November arrived quietly, wrapping the days in cold air and early sunsets. I entered the month with lightness, the kind that comes when you finally step outside of routine and see familiar faces again. We gathered for Guy Fawkes night—bundled in coats, fingers wrapped around warm drinks, watching the sky burst into color. There was laughter, playful teasing, stories updated after weeks apart. For a moment, everything felt suspended—no deadlines, no responsibilities, just warmth in a season that often feels cold. It was the kind of celebration that reminds you that joy doesn’t always arrive with grand plans; sometimes it comes in shared meals, unfiltered conversations, and fireworks that glow for seconds yet linger longer in memory.

Then life shifted sharply. Cebu was hit by the typhoon—something we didn’t expect with such force—and suddenly my days here in the UK felt heavier. My family was safe, and that is a blessing I hold close. But neighboring towns were not as fortunate. Seeing photos online, hearing stories, and imagining the faces behind them all made the distance feel unbearable. There is a helplessness that comes when you watch something unfold from thousands of miles away—when you want to be present but geography makes you a silent witness instead. Worry, guilt, longing, and prayer—all layered quietly within the heart.

And somehow, in between celebrations and storms, work continued. The last stretch of the month moved so quickly I barely had time to count the days. There were referrals, meetings, deadlines, and long hours that blurred into each other—days when energy ran thin but duty remained solid. Some weeks felt like a race against time, others like a test of patience. There were difficult shifts, tiring mornings, and decisions that demanded emotional strength more than skill.

Yet in the middle of all that, November gave small mercies too—unexpected laughter during lunch breaks, quiet nights when the house finally settled, warm food after exhausting days, messages from home saying, “We’re fine here.” And maybe that is where gratitude grows—not in perfect circumstances, but in small confirmations that life, even when overwhelming, still holds pockets of peace.

Looking back, November was not simple. It was layered—light and heavy, joyful and tiring, comforting and heartbreaking. It reminded me that life doesn’t move in single emotions; it moves in contrasts. We begin a month laughing under fireworks, and we end it praying for places that once sheltered our childhood memories. We celebrate, we hurt, we work, we rest—never in equal measure, but always with grace threading through it.

November wasn’t what I expected, but it is one I will remember. Not because everything fell into place, but because it allowed room for gratitude even in the midst of uncertainty—and that, I think, is what growth really feels like.