I'll be there

Showing Up

That’s my two words this year.

I’d like to think I grew up accustomed to people making time for things such as family gatherings, gym sessions, chikahan, get-togethers, random coffee dates, and everything in between. We just did. But adulthood has a way of making things complicated.

A friend once said, “We’re kind of being pulled in life’s direction. We don’t really have a say. When you have kids, that’s basically your center.”

I agreed.

What used to be easy now requires planning, coordinating schedules, and sometimes more energy than the event itself. But I guess surviving a few hardships on my own taught me the importance of showing up. Now more than ever.

Showing up has shaped how I see work relationships.

When coworkers decide to leave, I'm usually the first to suggest a send-off lunch, especially since we all work remotely. I used to think a last day at work should be quiet and subtle. But I've realized that what stays with you isn't the job itself. It's the people who made you feel valued while you were there.

So I make time. I try to gather people, share a meal, and create one last memory together. Because sometimes showing up isn't about the big moments. Sometimes it's simply letting someone know that they mattered.

When one of my closest friends invited me to Winnipeg, I said yes.

I’m grateful I did because the trip felt like a rediscovery. Imagine being friends for more than three decades and only finding out now that we both don't eat tilapia, catfish, and are both occasionally shy. How did that never come up?

I’ve always known her as someone who was well-protected and cared for. But spending time with her now gave me a different perspective. I saw her as a mother, as the family's go-to person, as someone constantly juggling work and countless responsibilities. I saw how intentionally she shows up for the people who matter to her.

I left inspired.

When another friend invited me on a camping trip, I finally said yes after turning down multiple invitations. To me, it felt like it was about time. It meant being open and ready. It meant being vulnerable because, hello, people were going to see me the morning after with a puffy face, no effort, and probably with muta, laway, and all. LOL.

Being there felt like belonging to a community. It meant getting to know people beyond the usual "hi" and "hello." The cold wind on a starry night encouraged everyone to sit a little closer and naturally share stories. The rainy night meant focusing on survival while somehow not caring too much about how wet everything in my tent had become. Everything was beyond my control.

Oddly enough, it probably gave me one of the best sleeps I've ever had.

Showing up is an opportunity not only to be part of someone's life but also to share a part of yourself. But it requires vulnerability, something I've always tried to avoid.

As a proud, strong, independent woman, I’m not exactly fond of asking for help. I’ve always just carried on and pursued things through hell or high water. I've realized that I've spent so much time trying to be independent that I've become accustomed to surviving, struggling, thriving, and carrying everything on my own. Quietly.

In my loneliest moments, almost as if they have ESP, I've always had people randomly checking in on me. I'm always grateful for my sister, who somehow feels like a group of five people all rolled into one. Close friends who send random funny posts or videos. In moments when I feel like I'm slowly caving in, they bring me solace.

It’s weird how perfect the timing always is.

That reality was tested when I was scheduled for surgery.

What I learned is this: In order for people to show up, you have to give them the opportunity to.

Before my surgery, I asked friends to pray for me. Collective prayers feel like a constellation of stars. Stars shine brighter together.

I am grateful for the friend who took a day off work just to keep me company during my surgery. I'll probably always think of it as a debt of gratitude that can never really be repaid.

I'm thankful for the people who lent me their ears while I shared my doubts and fears. For the friends who gave me strength whenever anxiety crept in. For everyone who checked in afterward to see how I was doing.

Every message, every prayer, every presence mattered.

Because sometimes, showing up is the gift.

And sometimes, letting people show up for you is one too.