When the Soul Goes Quiet (But the Story Still Unfolds)

Hello, Anjventuristas. I know—it’s been a while. Life, as it often does, grew a little too loud, and I found myself quietly slipping into the background. Not because I ran out of stories to tell, but because my mind became tangled in too many “what ifs,” too many silent battles I couldn’t quite name. So I paused—not to give up, but to breathe. To reset. And now, slowly, I’m learning how to float again. My head’s above water. My heart is learning how to rest. My faith, though shaken, still holds.

There’s a shift happening in my life right now.

A big, beautiful, slightly terrifying shift. But I’m here for it. I’m learning to let go of fears that have overstayed their welcome and choosing, instead, to trust—not just God or the universe, but myself. And what a plot twist that is. Oh, and in case you’re wondering: yes, Jaguar and I are still a thing. He’s still my little shadow, still the keeper of my slippers, still the soft reminder that I’m never alone.

The past few weeks have been quietly full. In ways that don’t always show up on Instagram but matter deeply. I finally received my IOM Clearance Certificate—one more step forward. I returned to SVGH for a month, working part-time in white uniforms, embracing long shifts, and reconnecting with the quiet meaning found in caring for others. I met up with old friends and realized just how much my heart needed it. I even reconciled with my aunt—an act I never expected but now see as sacred. Healing, after all, is holy work.

I visited the cemetery, lit candles, and stood in silent remembrance. I also immersed myself in the vibrant joy of Pasigarbo sa Sugbo—because no matter how far I go, Cebu will always hold a piece of me. I confessed my sins too, because I believe the soul needs its own kind of checkup, and confession has always felt like a spiritual reset.

As for the everyday comforts? I’ve been watching a strange mix of drama and grit—The Killer Bride, I Love You, Goodbye, John Wick 3, and my dose of Filipino justice via Raffy Tulfo. My cravings have been unapologetically indulgent: shawarma rice, anything from Jollibee, escabeche, and yes, Mrs. Fields cookies. Don’t judge—I find solace in sweet things.

Music has carried me too. Hillsong Worship for the soul, Taylor Swift for the heart, and any melody that feels like a whispered prayer when the noise is too much. And in the quieter hours, I’ve returned to the written word. “Praying Woman” and my ever-faithful Bible have become my guides again—reminding me who I am and who I’m becoming.

The biggest lesson this season has taught me is that strength doesn’t always look like boldness or noise. Sometimes, it’s found in quiet trust. In choosing to believe even when you don’t know how the story ends. In showing up anyway, heart in hand. I missed seeing Angelic in Manila—a little regret I carry—but I know our paths will cross again.

And still, despite the things that didn’t go to plan, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. For God’s unchanging grace. For life. For healing. For family and home. For answered prayers. For Jan Helge, who continues to love me through every messy, beautiful season.

September holds so much promise

My Certificate of Sponsorship. The UK visa application. Possibly moving abroad and working under the Royal Wolverhampton NHS Trust. Big things are coming—and I’m holding them gently, with hope. Before that, I’ll be savoring the present: visiting Simala, celebrating the Awihao Fiesta in honor of San Vicente Ferrer, laughing at Eloiza’s birthday, hugging those I love a little tighter. And of course, walking side by side with Jaguar.

It’s just beginning again, in a deeper, braver way.

This isn’t an ending—it’s a dramatic page turn. The story isn’t over. It’s just beginning again, in a deeper, braver way. And if you’re still here reading, thank you. Thank you for being part of the unfolding.

To God be all the glory. Always.
—Anj 🤍