Our first family run became more than just an athletic event, it became a metaphor. Just like in the race, we each move at different paces. Some finish early, some cross the line later, but what matters is that everyone who keeps on going reaches the finish line eventually. Life is no different.
When I think of my uncle, I think of someone who ran his race with perseverance, laughter, and unwavering faith. His finish line came sooner than we hoped, but he finished strong.
The Reflection for Us Who Remain His passing reminds me of a truth that is both sobering and freeing: our days are numbered. We do not know how long we have, but we do know that each day is a gift. It is not the length of our race that matters, but the way we run it.
For those of us left behind, it is natural to grieve. But alongside the sadness is gratitude. Gratitude for the memories, the love, the lessons, and the life well-lived. My uncle may no longer run beside us physically, but his legacy continues to run in us.
Seize The Day!
The Bible puts it beautifully:
“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” – Psalm 90:12
Life is short, but it is also full. And like my uncle, may we choose to live with joy, passion, and faith. May we run our race well, no matter the pace, until the day we too cross the finish line.
Last night, after celebrating Mosaic’s 19th anniversary, we gathered again for a special thanksgiving night. It wasn’t a night of programs, but a time of full tummies, open hearts, stories shared, and gratitude rising from every corner of our community.
What LIKHAYAG Means
Our theme this year, LIKHAYAG, is a word we coined and it carries the heart of who we are becoming.
LIKHA – to create, the handiwork of God. As Ephesians 2:10 reminds us, “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works…” We are His masterpiece, shaped with purpose.
KAHAYAG – a Visayan word for light or sinag, the radiance that breaks into darkness.
HAYAG in Tagalog – to proclaim, to make known, to reveal.
Put together, LIKHAYAG is a declaration: We are created to shine, to live as God’s handiwork, and to proclaim His light and love in the world. And this was exactly what Thanksgiving night reflected, stories of God’s light made visible through His people.
Stories of Gratitude
A few of us shared their own Likhayag stories. One of us shared how she went from helping brainstorm the theme to being entrusted with the design and souvenir booths. At first, she felt overwhelmed and don’t know if she can really do it. But she was grateful, because in her weakness, she found strength in community. Others stepped in, and she realized she didn’t have to carry the work alone.
A dear brother who had been quiet for some time, suddenly found himself behind the camera for our anniversary. Not only did he capture moments that will be remembered, but he also rediscovered the joy of serving. In fact, he even found the camera lens he had long been searching for, suddenly available just in time. To him, it felt like God opening a door for him to return to service.
Two others were new in the ministry. One, totally new, served in the food ministry. Another had been longing for an opportunity to serve again after some time away. She finally found her place helping in candle-making. Both stories reminded us that no act of service is too small and that God always makes room for willing hearts.
There were more stories like these, each one unique, but together they painted the same truth: God moves even through our ordinary hands.
Thanks-Living
Our pastor’s short exhortation pierced deeply: a truly transformed life is marked by gratitude. And more than just words, gratitude is best shown through “Thanks-Living”, living daily in a way that reflects how thankful we really are. He reminded us not to wait until people are gone before we appreciate them. Gratitude is meant to be spoken now, lived now, shared now.
The Song That Became a Prayer
The highlight of the night was when Coach NT sang “I Won’t Last a Day Without You.” A familiar love song, yes but in that moment, it became something more. It became a hymn of dependence on God, and a love letter to the people around us.
One line echoed in my heart: “I can take all the madness the world has to give but I won’t last a day without you.” And I realized, that’s Mosaic to me. That’s what ministry is for me. Without God and without this family He has placed me in, I wouldn’t last.
I found myself in tears because God reminded me: this is my to live for and to die for. This is LIKHAYAG, not a perfect work, but a radiant one, carried out by imperfect people who lean on a perfect God.
Serving isn’t easy. There are struggles, disappointments, even moments when I want to give up. But at the end of the day, I always return to this calling. And I know deep in my heart, I would not exchange this life for anything else. Because this is what it means to be LIKHAYAG: created to shine, created to proclaim, created to live in gratitude
“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” – 1 Thessalonians 5:18
“Worship is not just a sound we make; it’s a life we echo.”
I had the privilege of walking closely with a dear brother in church – Kuya Joel – during the last five months of his earthly life. It was a journey marked by pain, yes, but overwhelmingly filled with worship, love, and unwavering faith.
I saw with my own eyes how his physical body was fading, how cancer slowly took its toll. But even as his strength dwindled, his spirit did not. With every ounce of energy left in him, he still chose to sing. I can still recall how he raised his trembling hands during worship, his voice cracking, yet fully surrendered. He worshipped with everything he had until the end.
While preparing for his wake service, my nephew Ken stumbled upon a video that made me pause and weep with deep admiration. In it, Kuya Joel was teaching his two children, SJ and Skye, to sing and play the song Heart of Worship. That clip wasn’t just a beautiful memory, it was a testament. Worship wasn’t something he started doing when he got sick; it was how he lived all along. He was intentional about it, modeling it daily for his kids, not just in music but in how he lived.
