I lost my happiness and the will to live. It feels like a part of me has already died, and only my breathing reminds me that I’m still here.

There’s a strange kind of silence that follows when you lose yourself. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that hums inside your chest, like grief that refuses to fade. You wake up, you move, you eat, you talk, but everything feels hollow, as if you’re only half-alive, functioning on muscle memory instead of purpose.

It’s hard to explain what it feels like to keep breathing when your soul feels tired. People say keep going, but they never tell you how heavy it is to carry a heart that no longer knows where it belongs. They say be grateful, but how do you find gratitude in emptiness? How do you feel alive when your body is the only part of you that hasn’t given up?

I used to think losing happiness was temporary, something that time could fix. But sometimes, it doesn’t fade. Sometimes, it lingers. You stop chasing joy and start learning how to survive without it. You learn to live inside the quiet, to exist in small fragments of light even when most of you is still in the dark.

Maybe that’s what life secretly is — the courage to breathe even when you no longer see the point. Maybe survival isn’t about strength but endurance: the ability to keep inhaling and exhaling even when your heart has forgotten the rhythm of hope.

And yet, somewhere beneath the exhaustion and numbness, I believe there’s a tiny pulse of life that refuses to die. It beats quietly, waiting for the day I remember how to feel again. Maybe it’s not happiness that I’ve lost forever; maybe it’s just waiting to be rediscovered in a new form — in a slower, gentler kind of living.

For now, my breathing reminds me that I’m still here. And perhaps, being here, even in this broken, uncertain state, is already something worth holding on to.

Only My Breathing Reminds Me I’m Still Here was originally published in Jenelyn Coloma Mabacquiao on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

October 2025.

Here I am again, sitting in the middle of the noise and silence of Manila, yet somehow feeling invisible to both. It’s strange how time keeps moving even when you’re stuck. Nine months of trying to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, things will make sense again.

Last year, I thought I had it all figured out. I earned my Certified Paralegal title in October 2024. I was proud, certain it would be my stepping stone. Then I thought world could give me more — more freedom, more growth, more stability. But I was wrong. What I found wasn’t growth, but stillness. Not freedom, but fatigue. And now, I’m here, drained, emotionally tired, and mentally lost.

There are days when I wake up and wonder if I’ve failed life, or if life is simply testing how long I can stand still before breaking. Every morning feels like the same routine: staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of both the past and the future pressing down. Every night, I fall asleep with my mind louder than my heartbeat, asking, What happened to me?

This year hasn’t been kind either. We lost my cousin, my sister in every way that mattered. She was light, laughter, and a piece of my childhood I never thought I’d lose. Her absence feels like a permanent silence in my chest. It changed everything. It made home quieter, meals emptier, and life heavier.

I try to remind myself that grief doesn’t mean weakness, and that being lost doesn’t mean I’ve failed. It just means I’m still here, still trying to find the road again. But some days, I can’t even find the will to stand.

And maybe that’s what it truly feels like to be lost and still breathing — to wake up with no direction but still choose to breathe anyway. To exist in the space between who you were and who you’re still becoming. It’s the ache of wanting to move forward but feeling your feet buried in the past. It’s the quiet kind of survival that no one claps for, the kind where you hold yourself together even when no one sees you breaking.

Still, there’s a small part of me, fragile but alive, that whispers: This isn’t the ending. Maybe it’s the calm before the plot twist I’ve been praying for. Maybe this version of me, the one who feels nothing and fears everything, is still becoming someone stronger. Someone who will look back at this chapter and finally understand why she had to break before she could rebuild.

Yes, life has been difficult. Yes, I am broke, unsure, and aching. But deep down, I still believe in something — the quiet magic of starting again. I believe that one day, I’ll look back on this version of myself, the one who had nothing, and thank her for holding on even when she didn’t know why.

So here I am. Lost, yes. But still writing. Still breathing. Still waiting for the moment when the story shifts, when the pain starts to make sense, and when my own plot twist finally unfolds.

I am still lost, but I am still breathing — and for now, that is enough.

What it feels like to be lost and still breathing was originally published in Jenelyn Coloma Mabacquiao on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Los Angeles, CA — My cousin had dreams — dreams that should have been fulfilled. She was a bright, hardworking 19-year-old student, set to graduate from senior high school, with plans to take Human Biology and a future waiting for her at the University of California.

