And silence has never saved anyone.

My brother has a pamamanhikan today at his fiancée’s place. That’s where I need to be.  I wish I could be out there in the protests. But I’m not. 

All I could do today is write. And for now, I’m choosing to believe that counts for something.

Because protest takes many forms.

It’s not always about being on the front lines. Sometimes, it’s about refusing to go quiet, even when you’re somewhere else entirely. It’s choosing not to move on like nothing’s happening. It’s choosing to say something even when it’s late, or soft, or unsure.

I don’t always know what to say. I’m afraid of sounding inauthentic, or self-centered, or misinformed. I second-guess myself. I write, delete, rewrite. And sometimes I go quiet, not out of apathy, but out of fear that I’m not doing it right.

But I’ve learned that silence might protect my comfort, but it doesn’t protect anyone else.

We don’t have to be experts to care. We don’t need credentials to feel rage. We don’t need to have the perfect language to convey what we mean.

Grief is not a contest. Neither is protest.
You’re allowed to feel helpless and still speak up.
You’re allowed to hold heartbreak and still resist.
You’re allowed to not be physically present and still refuse to look away.

Rabbi Tarfon once said, “It is not your job to fix the world entirely, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

This is what I could do today.
I couldn’t march, but I could write.
I couldn’t shout, but I could still refuse to stay silent.

“Wag muna. Ako pa yung naka long dress.”

(Sorry, not yet — I’m still on long dresses.)

Jessica, if you’re reading this, consider this my formal, public apology. Kisses. 

I’ve always had this silent rule: never do what people closest to me are doing. If someone in my circle suddenly posts about a new café, I scratch it off my list. If they switch to slick-back buns, I part my hair the other way. Because I thought being different made my “brand.” 

But hey! Unless I really like it, I’ll personally message you and admit to you that you inspired me. (I believe people should do that more.)

For a while, I thought everything I mentioned above was branding. Carving my own lane, doing things no one in my circle was doing, always staying “first.” 

And I realize now, branding has become such a casual buzzword. We say we’re “rebranding” when we switch hairstyles or change color palettes. But is it really a rebrand if we're not even rooted in the first place?

Tonight, as I’m (again) fighting for my life thanks to another episode of acid reflux, the simple realization hits: Branding isn’t about being different for the sake of it. It’s not about who did it first. It’s not about having a unique aesthetic every six months.

It’s about knowing what you like and honoring it. It’s about sticking with your truth, even when it overlaps with someone else’s. Because even if people wear the same dress or read the same books or write the way you write your captions, they will never carry it the way you do. (Personally, my caption game is still the strongest. Yup! A flex.)

Truthfully, I don’t think something even counts as your “brand” until you’ve been carrying it for a decade. Okay, maybe at least 3 years. These days, evolution is fast. We change quickly now. Jk. 

But yeah, style is a phase. Aesthetics is a trend. But a brand? A brand endures. It weathers identity shifts, seasons of change, even nights of self-doubt (or acid reflux). At the end of the day, it’s what stays after the experimentation dies down.

So if Jessica wants to wear long dresses, that’s her truth, too. And maybe the real flex isn’t who did it first, but who stayed because it felt right.