When the Nation Speaks to the Soul: A Journey Through Art, and History.
What is this life all about?
Is it about surviving making sure we’re well-fed three, four times a day, unless, of course, you’re into biohacking or intermittent fasting?
Is it about climbing ladders, collecting more digits than anyone else we know?
For a long time, I lived in survival mode so long that I forgot what life beyond survival even felt like.
I was trying to prove something. To my father. To the world.
That I could make it. That I was capable. That I could do it all on my own.
And I did.
I worked more than I thought was possible.
But was it truly hard work?
Or was it a form of abandonment of all the aching parts inside me, all the parts of me that longed to be held, to be loved?
I wore my hyper independence like armor. I moved through the world as a badass, capable woman doing all the things I dreamed of.
And yet… the longing in my heart never left.
Even after peeling back layers of protection, after shedding old shells, I found myself standing in front of the truth
I am shattered.
But right before I spiraled into the old story of not being good enough (as we often do), a quiet but profound message rose within me:
If I can hold the shattered parts of me, I can also hold the magnificent ones. And that, that is what makes me whole.
Yesterday, I spent a golden Sunday afternoon at the National Museum.
The car driver radiated a calm, grounded energy that somehow made the city streets feel less like chaos and more like a pilgrimage.
As we entered Manila City, the old heart of the capital, you could still feel the echo of Spanish structures that had survived centuries.
The Philippines, my beloved country, colonized for more than 300 years.
I am part Spanish, and as I stood before those timeless buildings, something inside me stirred. A quiet familiarity. A sense of home.
The sun was gentle that day. The roads were clear.
And before I knew it, I was standing before the grand entrance of the National Museum, welcomed by history.
As I walked through the halls, my heart lit up.
Artworks waved at me, like old friends inviting me to remember.
This was all made by my people.
I began to see my country with a new kind of depth.
In one gallery, portraits of former presidents lined the walls men painted with dignity, not from a place of ego or dominance, but presence.
They weren’t trying to prove strength.
They simply were.
I stood before each one, as if listening to them speak.
Men who once led nations, who were also husbands, fathers, sons.
And across the hall, I found their wives, the First Ladies, graceful, composed, dressed in elegance.
I could feel their hearts, their strength in holding a man with great power.
There it was: the sacred dance of masculine and feminine.
The power of the feminine in a man.
The power of the masculine in a woman.
A co-creation so profound that what they built still blesses lives today.
Something in me shifted.
It wasn’t loud, but it was deep like a code being whispered from my heart to my mind.
I climbed to the upper floor, where childlike energy danced in the form of playful art. I picked up a children’s book and flipped through it.
It struck me how powerful it is to plant stories in the minds of the young.
In that moment, I saw a vision of myself reading to my yet unborn child as they drifted to sleep.
A wave of joy and longing swept through me.
And I thought… I could write a children’s book one day.
At the final hall, I stood in front of a memorial to those who had sacrificed their lives for this land.
My fellow countrymen. My ancestors. My blood.
As I stepped outside, waiting for my car, I looked up
And there it was: the biggest Philippine flag I’ve ever seen, waving boldly in the wind.
And I wept.
Because in that moment, I felt it
An immense love for my country.
A reverence for its pain, its fight, its beauty, its becoming.
To be here, in this body, in this place, in this lifetime
is a privilege.
And it ignites something in me.
A deeper commitment to work on myself.
To let every offering, every act of service, every creation I bring forth add value to someone’s life.
The love and gratitude I feel in my chest today
this is my fuel.
To grow.
To rise.
To become the greater woman I already am.
Joanne Genoza
