“Unsaid Words, Articulated Love”

If there’s anything I often find myself wishing for, it’s that I had more moments to simply say thank you. Not just in passing, not as an afterthought—but in a real, intentional way. I think of all those times I could’ve spoken up to the people who stood by me, who reminded me to stay grounded and true to who I am. Looking back, I realize those were the moments I should’ve taken. To show up, speak up, and let them know how much their presence meant to me.

Today, I want to offer that gratitude, especially to my uncles and aunties who were there to guide and support me when my parents were working overseas as OFWs. I can’t fully repay you through words alone, but know that I carry you in my prayers. May God bless you a hundredfold for all you’ve done.

Since I was a kid, I’ve loved writing and meeting new people. Writing has always felt like second nature—like it moves with the rhythm of how I feel. When I’m sad, I turn to metaphors and stories to process those emotions. It’s always been my outlet.

One of the first times I felt inspired to write for others was when my mom had her article published in the Davao Catholic Herald, and she was even on the cover! That moment made me realize that maybe I could do that too. Later on, my mom’s cousin, “Tita Doc” Apple Alvarez, played a huge role in encouraging me to keep writing. Her articles written and published in Sunstar are always about how much she loves her family, how she adores her husband, and how she is a loud and proud mother to her children. I never got the chance to actually tell her that from what she was doing, I was inspired to write more about treasuring my friends and families. Every time we talked, she’d ask, “Kumusta man ang mga write-ups natin diyan, ineng?”—ineng being her affectionate way of calling me “my little girl.” I’d always respond with a smile, “Pinapa-publish pa po.” Before we ended our calls, she never failed to remind me, “Keep writing, neng, ha?” Her words still echo in my heart. Because of her, my pen continues to write.

Then there’s Tita Mary Ann Reyataza—Tita Apple’s older sister. She was the kind of person who expressed love through giving. Whether it was jewelry or beautiful clothes, she gave with open hands and an open heart. Her joy wasn’t just in the gift itself, but in the way she smiled—her eyes would light up when she gave. She taught me that giving away things that matter to you is one of the sincerest ways to show love. When I graduated from Senior High School, she gifted both me and my sister a set of earrings and necklaces. From what she had shown me, I started handing out gifts too that were so precious to me. That gesture touched me deeply. September 23, 2024, she held on for just four more hours, just to be present for her son, Kuya Dominic’s birthday. That was the most selfless, beautiful gift anyone could give. She was truly a devout mother, someone who is willing to give everything, endure for as long as she would see the person she dearly loves smiles. Her selfless love and a loving auntie has truly proclaimed that true love is indeed painful, but beautiful when it is unconditional.

Tita Apple and Tita Anne were always the warm, soft-spoken aunties at our family gatherings. But when all their cousins came together? Tita Imelda, Mama Karen, Tita Cecil, Tita Buding, and Tita Flora, that’s when the real party gets started. The house would erupt with laughter and joy, they’d scream with excitement, and suddenly, the whole place would come alive.

These two women, now resting in God’s loving embrace, taught me one of the greatest lessons: be true to who you are. They made me believe in nurturing my talents, embracing what makes me unique, and never hiding parts of myself just to fit in. They also showed how beautiful it is to give, especially when you’re giving something you once held dear.

To my beloved aunties in heaven: I will miss you. I hope you’re smiling up there, wrapped in God’s grace. Your love, your joy, and your legacy will always live on. And if I didn’t say it enough before… Thank you. (Sophia Beatrice V. Sison)