It’s okay. You just forgot who you are. Welcome back.

There are seasons in life when the edges of who you are grow blurry. Not because you’ve failed or fallen short, but because living is loud. Responsibilities pile up. Expectations, of others’ and of your own, press in from every direction. You start adapting, adjusting, bending, until one day you realize you’ve been orbiting everyone else’s gravity and drifted away from your own center.

But forgetting isn’t a flaw. It’s something that happens quietly, gradually, even to the strongest and most self-aware. We lose track of ourselves the way people lose track of time: slowly, then all at once. You wake up and feel a strange distance between who you are and who you’ve been acting like. A kind of emotional déjà vu, as if you’re living near your life instead of in it.

And still, there is nothing wrong with you.

You didn’t disappear. You didn’t break. You simply forgot the sound of your own inner voice beneath the noise of everything else. You forgot the way your heartbeat steadies when you’re doing something you love. You forgot the subtle confidence that comes from knowing yourself. You forgot the softness in your own presence, the quiet resilience that has carried you farther than you give yourself credit for.

But here’s the truth no one ever says out loud:

Forgetting is temporary. And returning is always possible.

Maybe it’s a small moment that brings you back—a sudden memory, a familiar smell, a sentence in a book, a song you used to play on repeat. Maybe it’s someone who sees something in you that you stopped seeing in yourself. Or maybe it’s exhaustion that finally pushes you inward, forcing you to rest long enough for your real voice to rise again.

And when it does, even faintly, even briefly, it feels like an exhale you didn’t know you’d been holding.

You begin to remember:

That you were never meant to be defined by your mistakes.

That you are not obligated to remain in chapters that no longer fit.

That growth doesn’t always feel like progress.

That your worth isn’t something you earn—it’s something you carry.

You begin to remember your humor, your curiosity, your courage, your softness. The way you think before you speak, or the way you leap before you think. The dreams that made you feel alive. The values you hold even when they go unnoticed. The strength that has quietly survived every moment you thought you wouldn’t.

You begin to return to yourself.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Often slowly, subtly, in the quiet moments when no one else is watching—like a tide coming home after being pulled too far by the moon.

And as you do, something in the universe seems to whisper to you:

It’s okay. You just forgot who you are. Welcome back.

Welcome back to the clarity.
Welcome back to the curiosity.
Welcome back to the boundaries you’re allowed to have.
Welcome back to the dreams that still belong to you.
Welcome back to the version of you that doesn’t need to prove anything.
Welcome back to the truth that you were never lost—just momentarily hidden.

This is your return.
Your reawakening.
Your quiet homecoming to yourself.

Take a breath. Look around. Feel the ground beneath you.

You’re back.

I could be decluttering, walking to a nearby grocery store, or just sitting quietly with my tea when it happens. A familiar melody starts playing, one I used to hum with the kids, and suddenly, my throat tightens and my eyes sting. Or I’ll open an old album, or a facebook/phone memory and see a photo of chubby cheeks, messy hair, and toothless grins. In that moment, I’m right back there, hearing their laughter echoing through the house, feeling the weight of their little hands tugging at me, the warmth of their small bodies leaning in for hugs that always seemed to come just when I needed them most.

Even an old toy, a beloved stuffed animal, a Lego piece, drawings/paintings on paper and smallish canvases, a doll with their baby shirt can make my heart ache. They’re not just objects. They’re time capsules, holding traces of tiny voices, endless “why’s,” and the kind of wonder that only children seem to have.

I know what Ecclesiastes 7:10 says: “Do not say, ‘Why were the old days better than these days?’ for it is not wise to ask that.” I understand it, really, I do. We’re meant to cherish the present, to see God’s blessings in each new day. And yet… I can’t help but look back with a tender sort of longing.

It’s not that I want to go back, exactly. It’s just that I miss the sweetness of those ordinary days that felt like they’d last forever. The chaos, the noise, the small hands reaching for mine, they were fleeting, and I didn’t know how fast they’d go.

