Grief studies in a time of collapse.

My mom passed away at the end of August last year and I’ve been trying to find a way to cope with this loss with [gestures vaguely with hands] Everything Going On. To be blunt, these feelings of grief and loss have been coming in waves since the fall of 2023, or as I call it personally, the most clarifying moment of my lifetime. I am talking about the horrific livestream of the genocide in Gaza perpetrated by Israel and funded by the U.S. government. This event has lifted the veil so that I can truly see the world, where there are people who are willing and capable of dehumanizing others and making themselves richer in the process. I refuse to look away, and with that refusal, I’ve become a witness to the moral decay, historical distortion, and the apathy of the West’s rules-based order. Now in the year 2026, I feel the collective dread and anxiety boiling underneath the surface as the combined fever dream of climate catastrophes, U.S. tax-payer funded genocides, and the collapse of what we know as the U.S.’s unipolar moment is inevitably decaying further. It brings me little comfort to know that my mom is not alive to see the current situation as it’s unfolding. The genocide in Gaza has not stopped, and the U.S.-Israeli war with Iran has now gone on for more than a month. She was already at a loss for words at the re-election of Trump back in November 2024.

I cannot fully comprehend all the ways that all of this grief and loss has changed me, but I know I‘m more intentional in where my energy goes, where I spend my money, and where I place my attention. I have an atang, a place of offerings for the ancestors, for my mom. I light white candles and give her food and flowers, things I know she loved. These grief rituals are a balm for me. I don’t know how else to act. I know I have to honor the feelings and create a physical space and a moment to honor them and whisper to the shadows. I talk to mom and when some days feel heavier than most, I offer her my tears and give voice to my current frustrations. She would sometimes listen to me about the on-going Gaza Genocide, state-sponsored violence in the Philippines and the U.S., and my fears about my children’s future. We would butt heads on so many issues, but what I respected was that she was open to listening and discussing these events and issues. My mom would also vehemently remind me to keep living my own life and to continue to see the beauty in the world, to not be full of despair. “Dios ko! [My God!] Go be with the kids. Go look at the flowers. Go paint and draw because that‘s what makes you happy! Live your life.”

How I miss her voice the most.

I am still working through the mess of emotions that follows the loss of my mom. We are all contending with the grief of this rapidly shifting world and its relentless news cycle, so I feel it is necessary to take a moment to feel it all. And transmute it somehow. I find myself reading through the works of my favorite poet, Ada Límon, especially her poem “Instructions on Not Giving Up“. My eyes are drawn to the tiny moments of the seemingly mundane, the crispness of black letters on paper, the shifting rays of sunlight scattering patterns on my kitchen wall. I see the lines in my hands that remind me of my mother‘s hands. It seems as if the only true balm for me in recent days is time spent walking in the park with the kids, surrounded by flowering trees and the vibrant shades of green that are shooting up out of the frosty ground. The audacity of spring! I‘m especially enamored of the rhododendrons popping up in my neighborhood. How these little beacons of spring always give me a spark of inspiration, if only for a moment. I wish you all growth, prosperity, and inspiration this spring. To fight the fear, face the uncertainty, and take little steps forward. Take care, my friends.