The Whole 9 Yards

Recently, I made one of the best decisions of my life: I went home to the Philippines for a week to watch my best friend walk down the aisle.

I spent ten days in Manila with my two-year-old daughter. That entire trip was transformative. I needed it for many reasons, but for now, I want to write about what it taught me about love.

One of my favorite moments of the wedding—and perhaps of the entire trip—was witnessing the first dance of the bride, Alexa, my best friend, and her groom, Sef. My eyes were fixed on her. The way she rested her head on her husband’s chest, tears streaming down her face, yet her heart was so visibly at peace. Her happiness radiated.

No amount of money could buy that moment, and I’m so grateful I was there to witness it in person. She was so happy. So at peace. So beautiful.

I went home for Alexa, but that trip changed something in me. I felt deeply loved, truly seen, and genuinely heard.

The last time I had been home was in May of 2024. The year and a half that followed felt like the ground beneath me had collapsed, forcing me to rebuild my life from the rubble. Coming home after all of that felt different—para bang first time kong nakapag-pahinga ng husto. After a year and a half of sacrifice, grinding, and holding it together, I had a week to simply be. To cry, to laugh, and to truly rest.

My best friends went above and beyond for me; they always do. Every time we went out, they rushed to my side to help me set up the stroller with Mia, push her around, and play with her. None of them are parents yet, but they never once made me feel like things were any different.

The night before my flight back, I had a heart-to-heart with my best friends. I told them how grateful I was for the way they love me, and how even if we don’t see each other yearly or talk regularly, it feels as though no time has passed. My best friend Mica, who took an entire week off work just to be with me every day, brushed off saying it was nothing. Then she said, “We do this because we want you to always come home.”

And maybe that’s the truth I’m still carrying with me: to be loved the way my best friends love me is to be told, gently, you can rest.