There are mornings when everything is fine. The to-do list is reasonable, the coffee is decent, the messages on your phone are nothing urgent. And yet something inside you feels slow to start. Like the lights are on, but the music’s missing.
I’ve had those mornings too. And sometimes I’ve ignored them, told myself I was just tired, or that I’d feel better once I finished a task, or got outside. Other times, I’ve leaned into the feeling. Sat with it. Let it say what it needed to say.
It’s not always sadness. It’s not even boredom. Sometimes, it’s just the quiet recognition that I’ve been running on autopilot showing up to the things I “have” to do, but not the things that make me feel like myself. The version of me that laughs without effort, that notices the sky, that hums a song out of nowhere, and doesn’t care if it’s off key.
This piece is about finding a way back to that person, the one who’s still there, still reachable, just waiting for a little more breath, a little more light.
When you notice yourself dimming
You might not catch it right away. But it tends to show up in small ways: you stop replying to messages even if you miss your friends. You leave your camera roll untouched for weeks. You eat what’s convenient but not what makes you feel nourished. You start surviving more than living.
For me, it usually shows up as disinterest in beauty. If I no longer feel drawn to arts, or music, or humor, I know I’ve gone dim inside.
It used to scare me when this would happen. I’d think, “Here we go again,” as if I was spiraling back into some long slump. But the more I’ve observed it, the more I’ve learned to see this dimming not as a failure, but as a signal. A check engine light. Not something to be ashamed of, but something to respond to.
READ: Is This It? The Silent Panic of Finding Your Way
Over time, I’ve tried a number of things that help me find my way back. They don’t fix everything, but they remind me that I’m still here. That life is still happening and there’s still beauty to touch.
Everyday aliveness is a practice
It doesn’t take grand gestures to feel more alive. It’s not about reinventing yourself overnight, or flying to another country just to “find yourself.” Most of the time, it begins right where you are: in how you move, how you pause, how you connect.
These practices have helped me return to myself again and again, especially when the days start to blur and joy feels like something reserved for special occasions.
#1- Move your body
Some days this is a walk around the block with no destination. Other days it’s cleaning out a drawer just to remind myself I can change a space, no matter how small. Movement helps me find my own rhythm again, especially when the world feels too loud or too quiet. I don’t do it for fitness, I do it to feel the edges of being here.
#2- Dare to rest
Rest isn’t always scrolling in bed or zoning out in front of a show. It’s the kind where I let myself be still on purpose. Where I put on music and just lie there, or take a nap in the middle of the afternoon and don’t apologize for it. The kind of rest where your body stops performing, and starts trusting you again.
#3- Open your heart
To feel alive is to feel touched. By a conversation, by the way someone makes your coffee, by a line in a book that wakes something up in you. I used to avoid small talk because it felt fake, but I’ve come to see even a shared laugh with the barista or a “kamusta po kayo?” with a stranger as deeply human moments. They remind me I’m part of something bigger, even if we’re all just passing through.
#4- Explore often
Curiosity is its own kind of aliveness. It might look like choosing a different route home. Or watching a short film someone recommended. It might mean texting someone you haven’t spoken to in a while and letting the conversation unfold. Exploration doesn’t have to mean new places. It can mean new attention.
#5- Dream out loud
Dreaming can sometimes feel too fragile, too self-indulgent. But I’ve learned that life expands when I let myself imagine again. Not just what’s next, but what’s more. Not just what’s possible, but what’s you. What if this year didn’t have to look like last year? What if I gave my deepest wants a voice as though I’m saying “I still believe in more for me”?
20+ Filipino Ways to Feel More Alive Today
Because sometimes all it takes is a single moment of play, memory, or sensory delight to shake off the static and feel here again.
- Eat fruit straight from the fridge while barefoot
- Sing while driving or doing dishes
- Change your bedsheets then jump in, fresh-from-the-shower
- Laugh so hard your stomach hurts
- Journal with your messiest handwriting
- Say “yes” to something spontaneous
- Smell the inside of a bookstore
- Treat yourself to taho and savor it slowly
- Catch a sunset (or sunrise)
- Walk in the rain
- Climb a tree to pick a fruit (mangga, I see you)
- Sit under a tree, no phone, just you
- Cry at a movie, even if it’s animated
- Surprise someone with Jollibee
- Rearrange your space for no reason
- Spend a full hour doing only one thing
- Smell sampaguita or freshly cooked rice
- Eat something with your hands
- Visit your old school or neighborhood
- Listen to OPM and cry in the shower (therapeutic!)
- Water your plants while playing bossa nova
- Call your tita (the one who always makes kwento)
- Eat street food and let go of diet thoughts
- Get dressed just to feel cute
- Send a voice note to someone at random
- Have a solo karaoke night
- Give someone a sincere compliment and mean it
- Ask, “What if I don’t wait for permission this time?”
Pick one. Or two. Or five. Then come back to this list whenever you forget what it feels like to say yes to being here.
READ: Living with Small Joys, the Filipino Way
Feeling alive, again
Aliveness isn’t a constant state. And it’s not supposed to be.
There are days I feel on fire: lit up by a good idea, a good kiss, a good plate of caldereta.
And then there are days where I just want to lie down and disappear under my blanket for a while.
Both are part of the rhythm, part of the fun.
But what helps is knowing there are best practices we can come back to even in small ways. Like a painter who knows how to mix color again even after the canvas dries. Or a tita who knows that a merienda break can cure almost anything. (Banana cue and crosswords on a rainy afternoon? Game.)
When we give ourselves permission to check in, to shift gears, to choose differently, that’s already a return. Aliveness isn’t always so dramatic. It just needs to be felt.