Now, the house is quieter, everyone is a little bit older and busier, I hold onto those memories with both gratitude and ache. I know the past isn’t better than the present, it’s simply different. But still, part of me whispers, if only today felt a little more like yesterday.

—

I could list a hundred reasons why I love autumn, but one that I remember most fondly is that it teaches us to let things go. There’s something profoundly human about the way trees surrender their leaves — not in despair, but with quiet grace. The air turns crisp, the colors fade into gold and amber, and the world seems to exhale after a long, green summer.

When I walk through a park carpeted in fallen leaves, I’m reminded of the small playgrounds where laughter once filled the air. The swings stand still now, the slide is cold to the touch, and a thin blanket of leaves rests where tiny feet once ran. There’s a gentle melancholy in seeing something meant for joy standing quietly, but it’s not sadness — it’s nostalgia. It’s memory.

I can almost see it: the child I once was, running up the wooden steps, gripping the cool handles, and sliding down with a rush of wind and delight. The sound of giggles echoing through the trees, the sunlight filtering through branches, catching in the hair of a moment that felt endless.

Autumn, in its soft wisdom, reminds us that those moments don’t truly fade. They live within us, reshaped by time. Just as leaves fall to nourish the ground, our childhood memories settle into the soil of who we become. They become part of our foundation — quiet, unseen, but vital.

As adults, we carry those pieces of our younger selves through the years. Maybe that’s why autumn feels so nostalgic — it stirs up those layers of memory, blending the beauty of endings with the sweetness of beginnings. The child in us recognizes the rhythm: the cycle of holding on and letting go, of climbing up and sliding down, of falling and finding joy again.

Life, like the seasons, asks us to change — to shed what no longer serves us, to make room for something new. And autumn, with its golden hush, teaches us to do that with grace. It reminds us that letting go isn’t about losing, but about trusting that what’s gone has already given us something to keep forever.

So, as I walk past that quiet playground covered in leaves, I don’t feel sadness — I feel gratitude. Gratitude for the laughter that once filled the air, for the lessons the seasons keep teaching, and for the child within me who still knows how to find joy in the simple things.

Related post.

“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

This powerful line invites us to make a deliberate, internal commitment: not merely to hope that good days will come, but to decide that today, whatever it holds, is already worthy of being called the best. Emerson does not suggest denying hardship or pretending that pain does not exist. Instead, he challenges us to anchor our perspective in something deeper than circumstance. To “write it on your heart” means to engrave it into our identity, to make it a guiding belief rather than a fleeting thought.

At its core, this quote speaks about attitude, the quiet but transformative power of choosing how we interpret our lives.

Most people allow circumstances to dictate their emotional climate. If things go well, they are happy. If things fall apart, they feel defeated. This reactive way of living places happiness at the mercy of external events: the job offer, the bank balance, the diagnosis, the weather, the opinions of others. But Emerson’s message suggests a radical alternative that happiness is not found in events, but in perspective.

To decide that every day is the best day does not mean every day feels easy. Some days bring loss, disappointment, stress, or uncertainty. Yet even in those moments, there remains opportunity: the opportunity to grow, to learn patience, to strengthen resilience, to show kindness, to deepen faith, or to discover inner strength that would otherwise lie dormant.

A positive attitude is not naïve optimism. It is disciplined thinking.

It is waking up and consciously choosing gratitude over complaint.
It is looking at a problem and asking, “What is this teaching me?”
It is experiencing delay and deciding to practice patience rather than frustration.
It is facing failure and deciding to extract wisdom rather than shame.

When Emerson encourages us to write this truth on our hearts, he implies permanence. Temporary motivation fades. Emotional highs pass. But a belief etched into the heart becomes a compass. It directs reactions before they fully form. It steadies the mind when chaos tries to take over.

