Reflection on My First Few Days of Vacation: June 2025
June 12, 2025
What a deluge of reconnections. I knew I’d need a break from mundanity and routine, but I didn’t expect the overwhelming feeling of being home—just by seeing friends with whom I shared great moments, back when we were all coming of age, trying to find our place in the world. So many memories to reminisce on.
But along with the joy came unexpected pangs of sadness. As I caught up with them, I began to learn about the hardships they faced—the heartbreaks, the losses, the silent battles fought in the background of their lives. And I wasn’t there for any of it. Not out of neglect, but because life simply carried us in different directions. Still, I couldn’t shake the guilt of my absence. In those moments, all I could offer were words—well-meaning, but often shallow compared to the weight of what they had endured. I searched for the right things to say, hoping my responses wouldn’t come off as hollow reassurances. I wanted to bridge the gap between what they lived through and what I missed, to turn my empathy into something tangible. But I found myself leaning on phrases that teetered on the edge of cliché, trying to infuse them with enough sincerity that they might still resonate, might still offer comfort, or at the very least, presence.
Sepanx.
It’s so tempting to just stay here (I am currently in the Philippines)—to make up for all the time lost, for all the moments I wasn’t part of. And while I know the futility of that longing, it only speaks to the strength of what I’m feeling. Is there resolution in this? Probably not. But there is love—overflowing, stubborn, enduring. All I can do now is hold onto that love, nurture it as best as I can, and keep showing up however I can. Life updates. Sporadic calls. Frequent visits, maybe.
And just as I was sitting with these emotions, God—who always seems to have a flair for timing and a delightfully ironic sense of humor—brought forth a beautiful twist: a serendipitous moment of reconnection with a dear friend who lives in the States, and who I hadn’t spoken to in what feels like ages. It’s as if time folded in on itself, collapsing the years of silence into nothingness. There are also friends waiting to connect with me across the ocean, in the United States—relationships that, though distanced by miles, are no less real or cherished. And that reminder grounded me in an unexpected way: even as I long to remain here and reclaim what was missed, there’s another kind of presence waiting elsewhere. Love doesn’t live in one place alone—it stretches, expands, and somehow meets us wherever we dare to reach.
We spoke as though no time had passed at all. There was no awkwardness, no need to explain the gaps, no accounting for the time gone by. What remained, untouched and unwavering, was the love—steadfast, sincere, and familiar. It reminded me that some bonds are not defined by time or distance. They are held together by something deeper, something sacred. It’s the same with my friends here in the Philippines—years may have passed, lives may have taken different shapes, but the connection remains just as strong. And in that unexpected reunion, I felt both humbled and grateful—for the mystery of timing, for the constancy of true friendship, and for the quiet ways God chooses to remind us that love endures.
Oh life. In some ways, I think I’m grieving. Grieving the time we lost, the seasons we didn’t get to share, the versions of ourselves that grew up separately. It’s strange, this mix of joy and sadness. Maybe that’s just what happens as we get older. We learn that even the most beautiful reunions come with shadows. Still, that grief speaks volumes—it tells me how much these people have meant to me, how deeply our stories are intertwined. And in feeling it all, I know I’m honoring what we had and what, in some form, we still have.