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⚘ Bisdak 🇵🇭 figuring out life in #Munich 🇩🇪
✨ Manifesting wholistic happiness: 💶🏝🧠🏃🏽‍♀️📚💪🏽
💌 backpackingwithabook@gmail.com

Scars mapped my body. There is a huge crate on m

Scars mapped my body.

There is a huge crate on my left leg I got from learning how to ride a bike on my own when I was 9. There is a pancake behind my left knee I got from an infected scratch when I was 11. I got a slug on my right arm when I unknowingly hit a freshly broken glass under the bed when I was 10. I have no recollection of how I got that tree ring of a scar on my right breast. Mama said a dog bit me when I was 5.

The scars riddling my body made me insecure. I never wore shorts until I got a tattoo to cover the pancake when I was 27—-but the tattoo on my calf did not cover the scar at all.

I have learned to accept my body and its perceived “flaws.” I wear my scars like a badge of honor. During a recent medical examination, the doctor asked about the big scars. And I proudly told her the childhood stories.

At 36, I am not any wiser. But I learned confidence and body acceptance can be sexy too.

So, if there is something that you wanna wear so badly but you feel you do not have the body for it, do it. You have the body that has been there all the time, taking you on walks, digesting your food, reaching out something for you.

Do not let society’s definition of a hot girl summer to rob you off the joy of wearing clothes that make you feel good about yourself.

Photo by @guen.nevere 😘

Hi from #Hvar, #Croatia! This morning, I sent a

Hi from #Hvar, #Croatia!

This morning, I sent a @slackhq message to my work that I did a chunk of my tasks over the weekend. I broke down all the things that I did so I could greet Monday with a beachy beam.

One of the very few positive impacts of the pandemic is that it changes how and where we work. The number of employees demanding remote work with flexible schedule is increasing day by day. Many employers gradually cave in to this demand.

Workers don’t want to be stuck in the office. Many of us juggle: work and hobbies.

When I am at home, in between tasks, I garden, cook, snuggle with Miya and Zaki. And right after work, we pack up and cycle to the lake.

When I travel, I dedicate some hours in the morning and evening for work so during the day I can explore around.

My kind, who has multiple interests and hobbies, thrives the best in this set up. Productivity is on point. Sun and saltwater provide the much-needed serotonin.

Happiness is a pursuit I dedicate my whole life with.

Here is a reminder that if you want to pursue remote work, walk and work towards that dream. Because, baby, it does not show up on your door like your booty call.

Loving it here,
Instagram: @jonajournals

Thoughts on abortion from a Filipino who is not re

Thoughts on abortion from a Filipino who is not ready for motherhood and parenthood yet

Abortion, for a conservative country that uses god and bible as arguments, is a no-go. Some women rather become single parents or get married than doing it.

Some do it illegally, making themselves vulnerable to post traumatic stress disorder, infection, hemorrhage, organ/s injury.

The thing is the Philippines looks up to the US that many most likely consider the Roe Vs Wade overturn a win.

The thing is:
being a parent is a choice. Getting pregnant is a choice. And abortion is not something you have to travel for, which is the case for Americans from now on.

For Filipinos, it is something hidden and too embarrassing to talk about. It is illegal; it is stigmatized. Many suffer alone silently.

✨
Reading the comment section of Roe Vs Wade overturn makes me sad and angry. So many no-uterus, no-vaginas telling a woman what she should do with her body.
✨
Most likely these very no-vaginas, no uterus are the ones who go bareback, who insist of not using a condom, let alone know how to use one.
✨
Abortion is pro-life. Pro-choice is pro-life.
✨

#women #womensupportingwomen #roevswade

My obsession with financial freedom must be a trau

My obsession with financial freedom must be a trauma response: a series

I have been asking myself why I hustle so much when I do not have to. I came up with several possibilities.

4. I am a brown Asian from a developing country. My partner is white.

Wherever I go the same narrative tails me—my partner funds my life.

I have been loud and blunt about money for the past ten years. And more so in the coming years.

