26/01/2026
It’s been five years since the day you left us Kuya, yet it still feels unreal writing those words. Five years sounds like a long time, but grief doesn’t count years the way calendars do. Some days, it feels like just yesterday. Other days, it feels like a lifetime has passed without you.
So much has changed since you’ve been gone, Kuya. Life kept moving—whether I was ready or not. I’ve grown, stumbled, learned things the hard way. There were moments I wished you were here to guide me, to scold me, to laugh with me, or simply to sit in silence beside me. There are still days when I instinctively think of you first.
I want you to know that you are never forgotten. You live on in our memories, in the stories we still tell, in the values you left behind. I see you in the strength I try to hold onto, especially when life feels heavy. I feel you in the quiet moments, when my heart suddenly aches for no clear reason—because it remembers you.
Five years later, the pain hasn’t disappeared, but it has changed. It has become softer, mixed with gratitude. Gratitude that I had you as my kuya. Gratitude for the love you gave, even in ways you might not have realized. Loving you was a gift, even if losing you has been the hardest part.
I hope you’re at peace now. I hope heaven is kind to you. I hope you know how deeply you are missed, how deeply you are loved. Please keep watching over us, Kuya. We’re still trying our best down here.
Until we meet again, I’ll keep carrying you in my heart—today, on this fifth year, and always.
We miss you so much.
We love you forever.
