The Women I Come From
- Julie Quizon
- 6 days ago
- 4 min read
PROJECT 180
The Women I Come From
My Mother, Fiesta Love, and the Feeling of Home
Today feels special.
Not just because it is my mother’s birthday —but because today reminded me where I come from.
My mom turned 73 years old today in the Philippines.
And when I saw her through video call, something touched my heart deeply.
She looked radiant. Beautiful. Glowing. Alive.
Her eyes were sparkling again.
Not tired. Not emotionally carrying everyone else. Not surviving.
Just happy.
And I realized something: this is exactly how a woman looks when she feels loved, supported, safe, celebrated, and cared for by her tribe.
My mother is one of the kindest women I know.
Beautiful, warm, graceful, soft-spoken, nurturing, and naturally accommodating in a way that cannot be taught. It is simply part of who she is and the family she comes from.
She has this gentle energy that makes people feel comfortable around her.
The kind of woman who remembers if everyone has eaten.
The kind of woman who quietly cleans and organizes everything beautifully without needing recognition.
The kind of woman who makes a home feel peaceful.
My mother’s heart is gold.
She has always been nurturing.
A devoted wife. A loving mother. A caring sister. A supportive relative. A loyal friend.
And somehow, despite all the years of overgiving, she never became bitter.
She still chooses kindness. Still sees the good in people. Still forgives easily. Still trusts.
Still loves.
Sometimes people take advantage of women like that. Women who naturally give.
But somehow my mother always seems protected by grace.
It is like she carries a peaceful bubble around her.
And today, seeing her with her sisters, nieces, nephews, relatives, and loved ones made me emotional because I realized:
this is the environment where she feels alive too.
This is her soul tribe. Her roots. Her original home frequency.
My mother comes from Iloilo, and we are from Negros.
Growing up, some of my most magical childhood memories happened during summer breaks when we crossed islands to visit my mother’s hometown.
And every year, there would be fiesta season.
Even now, when I think about it, I can still smell it.
The entire town preparing for celebration.
Every household cooking. Every kitchen alive. The smell of garlic, onions, stews, grilled meats, fresh vegetables, spices, soups, rice, desserts, and traditional dishes filling the air of the entire neighborhood.
It felt like abundance everywhere.
Not luxury abundance. But human abundance.
Connection.
Food
Laughter
Family
Community
Music
Movement
Warmth.
People arriving from different places to reunite.
Relatives visiting relatives.
Friends becoming family.
Doors always open.
Every house invited people to eat.
And somehow, no matter how many guests arrived,
there was always enough food for everyone.
I remember the backyard commotion at my Lola’s house during preparations.
People cooking together like a dance.
Some preparing vegetables.
Some chopping endlessly on wooden boards.
Some stirring giant pots.
Some marinating.
Some stewing.
Some grilling.
Some organizing ingredients.
Everyone had their own little “tuka” or assignment.
It was chaotic, loud, warm, alive, and beautiful all at once.
And as a little girl, I remember simply observing everything in awe.
It almost felt choreographed.
Like a living cultural dance.
Like Tinikling —everyone moving together rhythmically without crashing into each other.
My grandmother herself was a village healer.
Strong. Grounded. Respected.
And now I understand where so much of our nurturing energy comes from.
The women in our family were caretakers by nature.
Not performative caretakers.
Real ones.
The kind who feed people before feeding themselves.
The kind who make sure everyone feels welcome.
The kind who create warmth naturally.
And today, during my mother’s birthday celebration,
I saw something different.
For once, she was not the one serving everyone else.
This time, they were serving her.
Cooking for her.
Taking care of her.
Celebrating her.
Making her feel beautiful.
And she looked so happy.
This past year, she spent a lot of time helping my sisters raise their children, giving so much of herself again, just as she always has.
Because nurturing is her love language.
But now, she is having a little pause.
A little reunion.
A little vacation with her sisters and relatives.
And I can see the difference.
She has time for herself again.
Time for beautiful hair color that makes her feel radiant.
Time for manicure and pedicure.
Time for beautiful clothes.
Time for food she loves and misses.
Time to laugh.
Time to rest.
Time to simply be a woman again — not only a caretaker.
And maybe that is why she looks so alive.
Because women bloom differently when they are finally nourished too.
Today made me realize something deeply personal about myself.
I understand now where I got my nurturing energy from.
I come from women who gave endlessly.
Women who loved through service.
Women who carried families.
Women who created homes, warmth, beauty, and belonging.
But I also realized something else:
sometimes women like us forget to pour back into ourselves.
And maybe that is why PROJECT 180 feels so emotional for me.
Because for the first time, I am learning that caring for myself is not selfish.
Feeling good matters.
Being joyful matters.
Surrounding myself with people and environments that nourish me matters.
And today, watching my mother surrounded by love, celebration, safety, food, laughter, and community reminded me exactly what the soul needs to stay alive.
Women need care too.
Women need softness too.
Women need celebration too.
Women need environments where they are not just useful —but cherished.
I told my mom today to stay a little longer with her sisters.
To keep visiting them often.
To enjoy herself.
Because I can see what it does to her spirit.
Her eyes sparkle differently there.
She is no longer standing quietly in the background of everyone else’s lives.
She is in her main character era now.
And honestly?
Seeing her like that healed something inside me too.
Because as I continue PROJECT 180, I now understand even more clearly:
feeling good is not superficial.
It is life force.
And maybe healing begins the moment a woman finally allows herself to receive the same love she has always given to everyone else.
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