Now, SJ and Skye serve on the worship team, carrying the torch their father handed to them. And at the wake, the two stood boldly and sang Heart of Worship, the same song their dad had taught them just before giving their eulogies. It was more than a tribute. It was a powerful picture of a legacy passed on.
Here’s the video that says more than words ever could:
What I’ve Learned
Kuya Joel taught me without saying it that worship isn’t just a song. It’s a life poured out.
It’s seen in how he served the church quietly but wholeheartedly. It’s seen in his excellence at work and his humility in every role. It’s seen in the way he loved his wife and raised his children. It’s felt in the joy that radiated from his face even in great pain.
And so I pray, after witnessing his life, Lord, may I also live a life of worship till the end. Not just with music and melody … but in how I serve, how I love, and how I give my all even when I have little left.
“As long as I live, I will sing and praise you, the Lord God. I will be true to you.” – Psalm 146:2 (CEV)
You’re Not Stuck Yet … But You Will Be Temptation doesn’t always come loud or strong. Sometimes it just waits for you to stay long.
Day 1 of our Bali trip, and we decided to take a relaxed walk through the Seminyak area, eventually arriving at Seminyak Beach. I didn’t expect a spiritual lesson while walking along the shoreline, but life has a way of slipping truth into the most unexpected places.
We were simply enjoying the breeze, the sun dipping low into the horizon, the rustling sound of the waves, and the softness of the sand, until we stumbled upon a patch that felt strangely different. It was moist, and while we were just playing around with our bare feet, we noticed something odd … our feet were slowly sinking.
It felt like quicksand … not the dramatic kind that swallows you whole in an instant, but something that felt alive. Even while standing still, I could feel the earth gently but persistently tugging at my feet.
We laughed. It wasn’t dangerous … we knew that. But still, it was bizarre. I stood in one spot for a while, curious. And then, it got real. I felt my legs sinking past the ankle, reaching the mid of my shin. The sand tightened … for real. My calves felt wrapped in something cold and unyielding. We were still laughing about it and so fascinated when I saw across me Lester was already almost past mid-shin sunken in the sand and just told everyone to get off. It’s fun (and a little eerie), and honestly, it’s a great metaphor too … something that seems solid but slowly pulls you in when you stay still too long.
Later that night, back at the villa, we were recounting the day’s highlights with Ken and Dina, who weren’t able to join us. As we shared the “quicksand moment,” Dina said something that struck a chord: “That’s exactly what temptation feels like.”
She was right.
That is what temptation feels like. Temptation doesn’t always scream danger. It often comes dressed in comfort. It starts soft. Innocent. Maybe even fun. You think you’re in control, that you can just try it and step away whenever you want.
Until you can’t.
Temptation is just like that sand. Like that sand, temptation doesn’t pull you in all at once. It looks harmless, normal even. But the longer you stay, the more it grips you. And the more you try to fight it on your own, the tighter it gets
Dina reminded us of something our senior pastor once said :
“It is easier to avoid temptation than to resist it.”
I already know this but it made so much sense as I recalled how I felt the sand slowly claim my legs that day.
And Scripture backs that up. Joseph knew it too.
When Potiphar’s wife tried to seduce him, he didn’t flirt with the line. He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to “stand his ground.”
“But he left his cloak in her hand and ran out of the house.” — Genesis 39:12
He RAN.
The Apostle Paul echoes the same wisdom in the New Testament:
“Flee the evil desires of youth and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.” — 2 Timothy 2:22
Don’t fight it. Flee it. You’re not weak for running. You’re wise for refusing to stand where the ground is not safe.
Here are 3 truths I’m holding on to after that beach moment:
Temptation often looks harmless at first. That’s why awareness is key. Don’t stand where you’re not meant to.
The longer you linger, the harder it is to escape. What seems manageable now can suffocate you later.
The wisest move is not resistance, but distance. Don’t argue with temptation—outrun it.
So the next time you find yourself near something that feels “off,” remember this: You don’t need to prove how strong you are. You just need to stay where the ground is solid.
I recently watched Wicked for the second time. And it still, exceeded my expectation. The visuals were dazzling and had my heart pounding. The songs especially Unlimited and Defying Gravity had me smiling like it was the first time. And the lines? Even wittier, even sharper than I remembered.
I walked into the theatre expecting entertainment with maybe a sprinkle of The Wizard of Oz nostalgia. What I didn’t expect was to walk out with a journal full of questions about human nature, courage, and the stories we choose to believe about others, and ourselves. It left me holding a mirror up to my own heart. Because more than the green face paint and broomsticks, Wicked is a story about perception, prejudice, power, and most of all TRUTH.
Here are the reflections that stayed with me long after the curtain closed.
Born This Way? One of the most striking questions raised in the play is: Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them? It’s haunting, but also liberating to consider that we are born with a clean slate. Innocent. Curious. Capable of great love and great light. And yet through judgment, rejection, misunderstanding, then white starts turning into gray. What starts out pure slowly distorts.
Elphaba wasn’t wicked. She was simply different. And that was enough for the world to turn against her.
