Tuesday, August 25, 2026
Monday, August 24, 2026
Two Weeks of Flash Floods: When "Suspended" Became the Word I Dreaded Most
A government worker's honest account of two weeks in Manila that tested patience, routine, and resolve.
There's a particular kind of tiredness that comes from getting ready for nothing.
More than once during these past two weeks, I woke up early, got dressed, prepared everything the way I always do, and made my way through Manila's streets to the office — only to have work suspended around 3 PM. By then, the rain had usually picked up again, the streets I'd just crossed that morning were turning into rivers, and I'd be heading back out into the very flooding I had carefully timed my whole morning to avoid.
The first time it happened, I understood completely. Manila floods fast, and when the water starts rising on streets I've walked for years, safety has to come first. No one can control the weather, and no one should be expected to. But when it happened a second time. And then a third. It stopped feeling like an isolated disruption and started feeling like a pattern I couldn't plan my life around.
The Disheartening Part Wasn't the Rain — It Was the Repetition
I think anyone who has worked through a stretch like this in this city knows the feeling: it's not any single suspended day that wears you down. It's the third one. The fourth one. The moment you realize you can't trust your own schedule anymore, and every morning becomes a gamble against the sky.
Each day came with the same quiet question before I even left the house: Will today actually happen, or will I be back out in this by mid-afternoon? There's a specific kind of fatigue in fully preparing for a full workday — mentally, physically, logistically — only to have it cut short, again, before you've even settled into a rhythm. Add to that the reality of getting home through Manila traffic and flooding at 3 PM instead of the usual hours, and the exhaustion compounds fast.
As a Senior Education Program Specialist at the Bureau of Learning Resources, my work depends on continuity — reviewing materials, coordinating with colleagues, keeping projects on track. Two weeks of stop-start days meant tasks kept getting pushed, picked back up for an hour or two, and pushed again. Nothing collapsed entirely, but very little moved forward the way it should have, and the mental load of constantly re-planning around uncertain hours was its own kind of exhausting.
What Kept Me Grounded
If there's one thing I've learned — both as a stroke survivor and as someone who's spent years at the chessboard — it's that you can't control every condition you're playing under. You can only control how you respond to them.
So I adjusted. I kept a running list of tasks I could tackle in short bursts, so a suspended afternoon wasn't automatically a wasted one. I checked in with colleagues more than usual just to stay coordinated even when we weren't all reachable at the same time. And on the days the suspension came, I tried to treat those unplanned hours as recovery time rather than lost time — something I've had to relearn since my stroke, when patience stopped being something I could take for granted.
Two Weeks Later
The rains have finally eased, the streets have cleared, and the office routine in Manila is holding steady again. But I don't think I'll forget how disheartening those repeated 3 PM suspensions felt — showing up fully ready, settling in, and then being sent back out into the same weather I'd just fought my way past that morning.
If anything, it was a reminder that resilience isn't really about the big, dramatic moments. It's about how you handle the small, repetitive ones — the mornings you get ready anyway, even when you're not sure the day will actually hold.
**References:** Recent government advisories and reports noted work suspensions, work-from-home arrangements, and disaster-response measures due to continuous heavy rains and flooding in several parts of the Philippines.Wednesday, August 12, 2026
The Midlife Crisis I Never Saw Coming
The Midlife Crisis
I Never Saw Coming
Between the chessboard, my stroke, my family, and the dreams I had to postpone.
"Kaya ko pa kaya?"
whispered to an old photograph
There are moments in life when you suddenly stop and ask yourself if this is really where you are supposed to be — not because you have failed, and not because you have stopped dreaming, but because the person you used to be can no longer do everything the way he used to. That, for me, is what a midlife crisis feels like. It isn't always about buying a sports car or chasing your youth again. Sometimes it is much quieter.
The Chessboard That I Miss
For years, chess has been more than a game to me — it has been part of my identity. I am a chess athlete, an Arena Grandmaster who has competed in the Philippines and in Malaysia. I know the tension of the clock, the silence before a move, the thrill of finding a winning combination. Chess taught me patience. It taught me sacrifice. It taught me that sometimes you have to lose a piece to win the game.