In the early hours of Monday morning, March 31, 2025, she was in the passenger seat of a Toyota SUV when a reckless Lamborghini driver crashed into them shortly before 1:30 a.m. near 1st Street and Highland Avenue. The impact was violent. She was rushed to the hospital, but she didn’t make it.

She was everything to us. She had a future. She had a family who loved her. She had a life that was unfairly taken. But that future was stolen from her in the most brutal way.

And the Lamborghini driver? He ran. He abandoned the car and fled like a coward, leaving my cousin there, lifeless. He did not stop to help. He did not take responsibility. He left behind the wreckage, the pain, and a family now shattered by loss. This was not just an accident, it was a crime. A crime that demands justice.

To the driver who fled: You may have left the scene, but you will not escape accountability. You will not escape justice. We will find you. We will make sure you face the consequences of your actions. You do not get to walk away while my cousin’s life is reduced to a tragedy in the news. You cannot just walk away as if this never happened.

To the authorities: We demand justice. A reckless driver who runs away after causing such devastation must not be allowed to simply disappear. The law must take its course.

To those who know something: If you have any information about this driver, do the right thing. Do not let this crime go unpunished. My cousin deserves justice. Her life mattered. And we will not stop until justice is served.

Justice for my cousin.

Lamborghini Driver Flees After Fatal Crash with SUV in Hancock Park — #JusticeForMyCousin was originally published in Jenelyn Coloma Mabacquiao on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

“When you reach the end of your tether, and quitting seems like the only choice, let it be because your self-respect still calls you to stand tall, not to bow down to the disrespect, but to teach one last lesson before walking away”

Funny, isn’t it? How the world works. You spend years crafting a reputation, honing a skill, and learning every unwritten rule of the game. You bend, you balance, you bend some more, until the very idea of bending is the only thing that keeps you standing. And in the process, you start to notice something interesting: the ones who talk the loudest rarely know the most, and the ones who get the furthest often know the least.

It’s almost charming how some people can rise to positions of importance without ever having to prove competence. And by ‘charming,’ of course, I mean predictable. It’s a skill, really, the art of appearing indispensable without ever having to be indispensable. One could almost admire the way they manage to shuffle in the right circles, always looking important, without ever actually accomplishing anything. The kind of skill that requires no training, no effort, no authenticity, just proximity.

And there you are, in the middle of it all, doing your job, keeping the ship afloat, and making sure the deck isn’t actually sinking under the weight of all the things no one wants to deal with. You teach. You lead. You guide. Because you know, you know that the ones who actually know what’s going on are often the ones no one notices. You pour your knowledge into them, because, well, it’s only fair. After all, some people might actually need a map to find their way around here, given how frequently they seem to be wandering in circles.

But eventually, you realize something: it’s not enough to be right. And it’s certainly not enough to be wise. You can teach someone everything you know, but you can’t teach them how to carry the weight. Some people are simply too busy positioning themselves for the next step, too preoccupied with the art of looking busy, to notice the ground beneath them is crumbling.

So, you do the only thing left. You walk. Not because you can’t do more, but because you’ve done it all already. You walk, because the show will go on just without you. And isn’t that the best part? You were never truly needed. You were just the one doing all the heavy lifting while the others fought over the spotlight. And now, the spotlight’s theirs to fight over. So enjoy it. After all, it’s not every day you get to watch the people who never actually knew how to shine, try to light a fire they never learned to start.

There comes a point when you stand between loyalty to a job and loyalty to yourself. When the work is no longer a reflection of your values, but just a series of unspoken demands, you feel the weight of every task like a burden. Some people are unaware to what really matters, while others demand what they can’t even begin to grasp, and yet, you keep balancing it all. Why? Because you had hope. Because you cared.

It’s amazing how some people can rise to the top without ever knowing what the bottom even looks like. They talk a lot, move fast, and somehow make it seem like they’re doing something, when really, they’re just rearranging the same mess. You can teach all you want, but some people never learn; they’re too busy patting themselves on the back to notice the cracks in the foundation. It’s cute, really, watching them act like they’re holding everything together, when it’s been held together by others all along. And when the real work is left for someone else to do, you realize, they won’t be the ones left standing when it all falls apart.

