Updated: Apr 12
"Passover affirms the great truth that liberty is the inalienable right of every human being." —Morris Joseph
Happy Passover, my friends. Passover begins at sundown on April 12th and runs through the 20th. One of the most meaningful traditions during Passover is the Seder—a ritual meal filled with prayer, storytelling, and symbolic food to commemorate the Jewish people's liberation from slavery in Egypt.
I used to work at Saul’s Restaurant & Deli when I lived in Berkeley, CA. During Passover, we sold so many latkes and matzah ball soups you'd think it was going out of style. And I loved it. Saul’s was a special place for me—not just because of the food (though yes, the food was amazing), but because of the people: my coworkers, our regulars, and the spirit of community we created there. I was one of the few non-Jewish folks on the staff, and I loved learning about the Jewish holidays and the meaning behind the meals.
What I wouldn’t do for a matzah ball soup from Saul’s right now...
Passover celebrates the Exodus, the story of Moses, Pharaoh, and ten plagues. If you grew up in Sunday school, you probably remember the frogs and locusts and blood in the Nile. The whole deal. It’s a powerful narrative about oppression, resistance, and freedom. It's also a reminder that liberation isn't easy. Even after they were freed, the Israelites wandered the desert for 40 years. Freedom doesn't come without struggle. Sometimes, we’re freed externally, but we still carry the wilderness inside us.
And really, aren’t we living through our own version of a plague? Not just literal illness, but social sickness, political unrest, and the slow erosion of compassion.
Easter is just around the corner. These holidays—Passover and Easter—remind us that we are not meant to walk alone. They center around tables. Meals. Bread shared among family. Wine poured out in remembrance. Whether you’re Jewish or Christian or somewhere else entirely on the spiritual spectrum, the act of gathering together for food, love, and memory is universal.
Growing up, I always looked forward to the big holidays because I knew I'd be surrounded by relatives and more food than we could eat in three sittings (Let’s be real, Filipino gatherings are a buffet marathon). I mostly looked forward to the desserts.
Now that I live far from my family, I’ve come to appreciate how my friendships have become my chosen family. These days, I spend most of my time sharing meals with friends, usually in restaurants, laughing too loud, and ordering too much food. My housemate and I even have family dinners twice a week. It grounds us. It feels familiar. Growing up, no matter how busy or chaotic life got, my family always sat down and ate dinner together.
I miss my mother’s cooking. I miss my mother. But I’m grateful to still have the sacred ritual of the dinner table. To break bread, pour drinks, and share stories with the people who hold me up.
So this Easter, there may be ham. There will definitely be cocktails. But more importantly, there will be friendship, chosen family, and gratitude for the little traditions we carry forward.
Passover Blessing Before the Meal
Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech haolam, hamotzi lechem min haaretz.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.
Lenten Reflection: The Tables We Build
“God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing.” – Psalm 68:6 (NIV)
This season is about freedom. Liberation from shame, from fear, from old wounds that try to claim us. As Passover begins and Easter approaches, we are reminded that breaking bread is holy. Gathering in love is resistance. Healing is possible—and it often begins at the table.
🔹 Who is at your table?
🔹 What old story are you ready to rewrite?
🔹 How can you make space for freedom, in yourself and for others?
Whether you are celebrating with family, chosen or biological, or spending the holiday quietly at home—remember that you are never alone in the wilderness. God is still leading us out.
As above, so below. Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.
📖 More reflections: flanneldiaries.com
"God always offers us a second chance in life." —Paulo Coelho
A while back, I was on the phone with my friend Kimi and she said something that made me laugh:
Kimi: Yeah, it’s funny—I either really like your girlfriends (now exes) or I can’t stand them.
Me: That tracks.
Kimi: Remember that one we had lunch with at Santana Row? The one from the East Coast—I liked her.
Me: Shmelissa?
Kimi: Yeah! That’s her.
Me: She was a pathological liar.
Kimi: Oh. Well, I remember she was really nice.
Me: Sure, she was nice. Still lied about everything though.
Kimi: Yeah, too bad. I liked her.