As a woman from a developing country, my pride cannot take that a man takes credit for all the years-long hard work I invested in my financial freedom. I have the agency, and I am using it to add a different narrative. Not change. Add.

What I want to add:

🙌🏽It is possible for a woman to look after herself financially.
🙌🏽It is possible for a woman to break free from the cultural and social burdens if they do not align with her life views
🙌🏽 It is possible for a woman to pave a different path while respecting those who choose a different one

✨✨✨

Enjoying these tita tidbits of life lessons and money talks? Find me on IG: @jonajournals. I am way more active there. I am doing several series on personal finance as part of my modern women series. No, I am not selling you courses or something. I am just passionate. 😂
✨
Here at Jona Journals, storytelling is our core. We value authenticity and sincerity.

For travel resources: backpackingwithabook.com
For personal narratives: medium.com/@jonabranzuelabering
For copywriting and content services: jonadesigns.biz

My obsession with financial freedom must be a trau

My obsession with financial freedom must be a trauma response: a Series

I have been asking myself why I hustle so much when I do not have to. I came up with several possibilities.

3. I am born in a culture that conditions me my parents and family are my financial burden.

Like any hopeful daughter, I dreamed of getting my parents out of poverty.

My older siblings, who have kids, always used my being unmarried and employed to argue that I should help our parents. So I did. Financially naive, I invested parts of my income in improving our house—from having the floor tiled to having the ceiling fixed. I gave a part of my salary to my mother.

I also sent two brothers to uni, without me getting knocked up because I taught myself sex education (a different story for later :P).

After two years of being part of the 8-5 labor force, it dawned on me I had nothing saved for the rainy days, and I was practically part of the "tingbitay sa iro" gang, a Cebuano slang that means the hanging of the dogs. The Bisaya use this expression for that time of the month, usually a week before payday, when money is uncomfortably tight.

If I continued doing this, the cycle of poverty would keep on rolling—a time would come I would be financially dependent on my partner or my kids. I was not too fond of that image of me.

So I broke up with my family. Financially. At 27, two months before my long-term trip abroad, I told them I would not be accessible financially.

Of course, I sometimes feel guilty. It is a generational cultural guilt passed on and on—you have more than enough, do not be greedy and share it with your family.

Trying to make peace with this guilt, I do help when I see the long-term value of my siblings' endeavors. I paid half for my sister's new scooter and my brother's boat. I gave our youngest some paid teaching and writing gig. But for their everyday finances? No way. Shouldering some expenses for my brother's wedding? No way. There are cultural things that do not align with me financially. Lavish weddings. Fiesta celebrations. Nope.

Their life is their responsibility. Not mine.

My obsession with financial freedom must be a trau

My obsession with financial freedom must be a trauma response.

I have been asking myself why I hustle so much when I do not have to. I came up with several possibilities.

2. Fun fact: when I was 11, we had a pet goat. Sad fact: when I was 11, we had a pet goat.

We named him Rene, after our paternal aunt, Remy—the owner of his mom.

Rene did not act like a goat. He was left unleashed and slept under the abuhan (a traditional hearth where cooking happens) among firewood and old slippers used as a kindling. The kitchen was his turf.

It did not take him long to explore the surrounding hills with us. He even looked for guavas in the wild guava orchard past the kitchen with us. He fetched water with us. He played tag in our moonlit yard—-up and down the long wooden bench.

Me, Jason, and Jboi did not treat him like a goat. He was a pet. A friend even.

And then one day our youngest got sick and hospitalized. And a stranger came over to get him. We cried. He bleated like crazy, perhaps he had an idea of his impending death.

I do not know how my younger brothers felt about it, but up to this day, 25 years after, I am still reeling about it. I have an unfinished creative nonfiction piece, trying to make sense of everything, of the turmoil, grief, betrayal, and hatred I felt.

It was my first lesson on loss and grief. And the thing is nobody really teaches you on how to grapple with these two. We do not have a culture of openly talking about these events that hurt us the most. Especially when it is dismissed as part of growing up.

