The riots in France make me sad, not only as a French citizen with a deep love for the country, but also as a human being.
It is interesting to be a citizen of both France and the Philippines, two countries with seemingly opposite approaches to protest and political accountability.
In France, people take to the streets and let all hell loose (at least, no more beheadings!). In the Philippines, we make memes, laugh at the absurdity of it all, and somehow keep electing many of the same politicians while corruption persists and the gap between the richest and the poorest continues to grow.
I know I am generalizing, but that is how I see it, in a nutshell.
In my DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy) class, we talk about the dialectic of acceptance and change: learning to accept reality as it is while actively working to change what needs to change.
This is where meaningful transformation can happen.
But transformation is rarely easy or quick. Even in individual therapy, DBT often involves a commitment of a year or longer. What more when we are talking about entire countries, cultures, and populations? We are talking about generations of patterns, beliefs, and behaviors that need to be examined and transformed.
This is why individual work matters.
Change begins when we learn to bring our hearts and minds together, to hold compassion and accountability, acceptance and the willingness to change. This is very much at the heart of DBT.
Inner work is not easy. It asks us to look at ourselves honestly, take responsibility for our part, and choose differently, even when it is uncomfortable. But it is fundamental.
Because the transformation we wish to see in the world cannot happen without transformation within ourselves.
And perhaps, if we don't do this work in this lifetime, we will find ourselves facing the same lessons again in the next.
It’s been a month since I got back into the rhythm of school and regular classes, though there have been some disruptions due to the extreme weather conditions we’ve been experiencing here in Western Luzon. Our neighboring countries have not been spared either — Mama Gaia is making herself felt loud and clear.
My new card deck project, the Philippine Cacao Wisdom Deck, is well underway, with fifteen decks already pre-sold and the deck itself nearing completion. I am very excited about this!
At the end of September, I will also be visiting Davao for the first time to attend a Psychology conference. While there, I will be hosting a Cacao Ceremony called “Come Home to Yourself.” I love that Davao is known for its cacao production, and I feel honored to serve cacao ceremonially there.
I also have an event in Baguio in the first week of September that will combine ceremonial cacao, music and plant-based food — some of my favorite things.
September looks like it will be an interesting month.
Thank goodness my university doesn't offer summer classes for graduate students, because I would most likely enroll if given the chance. Instead, I get something I probably need even more: a proper school break before the academic calendar resets in August.
April and May were academically intense, even though I intentionally reduced my load to six credits last semester (compared to the nine I took previously). One of the highlights was experiencing my instructor's neuropsychological assessment clinic firsthand—a rare opportunity that brought many of the concepts we had been studying to life.
The reward I promised myself after finals was a trip to Japan with my partner. This wasn't just another vacation. It was my first real holiday in a long time—I usually travel for work or training—and my first international trip with my partner.
What made the journey even more meaningful was the intention behind it.
When we were first getting to know each other, before we had even started dating, I mentioned that I was studying Bushidō, the Way of the Samurai. Without hesitation, he said, "We should walk the Samurai Trail in Japan."
He was referring to the Nakasendō, the historic route that connected Edo (present-day Tokyo) and Kyoto. It was traveled by merchants, pilgrims, government officials, and many samurai, earning it the nickname "the Samurai Trail."
Less than two years later, there we were, flying to Japan and beginning an unforgettable journey through the Japanese Alps. We hiked through mountains where bears still roam, boarded the wrong trains more than once, met wonderful people, soaked in hot springs, and enjoyed some of the most memorable meals of our lives.
Yet what stayed with me most wasn't any single destination—it was the feeling of peace.
The trails were pristine. There was no litter anywhere. Even in crowded train cars, people respected one another by keeping conversations quiet and using earphones instead of playing audio aloud. As someone who is particularly sensitive to noise, that level of consideration brought an unexpected calm to my nervous system. I hadn't realized how much mental space constant noise occupies until I experienced its absence.
I'm already dreaming about our next trip to Japan.
This time, I hope to visit Tsushima Island in Kyushu, where my sensei, Zen Takai, has been teaching Bushidō to students from around the world. It feels like a natural continuation of the path that began with a simple conversation almost two years ago—and a reminder that sometimes the journeys we casually imagine together become the ones that change us the most.
