The Happiest Hobbits

I grew up on a farm in Fujairah, with a private beach at the end of it. For me, nature was never a luxury — it was simply my normal. The sound of the waves, the rustle of palm leaves, the sight of birds overhead... these were part of the rhythm of life. I learnt early that the Earth is a companion, a teacher, and a refuge. That conviction found its first outlet in school, when I was appalled to notice no one was writing about the environment in our school newsletter. My very first article carried the striking title:   “Save Planet Earth… Or else!”   It was bold, maybe even a little dramatic, but it captured exactly how I felt: that the Earth could not speak for itself, and we had a responsibility to give it a voice. By the time I entered high school, I rallied my classmates and launched Cloud No. 7, a wall magazine dedicated to environmental and social issues. To my surprise, it lived on long after I graduated. That was my first glimpse of what legacy means: when you plan...

Some men are more than brothers — they are blessings. There are people whose lives shine so brightly that you cannot help but be moved by their love, their faith, and their strength. They do not ask for recognition, yet their quiet sacrifices become the very foundation on which others stand. They are the steady presence that holds a family together, the unseen anchor, the living proof of God’s grace at work. For my husband’s side of the family, that person is Kuya Nanan . I rarely write about my husband’s side of the family, since they are very low-key and private. But today, I make an exception — because if there is anyone whose life deserves to be honoured out loud, it's our very own Kuya Nanan. Kuya is a façade engineer based in Singapore, but beyond his profession, he is the pillar of the family. From the time he was still in college, when their beloved Papa passed away, Kuya became both kuya and tatay — pouring out everything he had to make sure Mamila and the whol...

The Goodbye My sister just flew back to Dublin after her holiday with my parents. She was home for a wedding, for laughter, for meals shared side by side. And now the house feels quieter. Not empty — my parents still have each other, and my youngest sister is there — but different.  The silence after goodbye is always heavy. . . . Growing Up With Goodbyes This rhythm isn’t new to me. I grew up with it. My parents were Overseas Filipino Workers (OFW) too. I remember the cycle: pasalubong carefully packed in suitcases, jeepneys loaded with grandparents and relatives excited to welcome us back, the distribution of Toblerone and Marlboro and Johnny Walker (or Jack Daniels) and designer shoes... long waves and tearful goodbyes at the airport when vacation ended. Every holiday was overflowing with joy — and every departure left a hole behind. That pattern shaped my childhood, and now, as a second-generation expat in Dubai, it continues. My parents have retired to the Philippi...