"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 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