Smile and Run

A Soul’s Reckoning: A Mystic Reflection

Six years ago, a soul crossed my path—and the trajectory of my life turned not in a circle, but into a spiral of transformation. He was a life coach, but to me, he was more: a mirror, a messenger, a moment of awakening.

Back then, I was entangled in a stormy dance with my husband—our bond, a tug-of-war between love and loss. We had met in the wild bloom of youth, when I was just seventeen, through a mutual friend in a dimly lit club on the shores of Boracay. We fell deeply, foolishly, fearlessly in love. In our own little dream-world, we spoke often of life and futures, of stars and the impossible. But none of it ever touched the earth.

I gave him all of me—my spirit, my fire, my being. He was my everything. But soon, his freedom became recklessness, and my devotion became desperation. I clung. He fled. And in this sacred dance of push and pull, we both unraveled the very fabric of what we built—trust, respect, even the family we had forged.

Our son remains the only relic of our tragic tale—a living poem born of passion and pain.

I judged myself mercilessly for what I had become in that relationship. Guilt and shame rose like shadows at dusk, every time memories whispered their weight. I didn’t know how to forgive myself, or him. The cycle was relentless, a labyrinth of mistakes repeating in echoes. I grieved—not just the loss of him, but the parts of me I abandoned in our downfall.

I had met him during my rebellion years, after fleeing from home. I lived on an island for a decade, wrapped in illusions, chasing dreams and shadows. And when we finally ended, truly ended, I sought solace in fleeting bonds—men who held me, men who mirrored my ache. But it only worsened the ache.

Yes, I loved them in fragments, but how can one give what she no longer owns?

Each one, however, taught me something—pieces of wisdom etched in their presence. These encounters deepened the mystery of my soul, expanded the corners of my knowing in ways my long relationship never had. Yet still, something pulled me away each time I tried to surrender to love again. Perhaps it was the legal cage of a marriage not yet undone. Perhaps my soul had grown weary of attachments written in ink but not in truth.

I feel it now—in my bones, in my breath—the exhaustion of chasing my own tail. A recent moment with my coach became a breaking point. I felt caged again—by systems, by formulas, by someone else's path to "elevated consciousness." My soul rebelled, not out of ego, but because it whispered, "This is not your way."

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was right. All I know is, I needed silence. Stillness. A retreat into the sacred cave of solitude—to find my own soul’s language, stripped of borrowed mysticism and borrowed truths.

I crave a foundation built within, forged in the fire of my own clarity. A life where no hand but my own writes the script. A life not dictated by programs, doctrines, or spiritual metrics. Just me. Authentic. Untamed. Real.

Because life is not a business. My soul knows this.

We often wear change like a badge, a shiny thing to say, “Look, I’ve evolved.” But even that can be illusion—just another veil over our darkness, just another trick to keep the ego entertained.

What is achievement, really, if it feeds a sense of self that vanishes when the applause dies?

I speak this now from the void—after living through acts I once feared, after dancing in the forbidden. And from that darkness, a strange wisdom emerged. I learned that not much truly changes. The core remains. For me, that core is music, poetry, art, philosophy, and the divine play of life itself.

Change is just a mask we wear to feel visible. To feel enough. That is why I turn away from praise—it fattens the ego. It awakens the illusion of a hero complex: “Let me change the world.”

But why?

What my soul longs for now is peace. A quiet, sovereign life. A life where no one determines my path but the wisdom that lives inside of me.

So now, I choose silence. I choose stillness. I choose me.

Let’s see what unfolds from here.