There are days when the world feels impossibly heavy—days when your mind is divided between two countries, two responsibilities, two versions of yourself. Lately, that has been my quiet reality. Part of me is here in the UK, going through the motions of everyday life, while another part stays with Cebu, grieving the aftermath of Typhoon Tino and worrying endlessly about home.

And yet, yesterday—on a cold Sunday—I allowed myself something I rarely give: a pause, a moment to breathe, a pocket of joy carved out in the middle of everything I’m carrying.

We went to Birmingham, a city that feels both familiar and surprising each time I visit. The air was crisp, the kind that wakes you gently, reminding you that you’re alive. I met up with friends I seldom see now—women I once stood beside in the Stroke Unit, sharing the weight of urgent calls, the shaking uncertainty of emergency shifts, and the comforting quiet of those small moments between patients.

Life has pulled each of us into different directions: new wards, new schedules that don’t understand rest. Finding time together is a small miracle in itself.

But yesterday, we made it happen.

We found ourselves inside a pink, heart-covered booth with the words don’t just take, give glowing on the wall behind us. And maybe that’s what this day felt like—a kind of giving. Giving time. Giving presence. Giving space to breathe. We bought milk tea with our cold hands wrapped around the cups, and laughed the kind of laughter that feels like an exhale after weeks of holding something in.

There is a special softness in the friendships you form in the chaos of hospital life. You don’t just know each other—you survive things together. You look into each other’s faces and remember shifts where sleep was a hope, not a promise. You remember who cried in the stairwell, who stayed late to help, who made you laugh after a difficult case. These small memories bloom quietly the moment you reunite.

Walking through the city felt like a gentle resetting of the heart. Birmingham was alive—young couples drinking smoothies in the cold, friends rushing in and out of shops, strangers carrying shopping bags heavier than their moods.

We took photos like tourists, the kind that capture nothing dramatic yet everything important. Ordinary smiles. Ordinary streets. But sometimes, the most ordinary moments teach you the most extraordinary things.

We ended up in a small restaurant, leaning back in our chairs, laughing between bites of grilled skewers—simple food that reminded us of home. For a moment, it didn’t matter how busy the week had been, how tired our bones felt, or how overwhelming life can get when you’re trying to be strong for everyone all at once. What mattered was the warmth of friendship—a warmth you can’t buy or rush or schedule perfectly.

And this is the truth I remembered yesterday:
Friendship in adulthood is not about seeing each other every week. It’s about showing up truly when life finally gives you a chance. It’s about knowing that even if months pass, the connection remains unshaken. It’s about choosing people who feel like rest, not responsibility.

In a life filled with storms—literal and emotional—these small Sundays become anchors. They remind you that joy still exists, that laughter still fits in your lungs, that there are people who hold your stories gently. They remind you that even if you seldom meet, some friendships remain steady, like constellations in a sky that is always moving.

And maybe that is the real lesson of the week:

Allow yourself the softness you give everyone else.
Even for a day. Even for a few hours.
Let the world pause. Let joy in. Let friendship warm the cold parts of your heart.

Because life will always be busy. It will always demand something from you. But moments like this—simple, unplanned, filled with warmth—are the ones that refill your soul quietly, slowly, almost imperceptibly.

And when you go back to the noise of the world, you carry them with you like a small light. A reminder that even adult life, with all its heaviness, still has room for days that feel gentle. Days that feel like home.

-ANJ ❤