When you’ve been overlooked, undervalued, and made to feel small for so long, the hardest choice is to stop trying to prove your worth. But there’s a shift that happens, one day you realize that your worth is not something you can give away to others. It’s something you carry within you. And when you’ve given everything you can, when there’s nothing left to teach, no more energy to waste, sometimes the bravest act is to let go. To walk away with dignity, leaving behind the noise and chaos. The ones who failed to see you for what you are will never understand why you left, but that’s the beauty of it. You don’t need their understanding. You only need your own. And you do. You leave, not because you couldn’t do more, but because there’s nothing left to give in a place where the value of effort is measured by something other than your own worth. You walk away because you know your worth, and some things can never be reclaimed once they’ve been lost. Sometimes, it’s not about what’s been taken, it’s about what you choose to walk away with. And when you walk out, it’s never because you failed. It’s because you finally recognized that no one can take your integrity unless you let them.

“You can bend and twist yourself into shapes that please others, stretch yourself beyond recognition, but at some point, you have to ask: What’s left of you when the shape isn’t yours anymore? You can give and give, but there’s only so much bending a person can do before they break. The hardest lesson? Sometimes, walking away is the most freeing thing you can do. Because in the end, you’re not a pretzel, you’re a person, and you deserve to stand straight, unapologetically yourself.”

Bending Over Backwards Until You Realize You’re Just a Human Pretzel was originally published in Jenelyn Coloma Mabacquiao on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

When life hits you hard and your circumstances humble you, you’re forced to make a choice: stay for love or grow apart. It’s a choice you don’t even realize you’re making until you’re already standing at the crossroads. I didn’t understand it back then. I remember the first time I watched Hello, Love, Goodbye, I was just a student, naïve and full of dreams, but too wrapped up in the simplicity of my world to truly grasp what Joy was going through. Why did she choose to leave Ethan? Why walk away from the chance of a future together, a chance at success in Hong Kong? Back then, it seemed so clear: love was supposed to be enough. But life, as I’ve learned, is never as simple as a love story.

Now, after sleepless nights and the frustration of figuring out what the hell I’m even doing with my life, I see things differently. I understand Joy. I get it now, in a way I never could have before. It’s not just about love, it’s about survival. It’s about finding a place where you can breathe, where you can stand on your own two feet without feeling like you’re sinking. I was once like Ethan, proud, stubborn, never willing to compromise. The world was mine to shape, and I believed my path would always be straight because I had the privilege of choosing my own direction.

But the world doesn’t owe you fairness. That lesson, hard and cruel, hits you when you least expect it. And that’s the thing about Hello, Love, Again, it isn’t just a story about love and sacrifice. It’s about growth, about waking up one day and realizing that your story isn’t just written by the things that happen to you, it’s written by the choices you make, even when the odds seem stacked against you.

You’ve been so caught up in proving your worth, in working harder than anyone else, that you’ve forgotten to tell the world who you are. You’ve been waiting for an opportunity to fall into your lap, when maybe, just maybe, you need to go out and grab it with both hands. The truth is, life isn’t unfair because it’s against you. It’s unfair because it doesn’t care. But you? You have the power to change your own narrative. You don’t have to wait for the world to be kinder to you. You need to learn how to move in this world, how to work with it, not against it.

Hello, Love, Again taught me, that growth isn’t linear. Sometimes it takes walking away to get closer to the person you need to be. It taught me that the world will not hand you anything; you have to take it. Yes, life might be unfair, but you have the power to make your own story. You can choose to be better, to work smarter, to let go of what’s not serving you, and to never stop moving forward.

Thank you, Joy, for showing me that fighting for your dreams is always worth it. For teaching me that staying motivated, even when every step feels like a burden, is what will carry me to the next chapter. You reminded me that we are capable of more than we think, even when we’re too scared to admit it. And thank you, Ethan, for reminding me that pride isn’t strength. Your vulnerability, your willingness to face your mistakes, and your resilience showed me that real strength comes from being able to learn, grow, and change.

The unfairness you always felt wasn’t a mark of your failure. It was a call to action. It was a challenge, a nudge to stop waiting for the world to change and start changing how you face it. Because, in the end, you have everything you need to create the life you’ve always wanted. You just needed to remember that.

As you stand at the edge of whatever comes next, there’s something you know for sure: you don’t have to fight against life’s unfairness. You just need to learn how to use it. To turn it into fuel. To shape it into something that works for you, not against you. Growth doesn’t come easily, but when it’s hard, when it feels like the universe is testing you, that’s when you know you’re on the path to becoming who you’re meant to be. Hello, Love, Again taught me that lesson.