The Power of Being Seen There’s a moment when Elphaba unintentionally unleashes her powers, causing a stir in the classroom. People are scared. But instead of punishing her, her teacher sees something else: TALENT.
It hit me hard. Because how often do we confuse unfamiliar with dangerous? How we silence the extraordinary because it shows up in ways we don’t expect. All it took was one voice to say, “You have something special.” And in that moment, Elphaba’s life takes a new direction. Sometimes, that’s all it takes, to be seen, to be spoken to. It’s a quiet nudge to all of us. Never underestimate the power of being seen. Never underestimate the power our words hold to another life.
Unlimited: A Song, A Mindset “Unlimited. My future is unlimited…” It’s more than a lyric, it’s a reminder.
Our past does not define the ceiling of our future. Even when others try to limit us, even when we doubt ourselves, there is always space to grow beyond what’s been written for us. Believing in what’s possible is where transformation begins.
Dr. Dillamond : When Voices are Silenced. “If you make it discouraging enough, you can keep anyone silent.” — Dr. Dillamond, Wicked
The talking goat professor, Dr. Dillamond, finds himself gradually silenced. His very identity is threatened, and eventually, he’s removed from his position.
It’s subtle, yet painful. Discouragement doesn’t always shout, it often whispers. And when the system repeatedly tells someone they don’t belong, the easiest thing to do is to fade away. Sometimes, oppression doesn’t come as a roar. It comes as a whisper that tells us to keep quiet, play small, or stay in line.
When discouragement grows loud enough, it can muzzle even the wisest voices.
His story is a warning: when voices are quieted, we all lose a bit of our collective wisdom.
The Wizard and the Trap of Applause The Wizard of Oz wasn’t evil, per se. He was just caught. Caught in the facade. Caught in the praise. Caught in the version of himself that others believed in.
When people told him he was “wonderful,” he didn’t correct them. He leaned into the illusion, because who wouldn’t want to be adored? Eventually, the illusion swallowed him whole. It’s a cautionary tale for any of us chasing approval. It’s dangerously easy to become a prisoner of the persona we create to please others. And I’m reminded … I only need an Audience of One. I don’t need the applause of many or anyone because I have Him who knows me. His applause is louder than any uproar. Whenever I feel the pull for approval, I return to this truth: I don’t need to be loud to be seen by the One who truly knows me. This song keeps me grounded :
I don't need my name in lights I'm famous in my Father's eyes Make no mistake He knows my name I'm not living for applause I'm already so adored It's all His stage He knows my name oh, oh He knows my name oh, oh
I'm not meant to just stay quiet I'm meant to be a lion I'll roar beyond a song With every moment that I've got True to who You are You saw my heart And made Something out of nothing - He Knows My Name by Francesca Battistelli
Defying Gravity: The Courage to Rise Of course, Wicked’s most iconic anthem is Defying Gravity. And it’s not just a song about flying, it’s about rising. Rising above judgment. Rising above fear. Rising above who the world says you’re supposed to be.
It’s that defining moment we all face at some point where we stop waiting for permission and choose to live truthfully, even if it means flying solo.
The Other Side of the Story But if there’s one takeaway that truly left an imprint on me, it’s this: There is always another side to the story.
Elphaba was labeled as “wicked,” but the truth never made it to the spotlight. Her reputation was built on lies, her actions twisted by those in power. And it makes you wonder … how many people in real life are living under labels they never asked for?
How many “villains” are just misunderstood? How many “outcasts” are simply walking a different path?
It reminded me that judgment is easy but context is everything. Behind every story is another version waiting to be heard. And behind every person is a history we don’t see.
So maybe the question isn’t “Is she wicked?” Maybe it’s: “What don’t I know yet?”
Wicked isn’t just a reimagining of Oz. It’s a challenge. A call to question how we define good and evil, how we treat those who are different, and how quickly we accept one version of the truth. And maybe that’s what Wicked ultimately teaches us: That truth isn’t always what’s seen. That judgment is often louder than understanding. And that the most radical thing we can do is pause, lean in, and look again.
Because behind every label is a life. And behind every “wicked” face is a story still unfolding.
And maybe, just maybe, the most courageous thing we can do is to defy the gravity of assumption and CHOOSE COMPASSION instead.
Let these words remind us:
“The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” — 1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)
“What If We Stopped Asking ‘What’s Wrong with You?’ and Started Asking ‘What Happened to You?’“
My nieces had been telling me for the longest time to watch WEAK HERO CLASS1, raving that it’s “one of the best dramas ever!” I dismissed it for a while but then came the announcement of Season 2, and when I saw Season 1 pop up on Netflix, I gave in.
Episode 1 felt a bit strange at first. “This is it?” I thought. Just another bullying-centered show? But I stayed. And slowly, I understood. Weak Hero Class 1 wasn’t just a bullying drama. It was a mirror. A raw, unflinching mirror of youth – angsty, vulnerable, silent in their battles. The drama hit deep. Beneath the fists and flying kicks was a cry for help, a reflection of brokenness that many people hide behind strong fronts.
