But I learned to adapt - to hold my emotions on one hand, and my academic responsibilities on the other. I wanted him to be proud of me - even whilst battling his own silent battles.

I didn't always show it, but deep inside, I was learning how to survive while still trying to live.

For so long, I lived in the shadows of my own truth — hidden away in a closet, never to resurface. I was scared of rejection, disappointment, being "too much" or not enough.

In the end, my truth outshouted the fear I had fed for years. I spoke it — not with sparkle or spectacle, but with the steady, quiet strength of someone finally choosing themselves.

And in that moment — even just for a little bit, I found the beginning of self-love, of being free, and no longer apologizing for who I am as a person. I am as free as a bird, no longer caged by shame, fear, or of expectation, but was lifted by my truth, pride, and courage.

But behind those happy moments were silent storms — the sleepless nights, overthinking, tears, and invisible battles that I have no words to voice out.

Every night, I often asked myself in the mirror, "Am I enough?" Am I worthy of being loved if they discovered that behind that facade is a broken and shattered little gay boy who is too young for the world. There were days when I felt as if I was screaming in a world that didn't want to listen.

And just like in the song "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls — "I just want you to know who I am" — I yearned that in this lifetime of mine, to be known fully and without judgment.

Because being misunderstood brings its own form of loneliness.

A place where I could find solace, rebuild, and finally step confidently into who I was becoming. But I guess life just had other plans.

Just as I found my confidence and footing, the ground beneath me cracked open — that day my father passed away.

I was just in my first year in college. It felt like the world has stopped spinning. The man who stood by me, gave me love, the one who fed me, and the person who stood by me even when it went against his own values and beliefs, suddenly gone. The very person who was firm, yet loving and loud in his support.

He didn’t always agree with the path I chose, but he stood beside me anyway. "Kahit labag sa saloobin ko, suportado pa'rin ako sa'yo." In my eyes, that's what made him my hero.

And so, during that time, grief and sadness didn't just came to visit my very mind — it moved in. For the past few weeks after that, it overshadowed my emotion, echoed through the quiet night, and sat heavily onto my shoulders. There were days where I just wanted to stop everything. But somehow, despite the pain and suffering, I still showed up.

That loss shattered something in me… but it also lit a fire.

I realized that, as difficult as it was, this chapter would be one of growth, resilience, and sense of deeper purpose.

I embraced who I was, my roots, and what I've gone through. I opted for progress rather than perfection.

Every small act of courage — from speaking up in classes, comforting and helping a friend in need, and exploring the world one step at a time — it became a part of my healing process.

I found my purpose again, and slowly, I became someone I could be proud of — but even more so, someone I know my father would be proud too.

Back then, life just felt a little simple. Heart eyes at the mere sight of food and a person who didn't fear of sadness, identity crisis, or heartbreak. But I also didn’t know that one day, this very same photo would carry so much meaning. This photo is a reminder of where I came from and my motivation to continue moving forward.

I believe that we are all here for a reason.
Mine? To tell my story — not for attention, but so that someone, somewhere, feels a little less alone.

I want to be the voice that I needed when I was younger.

Whether I do this by voicing out, art, words, or by actions — I know that my sadness had a greater purpose.

This is to love with intention, and to live with purpose.