Remembering the feeling

The Vibrance of Summer

In just three months, I’ll be turning 31. It’s hard to believe how quickly youth slips away. This morning, as I woke up early, it hit me—the stage of life when you're young and unsure of yourself. When shame, humiliation, and a lack of confidence seem to come naturally.

As I reflect on my youth, I realize it wasn’t all dark. I did have fun—an explosion of freedom, really. I was lucky. In my early twenties, I had a good career in design that paid well enough. I was living on a paradise island, where fun was always within reach. I met people from all over the world, attended parties, soaked in different cultures. Life was vibrant and diverse.

It was the ultimate human experience.

But beneath that colorful surface was something else—a heaviness I carried, quietly and constantly. I came from a dysfunctional family. The guilt, the pain, the things left unspoken—those stayed with me. They made me timid, rigid, afraid to show my real feelings. I became insecure, distrusting. I was operating from the belief that if I stayed in control, I wouldn’t be hurt. Ironically, I became the one who betrayed and avoided, who filtered reality to only hear what I wanted. I was judgmental, on edge, and hiding behind books, philosophies, and esoteric ideas—anything to avoid confronting my past.

I was trying to cover my wounds with knowledge.

I left home at 17. Packed my bags and went to Boracay, like a lost sheep. No goodbyes—just gone. That unsaid goodbye became the start of an untold story. A youth filled with risk and illusions. I got high, drank too much, laughed too loud, and pretended my life was perfect. But behind the laughter were anxieties, insecurities, and self-doubt. I didn’t know better. I did the best I could with what I knew at the time.

Emotional wounds don’t heal overnight. They require time, grief, and deep processing. You can’t bandage a bleeding soul and pretend it’s okay.

Now, as I write this, I no longer carry heavy feelings for the people who passed through my life. What matters are those who remained—those who are part of my core and genuinely support me. I know myself now. And I admit: it’s hard for me to trust. Hard to let people in. I defend myself with intellect and reason. I play with emotions, sometimes pretending they don’t matter. I grew up thinking emotions were weakness and perfection was the standard. Mistakes weren’t allowed. There was no space for listening or empathy.

My mental health suffered—and they didn’t even know.

I became an extrovert, surrounding myself with people I believed were successful and wise. I asked questions about life because I didn’t get those answers at home. My family, I realized, was often superficial—concerned with image, insecure, emotionally shallow. That’s my truth. My judgment. My grandmother was the only one who didn’t care much about material things, but even she had her flaws. No one is perfect. No family is perfect. And my life? Far from it.

Relationships have always been hard for me. I’m easily triggered, and I’m aware of it now. I used to be dramatic and self-centered. But I know: no one can fix me but me. Slowly, one layer at a time. I used to ignore others' feelings, only caring about the people I chose to keep around. It was toxic, and I’m addressing it. I’m learning to sit with discomfort, to resolve what I can, and to move forward—case by case.

Yes, I was difficult. I shut down. I avoided. I dismissed. But despite it all, I’m grateful for how my life turned out.

Every decision I make now, I trust, will flourish in its own time.

What matters most is staying grounded in reality. We don’t live in a fantasy world—we create those fantasies to escape the pain of the real one. But the mind is tricky. Still, every experience I’ve had was worthwhile. I now embrace my past as a vital part of who I am—a collection of memories that shaped me.

All memories—good and bad—belong. Every choice we make is part of our wholeness. Life isn’t about being one-sided. It’s about embracing the full picture.

In the end, life goes on. And so do we.

Have a good one.