‘The Lights Along The Way’ — based on the song of IV of Spades ‘Ilaw sa Daan’ | Written By Solellie. ✍🏻💡
Do you ever wonder how you were made? Not scientifically, but in the human sense—in the context of life.
We are always told how children are made, how they are raised, and how they are brought into this world. But rarely do we ask how children learn to carve their own space within it.
We are always told how children are made, how they are raised, and how they are brought into this world. But rarely do we ask how children learn to carve their own space within it.
And sometimes, I wonder about something more specific.
How was the eldest daughter made?
I believe every child in a family holds a position—an experience; an identity shaped quietly over the years. But the eldest daughter often grows into something more than just a child.
She becomes the one who learns responsibility early.
The one who observes before she speaks.
The one who carries things that were never meant for a child to carry.
And as the eldest daughter, I often ask myself:
How was I created?
How Was I formed?
How did I become truly myself, beyond just how they raised me?
If I were to answer that question, I see myself as a light.
A light bulb.
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Always there yet rarely noticed.
Always present yet quietly expected to keep shining.
I was there—giving light to a tiring life, illuminating spaces where darkness tried to settle. Sometimes the light was appreciated. Sometimes it was simply expected.
But at the end of the day, when the room grew quiet and everyone had gone to rest, I was still the one left shining through the night.
Just like a light bulb on the ceiling of a silent room.
The strange thing about being the one who gives light is that people rarely ask if the light itself is tired. They simply expect it to keep shining.
And sometimes, it does.
But sometimes the light grows lonely.
There were nights when my only companions were the empty room, the moon, and the stars—sharing the same quiet darkness with me.
Still, I remained.
Because just like a light bulb needs wires to work, I too needed something that kept me going. A heart connected by veins that carried love and care to the people around me.
So I gave what I could.
Hope.
Warmth.
Light.
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The kind of light that keeps people awake.
The kind that keeps things alive.
But I was rarely the one being lit.
I was the companion to everyone else’s darkness. Yet when it came to me, I was only the light bulb in the ceiling of an empty room.
So slowly, I learned something.
I learned how to raise myself.
How to bring my own light.
How to turn on when darkness appears.
Not because someone taught me—but because the night demanded it.
And there I remained—fixed in the ceiling of an empty room.
Still shining.
Still waiting.
Waiting for someone to offer me the same light I have spent my life giving to the world.
Or perhaps, one day, realizing that the light I have been searching for has always lived within me.
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