But life gave me a lesson no chessboard could prepare me for: a stroke. Suddenly, the athlete who was used to competing had to learn a completely different kind of competition. This time the opponent wasn't sitting across the board — the opponent was inside me. My body. My limitations. My uncertainty. And sometimes, my own fear.
I still love chess. I still crave the smell of tournament halls, the sound of chess clocks, the handshake before the first move. But there are tournaments I can no longer simply join — not because I don't want to, but because my body sometimes says, "Not yet."
And that hurts. Masakit. Because when you're an athlete, you don't simply miss a tournament — you miss a piece of yourself.
The Learner Who Still Wants to Learn
There's another part of me that refuses to grow old: the learner. I have always craved new courses, new technologies, new ideas, new skills, new opportunities. Whenever a new program or scholarship or fellowship crosses my path, something inside me still says, "Gusto ko 'yan."
Then reality sits beside me — tuition, transportation, food, bills, family expenses, my children's needs. And I find myself doing the mathematics of the heart: "Kung gagastusin ko ito para sa sarili kong pag-aaral, saan kukunin ang panggastos ng pamilya?"
So I postpone. Again. And again. And sometimes I wonder how many dreams I've quietly sacrificed — not because I lacked the ability, but because someone else needed me more.
When you're young, you ask, "What do I want?" When you become a parent, you begin asking, "What does my family need?" Somewhere between those two questions, your own dreams sometimes get lost.
The Opportunities That Passed Me By
There are opportunities I remember — some I pursued, some I missed, some I wasn't ready for, some that simply came at the wrong time. There are doors I look back at now and wonder: what if I had entered that door? What if I had studied that course, accepted that opportunity, competed in that tournament? What if I had started earlier, or my body had remained stronger, or I had more money, or I were younger?
Those questions can become dangerous, because "what if" has no endgame. Like a chess position you keep analyzing long after the game has ended, you can spend your entire life replaying moves that can no longer be changed.
You cannot win a game by constantly analyzing the position you already left behind.
Age Is Another Opponent
There's something strange about getting older. When you're young, thirty seems old. Then forty comes. Then fifty. And suddenly you realize time is no longer something you take for granted. You watch younger people receive opportunities you once dreamed about — new athletes rising, new professionals beginning, students freely pursuing degrees. And sometimes you wonder, "Am I already too late?"
That question has visited me many times, especially after my stroke. Because recovery teaches you humility. You celebrate things other people take for granted — standing, walking, moving, speaking, trying again. And every small victory reminds me: I am still here.
But Maybe This Isn't the Endgame
Perhaps I've been looking at this crisis from the wrong side of the board. Maybe it isn't a crisis of age. Maybe it's a crisis of identity. Who am I now? If I can't compete the way I used to, am I still an athlete? If I can't study every course I want, am I still a learner? If my body has limitations, am I still strong? If opportunities have passed, do I still have a future?
I think I finally know the answer: YES.
Yes, I am still an athlete — because an athlete isn't defined only by medals. Yes, I am still a learner — because curiosity doesn't have an expiration date. Yes, I am still strong — because strength isn't the absence of disability; strength is continuing despite it. And yes, I still have a future — because the game is not over.
I May Have Lost Some Moves. But I Have Not Lost the Game.
My stroke changed my life. My disability changed the way I move through the world. Age has changed my opportunities. Family responsibilities have changed my priorities. And yes, there are dreams I've had to postpone. But I refuse to call them dead. Postponed is not the same as abandoned.
Maybe I can't chase every dream anymore. Maybe I have to choose carefully — to be wiser about where I spend my time, energy, and money. Maybe my next victories won't come with trophies. Maybe they'll come as another course completed, another book read, another skill learned, another tournament attended even if I'm not the one playing, another young person inspired — another day when I wake up and say, "I still want to learn."
My New Definition of Winning
I used to think winning meant defeating an opponent. Now I understand that sometimes winning means simply refusing to surrender. Winning is getting up after the fall. Winning is accepting the body you have while continuing to strengthen the mind you possess. Winning is choosing family without completely abandoning yourself. Winning is looking at your age and saying, "Yes, I am older. But I am not finished."
The chessboard of life has changed. Some pieces have been taken. Some moves can no longer be played. But there are still pieces on the board — and as long as there is a piece left, there is a move.