Me: Yeah… she was really hot.
Sometimes that’s how it goes, right? You fall for someone who seems perfect—at least on the surface—and completely ignore the tiny red flags flapping in the wind like a pride parade for bad decisions. The heart wants what it wants, and sometimes it wants a disaster in a leather jacket with a great smile.
I want to believe we go through these messy, ridiculous, painful relationships for a reason. That we’re supposed to grow and evolve with each one. And yet—I still catch myself ignoring that little voice in my head. You know the one. That barely-a-whisper voice that says, “This probably isn’t a good idea.” And me? I say, “Shhhh. Let’s just see what happens.” Spoiler: it’s never not a disaster.
When I was 28, I was dating this woman my friends joked was my “non-relationship-relationship era.” These days we call it a “situationship.” Apparently, I was ahead of my time. It started casual—but casual has a way of catching feelings when you're not paying attention. And suddenly, I found myself invested in something that was never meant to be serious.
We weren’t exclusive, but I wasn’t dating anyone else. She came into my life during my Saturn return—the season when your whole life unravels so it can be rewoven into something better. I wasn’t a fully-formed human back then, and I was weirdly okay with that. But I’ll be real. I had no business dating anyone at that point. I had just come out of a bad relationship. I told myself, Vangie, get your shit together first. But then there she was. Kind, gorgeous, emotionally available. So very tempting. How could I not?
People say dating teaches you what you don’t want more than what you do. And that’s true. But I’ve also dated a few people who were amazing—just not at the right time. Sometimes it’s not about love not being enough. Sometimes it’s about timing is terrible. Sometimes it’s about you not being who you needed to be yet.
I’ve learned a lot in relationships. But I’ve learned even more in the space between them. I regret some things. I’ve made poor choices. But I try to gather every lesson, even from the disasters. Especially from the disasters.
Finding a healthy relationship as an adult feels like finding a unicorn in a Costco parking lot. Most of us are a little broken by now. Some of us are healing. Some of us are hardened. But I still believe in trying. If I’m going to show up in someone else’s life, I want to be the version of me that adds to theirs—not subtracts. That whole “take me or leave me as I am” energy isn't very cute. But growth is sexy. Accountability is sexy. Knowing your worth and wanting to be worthy—that’s hot.
I’ve ignored that little voice in my head so many times—usually muffled by a pillow called hope. Hope that things would be different. Hope that I was wrong. Hope that love would be enough. But ignoring your gut rarely ends well. That voice? It’s usually right.
Still, I’m a sucker for risk. I’ll run the data in my head, analyze the cost-benefit ratio, and still say, “Eh, let’s see what happens.” Because when it comes to love, isn’t that what we all do? We pick the person we’re willing to risk our heart for and hope they’re doing the same.
But next time? I’m going to listen more carefully. Because love is worth the risk—but only if you’re risking it for the right reasons.
More often than not, my little Jiminy Cricket knows what they're talking about.
Lenten Reflection: Trust the Voice Within
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” – Proverbs 3:5-6 (NRSV)
Lent is a time of deep listening—not just to the world around us, but to the still, small voice inside. That voice we often push aside. The one that whispers truth even when we’re not ready to hear it.
🔹 Where have I ignored my inner voice in favor of fantasy or fear?
🔹 What regrets still need to be turned into lessons?
🔹 How can I show up in love—ready, whole, and rooted in truth?
This season, let’s learn to trust that voice. Let’s learn from the past, not live in it. And let’s move forward knowing we’re allowed to grow, to start again, and to love more wisely than before.
Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.
📖 More reflections: flanneldiaries.com
“Lies come out of fear, and the truth will set you free. Don't be afraid and stand in your truth.” – Unknown
I remember reading The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven by Sherman Alexie and feeling a deep ache in my chest. Disclaimer: I know he’s problematic. The allegations of sexual misconduct are real, and he’s been called out publicly. He's also apologized publicly for the abuse and harm. Yet, it doesn't excuse or forgive his bad behavior. However, this particular essay? It got me. It reached into something I didn’t have words for at the time.