The lead character Si Eun, quickly caught my attention. e brainy kid, withdrawn and emotionless, but quietly resisting. There’s Su Ho, an MMA fighter with enough guts in school but keeps low key (not to mention Su Ho was so handsome). But what shook me most was the character that most people hate: Beom Seok.
Beom Seok: The Character I Pity The Most
Many viewers dismissed him as weak, unstable, or even vile in the end. But to me, he was a tragedy. A child so used to abuse and neglect that when love finally came, he didn’t know how to hold it.
Beom Seok had been bullied in his former school. Worse, he was bullied twice as hard at home. His own father beat him and belittled him physically, emotionally, psychologically. So when he found friendship in Si Eun and Su Ho, it was like finally finding sunlight after being stuck in a basement for years. But sunlight, when you’re used to darkness, can feel blinding.
He started doubting his place. A small thing like Su Ho not following him back on Instagram triggered deep insecurity. Petty to some, but to a wounded heart, it was proof of rejection. Add to that the voice of the loan shark mocking him “You’re just a minion” and the toxic self-doubt his father instilled in him took over.
The night his father beat him with a golf club was the same night his “friends” bonded without him. They didn’t mean harm, but in his pain, it was betrayal. Salt on an open wound. And in his festering hurt, the monster inside awakened until he did the unthinkable … sending Su Ho into a coma.
I stared at that scene, disturbed not because of the violence. But because I could understand how he got there.
Lessons That Hit Close to Home
1. Social media has distorted our sense of connection. Beom Seok believed Su Ho didn’t value their friendship just because he didn’t follow him back on Instagram. It sounds absurd until we realize how many people today measure relationships through likes, tags, and online attention.
In real life, people feel rejected when their message is “seen” but not replied to. Or when a close friend posts a happy moment without them. These tiny moments online breed giant insecurities offline.
But connection runs deeper than social validation. Su Ho showed his care through action, defending Beom Seok, checking up on him, even confronting his old bullies. But Beom Seok missed all that because he was tuned into the wrong channel: the one called insecurity.
2. The voice in your head can either heal you or destroy you. We all talk to ourselves. But for some, the voice inside isn’t kind. Beom Seok heard the same degrading words his father used on him over and over … until they felt like truth.
That’s why community matters. Real, healthy friendship is where we can say, “I’m not okay,” and not be judged. A safe space to just be who we are. A place to silence the wrong voices by speaking truth out loud.
Imagine if Beom Seok had opened up: If he had just said: “I feel left out. I feel like you don’t care about me.” Would things have turned out differently?
Many people today feel just like him. They don’t speak because they’re afraid they’ll be seen as weak or dramatic. But silence is the perfect breeding ground for lies. We need people around us who won’t just hear us but help us hear what’s real.
3. Everyone has a context—no one becomes broken for no reason. Beom Seok wasn’t born a villain. He was a boy with wounds no one saw. Every kick he gave to Su Ho was a cry for help. A punch of pain he never processed. A desperate attempt to matter. Hurt people hurt people. It’s not an excuse but for some if not many, it explains the pain that shaped them.
Beom Seok didn’t want to hurt Su Ho. He loved Su Ho. But that love, twisted by fear and insecurity, exploded. The scene where he’s crying over Su Ho’s unconscious body broke me. It wasn’t just guilt … it was grief. Grief over what he lost, and over what he had never been taught: how to receive love.
How many people today lash out not because they’re cruel, but because they’ve never been shown what love truly is? How many are angry simply because no one ever made them feel safe enough to be soft?
Si Eun understood. Despite everything, Si Eun tried to keep the friendship. He told Su Ho, “Understand him a little.” Because he knew. He knew what it was like to be numb, broken, angry and just needing someone to stay.
Weak Hero Class 1 isn’t just about high school fights. It’s about how fragile we all are behind the masks. It’s about the battles people fight in silence. It’s about Beom Seok … a boy who just wanted to be loved, but when he finally found, didn’t know how to believe it.
And maybe, that’s the saddest thing of all.
Watching this drama didn’t just give me entertainment, it gave me perspective. I couldn’t help but think: how many Beom Seoks are around us today? People who look fine on the outside but are actually carrying invisible bruises? People whose silence is not indifference, but fear? Whose anger is not hate, but heartbreak?
My personal takeaway is this … we need to be slower to judge and quicker to listen. Behind every difficult person is often a deep pain. And while pain doesn’t excuse harm, understanding it can be the start of healing, not just for them, but for us too.
I realized all the more how important it is to be a safe space for others. To check in even when someone pushes you away. To speak life when all they hear is condemnation. To follow up not just on Instagram but in real life.
So here’s my quiet call to action:
Be someone who sees beyond the surface. Be someone who listens without immediately trying to fix. Be someone who chooses compassion, even when it’s easier to walk away.
Because sometimes, what a person needs most isn’t a solution. Just someone who stays, even when the monster shows up.
Let’s be the kind of friend that reminds others: You are not alone. You are seen. You are loved.