There is also a subtle but profound shift in identity here. When someone believes that each day is the best day, they stop living in constant comparison, comparing today to a better yesterday or waiting for a brighter tomorrow. They stop postponing joy. Many people live in “when-then” happiness: When I get the promotion, then I’ll be happy. When I find the right relationship, then I’ll relax. When things settle down, then I’ll enjoy life. But life rarely settles down completely. There is always something unresolved.

Deciding that today is the best day interrupts this cycle. It says: I will not wait for perfect conditions to permit myself joy.

This mindset builds resilience. If every day is the best day, then even a difficult day holds value. Pain becomes part of a meaningful journey instead of an unfair interruption. Challenges become chapters, not conclusions. Such a perspective transforms adversity from something that happens to you into something that works for you.

Moreover, a consistently positive attitude has a contagious effect. People who choose joy despite circumstances create emotional stability in their environment. They become sources of encouragement. They model strength without denial, optimism without illusion. Their happiness is not loud or forced but it is steady. And that steadiness inspires others.

Importantly, deciding to be happy does not mean suppressing real emotions. It means acknowledging them without surrendering to them. You can feel sadness and still believe the day has purpose. You can experience stress and still practice gratitude. You can endure hardship and still choose hope. Happiness in this sense is not constant laughter, it is an underlying trust that life, even in its imperfection, is good.

When you wake each morning and quietly affirm, “This is the best day in the year,” something shifts internally. Your attention sharpens toward what is working instead of what is missing. You become more present. You notice small joys: sunlight through a window, a meaningful conversation, progress on a goal, a moment of stillness. These details accumulate. Over time, they build a life that feels rich, not because it is flawless, but because it is fully appreciated.

Ultimately, Emerson’s words remind us that happiness is less about what happens and more about who we decide to be. Circumstances will rise and fall. Seasons will change. Success and struggle will alternate. But attitude that is within our control.

To write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year is to take ownership of your inner world. It is to say: I refuse to let temporary conditions dictate permanent despair. It is to live intentionally, gratefully, courageously.

And when practiced consistently, this decision does something remarkable, it turns ordinary days into extraordinary ones, not by changing the events themselves, but by transforming the way we experience them.

February 19-22, 2025, Paris – I had the opportunity to meet some of the most outstanding and inspiring artists during the six-day Art Capital exhibit at the Grand Palais. The event brought together a wonderful group of creative minds, each presenting their own artistic perspective. Walking through the grand displays, I was struck by the variety of styles and expressions, from traditional techniques to modern methods. Each piece presented a tale, exhibiting the creator’s passion, inner thoughts, and dedication.

Each artist I met had a distinct perspective, shaped by their background, experiences, and creative journey. Engaging in conversations with them was like stepping into a new world of ideas and inspiration. Whether discussing artistic techniques, personal influences, or the emotions behind their work, every exchange deepened my appreciation for the limitless nature of artistic expression.

Artists Helping, Raising Awareness, Advocating, and Inspiring Change

In a world facing environmental and social challenges, artists stand at the intersection of creativity and conscience. Through their unique perspectives and powerful mediums, they have the ability to not only reflect the world as it is—but to reimagine what it could be.

ACCES : Artists Building Bridges Through Art

In a city celebrated for its art and culture, a group of Filipino creatives is adding their unique voice to the Parisian canvas. ACCES (Art and Cross-Cultural Exchange Society) is a collective of artists from different parts of the world, dedicated to using art as a way to connect cultures, raise awareness, and inspire change.

Founded by multidisciplinary artist Margo Calderero-Le Lain, she envisioned a space where art and positive actions could merge to create meaningful impact. Born from her passion for helping those in need (particularly children) and community empowerment, ACCES became a platform to unite artists from diverse backgrounds. Margo now serves as the curator for ACCES, organizing exhibits that showcase the work of its members—each exhibit a powerful blend of artistic expression, environmental awareness, and celebration of mixed-race heritage. Through her leadership, ACCES has grown into a platform that not only inspires creative collaboration but also advocates for a more inclusive and sustainable future.