In the story, Victor, a Native character, walks into a 7-Eleven to buy a creamsicle. The cashier watches him closely—just in case he needs to describe him to the cops. Victor feels it. That silent, heavy suspicion. That othering. The story flashes back to when he was living in Seattle with his white girlfriend. He remembers walking outside after a fight and getting stopped by the police. They tell him he doesn’t “fit the profile” of the neighborhood. In his mind, Victor says, I don’t fit the profile of the entire country, but he swallows it. He knows better. He knows saying that truth out loud could get him killed.
That story gave me a language for something I didn’t know how to name. It helped me recognize how being in certain relationships—especially with white women—often put me right back in that same space. I’ve dated women of many backgrounds, but my longest relationships were with white women. And I began to realize, after a few breakups and a lot of therapy, that cultural difference isn’t just about different holidays or food or music. It’s about identity. It’s about how we navigate the world—and how the world treats us differently for it.
Small misunderstandings would spiral. Little things would turn into big fights, and I couldn’t always explain why something seemingly “small” triggered something big inside me. I’d given up so much of my Filipino identity just trying to survive in this country, and here I was doing it again—just to stay in love.
People are surprised when they find out I wasn’t born in the States. I don’t have an accent. But that wasn’t an accident. I learned quickly that accents invite mockery from kids and discrimination from adults. I learned to sound “American.” And over time, I lost the fluency in my first language—Visayan. My mother spoke it until the end of her life. In those last years, she reverted back to her native tongue, and I couldn’t keep up. I had to rely on my nephew to translate. And honestly, I wasn’t always sure I could trust what was being said. That hurt more than I can say.
Losing a language is more than losing words. It’s losing the ability to speak to your ancestors. It’s losing a piece of yourself.
And still—despite all that—I tried so hard to explain my world to my partners. I translated, I softened, I bridged the gap. I thought that’s what love required: bending, adjusting, explaining. And for a long time, I didn’t even realize how much of myself I was giving up in the process. I was fluent in assimilation. That’s what it means to grow up between two worlds.
One therapist once told me: if you keep pushing your emotions down, they’ll explode in ways you don’t expect. That’s exactly what was happening. I didn’t have the language. I didn’t have the tools. So I started running. Playing sports. Hitting balls at the batting cage like it might knock something loose in my chest. I thought if I exerted myself enough, I’d release all those feelings I didn’t want to feel. I used to think emotions were dumb. Dangerous. Feelings get people fired, arrested, or worse—if you’re brown and too loud about it—unalived.
Eventually, I turned to writing. I figured, if I could put all those jumbled thoughts down on paper, I might be able to let them go. There’s a saying in politics: if you don’t tell your story, someone else will. So I started telling mine.
Naming what hurts is the first step toward healing. Reading that essay gave me a mirror. I saw what I needed to heal: the loss of cultural identity, the way I kept trading it away just to belong. Just to be loved.
And here’s the truth that hurts the most: loving your colonizer always ends in heartbreak. When the power dynamics are baked into the relationship, no matter how much love you pour in—it’ll leak out the cracks.
Can we find love in a hopeless place, like Rihanna asks? I don’t know. Maybe. But only if we bring our full selves to the table. Unapologetically. Only if we learn to hold onto our identity while we hold someone else's heart.
And that starts with standing in our truth, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
Lenten Reflection: Standing in Truth
“Then you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” – John 8:32 (NRSV)
Lent invites us into a season of reflection and reckoning. Not to shame us—but to free us.
🔹 Where have I quieted my voice to be accepted?
🔹 Where have I traded parts of myself in the name of love?
🔹 What truth about myself or my story do I need to finally speak?
This season, may we reclaim the pieces of ourselves we’ve buried. May we speak our stories before they’re erased. And may we remember: healing doesn’t begin when we’re perfect—it begins when we’re honest.
📖 More reflections: flanneldiaries.com
#Lent2025 #HealingThroughTruth #DecolonizeLove #BrownQueerFaith #OwnYourStory #MidwestThugLife #ReclaimAndRise