I grew up without a sense of savings and emergency funds. My family always winged it. The closest to a safety net small-time farmers had, like my parents and my grandparents, were goats, cows, chicken, and pigs.

Nobody told us Rene was a safety net. Nobody told us we were not supposed to name farm animals.

Obviously, my parents would never be my safety net. I had noone else to depend on but myself. Especially, financially.

You, what’s your trauma and how do you respond to it?

#story #proud #bisaya #womensupportingwomen #financialfreedom

P.S. I look candidly gorgeous through @rrar21’s eyes

My obsession with financial freedom must be a trau

My obsession with financial freedom must be a trauma response.

I have been asking myself why I hustle so much when I do not have to. I came up with several possibilities

1. I grew up financially poor.

Every weekday, we had to wake up at 5:30 in the morning to fetch water and shower (the Filipino way) in the communal water pump 20 minutes away from our house.

We had to walk 5km to go to school. And back.

Sometimes we had to make do with milled corn and ginamos---fermented anchovy for school lunch.

My slippers could not be replaced til there's a hole in the sole or the strap was unrescuable anymore. That irreplaceable joy of having a new pair of Spartan!

When I was 16, I was a lived-in househelp for a year to support myself to school.

In uni, I lived with relatives because we could not afford a room in a boarding house (the Cebuano term for badly maintained shared living). In return, most household chores were on me. Without a scholarship and Mama's will to send us to uni, I would not have made it.

I am not ashamed of where I am from. Being or growing up poor is something I should not be ashamed of. My story is not unique either, and certainly I do not need your pity guised as sympathy. This was a reality for many 90s kids who grew up in the countryside Philippines.

Rather, I am proud of what I have become.

Part 1/3

You, what's your story?

How come you love traveling so much, yet you get l

How come you love traveling so much, yet you get lost often?

Last month, I took the wrong train to Berlin, and the 5-hour train ride became 10. I still made it to Berlin, 5 hours later.

In Vietnam, I explored so many remote places on my own and took so many wrong turns here and there.

My sense of direction is as terrible as my fear for unexpected things.

But I do it anyway.

In life, you do not have to be good at something to do it. You can be bad. Or worse even.

Do it anyway.

Seven months in, and I still have no friends here.

Seven months in, and I still have no friends here.

Not motivated to look for some either. Today, when we passed groups having barbecue by the river, I wish I were part of one.

Moving abroad, where you do not know anyone you consider a friend, can be lonely at times.

So many posts on failed marriages that stemmed fro

So many posts on failed marriages that stemmed from celebrities’.

New on Medium: On Marriage, Achievement, and Self-Worth: https://medium.com/@jonabranzuelabering/never-speak-of-marriage-as-an-achievement-2512f22771eb

***

When I was a high school student, I had a sketchbook filled up with wedding dresses I sketched myself. I dreamed of translating one of the designs into reality and wore them on my wedding day, and bragged I designed *this* myself.

I miss writing for the sake of writing. No rules.

I miss writing for the sake of writing. No rules. No monetization in mind. Just the sheer joy of seeing words on a blank page.

Everyone is welcome to join the fun. You can write all about the weekly prompts, or you can choose one for every week. There is no word count. There are no rules at all. Just have fun and give it a shot.

You can host it on your blog. Or Instagram. Or even here on Medium.

Tag me so I can read your work: https://medium.com/@jonabranzuelabering/b306b2117373 ☺️

In our culture, success has an obnoxiously linear

In our culture, success has an obnoxiously linear path: you graduate, get a stable job that comes with health insurance, SSS/GSIS, Pag-ibig, and what-not, find someone who has a stable job — -ideally someone who has no drinking and smoking habits, a good citizen, religious — -marry that someone, have babies, send them to school, work your ass off to afford their college education, retire, expect your kids to be financially responsible for you, be grandparents, and enjoy life.

Read the entire rambling here: ✨https://medium.com/@jonabranzuelabering/what-is-success-for-you-a-happy-heart-mind-and-pussy-there-41fc6553e76✨

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