ACCES proudly participated in this year’s Art Capital with the theme“EAU La La! ART for Life in the Ocean”, bringing together some of its artists whose works celebrated the beauty and fragility of the ocean. Through colroful depictions of fish, sea turtles, water, and mesmerizing underwater landscapes, the exhibition served as both a visual feast and a powerful call to action. Each piece invited viewers to dive beneath the surface and reflect on the urgent need to protect marine ecosystems.

Corinne Pirault

Corinne Pirault is a French visual artist whose work beautifully bridges the realms of art and fantasy. Pirault has developed a distinctive style that combines bold color palettes, intricate patterns, and a meditative, dot-painting technique, often reminiscent of Aboriginal influences.

She exhibited a three-panel painting featuring whale sharks and a coral reef scene titled ‘Le géant des mers‘ (The giant of the seas). The top two panels portray majestic whale sharks, the gentle giants of the ocean, swimming alongside a diver in the deep blue sea—symbolizing the awe and harmony between humans and marine creatures. The lower panel bursts into vivid life with a red coral structure surrounded by tiny yellow fish, echoing the richness and interrelation of underwater biodiversity.

Her use of contrasting hues—cool blues above and warm reds below—creates a dynamic balance, highlighting both the serenity and vitality of ocean life. The dot work technique used throughout the coral evokes Indigenous art traditions, infusing the piece with a sense of reverence and continuity.

Édith Del Din and Skopit

Édith Del Din, also known as Edd, is a French painter born in Montpellier. Her early years were influenced by her grandparents, particularly her grandfather, a painter who replicated works of masters like Vermeer and Delacroix.  His influence profoundly impacted her artistic sensitivity, introducing her to new lights, colors, and scents. She held her first exhibitions before turning fifteen, showcasing themes of reverie, sensuality, and emotion.

Lee Hai Hiang

Lee Hai Hiang is a Singaporean artist and cultural advocate. Despite only actively pursuing art after retiring at 60, (uncle) Lee has made significant contributions to the art scene.

He co-founded the Yilin Art Society, and also established the Geylang Feng Symphony Orchestra, which received the Singapore Cultural Award under his leadership. He has been an active member of several cultural organizations, including the Molan Society, the International Federation of Culture and Arts (Singapore), the Nanyang Calligraphy Society, and the Nanyang Calligraphy Club.

Lee’s art reflects the elegance and tradition of classical Chinese painting, with a focus on natural landscapes and subjects from the natural world. His technique shows his expert brushwork, rich textures, and a deep reverence for harmony between man and nature—a hallmark of Chinese ink and watercolor traditions.

In this photo, the artwork next to Lee features a serene mountain landscape. It depicts a majestic waterfall cascading down rugged cliffs, surrounded by mist and dense green foliage. The use of fine ink lines and delicate watercolor gradients creates a sense of depth, peace, and timelessness. He shared with me the importance of weaving mystery into a painting. For instance, as you gaze at the mountain peak, you might wonder—’Is that the sky already, or is there something more beyond where the waterfall begins?’ “Art should make the viewers think,” he said.

The painting on the right is a floral piece, likely done in the xieyi (freehand) style. It shows lotus flowers in various stages of bloom, with long, flowing leaves and stems. The soft color palette—pinks, greens, and subtle yellows—conveys grace and vitality. The addition of calligraphy gives the painting a poetic balance, typical of Chinese literati painting traditions. What made it truly beautiful was the meaning behind the text. “Never give up, even when it feels like the end. Like the lotus, which rises from the mud to bloom in full beauty—something good can emerge, even from the messiest situations. You just have to wait for it,’ uncle shared.

What’s even more touching is that every piece uncle sells goes towards charity—his art, a gift that keeps on giving.

Chuan Hong Mooi

Chuan Hong Mooi is a Singaporean artist and educator, renowned for her contributions to the local art scene, particularly in calligraphy.