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” — Wendy Mass
“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience… And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.” — Colossians 3:12,14 (NIV)
It was a short weekend. Blink, and it passed. But it’s the kind that lingers long after the goodbyes.
A group of friends, some of them strangers to us just days ago, flew in from Cebu for a quick visit. Some of them were first-timers in Singapore. You’d think they’d spend their first day exploring the sights. But no. Their first stop? A quiet hospital room, visiting one of our own who had been confined. They didn’t know him personally, but it didn’t matter. Somehow, in a room filled with strangers, it felt like family. Love has a way of cutting across introductions.
That moment struck me. When people share a common heart for something bigger than themselves, it doesn’t take long for connection to happen. It’s like skipping the small talk and jumping straight to the part where you feel safe, seen, and supported.
Throughout the weekend, stories flowed about joys, struggles, and the small victories of everyday life. Each outreach, each little pocket of people from different cities, has its own share of challenges. But in the sharing, there was learning. In the listening, strength. What one group is strong at becomes a light for the other. What one is weak in becomes a shared prayer. And just like that, each calling, each community, gets a little more fortified.
And then there’s the men from the Cebu team. What a surprise they were. Loud, fun, full of life, and full of love. They teased one another, hugged without hesitation, and ended their conversations with “I love you.” I watched, quietly amused, then deeply moved. It’s rare to see that kind of brotherhood. Rare, and beautiful. It made me wonder: if more men loved this openly, how different would our families be? our communities be? our world be?
So yes, it was a short weekend. But it packed something big. It reminded me that people don’t have to journey together long to matter to one another. Sometimes, all it takes is a shared purpose, a little vulnerability, and the courage to say, “I’m here for you,” even if we just met.
And maybe, just maybe, say “I love you” while we’re at it.
Because at the end of the day, what binds us is love … GENUINE, UNSELFISH, and ENDURING.
As the Scripture reminds us:
“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” —John 13:35
A reminder that marching on is not just one bold move, but many small, faithful ones.
Before 2024 ended, my friends and I asked ourselves a simple but powerful question: “What will your 2025 headline be?” It was our way of manifesting what we wanted to see ourselves achieving in 2025. Mine was: “From holding back to marching on.” Bold. Hopeful. Scary.
You see, I had dreams tucked away for too long, one of which is stepping into professional speaking, a passion rooted in my desire to inspire and encourage others. After joining the Get Paid to Speak bootcamp, I felt like I had finally taken the first step. I imagined speaking in workshops or conferences, writing a book or even a shallow but equally big dream of emceeing a fan meet … Dreams that once felt distant now seemed within reach.
But then came the whispers: “Can I really do this?” “What do I have to offer?” The familiar hesitation returned, dressed up as busyness and doubts. Until one day, just before the new year, I told myself: “Enough. I have to march on.”
I declared 2025 as the year I’d finally start … intentionally, courageously.
Then January passed. February. And in a blink, Q1 was over. Work picked up speed. Travel came back into the picture. My Wednesday prayer nights often clashed with meetings and commitments. It felt like the stars weren’t aligning. Not yet.
Tonight, at our Wednesday prayer night, we were asked: “What’s your biggest answered prayer for the first quarter?” For a moment, I couldn’t think of anything. Time flew by. What did I accomplish? Did I even move? And then I remembered March.
A group of students, aged 14 to 18, visited from a school in the Philippines. I was invited to speak to them – no formal topic, just a short talk about being a “Global Filipino.” And as I stood there, sharing my heart with these young dreamers, I felt something sparked within me once again … JOY. PURPOSE. FIRE.
It hit me … this was it. This was an answered prayer.
Because more than just being able to speak, I had the opportunity to inspire. Not just to push them toward worldly success, but to question the “why” behind their dreams. I reminded them that being a Global Filipino isn’t just about how far you can go but how many people you uplift along the way.
That same Sunday, we brought these students to Lucky Plaza to meet our fellow Filipino OFWs. I watched their eyes open to the pain, strength, and sacrifices of our kababayans. That encounter didn’t just move them, it inspired them and deepened their dreams.
To cap off March, I took a trip to Hong Kong with friends, and once again found myself in the heart of Central, surrounded by hardworking OFWs, each one with a story, a sacrifice, a hope. I carried with me a quiet ache and a growing question: How can we help our kababayans here too?
So here I am, closing Q1 of 2025 with no big speeches. No emcee gigs. No book launch. None Yet. But I am grateful. Because maybe this quarter wasn’t about doing something grand, but about remembering why I wanted to start in the first place.
My heart still beats for people. And in a fast-paced world like Singapore, where it’s easy to grow numb, that alone is a gift. To still feel. To still care. To still long to serve. From holding back to marching on … maybe that’s not just a one-time leap, but a step-by-step journey. And this was my first step. A reminder that marching on is not just one bold move but many small, faithful ones.
