My 47^th blog

A Letter to a Friend Who Sees Me

 

I sent a message to my male friend admitting that I’ve been feeling a little down in the dumps lately—maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the weight of circumstances I’ve been quietly carrying. He asked what I meant, and I replied, “Maybe mid-life crisis; maybe being alone syndrome. Haha.”

He answered with striking candor:

 

“I do get that, and you shouldn’t be alone—there is no reason on earth why you should be, especially since your marriage ended till now. I can surmise that as a financially independent Filipina, you could easily be a target for local Filipino men, so you needed to be careful. And also, plenty of ass-wipe types of men everywhere in the world too, so it’s not so easy in the past, but far from impossible going forward.

 

Nevertheless, you’re too bright, vibrant and intelligent to have nobody to bounce things off and to love and to be loved back. I was just thinking of a woman around your age who’s connected to my family—she’s lived alone since her love life collapsed many years ago (long story). But she has a big friend list and is always doing something with someone. She doesn’t seem particularly bothered by being alone… though I haven’t spoken to her in eight years, so I don’t know how she feels now that she’s hitting 60 soon.

Anyway, don’t let it bother you. This is YOUR life, and you owe it to yourself to be happy—or adjust your mindset to suit the life you choose to settle for. I never want to hear you say you made a mistake because you clutched at the wrong relationship. You need a relationship Maginot Line to protect yourself from scumbags and selfish liars, too. Nite nite.”

 

I replied:

 

You know, it genuinely means a lot that you took the time to write with such depth and unapologetic honesty—especially in your own raw, unfiltered way. Behind the jokes and brash metaphors, I heard someone who truly wants me to feel seen, cared for, and not forgotten. And that’s something I’ll hold close.

 

You’re right about my independence. I’ve built a life with resilience, carved out daily rhythms, and found purpose in creativity, prayer, and connection. I’ve filled my calendar with intention, surrounded myself with strong, loyal female friends who uplift me. But even with all that fullness, there are still quiet hours when the absence of companionship—real emotional intimacy—knocks louder than I expect.

 

I don’t have many male friends—and that’s partly by design, partly due to how life has unfolded. Trust has become something sacred. I’ve learned, sometimes painfully, that not every extended hand comes with good intentions. So yes, I’ve built walls. Protective ones. Not to isolate, but to safeguard a heart that’s been through enough. Still, I know that keeping myself safe can also keep me hidden—and that doesn’t always serve the deeper longing to be truly known.

 

Your story about that woman you know moved me. She sounds like someone who’s mastered the art of staying in motion, of filling the gaps with social presence. I try to do that too—to stay busy, stay useful, stay engaged. But loneliness doesn’t always care about schedules or community. It often arrives quietly, sometimes dressed as fatigue, sometimes as silence at the end of a beautifully chaotic day.

 

I don’t romanticize relationships blindly. I know love has to be real—rooted in truth, compassion, and reciprocity. That’s why your reminder to build my own “Maginot Line” struck a chord. I need my defenses, yes, but I also need to let the drawbridge down from time to time. Otherwise, I risk forgetting the warmth and wonder of genuine connection.

 

And hey, your outrageous humor? It cracked me up. Maybe that’s your way of offering care without making things too heavy. If so, it worked. You made me smile.

 

So thank you—for your boldness, your quirky kind of tenderness, your reminder that I am still deserving of love, not just company. Whatever this next chapter holds, I’ll keep shaping it with intention and courage. I won’t chase noise or settle for half-hearted connection. I’ll keep choosing what feels true. And if someone like you reminds me to guard my heart while still letting it breathe… then maybe I’m already halfway there.

 

Sleep peacefully, my friend.