Seven Years of Love

We began with a swipe— a small, careless movement of a finger, on a dating app called Badoo. Who would have thought that something so ordinary could rewrite the direction of my heart? You were just a name on my screen, a stranger with gentle words. But in the quiet of late-night conversations, between “good mornings” and “ingat ka,” you became familiar— comforting in a way I couldn’t explain. Even through pixels and typing bubbles, you felt steady. You felt safe. And safety was something I did not give easily. I had built walls— tall, guarded, proud. Not because I was strong, but because I had been hurt. My heart had learned to survive by closing its doors. I told myself I would never be that soft again. Never that vulnerable. Never that open. But you— you did not knock loudly. You did not demand entry. You simply stayed. Patient. Consistent. Gentle in ways that did not threaten me. And somehow, without force, without noise, you began undoing what pain had built. Brick by brick, fear by fear, you brought warmth back into places I had left cold. You didn’t just love me— you made me believe in love again. Six months passed before we met. Another six before you courted me. Another six before we called it ours. As if time itself wanted to make sure we were ready. I was assigned to an island, he was in Legazpi. I transferred to Legazpi, he was assigned to Malilipot. I moved to Malinao, closer to him, then he was assigned back to Legazpi. When I finally returned to Legazpi… he moved all the way to Canada. Seven years later, after transfers and reassignments, after islands between us, after oceans stretched all the way to Canada— we are still here. So close in distance, yet often living like long distance. Schedules colliding. Work demanding. Life testing. But love— love stayed. I am fire— loud, expressive, fiercely independent. You are water— calm, steady, quietly strong. I thought opposites would clash. Instead, we balance. You soften my edges. I color your quiet. We climb mountains together. Chase horizons. Sit by the sea in comfortable silence. In nature, we find peace— but in each other, we find home. Seven years. Of waiting. Of adjusting. Of choosing. And today, I don’t celebrate perfection. I celebrate endurance. Growth. The quiet strength of a love that refused to give up. Happy 7th Anniversary, Aldrin ko. Thank you for loving me gently. For being my calm when I am too much. For staying when distance tried to stretch us thin. For tearing down my walls and teaching me that softness is not weakness. If I had to swipe again in a thousand lifetimes, I would still hope it leads me back to you. Seven years down— and I am still choosing you. Always you. In every season. In every distance. In every version of us yet to come.