As I reflect on this journey, I’m reminded that even the quietest acts of obedience matter. That our not-yets still hold purpose. And our small yeses, strung together, can move mountains. Because in the end, it’s not always about how far we’ve gone but that we’ve chosen to begin and to keep going. Even if we don’t see the full picture yet. Even if the timing feels off or the path still feels unclear. What matters is that we move. In faith. In love. With purpose
As one wise voice once said: “Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.” – Martin Luther King Jr.
And in those steps especially the quiet, unseen ones, we hold on to this promise: “And let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” – Galatians 6:9 (NIV)
“Rain may pour as if it would sweep everything away. But once the sun starts blazing again, life rises again, no matter what.”
As a K-drama fan for decades now what really draws me to K-drama aside from the script, cinematography, OST, oppas and eonnies are the life lessons and reflective thoughts I get from watching them. There are dramas that entertain and then there are dramas that leave a mark, and When Life Gives You Tangerines left a deep imprint in my heart. It is one of those rare gems that wrap you in warmth while peeling open the tender truths of life. There’s just too many lessons this K-drama has reminded me but here are 12 lessons that most struck me, as sweet and tangy as the title suggest.
1. When Life Feels Like Drowning, Be Like a Haenyeo Life is hard. When you’re ready to give up, remember the haenyeo – women divers who face death every time they go to sea but find reasons to return. Ae Sun’s mother, before her passing, left behind these searing words:
“When your body’s tired and your heart wants to give up, there will be days when you want to give up on life. Refuse to back down. Fight to pick yourself back up. Take out a blanket and stomp on it. Till your soil. Go earn your money. If you tell yourself ‘I won’t die. I’m gonna survive,’ and use your arms and legs to push you up, you’ll get past the dark waters and finally see the sky. By then, you’ll breathe again.”
2. Community: It Takes a Village to Keep One Person Alive When Dong Myeong died, it wasn’t just his family that grieved, it was the whole village that stepped in. Neighbors cooked meals, fed the children, and quietly cared for the family in their lowest moment. The two elderly landlords, who had been secretly leaving food at their doorstep every night, reminded Ae Sun and all of us of this beautiful truth:
“No haenyeo goes diving by herself. When you’re about to lose breath in the deep, dark waters, you have to be near other divers. Otherwise, you won’t be able to breathe again. No one’s an island. Let’s go together. If you go with others, a hundred miles will feel like ten, my dear.”
These words hold a quiet power. We often pride ourselves on independence, but there will be seasons in life when we can’t stand on our own. And that’s okay. It doesn’t make us weak, it makes us human. We need people who can breathe with us when the waters are deep. We heal faster in the presence of community. We are meant to go through life together, not alone.
3. Breakups are more than endings
The breakup between Yeong Beom and Meum Gyeong wasn’t dramatic, it was painfully real and quietly brave. When Yeong Beom asked, “Is it because you don’t love me anymore?” Geum Myeong replied:
“I love you so much. I do love you deeply … but I love myself too.”
That line stopped me in my tracks. It wasn’t a lack of love that ended their relationship, it was the wisdom to recognize that love alone isn’t always enough. Geum Myeong saw how their future together might lead to resentment, not because of each other, but because of what they’d have to give up for the relationship. When Yeong Beom offered to leave his mother behind, Geum Myeong could have accepted but she didn’t. Because she knew doing so would slowly break his heart.
This moment was a powerful reminder that in relationships, it’s not just about how much we love each other. It’s also about how well we love ourselves and how mindful we are of what the other person needs to live with peace and wholeness. Sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is to let go before love becomes a burden or a regret.
4. Family Will Always Have Your Back Even when words fail, when tempers flare, when misunderstandings happen, FAMILY STANDS.
Throughout Geum Myeong’s life, her father Gwan Shik was her quiet anchor, never controlling, never demanding, but always present. Whether it was encouraging her to eat that unfamiliar vegetable as a child, cheering her on during her first day of school, supporting her passion for running, pushing her to pursue college, or standing behind her decision to get married, Gwan Shik was consistent in one message: “Go ahead. Chase what you want. And if you lose or give up, it’s okay, you can always come back to me.”
That kind of love is rare. It doesn’t trap you, it frees you. It gives you the courage to dream because you know that no matter what happens, you’ll never return to shame, you’ll return to open arms.
It reminded me of the father in the parable of the prodigal son, not only waiting, but running toward his child with joy. We may fall, lose our way, or back down from what we once hoped for. But family most especially a parent’s love remains a place of belonging, of grace, of return.
5. A Parent’s Love Always Finds a Way We often speak of a mother’s love as overflowing and it is. But this drama also beautifully portrayed the quiet, determined, and self-sacrificing love of a father. When Eun Myeong was wrongly imprisoned, Ae Sun didn’t hesitate to confront the mother of his business partner, the real thief, with boldness and fury. At the same time, Gwan Shik silently sold his beloved boat to help pay for the bail. Even Sang-gil, their arch-enemy turned Eun Myeong’s father-in-law, used his connections to uncover the truth and clear Eun Myeong’s name.
And later, when Gwan Shik saw his son struggling to regain dignity by selling rice cakes, he didn’t give him cash directly. Instead, he quietly asked Sang-gil to distribute money around the neighborhood so people would buy from Eun Myeong, allowing his son to keep his pride while still getting the support he needed.
