If you could reflect on one thing, it’s this:

What part of your body or sexuality were you taught to ignore—and what would it mean to reclaim it?

This letter is for anyone raised to believe that sex is shameful, silence is safety, and pleasure is something to fear.

Through unapologetic truth-telling and cultural honesty, the writer challenges the long-standing taboos around sex in Filipino households—especially those shaped by Catholic doctrine and generational silence. They reflect on how shame has kept us unprepared: for intimacy, for consent, for naming harm, and for experiencing connection that is safe, mutual, and fulfilling.

If you’ve ever felt disconnected from your body, silenced by your culture, or unsure of your right to feel pleasure—this one’s for you.

If you can reflect on one thing, it’s this:

What unspoken rules shaped your voice growing up—and what do you want your children to hear instead?

This letter is for anyone raised to stay quiet “out of respect” to one’s elders, even if that silence costs them their emotional well-being.

Through tender storytelling and raw vulnerability, the writer reflects on what it means to parent with intention after growing up in a household of unspoken feelings and quiet suffering. From honoring her Lola’s love to rewriting generational patterns with her children, this letter is a soft but powerful reclamation of voice.

If you’ve ever wished you had permission to speak up, to feel fully, or to say “I’m hurt” without fear, you’re not alone. This one’s for you.

If you could reflect on one thing:

Have you ever mistaken intensity for love?

This letter is for anyone who’s clung to the fantasy of a love that burns, only to be left scorched.

Through raw storytelling and self-reflection, the writer revisits her past as a hopeless romantic, tracing how codependency, loneliness, and a savior complex once shaped her understanding of love. But now, she chooses differently.

With hard-won clarity, she offers us a new metaphor: wildfires versus campfires. Where love once meant chaos and sacrifice, she now finds safety in warmth, reciprocity, and steady companionship.

If you’ve ever been addicted to emotional highs, drawn to people who need saving, or felt ashamed to admit that healthy love feels “boring” after a lifetime of drama, this letter is for you.