When “Political Blogger” shows up in your notifications again

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I was scrolling through X the way you do when you’re half-working and half-avoiding work. Then I saw it. A post by Atty. Jesus Falcis saying my name showed up, of all places, in a Grok-generated list of the Top 10 influential political bloggers in the Philippines.

I blinked. Twice.

Not because I think I don’t belong in political conversations, but because I haven’t been writing about good governance on blogwatch.tv as much as I used to. These days, my brain is often parked elsewhere. Family logistics, deadlines, the Agnep Heritage coffee farm. And still, there it was. My name. In a category I thought I am behind.

So of course I did what any mildly amused, slightly suspicious writer would do.

I asked Grok: Why am I on that list?

The short answer it gave me was this: ”due to longevity, historical significance, quality/depth, and spectrum balance—criteria that prioritize enduring contributions to civic engagement over raw 2025 viral metrics. She edges out purely emerging vloggers by representing the foundational independent voice in Philippine political blogging. In a landscape shifted toward high-engagement partisan content, her influence is more institutional and educational than mass-mobilizing, justifying inclusion among pioneers like Tordesillas and Robles while acknowledging lower current reach compared to top-ranked viral commentators.“

I laughed at “institutional and educational.” Not because it’s wrong, but because it sounded like the polite version of this. You’re not loud, but you left receipts.

And yes, I felt seen. A little.

But I also felt something else. An old itch I haven’t scratched in a while.

That itch is good governance.

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Reconciling with the past: The stranger in the graduation photo

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Some time ago, almost on a whim, I uploaded my high school graduation photo to Nano-Banana, an AI image generator. There was no big goal behind it. I was curious, that’s all. I wondered if a machine could somehow connect the sixty-eight-year-old woman I am now with the sixteen-year-old girl I used to be, or at least the version of her I still remember.

The result stopped me for a moment. I didn’t expect it to. It felt quietly unsettling. Familiar, yet not quite. Like running into someone you recognize but can’t immediately name. In the image, my past and present selves seemed locked in an awkward digital hug.

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The glow of memory: Christmas lights and my daddy’s quiet love

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Christmas doesn’t start for me when December hits. It doesn’t begin with shopping or wrapping paper either. It starts the moment someone switches on the lights and the room changes.

That soft glow. That’s it.

I’ve always loved Christmas lights. It sounds ordinary, but it isn’t. Not for me.

They’re not just there to look nice. They carry memories. They settle me. They pull me back to a time when things felt simpler and more secure. When I think of Christmas, this is what I see first.

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Ephemeral Serenity

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“Ephemeral Serenity” visualizes inner peace through a carefully chosen palette of soft blues, purples, gentle pinks, and creamy whites. These hues blend seamlessly, fostering a tranquil and harmonious atmosphere that resonates with tranquility. The absence of harsh contrasts and the prevalence of muted tones contribute to a feeling of serenity and emotional stillness, inviting contemplation. The artwork suggests that inner peace is not a singular shade but rather a delicate symphony of colors working together to evoke a sense of calm and equilibrium within the viewer.

Grace at 85: A loving reminder

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This letter is a promise to my 85-year-old self. Choose safety over pride. Say yes to help. Don’t make life difficult for the kids or caregivers.

Dearest me, at 85,

Hello from an earlier chapter—less experienced, still full of plans. I can see you now with that playful twinkle, a little glam as always, baby bangs and all.

A small request from your younger self: when the kids offer advice, really listen. They love us fiercely. Sometimes their ideas feel inconvenient or a bit pushy toward our independence, but they come from care. They notice things we might miss. That perspective is gold.

Same with our doctors. We spent years building a strong body and a steady mind; this is when we honor that work. Take their guidance on medicine, food, movement, and daily habits. Treat them like partners in our health. Listening is a form of self-love. Read More →

Dear 16-Year-Old Me: A letter from the future

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Dear 16-year-old me,

You’re probably rolling your eyes, thinking, “What could my old self possibly tell me?” Fair enough. I am you, only 52 years older, and there are certain matters you truly need to hear.

First, the tough part: the word “negra” your uncles sometimes use. I know how it feels every time they say it. It makes your morena skin and thick, beautiful hair seem like flaws. It makes you feel ugly.

Stop right there. They’re wrong. You are not ugly. Read More →

After loss, choosing life within

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I have been thinking about death lately, and then I stumbled on an old post of mine on “Death and Dying” with this line from Norman Cousins: “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside of us while we live.”

What dies inside me is not always the big stuff. It is often the quiet things: curiosity, courage, tenderness, and the habit of noticing small joys. Sometimes faith. Sometimes trust. Sometimes just the willingness to try again.

Grief can do that to me. So can my chronic ailments or a long season of stress. I keep moving, do the errands, show up. But the inner lights dim. Numb helps for a while. Stay there too long, and parts of me forget the way back.

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Grief is the price we pay for love

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I’ve heard it said, “Grief is the price we pay for love.” People say Queen Elizabeth II said it. Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is the words are true.

When I first heard it, I thought, that sounds harsh. Like love is some cruel deal, happiness traded for pain. But it’s not that. It’s just the truth no one wants to face.

Because when we love, we don’t think about the end. We laugh, we sit at the table together, we hold our kids close. We don’t stop and say, one day this will be gone. We can’t. We just live. And then, when loss comes, that’s when we realize. This is the cost.

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