A Softer Promise to Myself for 2026

As I looked back on the year, I realized something quietly powerful. I used to measure life through the lens of big wins, breakthroughs, and turning points, as if the worth of a year depended on something dramatic happening. But somewhere between the ordinary days and the messier ones, I came to accept that life does not always unfold in grand gestures. Sometimes, a year passes without fireworks, without applause, without anything that looks remarkable from the outside. And that is alright.

What truly shifted was not the world around me but the way I wanted to meet 2026. Not with expectations of transformation, but with a gentler promise to myself. A promise that, in the midst of all the chaos and calm, I would no longer treat myself as an afterthought. I would allow small joys to exist without guilt. I would give myself permission to choose things that make my everyday life feel a little lighter, a little softer, a little more mine.

That is how I arrived at my resolution this year: I owe myself pretty things without hurting my wallet.

For most of my life, I believed that depriving myself was the responsible thing to do. I settled for items that were good enough because my priorities demanded it. I chose practicality over pleasure, necessity over desire, and told myself that wanting something beautiful was indulgent or unnecessary. Beauty felt like a luxury I had no right to want, not while there were bills to pay, not while there were people depending on me, not while life was already trying to stay afloat.

So I settled. Over and over again. This will do. This is fine. This is enough.

But settling has a cost that does not show up on receipts. It teaches you to shrink from your own desires. It makes you believe you only deserve the bare minimum. It turns the everyday rituals of living into tasks to survive instead of moments to enjoy.

It took me years to understand that I was not just delaying the purchase of beautiful things. I was delaying the feeling of being deserving.

This year, I want to choose differently. Not extravagantly, not recklessly, and not in a way that harms my future, but in a way that honors my present. I want to choose small, thoughtful things that bring quiet joy into my routine. A wallet I genuinely like taking out of my bag. Slippers that feel soft and comforting after a long day. Sleepwear that makes rest feel intentional and soothing instead of rushed.

These are not luxuries. They are pieces of daily life. And if I am going to meet myself in these little moments, then I want them to feel kind.

Choosing beauty does not mean abandoning responsibility. It does not mean overindulging or trying to heal with purchases. What it means is finally allowing myself to find joy in what I use every day without feeling guilty for wanting something a little nicer, a little softer, a little more me.

From now on, I want the things I own to reflect the care I give others so easily but rarely offer myself. I want to stop apologizing to myself for wanting things that make me feel good. I want to let go of the belief that I need to struggle first before I am allowed something pretty.

This is not about trends or labels. It is about intention, balance, and a kinder way of living. It is about choosing better when I can, being patient when I need to wait, and trusting myself to make decisions that honor both my needs and my joy.

After everything I have carried and postponed, I know this much is true: I do not owe myself excess. I owe myself care. I owe myself beauty. And this time, I am done putting it off. - MESSY E.

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What 2025 Gave Me, What 2026 Might Hold

Every year, around this time, I tell myself I am moving forward. And every year, when I look closely, so many things seem to stay the same. The routines. The responsibilities. The quiet weight I carry into each day. It’s not that nothing changes. It’s that change rarely arrives in the ways I hope for.

This year was no exception. I showed up. I did the work. I kept going, even when progress felt invisible. From the outside, it might look like another year that simply passed. But living inside it felt heavier than that. It asked me to endure uncertainty. To perform consistency while quietly questioning how long I could keep doing the same things. To accept that effort does not always come with immediate reward.

There were moments this year when I wondered if aiming forward even mattered. If every step I took just led me back to familiar ground. I learned what it feels like to hope carefully. To want change but brace myself in case it never arrives. That kind of hoping is exhausting. But it’s also honest.

Still, this year gave me something real. It showed me my limits more clearly than before. It revealed how much energy it costs to stay where I am. It made me aware that I cannot keep surviving on autopilot and call it living. That awareness didn’t fix anything. But it did wake me up.

Now, as I look toward the next year, I don’t feel certain. If anything, I feel cautious.

There’s talk of change at work. A possible transfer. New expectations. A sense that what’s familiar may soon become harder. Part of me is already tired just thinking about it. And yet, there is also a small, stubborn part of me that still wishes for difference. Not miracles. Not overnight transformation.

Just something kinder. Something that doesn’t feel like I’m constantly proving my worth. Something that allows me to grow without breaking myself in the process. I don’t know what next year will bring. It may challenge me more than I’m ready for. It may ask more from me than I want to give.

But I am entering it more aware than before. Aware that staying the same also has a cost. Aware that hoping, even cautiously, means I haven’t given up. Aware that wanting a different outcome doesn’t make me naive, it makes me human.

So this is where I stand between years: Not confident. Not defeated. Just honest.

