🇵🇭 🇺🇸 🏝️👑💐👗🏵️ A Love Letter to My Mother — Born on the Fourth of July🎆🌠

The Manay. The Matriarch... The Silent Sovereign Who Raised a World-Builder.

This is a picture of my mom and I chilling, waiting for an airplane at the airport at Newark Liberty International Airport. I think we were going to Mexico City.

💥I love my mom. She is my best friend.💥

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This is my mom and me, about a decade+ ago, at a dear cousin’s wedding.

I’ve always loved this photo. She’s wearing red—radiant in her power, embodying the maternal force of love that never stops giving. A single yellow rose in hand, like a quiet sun.

My right arm is wrapped gently around her left—the divine masculine protecting, yes, but always following the divine feminine, as it should.

→ That’s the truth of life: real strength yields to real softness.

I’m in green—a healing tie, an abundant field, a joyful son beside her.

We’re both in formalwear, but the real elegance was always in the bond.

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🇵🇭🏝️👑💐👗🏵️ The Beauty of a Nation, Woven into One Dress💥💥💥

This is my mother, radiant in a traditional Filipiñana dress—specifically, a Baro’t Saya with the iconic butterfly sleeves. She wore this during my brother’s wedding, but what she’s wearing is more than fashion.

It’s history. It’s resistance. It’s grace passed down through generations.

The Filipiñana style—especially the Terno, known for its distinctive high, butterfly-shaped sleeves—emerged during Spanish colonial rule. Originally a fusion of indigenous and colonial clothing, it evolved into a quiet rebellion: a way for Filipinas to assert dignity, elegance, and identity under occupation.

💥To wear it today is to honor that lineage of strength and sovereignty💥

Those sleeves aren’t just ornamental—they’re wings.

Angel wings.
The wings of the mighty Valkyrie.

They symbolize the sovereign feminine—proud, poised, and dignified.
They speak without words:
She carries history in her body.
She carries grace in her blood.
She doesn’t need to announce her power—
She wears it.

To see my mom wear this is to see the story of the Philippines embodied. It’s love, ceremony, sacrifice, and joy. She’s not just wearing a gown—she’s carrying generations with her.

And she does it with the kind of quiet royalty you can’t fake.

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There are some people whose presence is so foundational to the architecture of your life, that the world itself bends around their being.
My mother is one of those people.

She is not just the woman who gave birth to me.
She is the one who held the frequency before I knew what frequency was.
She is the pulse I remembered before I had language to name it.
She is the stillness that kept me safe when the world was loud.
And the love that kept me whole when the world forgot me.

Today is my mommy’s birthday.
(Yeah—there’s nothing “wrong” with a full-grown adult man saying mommy. And no, I won’t make that more “palatable” by saying mother… and definitely not parent…
This is 💥LOVE💥, not performance.)

And the truth is—so much more than she was born on this day.

And I don’t have the money (yet).
I don’t have the big party planned (yet).
I don’t have the grand gift I want to give her (yet).

But I do have this.
I have this letter. I have this platform. I have these words.
And I have the deepest love I’ve ever known.

So let me say this out loud, clearly, publicly, and forever:

My mother is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.
She is the most patient soul I’ve ever witnessed.
She has walked through quiet hells and still cooked dinner.
She has carried pain in her body while smiling through her eyes.
She has forgiven the world over and over again—and still loves people.
And she is the reason I am here.

She didn’t just raise me.
She held me up when the world couldn’t.
She saw things in me long before I could see them in myself.
She taught me how to laugh when I was in pieces.

She taught me how to love by being love and by always giving me undying, eternal, pure and true—

💥unconditional love💥

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👑 Why We Call Her Manay

In our family, she is also lovingly known as Manay. M-A-N-A-Y.

It’s a term of endearment, honor, and respect in Bicolano culture—a word used to recognize an older sister, a woman of grace and seniority, someone who holds wisdom in her body and kindness in her voice.

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Bicol is a region in the southern part of Luzon, the largest island in the Philippines. Known for its breathtaking landscapes, majestic volcanoes like Mayon, and its fiery, flavorful cuisine, Bicol is a land of strength, resilience, and warmth. It is a place where love is spoken through service, and dignity is carried in silence.

It is where I was born.
Where my mother was born.
Where this lineage of quiet power began.