That’s what struck me: parental love, both a mother’s and a father’s, is not only inexhaustible, it’s incredibly creative. It finds ways. Even when circumstances are against them, parents will exhaust every possibility, give up their last possession, or work behind the scenes to make sure their children get another chance at life.
It reminded me that true love doesn’t always show up with grand speeches, it often appears in quiet sacrifices and well-thought-out actions. Whether you’re winning in life or trying to start over, a parent’s heart is to lift you not with pity, but with dignity
6. Behind Rebellion Are Longings, Not Just Defiance At first glance, Eun Myeong came off as the typical “rebellious” son, distant, defiant, and constantly clashing with his family. But as the story unfolded, we saw the truth behind the attitude: he wasn’t rebelling to hurt his parents, he was aching to be seen.
His rough edges masked a tender heart. He wanted to succeed, not for pride’s sake, but to finally give back to his parents and ease their burden. Beneath his frustrations were unspoken longings, to be acknowledged, to be understood, to be enough. Even his harsh words were not hatred, they were guilt, grief, and love all tangled together.
And then there’s Geum Myeong. Outwardly the “good” child, yet even she found herself snapping at her mother often for fussing too much or scolding her father for waiting in the cold outside her apartment in Seoul. But again, it wasn’t real anger. It was her way of wrestling with the pain of watching her parents go above and beyond for her even when it hurt them. Sometimes it’s easier to react with irritation than to confront the heartbreak of knowing how much they sacrifice, all while feeling helpless to repay it.
This reminded me how often we, as children, speak carelessly to the ones who’ve sacrificed most for us. We scold, we pull away, sometimes even blame them, when deep down, we’re really angry at ourselves for not doing better, for seeing them give so much while we feel we’re giving so little.
Sometimes, what looks like rebellion is really just a cry to be noticed and loved in a way that speaks to our wounds. And more often than not, it comes from a place of deep love, love we don’t always know how to express.
7. Parenting Doesn’t Come With a Manual Raising a child is never straightforward. There’s no one-size-fits-all formula, no perfect script. Parents do their best with what they know and sometimes, that still leads to unintentional hurt.
There’s a tendency to favor the child who fits the mold: the one who excels in school, behaves “responsibly,” and makes parenting seem easy. Meanwhile, the child who struggles, who questions, who rebels, often gets misunderstood or overlooked. Yet, the truth remains. parents love all their children deeply. The expressions may differ, the understanding may fall short at times, but the desire is always to give them the best.
A compelling example is Yeong Beom’s mother. Her love for her son was real, undeniable, even. But that love, unchecked and unexamined, swung into control. She longed so much for her son’s success and stability that she crossed the line from guiding him to owning his life. In trying to hold on to him, she ended up breaking his heart. The result was a scar he carried for the rest of his days, a quiet regret that no one could heal.
Her story reminds us that even love can wound if it forgets to give space. Parents may mean well, but without balance and respect for a child’s individuality, love can feel like a cage instead of a refuge. In the end, parenting is a journey of learning, unlearning, forgiving, and trying again. And despite the mistakes, it remains a love that will always try to reach its children even if it stumbles along the way.
8. Love That Plans Even Beyond Goodbye Until his last breath, Gwan Shik’s thoughts were not on himself, but on Ae Sun, and how she would be after he was gone. He worried about her being alone in the hospital, unaccompanied and grieving. And so, even in his weakness, he gently made Geum Myeong promise: Take care of your mother. Be sweet to her.
But Gwan Shik didn’t stop there. In quiet, intentional ways, he left behind tokens of love, thoughtful, tender gestures that would carry on when he no longer could. He returned to Geum Myeong all the money she had sent him over the years, not having spent a single cent, his way of honoring her sacrifices and silently saying, “I saw everything you did for me.”
To Eun Myeong, he gifted the Mercedes Benz, an item that symbolized both their unspoken dreams. Gwan Shik never got to enjoy cars the way he once hoped, and Eun Myeong had dreamed of giving his father that very car. In the end, Gwan Shik made that dream come true for his son, fulfilling what both of them longed for in their own quiet ways.
And to Ae Sun, he left a fixed cupboard, an ordinary item made sacred by love. He knew she would face the world alone, so he left little anchors of care, hidden in the most practical of places.
It was all love. Not loud or dramatic, but deeply felt. Gwan Shik showed us that real love isn’t just in how we live with the people we love, it’s also in how we prepare to leave them, making sure they’re held, even in our absence.
9. Bu Sang-gil: A Rough Shell, a Redeemed Heart Bu Sang-gil is one of those characters who surprises you. On the surface, he’s rude, grumpy, and tough, cunning even. The kind of man you’d assume doesn’t care much, not even about his family. But beneath the harsh words and hard exterior lies a heart full of quiet care and hidden fears.
He hid the fact that he knew his wife was dancing, not out of neglect, but because he feared that confronting it would drive her away. His scoldings toward his children were just a front for the love he didn’t know how to express. He would sleep in the living room just to make sure his daughter returned home safely.