So, Am I Having a Midlife Crisis?
Maybe I am. But perhaps this crisis isn't asking me to become the person I was twenty years ago. Perhaps it's asking me to discover who I can still become. The younger me wanted to conquer the world. The older me wants to make sense of it.
The athlete in me still wants to compete. The survivor in me wants to inspire. The father in me wants to provide. The educator in me wants to teach. The learner in me still wants to discover. And the dreamer in me? He refuses to retire.
I may have missed opportunities. I may have lost time. I may have limitations I never asked for. But I still have something incredibly valuable: another move. And tomorrow morning, I intend to make it.
Checkmate is not yet written.
Still learning · Still fighting · Still dreaming · Still living
Wednesday, August 5, 2026
Alex Eala: The Champion Who Lifted the Spirit of a Nation
🇵🇭 Alex Eala: The Champion Who Lifted the Spirit of a Nation 🎾
By Joselito Bandelaria Asi
Disclaimer: The accompanying image is an AI-generated artistic illustration created solely to celebrate Alex Eala's historic achievement. It is not an authentic photograph.
S ome victories transcend sports. They become moments that unite an entire nation.
Alex Eala's historic victory at the Mubadala DC Open in Washington, D.C. is one of those unforgettable moments.
With courage, discipline, and unwavering determination, she made history by capturing her first WTA Tour singles title. More than lifting a trophy, she lifted the hopes and dreams of millions of Filipinos around the world.
For generations, the Philippines has longed to see one of its own stand among the world's elite in professional tennis. Alex has transformed that dream into reality.
Every match she played reflected not only extraordinary athletic talent but also the Filipino values of perseverance, humility, resilience, and grace under pressure.
"Her victory reminds us that no dream is too distant when it is pursued with passion, discipline, and relentless hard work."
A Personal Reflection
As a person living with a partial disability after surviving an ischemic stroke, Alex Eala's achievement carries a special meaning for me.
Recovery teaches us that every small victory matters. Every step forward is a triumph over yesterday's limitations. Watching Alex compete with confidence and determination reminds me that obstacles do not define our future—our perseverance does.
Her success inspires not only athletes but also stroke survivors, persons with disabilities, students, teachers, professionals, and every Filipino striving to overcome life's challenges.
A Champion for Every Filipino
Alex has become a symbol of hope.
- 🇵🇭 She has shown young Filipinos that they can dream beyond boundaries.
- 🎾 She has shown the world that Filipino talent belongs on the biggest stages.
- ⭐ She has reminded us that excellence is born from years of sacrifice, discipline, and faith.
- ❤️ She has united millions of Filipinos in celebration and pride.
Today, Filipinos across the globe celebrate her remarkable achievement. From Luzon to Mindanao, from overseas Filipino communities to every tennis court where children first learn to hold a racket, her victory has ignited hope for a new generation.
This is not just Alex Eala's triumph.
It is a victory shared by every Filipino who believes that greatness can come from our islands.
Congratulations, Alex Eala!
May this historic title be only the beginning of an extraordinary career filled with many more championships, unforgettable matches, and perhaps one day, a Grand Slam singles title.
The Philippines stands proudly behind you.
Mabuhay ka, Alex Eala! 🇵🇭
Mabuhay ang Pilipinas!
🏷️ Labels
Alex Eala, Philippine Tennis, WTA Tour, Mubadala DC Open, Washington DC, Filipino Pride, Philippine Sports, Women in Sports, Tennis Champion, Inspiration, Stroke Survivor, Persons with Disabilities, Motivation, Resilience, Champions, Sports History, Proud Filipino, Philippine Athletes
📱 Hashtags
#AlexEala #ProudFilipino #PhilippineTennis #WTATour #Champion #HistoryMade #MubadalaDCOpen #WashingtonDC #PinoyPride #FilipinoExcellence #WomenInSports #FutureGrandSlamChampion #SportsInspiration #NeverGiveUp #Resilience #StrokeSurvivor #PWDInspiration #BelieveInDreams #TeamPhilippines #MabuhayAngPilipinas
© 2026 Joselito Bandelaria Asi | Opinions expressed are personal and intended to celebrate Filipino excellence in sports.
