Just like that, November is here again — my birthday month. This year feels more meaningful because I turned 50 over the weekend. Half a century. A milestone that once sounded intimidating, but now feels grounding, liberating, and surprisingly light.
In past birthdays, I would pack my bags, book a flight, and spend the weekend exploring somewhere new. I used to crave movement, escape, and stimulation — as if the only way to “celebrate” was to go somewhere far. But this year, I wanted something different. Softer. Quieter. More intentional.
So, instead of chasing a trip, I chose a staycation — not out of laziness, but out of a newfound appreciation for rest as celebration.
Why Stay — and Not Run?
Turning 50 shifts something inside you. You start valuing energy differently. You begin filtering what deserves your presence and what no longer needs your urgency. The idea of skipping airport stress, packing logistics, and the guilt of leaving my cats for days felt… right.
There is comfort in staying close to home yet seeing your city with a fresh set of eyes — noticing the details you once ignored because life was moving too fast. Maybe I had been too jaded to appreciate the gentle quirks of this southern city, a place I often take for granted simply because it is familiar.
The Space to Breathe
I booked a night at the newly opened Sam’s 21 Hotel along Benigno Aquino Highway. Clean, modern, aesthetically pleasing — the kind of space that doesn’t overwhelm but invites you to exhale. From my window, I could see the street slowly shifting into Christmas mode with oversized parols hung on every lamp post. Soon, this whole stretch will glow with festive lights, a reminder that joy is seasonal, but also cyclical — it returns when you make space for it.
Inside the room was comfort in its purest form: a plush bed, warm lighting, silence that felt like a gift. I ate my takeaway dinner slowly, journaled with intention, played soft chords on my travel guitar, and laughed at AI cat videos (Ginger's Diary and Black Cat Jiji's Restaurant). The smallest pleasures expanded because there was finally room for them to breathe.
Sometimes, joy is not loud — it’s gentle and quiet, asking for nothing but your presence.
Reclaiming the City at Night
That evening, I walked to the nearby mall to buy pastries, dinner, and a small birthday gift for myself — a wireless Miniso keyboard (practicality is the love language of women at 50).
What surprised me was how the walk felt different. Under the soft glow of the street lamps, I noticed joggers, cyclists, and strangers moving through their own evening rituals. I realized how walkable this part of Iloilo is — something I never appreciated because I was always in a rush.
There’s a certain romance in rediscovering your own city — not as a resident, but as an observer, almost like dating it again after years of co-existing.
Morning Light, Coffee, and New Energy
The next morning, sunlight streamed into the room like a warm invitation to start anew. I walked to the River Esplanade — one of the city’s best spots for reflection — and watched fishermen catching tilapia from the river’s thriving ecosystem. It was ordinary, almost mundane, yet grounding in a way that felt poetic.
Breakfast at Drip Café was simple. The tapa was average, but the Flat White was excellent — and as shallow as it sounds, sometimes a good cup of coffee is enough to shift the day for the better.
The Substance of This Staycation
It wasn’t a grand trip. No passport stamps. No bucket-list adventures.
But it gave me:
• space to think
• quiet to listen to myself
• comfort without effort
• presence without distraction
At 50, celebration takes on a new meaning. It becomes less about the more and more about the meaning. You stop chasing what looks good on photos and choose what feels good in the soul.
Fifty: A New Kind of Free
I left the hotel feeling lighter — not because I escaped life, but because I paused long enough to return to it with clarity. If this is what 50 feels like — intentional, peaceful, and deeply rooted — then I welcome the decade ahead with open arms.
Happy birthday to me.
Here’s to choosing softness, slowness, and the kind of life that feels like a deep breath.
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