Like her husband (uncle Lee), she is actively involved in various cultural and artistic organizations. She serves as the Chinese Secretary of the Singapore Women’s Art Association and is a member of the International Art & Culture (Singapore) Federation, Molan Society, Yilin Art Society, and the Nanyang Calligraphy Association.

Cici Lane

Cecil Sison-Lane, artistically known as Cici Lane, is a Filipino-British artist who, after a career in business, relocated to La Trimouille, France, to pursue her passion for painting. Her work blends free imagination with a keen eye, resulting in unique, charming pieces.

Throughout her career, Cici’s artistic journey has gracefully spanned continents and creative disciplines. From illustrating and window art in the US to fashion design in the Philippines, her work has always reflected a deep curiosity and flair for visual storytelling. Cici embraced a new chapter rooted in personal fulfillment and artistic freedom after all these. Inspired by the French philosophy of “le temps de temps”—the idea of taking time simply to enjoy time—she returned to her first love: painting.

Her artwork is a large two-panel piece that exudes a serene, ethereal depiction of the ocean. The composition flows vertically, transitioning from soft silvery hues at the top into deeper, oceanic blues and aquas toward the bottom — a visual gradient that portrays the shifting depths of the sea. The surface features delicate textures and subtle raised patterns, reminiscent of swirling currents, seafoam, or underwater terrain, adding a tactile richness to the minimalist palette.

The upper portion has a misty, cloud-like softness, while the lower half introduces more movement and detail, with hints of darker pigments and what appears to be a scattering of fine elements — sand-like textures and shimmering particles — that give the illusion of motion beneath the waves. The overall effect is tranquil yet dynamic, capturing both the calm and mystery of the ocean.

JC and Margo Calderero-Le Lain

Jean Claude (JC) Le Lain is a French photographer and artist known for his collaborative works with his wife, Filipino artist Margo. Together, they created “TWOGETHER,” a series that combines JC’s photography with Margo’s artistic enhancements.

Margo Calderero-Le Lain, as mentioned above, is an artist and curator based in Rennes, France. Her media is diverse as her artistic pursuits, dabbling in painting, jewelry design, fashion design, sculpture, and culinary arts. She combines diverse media and materials such as sand, soil, fabrics, pigments, pastel, acrylic, oil, canvas, and wood to achieve her artistic vision. Margo’s art has been featured internationally, including exhibitions in Los Angeles and Incheon Metropolitan City, and more.

JC and Margo Calderero-Le Lain’s artworks at the art fair beautifully capture the grace of sea turtles gliding through the water. In this collaborative effort, JC’s photography serves as the foundation, while Margo enhances each piece with artistic embellishments. The compositions are dynamic, bathed in rich shades of blue that immerse viewers in a deep, oceanic ambiance.

Blending realism with whimsical, the turtles are brought to life through intricate dotilism that mimics the movement of water. The backgrounds burst with elaborate patterns, bubbles, and shimmering details, infusing the scenes with a magical, almost dreamlike quality.

Together, their creations express a profound admiration for marine life, breathing calm and quiet magic into the deep’s blue heart.

H.E Junever Mahilum-West

Ambassador Junever Mahilum-West is an esteemed Filipino artist and diplomat whose artistic endeavors have significantly contributed to cultural diplomacy and environmental advocacy. Throughout her diplomatic career, she has actively engaged in the arts, using her creative talents to bridge cultures and promote vital causes.

Her displayed artwork is a series of framed illustrations of individual fish species inspired by the work of Kumataro Ito. Ito, a Japanese fish painter who documented marine life during the USS Albatross expedition in the Philippines (1907–1910), was known for its scientific accuracy, delicate details, and naturalistic rendering of fish species.. Each frame displayed contains a detailed and realistic depiction of a different fish painted in gouache and pen.

