The paradox of comfort

Two months ago, I attended an event in Quezon City and decided to bring my mom along. Perhaps it was because the venue was close to home, or simply because it was a Sunday morning, making it the perfect time for us to walk together and talk about life.

As I moved through my usual routine as a journalist by snapping photos, recording videos, and conducting interviews, my mom quietly watched me work. To some, her presence might have seemed like a small detail, but to me, it was a grand gesture.

My mom was not just watching me work; she was witnessing the results of her own hard work. Every "extra push" she gave me to reach this dream was suddenly tangible.

I am here because of her nudges, specifically her steady “Kaya mo yan!” and her gentle “Pahinga ka muna.”

The same hands that nurtured me are the ones that steady me whenever I stumble on this path of self-discovery.

It’s safe to say that my mother’s love has been my greatest paradox: it is the place where I am most comfortable, yet it is the very thing that gives me the courage to step out of my comfort zone.