POV

02.12.26

Hi, Pa.

How are you there?
I hope heaven is gentle with you. I hope the air feels lighter than it does here.

I have so many things I want to tell you. So many stories that piled up inside my chest like unsent letters. I don’t even know where to begin. I just know that if you were here, I wouldn’t need to start with words. I would start with a hug.

A long one.

The kind where I rest my head on your shoulder and forget that I have to be strong for everyone else. The kind where I don’t have to explain why my heart feels heavy even when my life looks okay from the outside. The kind where silence is enough.

Can I just hug you, Pa?
Can I just stay there for a while?
Can I just cry—not the loud kind, not the dramatic kind—but the quiet cry that comes from the soul, not from the throat?

They say I have a “stone heart” on the outside. They say I look strong. Independent. Composed. Like nothing can shake me. Like I can carry everything without breaking.

But Pa, for the longest time, I was only pretending.

And today, for the first time in so long, I allowed myself to cry in a way I never did before. Not because of one problem. Not because of one person. But because of everything. Because of the tiredness that slowly built inside me. Because of the loneliness that no one sees. Because of the pain I can’t even explain properly.

I cried the kind of cry that doesn’t make a sound.

The kind where your body trembles but no one hears it.
The kind where tears fall silently while your lips are closed.
The kind where you don’t even know what you are grieving, you just know your heart is too full.

I knelt down, Pa.

I knelt down not because I was weak, but because I was too tired to stand. I knelt down because the pain, the exhaustion, and the loneliness finally caught up with me. And for the first time, I didn’t stop it. I didn’t tell myself to be strong. I didn’t wipe my tears quickly. I just let them fall.

I wish you were here when that happened.

I wish you were there so I could bury my face in your chest and cry like a child again. Because the truth is, Pa, I am still a child inside. No matter how much I try to be mature, independent, and strong for Mama, for my kuyas, for my ates… inside, I am still that little girl who just wants to feel safe.

I don’t want Mama to see me like this.
I don’t want my siblings to worry.
I don’t want them to know how fragile I sometimes feel.

I want them to see the strong version of me. The one who smiles. The one who handles things. The one who doesn’t complain. The one who looks like she has everything under control.

But inside… I don’t.

Inside, I am longing for something I can’t even explain. I have enough love around me, yet I feel a kind of pain that doesn’t have a clear reason. It’s not because I am unloved. It’s not because I am ungrateful. It’s just… something deep, something quiet, something that lives in the corners of my heart where words cannot reach.

What kind of pain is this, Pa?

And yet, even in the middle of all this, I find myself whispering, “Thank you, God.”

Because God sees what others don’t.
God hears the cries that never come out of my mouth.
God knows the battles I fight silently every day.
God knows the story that I don’t tell anyone.

So I kneel not only because of pain, but also because of faith.

Because even when I feel empty, I know I am not alone.

Pa, I just wish people would be a little kinder. I wish they knew that behind every smile is a story they haven’t heard. That behind every strong person is someone who is tired of being strong. That behind my quietness is a heart that is trying very hard not to fall apart.

I am a good person, Pa.
I try to be.
I try to love.
I try to understand.
I try to stay kind even when I am hurting.

But I am human too.

I get tired.
I get lonely.
I get overwhelmed.
I get sad for reasons I cannot explain.

If you were here, I wouldn’t need to say all of this. You would just know. You would see it in my eyes. You would sit beside me and let me cry without asking questions.

So tonight, I am imagining that you are here.

That I am resting on your shoulder.
That you are letting me cry my quiet cry.
That you are telling me, without words, that it’s okay not to be strong all the time.

Hi, Pa.

I miss you.
And I’m still your little girl.