A Tiny Fall, A Brave Rise

Hello, daydreamers! 🌧️✨

When we’re young, our dreams are often as big and boundless as the sky. But as we grow, life’s realities gently reshape them into something smaller, more practical—something we can carry in our pockets instead of our hearts.

Looking back, I was a big dreamer—a tiny girl from a humble family, full of wild hopes despite the challenges around me. One rainy afternoon, my sister and I had to walk home because our baon didn’t cover the fare for the Motorela (a tricycle in Mindanao). It started pouring, but waiting wasn’t an option. We were in elementary school, and walking late into the evening felt too risky.

Eventually, we reached the old wooden bridge near our house—just a few steps away from home. But I wasn’t careful. I stepped on a rotted plank and fell straight into the rushing water below. I didn’t know how to swim, and the water wasn’t deep, but I was small, terrified, and soaked with fear. My sister cried in panic, and although the bridge was surrounded by homes, no one noticed us. Maybe that was a blessing—I was too shy for dramatic rescue scenes anyway.

Somehow, I reached the riverbank and climbed out, shivering but safe. I told my sister, "Let’s not tell Mama and Papa."

Now, whenever I remember that day, I can’t help but laugh. It was scary—but also brave. Just one of many cringeworthy childhood stories I’ve collected over the years. I’ll share more in my next post.

Until then—keep dreaming, rain or shine! ☁️💫 —Jiezza