Carrying the weight of repetition, while still leaving room for the possibility that this time, things might turn out differently. Even if only a little.

And for now, that hope is enough to step forward.

It really is a mess of feelings. Uncertainty tangled with responsibility. Hope brushing up against fear. Fatigue sharing space with resolve.

But even in this mess, I know one thing:

I will push through.

Not because I am fearless. Not because I am certain it will get easier. But because I have done hard years before. Because I am still here. Because even when things stay the same, I am still moving — quietly, stubbornly, forward.

And even if nothing else changes right away, I will keep going — not out of blind hope, but out of quiet refusal to stop trying. 

If you’re standing at the edge of a new year carrying mixed emotions too, hope tangled with worry, fatigue paired with determination, I hope you know you’re not alone.

May the coming year meet you with moments of ease, even if they arrive slowly. May it give you strength where things feel uncertain, and softness where you’ve been too hard on yourself.

Here’s to stepping into the new year as we are— still learning, still hoping, still pushing through.

Happy New Year 🤍 - MESSY E.

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Christmas and the Words I Didn’t Know I Needed

BGC Taguig City, Christmas Day

I usually don’t go out on Christmas Day.

Not because I don’t love Christmas, but because I know what it brings — crowds, long walks, traffic, noise. I’m the kind of person who prefers quiet on days that already feel emotionally full. Staying home feels easier. Safer.

But this year was different.

My sister is here with us, and she’s much younger than me. At her age, Christmas isn’t something you spend indoors scrolling or resting, it’s something you experience. I didn’t want her stuck inside the house on a special day, so we went out.

First, we went to church.

Then, with no real plan, we decided to go around the city.

That’s how we ended up walking through Uptown Bonifacio on Christmas night, lights everywhere, people everywhere, the city alive in a way that only happens during the holidays.

That’s when we saw them.

Peace. Love. Hope. Joy.

Big, glowing words standing in the middle of the city — lit up, golden, surrounded by noise, traffic, and people moving in every direction. At first, they felt festive. Decorative. Very Christmas.

But the longer I stood there, the more they stopped feeling like decorations and started feeling like reminders.

Peace, existing in the middle of noise

“Peace” stood there quietly, even while the city stayed loud.

Cars passed. Conversations overlapped. Life didn’t pause for it. And I thought, maybe peace was never meant to be silence. Maybe it’s something you carry while everything else keeps moving.

This year has been noisy for me.

Missed expectations. Messy emotions. Thoughts that don’t know how to rest.

Yet somehow, peace still showed up in small, almost forgettable moments. A deep breath. A slow walk. An evening where nothing demanded too much of me.

Peace didn’t fix my life.

It just reminded me I could still stand in it.

Love, unfinished but honest

Then there was “Love.”

Bright. Warm. Impossible to ignore.

Love, for me, hasn’t been a clean story this year. It’s been complicated. Sometimes distant. Sometimes quiet. Sometimes hard.

Love looked like choosing myself when it felt uncomfortable.

Like setting boundaries.

Like learning that staying doesn’t always mean holding on.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was real.

And maybe that’s what love actually is, showing up, even when it’s messy.

Hope, stubborn and still glowing

“Hope” came next.

By then, the crowd was thicker. People were laughing, taking photos, moving on. And hope just stood there — unbothered, glowing anyway.

Hope doesn’t promise answers.

It doesn’t guarantee that things will suddenly make sense.

It simply says, “There’s still something ahead.”

And on days when I feel tired of trying, that quiet promise matters more than I admit.

Joy, easy to miss but still there

And then there was “Joy.”

The word I almost overlooked.

Joy isn’t always loud. It doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it hides behind exhaustion, routine, or survival mode.

This year, joy wasn’t constant for me.

It appeared in flashes, shared laughter, night walks, familiar places dressed in lights, moments where I forgot to overthink and just was.

Joy didn’t erase the mess.

It simply reminded me that even in unfinished seasons, there are still moments worth smiling about.

After that, we continued walking. We came to Central Square. We took photos here and there.

And then unexpectedly the sky lit up.

Fireworks.

For a moment, the noise turned into awe. People stopped moving. Heads tilted upward. And without realizing it, my inner child showed up, quiet, wide-eyed, smiling for no reason other than this is beautiful.

Standing there, surrounded by lights, strangers, and the echo of fireworks, I felt something settle in me.

My life isn’t neatly wrapped.

There are still misses. Still messes.

But that night reminded me that peace can exist in noise, love can be unfinished and still real, and hope doesn’t need certainty to keep going.

And sometimes, joy shows up when you least expect it right after you decide to step outside. - MESSY E.

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