And when Eun Myeong, his son-in-law, was imprisoned, it seemed like Sang-gil did nothing by not giving money to bail him out. But in reality, he was working behind the scenes, bribing the police, using his connections, not just to get Eun Myeong out of jail, but to clear his name. It wasn’t about saving face; it was about saving a man’s dignity.
Sang-gil reminds us that some people love differently. Not everyone is expressive or affectionate. But love that hides in the shadows is still love. And when given a second chance, even the hardest hearts can show the deepest care.
10. When Guilt Becomes a Prison When we love deeply and bad things happen, we often carry a guilt that’s not ours to hold. Geum Myeong quietly bore the weight of believing her stubbornness led to her brother Dong Myeong’s death. Eun Myeong thought that if he hadn’t left his brother that day, he might still be alive. Ae Sun regretted not hugging Dong Myeong or stopping him from going out.
But perhaps the most heartbreaking was Gwan Shik, the steel of the family, who for 30 years buried his sorrow, believing that if he hadn’t gone out to build the retaining wall, his son would still be with them. He remained strong for everyone else, but inside, he imprisoned himself in guilt. And yet, the truth is, some things are simply beyond our control. The world is broken, life is fragile, and not everything that happens is because of what we did or failed to do
It’s right to take responsibility when needed, but we also need to learn how to forgive ourselves. To stop living in the grip of “what ifs” and begin walking in the grace of “even so.”
As Romans 8:1 reminds us: “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”
We were never meant to carry the burden of guilt forever. Forgiveness, both from God and toward ourselves, is what sets us free. In love, we must remember: our humanity is not a failure; it’s the space where God’s grace meets us.
11. Living Fully, Even in Old Age Ae Sun’s conversation with Geum Myeong was one of my favorite, if not my MOST favorite scenes in the drama. When Guem Myeong asked her why she had to go back to the nursing home often. It came from a place of love and concern, after all to Guem Myeong her mother have been busy all her life and if it were her, she would just be relaxing and enjoying life.
But Ae Sun, with a spark still alive in her, answered with conviction that stirred something deep in me : “You need a calling in this world. It’s important at my age.” “I only go [to the nursing home] because I get excited doing that. So when I’m there, ‘Teacher Ae Sun’ is what I’m called. Basically, I’m moving up quite a lot in this world.”
She went on to recount the seasons of her life – from diver’s daughter and a crying child to an embarrassed bookworm, then a proud wife of a boat captain, finally a village chief’s spouse, sunk down again to fish market lady, then back up to a teacher at 70, and now, poet. Her joy was never in the titles themselves but in the meaning and memory each season carried. And she closed with a line that still echoes in my heart:
“You learn about life if you live through it. How shameful it would have been if I gave up on life. I’m so glad I lived all that I could.”
Ae Sun reminded me of Caleb in the Bible, who at 85 years old declared: “I am still as strong today as I was the day Moses sent me out… Now give me this mountain that the Lord promised me.” (Joshua 14:11–12)
Like Caleb, Ae Sun never saw age as a reason to retire from purpose. She shows us that as long as we have breath, we have something meaningful to give. We don’t just exist in old age, we can still conquer, still create, still contribute
12. Appreciate Life—Tangerines and All Life message that has resonated personally to me through this drama and the life of Ae Sun and Gwan Shik: KEEP GOING. DON’T GIVE UP. Even in hard times, life still offers sweetness. It might not come in grand gestures, it might come in a shared meal, a comforting pat on the back, a warm poem at seventy. You don’t always get the life you dream of, but you can choose to live your life with the same happiness as if you were living your dream.
Ae Sun and Gwan Shik’s life taught me that we don’t need to wait for perfect conditions to start truly living. We can gather the pieces, both the broken and the beautiful and still build a life that means something. Her story isn’t just hers. It’s a mirror of ours. And as I watched her live with purpose, with poetry, and with quiet joy, I found myself reflecting: maybe life isn’t about chasing a dream that looks a certain way. Maybe it’s about choosing to live fully, freely, and fruitfully, with whatever life gives us.
There are rough seasons, times when life feels like a raging storm, scorching summer heat, or freezing winter cold. But there are also quiet mornings, laughter over meals, second chances, and tangerines that taste like sunshine. Ae Sun and Gwan Shik’s story reminds us to savor them all.
Overall, When Life Gives You Tangerines reminded me that resilience isn’t always loud. Often, it’s quiet and steady. It’s in the daily acts of showing up, loving deeply, forgiving fully, and choosing to live even when life feels uncertain. Again, as Ae Sun said, “You learn about life if you live through it. How shameful it would have been if I gave up on life. I’m so glad I lived all that I could.”
And so I’m reminded of this promise: “They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, ‘The Lord is upright; he is my Rock.’” – Psalm 92:14–15
Life may not always unfold the way we imagined, but it can still be fruitful. Still be beautiful. Still be worth living fully, gratefully, and with hope.
A Doodle In A Day 