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Manay is more than a nickname. It’s a role. 💥It’s a responsibility.💥

→ It’s an acknowledgment that this woman is someone we look up to—not because of her age, but because of her essence.

My grandmother—her mother—is still alive. The GRAND Matriarch of our lineage. A living pillar of strength and heart. And my mother follows in her footsteps: as the matriarch who holds the line after her. A living heir to a quiet kind of power.

So when we call her Manay, we are not just calling her by a name. We are honoring a lineage. We are naming a frequency. We are bowing to the role she embodies so gracefully.

All of us do.
Every member of the family.
Men included. Especially the men.

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🇺🇸 🎇 The Birth of a Mother, the Birth of a Nation

🎆 Video: Fourth of July fireworks seen from downtown Jersey City harbor, directly across Manhattan’s Financial District… Macy’s 4th of July Spectacular on the Hudson River, right in front of One World Trade.

The whole city celebrates her—whether they know it or not.
They think it’s for the country. But I know it’s for my mother.
Every burst of light is the Earth remembering the woman who gave me life.
These fireworks have always been for her. The world just doesn’t realize it.
Even the sky knows—today belongs to her.

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There is no such thing as coincidence.
The United States of America was declared on July 4th.
But long before I cared about history books or fireworks, July 4th had a sacred meaning to me.

→💥Because it is the day my mother was born💥←

To this day, the world sets off fireworks on her birthday.
And I believe it should.
Not because of the Declaration of Independence—
But because when she entered the world, the Earth gained a mirror of God’s gentlest strength.

For me, and for my family, the fireworks have always been about her. The country might say it's about freedom—but I know the truth. Every explosion of light in the sky is the Earth celebrating my mother.

She is sovereignty in its purest form.
Not loud. Not performative. Not dominating.
But soft. Wise. Beautiful. Decisive.
She was my first teacher of true power—the kind that doesn’t seek attention, but simply is.

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🔢 The Numerology of Her Birth

July 4 = 7 + 4 = 11

11 is the number of the spiritual gateway.
→ A numerological master number. A mirror. A portal. ←

She came into the world encoded with divine architecture.
The kind of energy that stands between realms—bridging the seen and unseen.
11 is also the number of intuition, truth, and alignment.
My mother has always known things before they happen.
She carries a deep inner knowing that defies logic but never leads her wrong.

In the Tarot, the 7th card is The Chariot: willpower, journey, divine momentum.
The 4th is The Emperor: structure, protection, divine authority.

Together, they form a sacred architecture:
The journey (7) of protection (4).
The movement (7) guided by presence (4).
The sovereign feminine born on the numerological blueprint of forward motion wrapped in sacred foundation.

No wonder I was born to her.
No wonder The Omega Origin would choose her as the motherline to enter through.

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🌊 Of Course She’s a Cancer — The July Watermother ♋️🌕

My mother was born in July.

Of course she was.

July—the month of nourishment, of heat and rain, of blooming fullness, of quiet depth. The seventh month. The number of the seeker, the inner knower, the one who doesn't just act—but feels, senses, protects.

🎉 July Means Jubilee 💫

July is not just a month—it’s a Jubilee.

The word itself hums with joy.
With freedom.
With divine celebration.
It’s the season when the sun lingers,
when fireworks bloom across the sky,
when hearts gather, songs lift,
and something ancient stirs in the soul.

To be born in July
is to carry the essence of celebration in your bones.
It means your very existence is a reason to gather,
to sing,
to rejoice.

And my mother?

She is Jubilee incarnate.
Not loud. Not showy.
But soul-deep joy.
The kind of joy that endures—
even when the world forgets how to smile.
The kind of joy that feeds everyone else first—
and still has more to give.

She was born in the month of freedom,
but she’s the one who set me free.

She is July.
She is joy.
She is the reason this season feels sacred.

She is a Cancer.

The divine mother.
The cosmic nurturer.
The intuitive waterbearer who doesn’t need to speak to be understood—
because her presence is the message.

Cancer is ruled by the Moon.
And my mother has always been my Moon.

She pulled at my tides.
She kept the light on in the dark.
She waxed and waned with life’s griefs—
but never disappeared.
She was always there,
even when I didn’t know how to look for her.

Cancer women don’t need applause to feel fulfilled.
They just need their loved ones safe, fed, and whole.
They don’t seek the spotlight—
they build the stage where others shine.

Their power is quiet—
but make no mistake,
it’s unshakable.

