Tell us about the last thing you got excited about.

There are moments in life when excitement feels like firework displays—loud, dazzling, impossible to ignore. But more often than not, excitement slips in quietly, like a soft current beneath the surface of ordinary days. It’s there in the small things—a fresh cup of coffee after a nap, a conversation with someone dear, the anticipation of a result you’ve worked so hard for. And it’s there in the bigger things too—the reunions, the journeys home, the milestones that remind us of who we are and where we belong.

Right now, as I write this with coffee in hand and the quiet hum of an afternoon well-spent, I find myself thinking of two kinds of excitement that have filled my days recently. One is the nervous thrill of waiting for my OSCE result—a culmination of months of discipline, study, and sacrifice. The other is the memory of our trip back to the Philippines last May, when I was reunited with my family after years apart. Both moments are worlds apart, yet both taught me something about the nature of joy, of waiting, and of what matters most.

Waiting for my OSCE result has been a lesson in patience and trust. There’s a kind of vulnerability in anticipation—you realize that no matter how much effort you’ve poured into something, there will always be parts beyond your control. I’ve had to remind myself that the process was already proof of growth: the long hours, the discipline to keep showing up, the resilience to keep going despite fatigue. Sometimes the real victory isn’t the result itself but the strength you discover along the way. Life has a way of teaching us that outcomes are temporary, but character—that stays.

On the other hand, going home to the Philippines in May was excitement of a different kind. It wasn’t about uncertainty but about fullness. The anticipation built with every day leading to the flight, but nothing compared to the moment I stepped into my family’s embrace. After years of distance, of missing milestones and celebrations, I realized that joy multiplies when it’s shared. It wasn’t the grand plans or expensive outings that mattered—it was the long talks over simple meals, the laughter that echoed the same way it did when I was a child, the reminder that love doesn’t weaken across oceans. Family taught me that home is not defined by place but by presence, and that some of life’s purest excitements are found in simply being with the people who make you feel whole.

Reflecting on these two moments, I see how different forms of excitement shape us. Waiting for results teaches humility and patience. Reuniting with family teaches gratitude and grounding. And maybe that’s what life is really about—learning to find meaning not only in the celebrations but also in the in-between, in the waiting, in the small cups of coffee that keep you steady when the big answers have not yet arrived.

If there is a final lesson in all of this, it’s that excitement isn’t just about the event itself. It’s about the way it reminds us we are alive. To wait is to hope. To reunite is to remember. And to feel your heart leap—whether for something small or something life-changing—is proof that your spirit is still open to wonder. The last thing that made me excited reminded me of this: life’s greatest joys are not only in outcomes but in the journey, the people who walk with you, and the courage to keep looking forward.