Hello, Love, Again Revealed the Power of Choice was originally published in Jenelyn Coloma Mabacquiao on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It’s funny how the best ideas always seem to pop up when you’re sitting on the toilet. There you are, just trying to get some peace and quiet, and out of nowhere, your brain starts firing off ideas. Is it just me, or do the best thoughts happen when you’re… well, pooping?

Maybe it’s because the comfort room is the one place where you’re guaranteed some alone time. No one’s texting you, no one’s talking to you, and no one expects anything from you. It’s just you, your thoughts, and the sudden clarity that comes with being away from everything. And that’s when the magic happens. Story ideas, life lessons, and arguments for debates, boom! They all show up uninvited, but you’re glad they did.

It’s almost like your mind gets a moment to breathe. You’ve been running around all day, juggling tasks, meeting deadlines, but the second you sit down in that quiet space, your thoughts finally get to stretch out and connect. It’s like your creativity has been waiting for this exact moment to surface. It’s in these little breaks where you suddenly realize that you’ve been overthinking things, and the answer was right there all along.

So next time you’re sitting there, just doing your thing, and your mind starts racing with ideas, don’t dismiss them. It might be the perfect solution to that problem you’ve been struggling with, or the beginning of your next big project. It’s crazy how sometimes, the best creativity comes when you’re just trying to get some peace and quiet… in the most unexpected place.

Who knew that the comfort room wasn’t just for comfort, but for creative breakthroughs?

When You’re Pooping, Your Ideas Are Poppin’ was originally published in Jenelyn Coloma Mabacquiao on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

In the pursuit of emotional growth and healing, we often face moments where we feel the urge to open up and share our vulnerabilities with others. However, there’s a valuable lesson that’s often hard to grasp: “Think carefully before you open up to someone. This might sound harsh, but dying inside alone is better than telling the wrong people about your vulnerabilities and watching them misuse it.”

Guard your vulnerabilities like treasures. Some people will steal them and sell them to the highest bidder.

This realization comes from understanding that not everyone we meet deserves access to our personal struggles. While vulnerability is an essential part of human connection and growth, it’s equally important to recognize that sharing our inner selves with the wrong people can have lasting negative consequences. When we expose our weaknesses to those who may not have our best interests at heart, we risk being judged, manipulated, or hurt in ways that are difficult to recover from.

Yet, choosing to keep certain aspects of ourselves private or to confide only in those who truly respect and understand us can be an act of profound self-care. The road to growth is not about constantly seeking external validation or sympathy; it’s about learning to be discerning about who we allow into our emotional world.

While it might seem like an isolating path at times, there is strength in protecting your vulnerabilities. Growth comes from self-awareness and the wisdom to know when to speak and when to remain silent. Sometimes, choosing to carry your burdens quietly is not a sign of weakness, but of emotional strength, and it allows you the space to heal and grow on your own terms.

In time, as we develop a stronger sense of self and refine our emotional boundaries, we learn that the right people will show up, not because we’ve laid ourselves bare for anyone to see, but because we’ve become adept at recognizing those who genuinely deserve our trust.

The Power of Discernment in Personal Growth was originally published in Jenelyn Coloma Mabacquiao on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

At 24, life often feels like a maze — full of dreams yet clouded by self-doubt. As I approach year 2025, the lessons learned have reshaped how I see myself and my future. Here’s what I’ve discovered:

