Another Beautiful Day to Be Gorgeous
Today is February 8, 2026.
And it’s another beautiful day to be gorgeous, amazing, beautiful, stunning, and kind.
This morning began slowly—breakfast at home, soft conversations, brushing teeth, showering, and getting ready for church. Nothing extravagant. Nothing rushed. Just presence. My mom and I prepared to go to Mass at Our Lady of Manaoag, and in that simplicity, I felt something I’ve been craving for a long time: grounding.
There’s something about starting the day with intention—before the noise, before expectations, before the world asks anything of you. Today felt like a reminder that healing doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like sunscreen as moisturizer, simple makeup applied with your hands, borrowed lipstick from your mom, and choosing to show up as you are.
Simple Routines, Sacred Moments
I forgot my usual moisturizer, but I had a UV moisturizer I bought in Japan—hydrating, protective, imperfect, but enough. And maybe that’s symbolic of where I am right now. I don’t always have everything I think I need, but I always seem to have enough.
My makeup routine took less than ten minutes. No heavy coverage. No attempt to be anything other than myself. I like looking natural. I like seeing my real face. I like honoring the skin I’m in.
Growing up, I was taught—like many Filipinos—that whiteness was something to aspire to. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to reject that narrative. I don’t want to be pale. I don’t want to erase where I come from. I want to honor my natural complexion, my morena roots, the spectrum that I exist in. My dad is moreno. My mom is mestiza. I am somewhere in between—and that is more than enough.
Embracing Who I Am (Even the Quiet Parts)
Lately, I’ve been learning something important about myself:
I am shy.
I always have been.
For a long time, I felt ashamed of that. I thought it was something I needed to fix, something I needed to grow out of, something that made me less than. But now, I’m learning to see it differently. My shyness protected me. It shaped me. It gave me space to observe, to feel deeply, to reflect.
I’m learning to celebrate that version of myself instead of apologizing for her.
I’m realizing that I exist on a spectrum—not just in identity, but in emotion, in social energy, in how I move through the world. And that’s okay. I don’t need to perform confidence all the time. I don’t need to be loud to be powerful. I don’t need to change who I am to belong.
Returning to Church With Open Eyes
I was born Catholic. Baptized Catholic. And for a long time, I ran away from the Church.
Going to UC Berkeley opened my eyes to how religion—especially Catholicism—was used as a tool of colonization. How it was used to control, to “civilize,” to suppress indigenous identities and label them as improper or primal. These are difficult truths, and I don’t shy away from them.
But healing isn’t about erasing complexity. It’s about holding it.
As I stood outside Our Lady of Manaoag, waiting for Mass, surrounded by hundreds of people spilling outside the church, I realized something: faith and colonization can coexist in the same history—but faith can also be reclaimed.
I’m not returning to religion blindly. I’m returning with awareness. With agency. With choice.
Trusting the Process When I Feel Lost
Lately, I’ve felt lost.
I’m grieving friendships.
I’m grieving relationships.
I’m grieving versions of myself that no longer fit.
I keep asking myself hard questions:
Why do I love people who don’t show up for me?
Why do I value people who don’t truly value me?
Why do I keep abandoning myself?
And the honest answer is this: I’m learning how deeply my identity was shaped by others. When they left, I didn’t just lose them—I lost parts of myself. Now, I’m rebuilding. And rebuilding is lonely. It’s exhausting. It’s emotional.
But it’s also necessary.
Choosing Myself, Again and Again
One of the most important lessons I’m learning is this: choosing myself is not selfish. It’s survival.
I am learning to take ownership of my agency.
I am learning to trust my decisions.
I am learning to let go of what I cannot control.
I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be perfect, trying to manage every outcome, trying to prevent pain. But life doesn’t work that way. Healing doesn’t work that way.
There are things I cannot fix.
There are people I cannot save.
There are outcomes I cannot force.
And so I’m learning to surrender—not in defeat, but in trust.
Living With Purpose as a Nurse Practitioner
I am deeply grateful for where I am in my career. I have a stable job. A supportive supervising physician. Supportive colleagues. The privilege of doing work that matters.
But I’m also learning not to let my title consume my identity.
Being a nurse practitioner is part of who I am—but it is not all of who I am. I want to live a life where my profession aligns with my values, my truth, my humanity. Where I can care for others without abandoning myself.
This work is heavy. Holding space for people’s pain, trauma, fear, and hope is a responsibility I don’t take lightly. That’s why this healing journey is not optional for me—it’s essential. I owe it to myself and to my patients to be grounded, honest, and whole.
Why I Say “Another Beautiful Day to Be Gorgeous”
Some days are not beautiful.
Some days are heavy.
Some days are unfair—especially for minorities, for victims, for those living under systems of power and control.
I’m not blind to that.
But when I say, “It’s another beautiful day to be gorgeous,” I say it with intention. With resistance. With hope.
I say it because choosing light in dark times is an act of defiance.
I say it because positivity, when intentional, can be grounding.
I say it because sometimes you have to speak the future you want into existence.
This daily commitment is me showing up for myself. Even when I’m tired. Even when I’m unsure. Even when I’m healing.
Looking Ahead With Faith
I don’t have all the answers.
I don’t know exactly where I’m going.
But I trust that I am being guided.
Returning to faith doesn’t mean I’ve stopped questioning. It means I’ve started trusting—trusting that there is something greater holding me when I feel lost.
This journey is slow.
This journey is imperfect.
But it is mine.
And that, finally, feels enough.
Thank you for being here.
Thank you for listening.
And thank you for choosing yourself today, too.
✨ Another beautiful day to be gorgeous. ✨
Day in the life of a Filipina Nurse Practitioner 
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