
Halfway through 2025, halfway more!

Marriage, motherhood, homeschooling and all else in between. By God's design.

Iāve been spending too much time on X.
I dreamt of Elon Musk.
I was a girl. We sat together in what looked like an open train.
No words, our eyes talked. Neither romantic nor filial.
Heās so tall.
I looked up to him as he wrapped his right arm around me.
Then he started playing music⦠with parts of his face.
I had childlike wonder on my face.
He smiled lightly and brought out something about as wide as his mouth, a harmonica.

One after the other, parts of his face popped and played music – his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, his forehead.
I laid my head on his chest as the train kept moving forward, the cool breeze brushing on my cheeks.
I was safe.
Then I awakened.
Yesterday, my son spotted an elderly photographer in the park and asked for a photo. Weāll call him Lolo.
Lolo wore a warm smile, black-rimmed eyeglasses, a denim vest, a fishermanās hat, and two digital SLR cameras around his neck. Lolo charged 50 pesosāless than a dollarāper photo. After we paid, he asked us to wait in the park while he printed our pictures.
My husband hesitated, skeptical if Lolo would return. But I said, āBatangas āto,ā reassuring myself of the trust weāve found in Batangas City, our home for over five years now. Itās not blind trust, but a belief in the good woven into the community, rooted in Godās guidance. I wanted to support Loloās workāhe wasnāt begging; he was offering a service.
While waiting, my son raced around the park, turned a concrete slope into a slide and played with other kids. I met three moms, exchanged short stories of family and faithāconnections Iād have missed if weād rushed home after our hospital visit.

The sun dipped low, and the church bells of the Minor Basilica of the Immaculate Conception rang for the Angelus (6:00 PM). Doubt crept in. Was my husband right? I prayed silently, trusting God, that Lolo would return.
One mom reassured me that Loloās a local; he also took their pictures a while back. My son, sweaty and thirsty, sat beside me. My husband nodded toward the car. I repeated, āBatangas āto,ā holding onto faith.
After a few more minutes, Lolo returned, handing us our photos in brown envelopes. My son blurted, āWhere were you, Mr. Photographer?ā Lolo chuckled. I saw how he took pride in his work and asked his nameāEmil, he said, hesitantly. āThank you, Sir Emil,ā I said, texting him gratitude. His face lit up. Using his name made him feel seen, just as God sees us.
Batangas may not be perfect, but itās relatively safe*, with trust running deep like roots in good soil. We can talk to strangers in the parkānot fearfully, but wisely, with Godās discernment.
As we train our kids, letās take notice of peopleās kindness, honor the elderly, and see the good in people. Letās also remind our kids to always check with us before conversing with strangers. Using someoneās nameālike Lolo Emilāsābuilds bridges. It shows they matter. Try it: say a cashierās or serverās name, share a smile, and trust our Heavenly Fatherās care.Ā
Batangas ātoāor as the locals would say, āBatangas a-reh!ā
*Looking for stats and facts? For the latest data or report on crime rates in the Philippines, you may check here or here.