Loving out loud

I’ve always known that life is uncertain, but the lesson never truly sank in until February 2014. I was 15 years old, and like any teenager, my weekends were sacred—especially my Saturday mornings. That particular Saturday, I was jolted awake by my mom, who said my dad wanted to Skype. I remember feeling so irritated because I was supposed to sleep in. In my sleepy frustration, I dragged myself out of bed, still groggy and annoyed, and we talked. It wasn’t anything particularly special—just the usual conversation.

My dad said he was heading to the hospital for a check-up—just routine, or so I thought. He didn’t say anything that would’ve hinted at the reality of what was going on. No mention of his pain, no mention of his condition. He didn’t tell us that he had been battling stage 4 cancer, something he had kept to himself for reasons I still can’t fully grasp. He only said he was going for an annual check-up, nothing more.

As we ended the call, I didn’t tell him I loved him. Usually, I would—every time. It was our thing, my way of staying connected with him across the miles between Canada and the Philippines. But that morning, maybe because I was still half-asleep or frustrated, I didn’t say it. I thought I could always say it later. That was the last time I saw my dad.

What I didn’t know then was that he was suffering from kidney failure that very morning, and soon after, he would be placed on life support. He never came back from that hospital visit. He passed away before I even had a chance to understand that he was dying.

I carry that moment with me. It weighs heavy in my chest, like a quiet echo of all the things left unsaid. It’s one of those memories that’s always a little raw, no matter how much time passes. And it taught me something that’s shaped who I am and how I show up in my relationships, both with others and myself.

That’s why I always tell people I love them, even though it’s terrifying to be vulnerable these days. Even though the world feels uncertain and relationships can be fleeting, I refuse to let fear keep me from speaking my truth. I’ve learned that love is never guaranteed tomorrow, and that’s precisely why it must be expressed today.

Vulnerability is scary—let’s not sugarcoat that. We live in a time where being open with our emotions can feel like handing someone the tools to hurt us. People can leave. They can ghost us, betray us, or grow distant. And yet, I choose to embrace the risk. Because if there’s one thing my experience taught me, it’s that love left unspoken is one of life’s greatest regrets.

People come and go; it’s the natural ebb and flow of life. But that doesn’t diminish the value of the moments we share with them. Every connection we have is fleeting in its own way—whether it lasts a day or a decade. So why hold back? Why not let the people we care about know what they mean to us, right here, right now?

I tell people I love them because I know what it feels like not to, and I never want to carry that regret again. It’s not just about romantic love; it’s about every relationship that matters—friends, family, even fleeting connections. Each of us is here for such a short time, and the moments we think are mundane can turn out to be the most pivotal. We don’t know which conversation might be the last.

I’m not saying it’s easy. There’s always that little voice in the back of my head whispering, What if they don’t feel the same way? What if they don’t say it back? But I’ve come to realize that love isn’t a transaction. It’s not about getting something in return. It’s about giving freely, wholeheartedly, because you know the weight of words unsaid.

Sometimes, people leave. Sometimes, life changes unexpectedly, and we’re left with the remnants of relationships that once meant everything. But I’d rather face the pain of loving fully than the emptiness of holding back. I’d rather be the one who said, “I love you,” and meant it, even if the other person didn’t reciprocate. Because in the end, what matters most is that I’ve been true to myself and to the people I care about.

That Saturday morning in 2014, I learned that tomorrow is not promised. I learned that life doesn’t wait for us to be ready to say what we need to say. And since then, I’ve made a promise to myself: never again will I let frustration, fear, or pride stop me from telling someone I love them.

So yes, it’s scary to be vulnerable. It’s terrifying to open up your heart when the future feels so uncertain. But I do it anyway. Because love, when it’s expressed, leaves no room for regret. And that’s a feeling I can live with.