Good relationships require effort from both sides.

The best relationships allow both people to grow.

Healthy relationships feel safe, not confusing.

“malalim ang galit ng taong mapagpasensya.”


heavy on this, kasi ang weird how we often praise people for being mapagpasensya without thinking about what that patience actually costs them. yong tahimik kahit pinagtitripan ng mga kaibigan, pinagiinitan, minamaliit, or repeatedly disrespected, madalas sinasabi, “ang mature nya” kapag hindi sumasagot sa magulang kahit nasasaktan na, “mabuti kang anak kasi di ka sumagot.”


parang sa atin, the ability to endure is automatically considered a virtue. sanay tayo sa “intindihin mo na,” “pagbigyan mo na,” “ikaw na ang umunawa,” hanggang sa yong taong laging umiintindi ang nauubusan ng taong iintindi sa kanya.


pero patience doesn’t mean walang limit. sometimes, it’s simply someone choosing silence because they know what their anger could do to a relationship. hindi lahat ng hindi gumaganti ay walang nararamdaman. hindi lahat ng “okay lang” ay totoong okay.


and maybe that’s the uncomfortable part of being filipino—we’re often taught to preserve relationships at almost any cost. family comes first, respect your elders, don’t talk back, don’t make things bigger than they are. magandang values naman ang respect and understanding, pero kapag ginagamit para patahimikin ang taong nasasaktan, patience stops becoming a virtue and starts becoming a burden.


kaya mabigat yong “malalim ang galit ng taong mapagpasensya.” kasi yong galit ng isang taong matagal nang tahimik isn’t necessarily sudden. it has history. may mga bagay na ilang beses niyang pinalampas, mga salitang pinili niyang hindi sagutin, mga pagkakataong pinili niyang umintindi kahit siya naman ang kailangang intindihin.


tapos kapag dumating na siya sa limit, saka sasabihin ng lahat, “nagbago ka na.” or worse, “lumabas na tunay na kulay niya.” actually, no. hindi siya biglang nagbago or what. matagal lang siyang nagtiis bago siya napagod.


kaya maybe we should stop assuming that someone’s silence means they’re okay. kasi a person can be patient and still be hurt. they can forgive and still remember. and they can love people while eventually learning that they also have limits.

I’m a people person. I value the bonds, the memories, I create with another person. I’m not into superficial friendships, though. I want to explore relationships that will last a lifetime. I want to know you inside and out. I’ll do whatever it takes to completely and utterly understand my friends. It’s my belief that you never really know someone until you’ve looked someone in the eye as they beg for their life. “I’m sorry,” were the last words whimpered with his final breath. His eyes faded dull and all life left his body. I am not a superficial friend.

That banyan tree still stands tall, its large canopy sprawling over my grandfather's farm, right in front of his palatial house, inherited from one generation to another. To be precise, inherited by the sons of the family from one generation to another. The daughters don't really inherit anything except the responsibility of being obedient and dutiful progeny, expected to marry into respectable families, give birth to healthy male heirs, take care of their parents, and be good sisters by giving up their share in their own father's property. I just gave away the recipe for brewing a perfect daughter in an imperfect society that survives on her sacrifice, yet mocks her daily.


To begin with, I visited mygrandfather's palatial house after fifteen years. I couldn't bring myself to visit the place where I learned to walk, talk, play, and throw unabashed tantrums at my grandmother after she passed away. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Every time I thought of the house that bore witness to my beautiful childhood, bereft of the one woman who made it a home truly in word and spirit, I felt I would choke on my own tears.


So here I was, fifteen years after my grandmother's death, without any invitation and without any reason. One day, I just woke up and felt in my bones that this self-inflicted exile should end. Not that anybody was waiting for me there, but still, it should end. The woman who had waited for me eagerly at the front door was long gone, and so were all the relationships attached to her. When the root snaps, the branches have no reason to remain bound to each other.


As I stepped out of the car, I was met with a familiar burst of air—not a smell, just the soothing brush of familiar air. A warm feeling crept inside me, yet it felt unknown, though honest. I pulled myself out of my whimsical train of thought and gathered the not-so-needed courage to go inside. What worse could happen? My grandmother couldn't die twice, right? Honestly, if people could die and take away all the memories attached to them, life would become easier. At least breathing would.


I gave the front door a slight push and went inside. Nobody really stays here anymore. Nobody really did, even when my grandmother was alive. She loved this house from the day she married my grandfather and died loving it, long after my grandfather was gone.


As I stepped inside, I saw Megha sitting on a charpoy in the balcony, weaving a basket. Megha was my late grandmother's most trusted house-help. She greeted me mechanically. I don't blame her; I had not maintained contact with her for a long time. She told me she came here often to clean the house, just as she had when my grandmother was alive.

Writing also as Barbara Vine, Ruth Rendell is a literary giant of the 20th Century, possessing an uncanny knack for weaving the strangest of tales out of the joys and pains of ordinary family life. Rendell offers up her themes on multiple penetrating levels, drawing upon ancient tragedy, quixotic dark humor, poignant intellect, and piercing insights into the darkest regions of the human psyche to reveal the disturbed family relationships unearthed in her works. In the process, it often shocks the reader at how fragile the separation between life on the page and off.


“Blood Lines” features her popular Inspector Reginald “Rex” Wexford investigating a murder that’s shattered the tranquility of a small bucolic community. A young woman discovers her stepfather’s brutally beaten body. She firmly denies knowing the identity of the murderer, but Wexford is convinced his primary suspects include the victim’s extended family. Wexford’s patient investigation reveals evidence of spousal abuse, infidelity, avarice, and betrayal, reminding him that the criminal impulse may be present in even the most routine or intimate of situations. It is vintage Rendell.

Do you remember when a few hours together felt like never enough?


Back then, after school, I’d drive Pat home, and before we knew it, it was already time to say goodbye. We’d have our little dates, hang out at each other’s homes, and always ask, “When can I see you again?”


Then we finished school and moved to Manila for work. We started in a small room, then moved to a bigger one, and then an even bigger one.


Then I moved overseas, and we found ourselves in a long-distance relationship. And we were back to asking the same question: “When can I see you again?”


Eventually, we got to be together again. Pat moved to Australia too, and together, we built a home. And just recently, we started another chapter in a new place.


Looking back, it’s crazy how much has changed. We used to count the hours we had together. Now, we get to share the ordinary ones too. Even cooking dinner feels like a date.


Home was never really a place for us. It was always wherever we were together. 🤍


If you already live with your person, don’t take it for granted. For so many couples, especially those in an LDR, this is the goal.


Who would you want to build a home with? Tag them or send this to them.


#livingtogether #couple #relationships #lovestory

I think long-lasting, healthy relationships are more important than the idea of marriage. At the root of every successful marriage is a strong partnership.

Honesty protects relationships.

A good heart and a good nature are two different issues, A good heart can win many relationships, But a good nature can win many good hearts

Water what waters you. What brings you peace, nurture it. What brings you joy, make time for it. What makes you feel loved, hold it close. You can’t keep pouring from an empty heart, so don’t be afraid to pour back into yourself, too.


Give your time to the people who make you feel seen. Stay close to the ones who check on you without being asked, celebrate your little wins, and make you feel safe enough to be yourself.


You deserve relationships where care goes both ways. It’s okay to step back. It’s okay to stop forcing things. Sometimes, protecting your peace simply means putting your energy where it is appreciated, returned, and allowed to grow.