Flippin Pages

In July 2025, I visited, along with my colleagues, one of the residential facilities operating under our regional jurisdiction. Nestled in a densely populated area in Cebu City, the place opened its doors to children in need—those whose families couldn’t provide for their basic needs. The facility is run by religious individuals who live out their calling through a life of service, fully committed to God and humanity. They live by the principles of Mother Teresa—serving without expecting anything in return. Love and care were felt immediately as we arrived. We saw adult caregivers attending to more than a dozen children, all of similar age and height. The way the staff gently guided and embraced the children showed how deeply they cared. Their mission is to nurture these young ones until the day their parents or families are ready to welcome them back. I didn’t know each child’s story, but a deep sadness came over me. It was a strange feeling, considering I once worked as a case man...

“ Hear my words that I might teach you, take my arms that I might reach you... ” This line from the classic song The Sound of Silence has always echoed in my mind. It speaks of the longing to be understood, the desire to connect, and the pain of unspoken truths. Sometimes, silence is louder than words—it holds meaning, waiting to be heard. Over time, I’ve noticed that I tend to speak in a more figurative way. My thoughts are often shaped by things I’ve read in books, blogs, or articles, and by lessons I’ve gathered from my personal experiences. These insights have made me more reflective, more poetic even, in the way I express myself. There are moments when my mind feels full—thoughts swirling around, ideas waiting to be spoken. When I don’t let them out, they stay with me, especially at night. I find myself lying awake, thinking about advice I wanted to give, but held back. Not because I didn’t care, but because the thought wasn’t complete yet. Sometimes, I even forget where I fi...

Have you ever experienced two people giving completely different decisions for the same situation? Like duha ka doktor nga lahi ug diagnosis, or duha ka judges nga naghatag ug lahi-lahi nga sentensya for the same crime? That’s exactly what the book Noise: A Flaw in Human Judgment by Daniel Kahneman, Olivier Sibony, and Cass R. Sunstein talks about. It introduces a hidden problem that affects almost every aspect of decision-making: noise. Ang bias ug noise kay lahi. Bias is when you make the same mistake over and over—consistent siya nga sayop. Noise, on the other hand, is random and unpredictable. Sa Bisaya pa, walay klaro nga desisyon . Two people, same training, same goal—but very different outcomes. That’s noise. And we often don’t see it. The authors gave real-world examples, like when they conducted a noise audit sa usa ka insurance company. Employees were asked to review identical cases—but their assessments were far from the same. The bosses thought everyone would decide ...

I never expected to find it—this quiet little corner tucked away like a secret. A space I had walked past so many times without knowing it was there. But today, I turned and discovered something magical. It felt like stumbling into a miniature Times Square, not with towering billboards and flashing lights, but with walls echoing the heartbeat of art—raw, colorful, and alive. There was a certain volume to it—not of sound, but of imagination. Each stroke, each texture, every color pulled me deeper. My eyes widened, and my heart followed, savoring the feeling of being surrounded by something so passionately human. Art, in all its forms, spoke silently yet powerfully. For someone who loves art, it doesn’t take a masterpiece to stir something inside. Even a simple shadow on the wall, the way a paintbrush is left to rest on a wooden table, or how random objects are positioned just right—all of it sends the mind wandering. Imagination flies effortlessly in places like this. Art has a way of g...

I will always carry the thought of being the female version of my first love. As I watched his life unfold, I saw reflections of myself in him—not because I adored him deeply, but because his character mirrored mine so closely, except for the brilliance of his mind. That realization made me admire him even more. But love, in its mystery, often pairs opposites—two different souls fitting together like puzzle pieces. He got married last year, and last month they celebrate their anniversary with their first child. They look so perfect together that I sometimes wonder how God so clearly meant them for each other… and not for me. Perhaps this feeling of being stuck, unsatisfied, comes from my lingering attachment to the past. To the first person whose presence made my heart dance, whose footsteps painted my dreams with vibrant color. Seventeen years have passed since I began following his example, still in awe of how God crafted him so uniquely, and how he responded with grace and service. ...

  Back in school, we learned a lot about weather changes and natural disasters. Living in the Philippines, I grew up knowing that our country is one of the most vulnerable places when it comes to typhoons, earthquakes, and floods. Disasters are so common here that it felt like no month or semester passed without a drill. Fire drills, earthquake drills, typhoon drills—you name it. We practiced where to go and what to do when disaster hits. Storms might be predictable. Earthquakes? Not at all. And while we prepare as best we can, the truth is no one is ever truly exempt. Disasters don’t pick favorites. So the question isn’t really “Why do disasters keep challenging us?” It’s “Who suffers the most when they do?” Recently, the third typhoon of the year hit the Philippines, bringing intense rain to many provinces—including my hometown in Metro Cebu. Floodwaters surged through the streets, sweeping away cars and entering shops. Schools suspended classes, but that didn’t stop traffic fro...