1. Laziness holds me back.
   It’s easy to become comfortable, but laziness keeps dreams distant. Every day counts, and each moment of procrastination is a missed opportunity. Action, no matter how small, is the key to progress.
2. Social media steals my time.
   The endless scrolls can drain hours that could be spent on my goals. Moving forward, it’s time to be intentional with my time and limit distractions.
3. Budgeting is not optional.
   Poor money management brings anxiety. Learning to budget isn’t just about saving; it’s about creating a secure foundation for the future.
4. Complaining breeds negativity.
   Ranting may feel good in the moment, but it only perpetuates stress. Focusing on solutions instead of problems opens the door to real growth.
5. Oversharing drains me.
   Not everything needs to be said. The more I keep to myself, the more I protect my peace. Discretion is a form of self-care.
6. Pride keeps me from learning.
   Humility is a powerful tool for growth. Admitting I don’t have all the answers frees me to explore new perspectives and learn from others.
7. Being late shows disrespect.
   Time is precious — both mine and others. Being punctual reflects responsibility and respect. It’s a small change with a big impact.
8. Prioritize what matters.
   I’ve spent too much time on things that don’t matter. The secret to peace is knowing what to focus on and what to let go of.
9. Listen more, talk less.
   Conversations are a two-way street. Listening fosters deeper connections and understanding, while speaking less opens space for others to shine.
10. Keep plans to myself.
    Speaking about plans too early can bring unnecessary pressure. Instead, I’ll keep my goals close until they’re ready to come to life.
11. Setting boundaries is vital.
    Saying yes to everything spreads me too thin. Establishing clear boundaries allows me to maintain balance and protect my time.
12. Respect yourself.
    Self-respect is the foundation of everything. If I value myself, I’ll make choices that reflect my worth. This is where it all begins.
13. Trust your instincts.
    Doubting myself only leads to confusion. Listening to my gut guides me toward the decisions that align with my true self.
14. Stop seeking validation.
    External approval can be addictive. I need to believe in myself first, without waiting for others’ affirmation.
15. Comparison is the thief of joy.
    My journey is mine alone. Comparing myself to others only holds me back. I’ll focus on my own path and embrace my progress.
16. Failure is growth in disguise.
    Fearing failure has kept me stuck. But failure isn’t an end — it’s a lesson, a step toward success. I’ll embrace it as part of my evolution.
17. Gratitude shifts my perspective.
    Focusing on what I have, instead of what I lack, brings peace. Gratitude is the lens through which I’ll see my life in its fullness.
18. Health is my true wealth.
    Without health, nothing else matters. Taking care of my body is not optional; it’s essential to everything I want to achieve.
19. Balance brings happiness.
    Striving for success is important, but so is taking time to enjoy life. Finding balance between ambition and relaxation is the key to true fulfillment.
20. Patience is a virtue.
    Good things take time. Rushing through life only leads to frustration. I’ll trust the process, knowing that every step forward counts.
21. Give back.
    Helping others enriches my life. Whether through kindness or support, giving creates a sense of purpose and fulfillment that nothing else can match.
22. You are your own toilet.
    Self-respect means recognizing your own worth. I am not here to seek approval or let others determine my value. I’m responsible for maintaining my peace and protecting my energy, because if I don’t, no one else will.
23. Perfection isn’t the goal — progress is.
    I’ve learned that striving for perfection only leads to frustration. I am far from perfect, but I’m constantly evolving. Every mistake is a lesson, and each step forward, no matter how small, is progress. I’ll embrace the journey, trusting that growth happens bit by bit.
24. Always invest in your studies, skills, and short courses to keep learning. Knowledge is power, and the more I invest in myself, the more opportunities I create. Whether it’s furthering my education, learning new skills, or taking short courses, continuous learning is key to growth. It ensures I’m always prepared for the next challenge and keeps me evolving in my field.

Lessons at 24: Embracing Growth and Progress was originally published in Jenelyn Coloma Mabacquiao on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

How rare is it that people talk about depression, suicide, and stress, yet when they see someone feeling down, sad, or suffering, they laugh or make horrible jokes? When someone isn’t in a happy phase, they turn that person into a laughing stock. Are you guys for real? What hypocrites! Sharing posts about mental health, but in the real world, you stigmatize it! You all have the nerve! I’m literally shaking because of you guys!

Hi! I was born on June 22, 2000, and yesterday I turned twenty-four. The song “I’m twenty-four Now” written by Sundial really hit me hard. ‘It feels like yesterday when we were kids’, and this year, as I turn 24, it feels like I need to be more responsible for the plans I make and the decisions I take.

‘I’m twenty-four now and thought I could finally settle down’. But all of yesterday’s thoughts feel like a maze today.
‘New type of anxious, school never taught this and what the ! are taxes anyway?’
It’s true, that finding your purpose is something school never taught us.

‘I don’t know how I ended up like this.’
I thought I could buy all the things I wanted, but even peace and motivation have left me. I’m working now, but in this economy, it’s funny how I am still penniless.
Realization makes me wonder every day, and I’m still finding the urge to transition all these thoughts into reality.

I’m twenty-four now, and I hope I can finally be free from distress — to settle down, make myself proud, find motivation, and live a happy life.