A fishing net with hanging fish decorations is attached to the lower part of the wall near the corner, adding a playful, thematic touch to the display. This piece was personally brought by the Ambassador – all the way from the Philippines.

Sandra Distabile

Sandra Distabile is an Italian artist based in Sicily. From a young age, she has been passionate about art, leading her to create works characterized by meticulous attention to detail. Her pieces often feature saturated colors and intricate patterns, reflecting her deep appreciation for beauty and complexity.

Distabile’s artistic journey has been marked by a commitment to exploring new techniques and mediums, allowing her to continually evolve her style. Her work has been showcased in various exhibitions, earning her recognition within the Italian art community.

Her artworks at the fair primarily focus on iconic architectural landmarks and bridges from around the world.

Brooklyn Bridge, New York City: This painting showcases the iconic Brooklyn Bridge spanning across the East River, with the Manhattan skyline in the background. The blue hues of the sky and water contrast with the warm tones of the bridge, emphasizing its grandeur.

Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, London: This artwork presents the Gothic architecture of the Palace of Westminster and the clock tower (Big Ben). The scene is set during a clear day, capturing the elegance and historical weight of the buildings.

Tower Bridge, London (two views): These two pieces focus on the famous Tower Bridge from different angles. The artist uses crisp lines and shades of blues to highlight the bridge’s structure and its interaction with the Thames River. One includes boats in the foreground for added dimension.

 Forth Bridge, Scotland: This painting depicts the red cantilever railway bridge stretching across the Firth of Forth. It captures the engineering marvel in bright, vivid tones against a calm sea.

Harold Khan

Harold Khan is an artist and illustrator renowned for his portraits of women that capture both their femininity and inner strength.

Harold has always been an artist at heart. From a young age, he showed a natural inclination toward creativity—constantly tinkering, sketching, and painting whatever sparked his imagination. His passion for the visual arts only deepened as he grew older, eventually leading him to pursue a degree in Advertising Arts, where he honed both his technical skills and creative thinking.

Even outside of academic pursuits, Harold’s artistic drive never waned. In his free time, he allows his creativity to flow effortlessly, whether it’s through the precise strokes of a pen on paper or the smooth glide of a stylus on a digital drawing tablet. He is equally adept in traditional illustration and digital art, blending the two mediums to bring his ideas to life. His versatility and deep understanding of visual storytelling make his works truly stand out.

In this painting titled “Paghubog ni Aman Sinaya” (Aman Sinaya’s Shaping/Creation), a deity from Philippine mythology often associated with the sea and fishing, one sees the richness in blues and turquoises, capturing the essence of the ocean. “Paghubog” suggests creation, transformation, or shaping.

The painting pays homage to marine life and the bounty of the ocean, symbolizing abundance, harmony, and reverence for nature. Accents of gold, orange, and red from the fish and coral provide contrast and warmth. The backdrop and sides are bordered with a metallic gold, giving the work a regal touch. Khan’s work here features a fluid, semi-realistic style with expressive brushwork and dynamic movement. The blending of human and oceanic elements creates a mythical, dreamlike scene.

Inspired

Experiencing the Art Capital exhibition at the Grand Palais in Paris was nothing short of transformative. It was a truly enriching experience to witness such an assembly of talents  in one iconic space, each artist bringing their unique vision, style, and passion to life. Walking through the exhibition halls, I found myself captivated by the sheer diversity of artistic expression—paintings that evoked deep emotions, sculptures that told compelling stories, and installations that challenged perspectives.

The atmosphere was charged with artistic energy, making the Grand Palais feel like a living, breathing canvas of creativity. There was an unspoken understanding among artists and art lovers alike—a shared passion for the beauty and power of visual storytelling. The exhibition was not just a display of artwork but a celebration of imagination, innovation, and human connection.

Art is a powerful form of self-expression, but I have deep admiration for artists who use their creativity to champion a cause. Their work not only inspires but also sparks meaningful conversations and drives change. I look forward to sharing more of these impactful artworks in a future post!