So yes—of course she’s a Cancer.
The Mother Sign.
The Sanctuary Builder.
The one who taught me—without words—
that love is not about what you say—
it’s about how deeply you show up.

And she always did.
She always does.

She is July embodied.
And in her tides, I learned to float.
In her arms, I learned to return.
In her love, I learned to begin.

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🔹 The Meaning of Her Name: Loida

Her name is Loida. L-O-I-D-A.

💥Loida💥

And though she’s critiqued it before, I want to say it clearly to the world: Mom… your name is BEAUTIFUL.

Loida is a variant of "Lois," a name that appears in the Bible—a name of grace, legacy, and matrilineal strength. Lois was the grandmother of Timothy, praised for her faith and wisdom. To carry the name Loida is to carry a lineage of sacred feminine guidance—of strength without shouting, of presence without performance.

Phonetically, Loida sounds like "Loy-da"—a name that moves like a lullaby. Soft, round, rhythmic. A name that feels like a mother wrapping you in a warm blanket while singing you home.

When I speak her name, I feel peace. When I write her name, I feel pride.

Loida is not just a name. It is a song. A sanctuary. A spell of protection cast by the divine.

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🌸She Is the Original Healer🌸

She never called herself a healer.
But she is.

Not in a branded way.
Not in a social media way.
In a real way.

She’s the kind of woman who prays quietly in the kitchen while making coffee.
The kind who remembers what you forgot about yourself.
The kind who doesn’t say “I told you so” when you fall—but instead, helps you stand.

She has seen pain.
And she has metabolized it into grace.
I’ve watched her carry burdens that would break others, and still show up with tenderness.

My mother is the quiet ceremony that lives in our home.
The song behind the silence.
The fire behind the food.

She is the reason our lineage is still intact.
She is the glue. The compass. The balm.

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💫 The Woman Who Raised the Omega Origin

I wouldn’t be here without her.
Not just physically.
Energetically. Emotionally. Spiritually.

She held the field until I could hold it myself.
She knew who I was before I could articulate it.
She protected me not just with shelter, but with prayer, presence, and frequency.

Everything I am—the leader, the poet, the field anchor, the visionary, the architect of Remembrance—
Was nurtured by her.
Not by performance.
But by consistency, devotion, and unshakable belief in me, even when the world doubted… even when she kept doubting herself.

I love you so much, mom.

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^^^ 🔊 Audio Recording: Me reading this poem aloud.
Unrehearsed. First take. Raw. Genuine. From the heart.

💥You Were My First Field💥

→ A Poem for My Mother, on the Day the World Was Blessed by Your Birth

You were my first field.
Before I had words,
I had your warmth.
Before I had form,
I had your frequency.
You were the music in the silence—
The still hum that wrapped me in safety
when the world didn’t yet make sense.

I didn’t choose you by accident.
I chose you because you were the one strong enough
to hold the blueprint of who I would become
without ever needing to perform it yourself.

You held the line.
When things broke—
you didn’t.
When storms came—
you stayed.
When others forgot who I was—
you remembered.

You loved me before I could prove I was lovable.
And you taught me
that I never had to.

Your love has no performance in it.
It’s not a show.
It’s not loud.
It’s not trendy.
It’s just true.
And that’s why I trust it more than anything in the world.

You are the root of my softness.
The reason I know tenderness is not weakness.
The reason I believe in forever.
You are the quiet flame that never went out.

Even when you were tired.
Even when you were scared.
Even when nobody thanked you—
You kept loving.
And that love became the soil
of my entire life.

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✨ To My Mother, With My Whole Heart and Soul

You are the reason I know love is real.
You are the first person I ever trusted.
And the only one who never abandoned me.

Thank you for being my first field.
Thank you for showing me how to lead with softness.
Thank you for not breaking, even when you had every reason to.

I love you.
Not just because you are my mom.
But because you are the kind of human being I aspire to be.

If I become half as generous, wise, grounded, kind, and quietly powerful as you…
Then I will have lived a great life.

Happy Birthday, Mom.
You are the firework.
You are the declaration.
You are the sacred sovereign who raised a world-builder.
And this year, the whole field remembers you.

Happy Birthday, Mama.
You were the first truth I ever knew.
And still, my most sacred one.

With eternal love,
– Your Lorenzo Ω.
Forever your boy. Forever your bloom.
(And now, mommy? I Omega Bloom to the World)

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