Healing in Little Ways

Spa Alhambra, Bacolod City (Mandalagan Branch)

April 8, 2024

Today, we gave our bodies and minds what they’ve long been asking for—a moment to breathe, a chance to rest, and the comforting silence of a massage room.

It was one of those days when everything felt heavy. Not just physically, but mentally too. My thoughts had been loud lately—restless, noisy, and relentless. So when Manang Jel asked if I could drive us to get a massage, I knew deep down it wasn’t just about easing back pain. It was her way of showing up for me—again.

Manang Jel isn't my sister by blood, but she has always been my Ate in spirit. She’s my cousin on my dad’s side, but more than that, she’s been my go-to person—my human diary. The kind who listens when I pour out every thought I swore I’d keep to myself. The kind who doesn’t hesitate to call me out when I start heading in the wrong direction. She’s been there for the breakdowns I saw coming, and even more so for the ones I tried to pretend weren’t happening.

She sensed I wasn’t okay, even when I insisted I was. I do that a lot—manipulate myself into thinking I’m fine. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, maybe it’s denial. But she sees right through it.

And so we went.
Spa Alhambra greeted us with the scent of oils and the soft sounds of running water. As the therapist worked through the knots in my back, I could literally feel some of the weight unraveling. Bones cracked, tension released, breaths slowed.

But more than the massage, it was her presence beside me that did the real healing. She didn’t need to say much—just knowing she was there was enough. Pain, both emotional and physical, somehow feels more tolerable when shared with someone who cares enough to walk through it with you.

Sometimes, healing doesn’t come in grand gestures.
It comes in soft spaces, in the company of people who see you—even when you’re trying so hard to hide.
And today, I’m grateful for that kind of love.
For rest.
For release.
For Manang Jel.