LOH #240- Bridges I’ve Built with Words—and the Ones I’m Still Crossing & The People I’d Bring Back for a Reunion!

Hello, Ladies of Hive! Today is a great day to end our day with positivity and a beautiful perspective in life.

As I read the questions for this week's contest, given by @saffisara, I feel elated to share my answers with you.

1️⃣ How many languages can you speak? And what language would you want to learn more than anything?

As teachers in our country, we need to be mindful, particularly when it comes to developing practical communication skills.

Therefore, being knowledgeable about languages is crucial for us.
I am fluent in Tagalog, our mother tongue, and as I grew up and learned in school, I am confident in saying that I am also fluent in English, which is the universal language of the world.

Being fluent in Tagalog, my mother tongue gives me a deep sense of identity and connection to my roots. It's the language of my childhood, my family, my culture—the way I express my emotions most naturally. There's pride in being able to communicate with fellow Filipinos in a language that carries so much history, warmth, and soul.

On the other hand, knowing English, the universal language, opens doors to the world. It allows me to connect with people from different countries, access global knowledge, and express myself in international settings. It gives me confidence in academic, professional, and digital spaces.

Mastering both languages feels like having the best of both worlds: the heart of a Filipino and the voice to reach the world. It's a powerful skill that enhances communication, broadens perspective, and enriches my sense of self.

The Feeling of Wanting to Learn My Students' Language – Sambal

Being assigned to the mountains, in the heart of the Aeta community, has opened my eyes to a world rich in culture, simplicity, and resilience. Each day I teach, I also learn — not just about life in the uplands but about the depth of human connection.

I feel a strong desire to learn the Sambal language because language is more than just words. It's the soul of a people — their stories, humor, wisdom, and way of life. I want to understand my students not just through lessons but through their own words.

I want them to feel seen, heard, and valued. I want to bridge the gap between teachers and students, lowlands and highlands, by embracing their identities. Learning Sambal is not just about communication — it's about respect, inclusion, and love.
And in learning their language, I know I will also find deeper meaning in my role as their teacher — and in the privilege of being welcomed into their world.

2️⃣ If you could invite any five people, living or dead, to a dinner party, who would they be?

That feeling — imagining being able to invite five people, living or dead, to a dinner party — is a mix of wonder, excitement, and reverence. It feels like holding a magical key to time and space, where you're granted the rare power to bring together icons, loved ones, or personal heroes across eras.

There's a sense of awe in contemplating what conversations could unfold — wisdom from centuries past mingling with present-day thoughts, laughter spanning generations, and perhaps even closure or connection you've longed for. It's deeply personal, like curating a table not just for dinner but for meaning, curiosity, inspiration, and emotion.

It's more than just a guest list — it's a reflection of who I am, what I value, and the stories or people that shaped my inner world.

My dinner party wouldn't just be a gathering — it would be a reunion of love, memory, and legacy. And here are the people on the list: my mother, Margarita; my Uncle, Ribo; my two grandmothers; and my grandfather.

Here's what that might feel like:

I am sitting at a warmly lit table, surrounded by the people who have helped shape who I am — my mother, Margarita, my Uncle, Ribo, my two grandmas, and my grandfather. There's laughter in the air, the kind that only family can spark. Familiar scents from the kitchen — maybe dishes from my childhood — fill the room. I am not just sharing food but stories, hugs, and perhaps even tears of joy.

The conversations go beyond the ordinary: catching up on things they missed, sharing my journey, listening to their voices again, soaking in their presence. I could hear stories I never knew or get to say the things I've always wanted to say.

It's not just a dinner — it's healing, it's warmth, and it's home.