Whenever I feel like nobody's proud of me, I always imagine the inner child in me clapping and telling me how proud she is that I have made it this far.
Maybe no one meant anything by it. Maybe it was just how things were arranged. But sometimes, the smallest details speak the loudest.
She stood there empty-handed, but her heart was the heaviest of all.
Yesterday at my lolo’s funeral, there was a moment I can’t stop thinking about.
During the offertory, I saw my lola, his wife, lining up with everyone else… but she had nothing in her hands. No bread, no wine, no offering. Nothing but herself
Meanwhile, others.. children, in-laws, apos, were carrying something.
And I don’t know… it hurt to see that.
Because if there’s anyone who carried the most in that moment, it was her.