Remember that scene from Sleepless in Seattle when Meg Ryan’s character, Annie, tells Walter she’s developed feelings for Sam Baldwin—even though they’ve never met? She fell in love with the idea of him, just from a few minutes of hearing him on a talk radio show speak tenderly about his late wife.
I always wondered how Walter could be so calm. I mean, they’d just spent the whole Valentine’s weekend picking out china at Tiffany’s. And she breaks off their engagement based on a feeling that Sam might be her soulmate? It’s fricken' amazing he didn’t dump the champagne over her head and call her a liar—or worse a whore.
Instead, what does Walter say?
“I don’t want to be someone that you’re settling for. I don’t want to be someone that anyone settles for. Marriage is hard enough without bringing such low expectations into it, isn’t it?”
And Annie’s response?
“Walter... I don’t deserve you.”
And then she just... stands up and runs off to find another man. Like, damn.
I’ve always admired Walter for that. You have to be so secure in yourself to not freak out in that situation. That is some enlightened, next-level Zen shit right there. But the truth is—he was right. No one should be settled for. No one should be someone’s placeholder. Not in marriage. Not in relationships. Not ever.
I don’t want to be someone’s “they’re-alright-for-now” person. That interim warm body between breakups. That backup plan. That “maybe this will work out” attempt. I’ve been that. And I’ve had people try to make me that. No thanks.
There were times in my life when I channeled Walter. And there were also times when I was messy and bitter and let my bruised ego run the show. But once the dust settled—and I got my head on straight—I’d always come back to Annie’s words: “I don’t deserve you.”
Nope. You didn’t. That’s facts. That’s clarity. That’s truth.
Maybe it’s the pragmatist in me that still wonders if Walter ever found the woman who deserved him. I hope he did. Because even though he was basic, stable, predictable, and had a shit-ton of allergies—he was a good man. And there’s someone out there who wants exactly that. That’s the kind of love story I’d love to see. The kind where two people choose each other fully, honestly, and with open eyes. No settling. Just two humans who want to be there. Together.
Lenten Reflection: The Courage Not to Settle
"Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good." – Romans 12:9 (NRSV)
Walter had it right. Love is already hard enough without lowering the bar. Lent is a season of honesty. A time to examine our expectations, our choices, and how we show up for ourselves and others.
🔹 Where have I accepted less than I deserve—just to avoid being alone?
🔹 Have I treated others as placeholders, rather than people worthy of deep, authentic love?
🔹 What would it look like to love with clarity instead of fantasy?
This week, let us check our hearts—not just for who we love, but how. May we refuse to settle. May we choose with courage. And may we become the kind of people worthy of the love we seek.
Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.
"The next day the large crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting, 'Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord—the King of Israel!'" — John 12:12–13 (NRSV)
In the Christian tradition, the Sunday before Easter is Palm Sunday. But with my current schedule, every day feels like a Tuesday. Time has lost meaning—except maybe when it comes to deadlines and coffee refills.
Palm Sunday is a beautiful, bittersweet story. It marks the moment Jesus enters Jerusalem riding on the back of a donkey, greeted like a rock star. The crowds are waving palms and shouting "Hosanna!"—which literally means "save us." It’s a moment of hope, celebration, and public affirmation.
And yet… we all know what happens a few days later.
The same crowd that welcomed him with open arms was calling for his crucifixion by Friday. The same people who called him blessed were now shouting, “Give us Barabbas!” and demanding Jesus be executed. It’s the ultimate fall from grace.
That kind of reversal feels painfully familiar. We see it all the time—putting people on pedestals, only to watch them crash down when we find out they're flawed, human, or just disappointing. In today’s terms, we might call it "cancel culture." But really, it’s not new. It’s ancient. And it speaks more about us than the people we cancel.
In the crucifixion story, ask yourself—who would you be?
Would you be Peter, who loved Jesus but denied knowing him when things got hard?
Would you be Pilate, who knew better but still washed his hands of it all?
Would you be Judas, the one who betrayed his friend with a kiss?
Would you be the crowd? Easily swayed by power, by pressure, by propaganda?
Would you be Mary, who stayed with him to the very end?
The truth is, we’ve all been all of them—at different times in our lives. We’ve betrayed, denied, abandoned, judged, or stayed silent when it mattered. We’ve also grieved, resisted, and held space for truth in the face of injustice.
So much of the crucifixion story is about what people expected of Jesus. They wanted a soldier, a political revolutionary, a king with a sword. And instead, they got a teacher, a healer, a poor brown man riding into town on a donkey, saying: "Love your enemies. Feed the poor. Welcome the outcast."
Of course they were disappointed. Of course they turned on him.
Isn’t that what we do? When leaders, activists, or even our partners don’t save us the way we imagined—they disappoint us. And disappointment can breed resentment, which can lead to betrayal.
That’s the tragedy of misplaced expectations.
We want the world to change, but we don’t want to change ourselves. We want someone to fight the systems for us, but we don't want to put down our comfort or complicity to fight alongside them. It’s easier to crucify the messenger than to take up the message.
And while we’re here, let’s talk about what’s happening right now in this country.
It’s as if we’re watching a slow-motion dismantling of the federal government—and half the country is fine with it. A sitting president ignoring the checks and balances of the Constitution, acting like he’s above the law, and undermining the authority of the Supreme Court. As someone who studied political science and believes in democratic institutions, I’m stunned. We’re not just in a political crisis—we’re witnessing a moral one.
There’s a coup happening. And we’re watching it unfold on TikTok.
And while people point fingers at immigrants, queer folks, drag queens, or trans kids as the "problem," billionaires are laughing all the way to the bank. Social safety nets are slashed while tax breaks for the ultra-wealthy expand. We’re told to fear the marginalized when it’s the powerful who are rewriting the rules for their own benefit.
It’s no different than ancient Rome. Oppress the people. Distract them with scapegoats. Then crucify whoever dares to speak truth to power.
So yeah… I think a lot about Jesus these days. And I think maybe he wouldn’t be welcomed by a lot of churches in America. I think he’d be out in the streets, flipping tables in front of ICE detention centers, feeding houseless folks, and asking us why we traded our humanity for convenience.
I’m just trying to be a good human.
Did I get it all wrong? Maybe. But I’m still trying.
Lenten Reflection: From Palms to Passion
Palm Sunday reminds us how quickly love can turn to rejection, how fast crowds can shift from praise to punishment.
📖 "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord—the King of Israel!" – John 12:12–13 (NRSV)
This week, as we move toward Good Friday and Easter Sunday, reflect on:
🔹 Where in your life are you still expecting someone else to save you?
🔹 When have you turned your back on what you once believed in?
🔹 Who are the prophets and peacemakers today that we’re still crucifying with our silence?
May we walk into this Holy Week with open eyes, open hearts, and the courage to face our own contradictions.
But blessed are we, too, when we refuse to follow the crowd—and choose instead to walk the way of compassion, resistance, and radical love.
🕊️ As above, so below.
Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other.
Updated: Apr 13
"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