Sometimes, healing doesn't come from the loudest moments. Sometimes, it's just a quiet seat in a coffee shop, a hot drink in your hand, and two people who know your silence better than your words.
Yesterday, I went out with two of my closest friends, Johny and Apen. It wasn’t planned. I just woke up feeling heavy. You know that feeling? Like your chest is full, but not with joy. It’s more of a quiet ache—memories you didn’t ask to remember, and emotions you thought you already buried. I felt like I was drowning again, but this time, I knew I didn’t want to stay under.
So I messaged them.
“Lugaw or coffee? I just need to breathe.” And just like that, they replied: “Coffee. Let’s meet at our usual spot.
THE SAFE SPACE
We met at this small coffee shop near the hillside, the kind that doesn’t have a fancy sign but feels like home the moment you step in. I always liked that place—not because of the coffee (though it’s good), but because of the memories we made there. That place saw our tears, laughter, quiet moments, and big dreams.
When I arrived, Johny was already seated, waving at me with that same silly smile he always had. Apen came in shortly after, holding her tote bag filled with random things she never really uses, but always brings. We ordered our drinks, found our favorite corner, and just… sat.
No pressure to talk. No need to explain. Just presence.
That's when I knew I was safe.
Drowning Days
ohny looked at me and said, “You okay?” I hesitated. But something in the way he asked made me answer honestly. “Not really. I’ve been trying. But some days, it still feels like I’m lost in my own head.” Apen nodded. “It’s okay, you know. To not be okay.” That sentence hit me differently. Because it came from someone who knows pain, too. We talked about those drowning days—the moments when depression made me feel like I was a burden, like no one would understand, like I was just tired all the time. I shared things I hadn’t said out loud before. How I smiled in public but cried at night. How I prayed but sometimes felt like God was silent. And you know what surprised me? They didn’t give me advice. They didn’t rush to fix me. They just… stayed.
THE LIGHT MOMENTS
After the heavy part, we laughed. Johny joked about his failed cooking attempts, and Apen shared a meme that didn’t even make sense, but we laughed anyway. I laughed so hard, I cried. But this time, the tears felt lighter. We talked about dreams. About what we want to do. About the kind of people we want to become. And for the first time in a long while, I felt hope again. “Maybe healing isn’t about forgetting the pain,” I said. Apen replied, “Maybe healing is about learning to live with it—without letting it own you.” He was right.
THANK GOD FOR FRIENDS LIKE THESE
Before we left, I looked at them and said, “Thank you for today. I really needed this.” Johny smiled. “You don’t have to thank us. We’re just doing what friends do—stay when it’s hard.” That night, when I got home, I prayed. Not a long prayer. Just a whisper. “Thank You, God… for giving me friends who remind me that I’m not alone.” Because sometimes, the miracle isn’t that the pain disappears. Sometimes, the miracle is that you’re still standing— And you’re not standing alone.
Life can be heavy. Some days, it feels like the world is moving while you’re stuck in place. But I’ve learned something important lately: you don’t always need answers. Sometimes, all you need is a cup of coffee, two friends who know your story, and the grace of a God who never gave up on you—even when you almost did. If you’re reading this and going through your own storm, I hope this reminds you that you don’t have to walk alone. Talk to someone. Open up. Let others in. Because even when you feel like you’re drowning, there will always be people—like Johny and Apen—who will dive in just to pull you back to shore.
This blog is a story about that moment—a reminder that healing doesn’t always happen in loud, dramatic ways. Sometimes, it comes slowly. Through quiet places, safe people, and warm drinks. Through friendship that stays when things get dark. Through a God who never lets go of us, even when we’re barely holding on. If you’ve been feeling the weight of life lately, I hope this reminds you that you don’t have to carry it all alone. There are people who care. And there is hope. Always. So take a breath. Grab a cup. And maybe, just maybe, reach out to someone. You might be surprised how much healing can happen… over coffee.