I was halfway through making a sandwich when I knocked over a mug. Not just any mug—the mug. A chunky little thing I’d kept from a Christmas market back when we were living in Berlin.

It shattered against the floor, clean in two. And just like that, I stood frozen, surrounded by breadcrumbs and broken porcelain. I knew it was silly to cry over ceramic, but I felt something tighten in my chest. That mug was irreplaceable, full of memories: late-night cocoa, snowy mornings, our little apartment with its always-too-hot radiator.

I glued the pieces back together as best I could. But there was a jagged edge along the rim, and for the rest of the day, it soured my mood more than I care to admit. Later that week, I remembered something I’d learned on a recent trip to Japan: kintsugi —the art of mending broken pottery with gold. It’s not about hiding the cracks, but honoring them. The repair becomes part of the story. A feature, not a flaw.

I didn’t have gold or lacquer, just a cheap glue stick and some tape. But the lesson stuck: the mug didn’t have to be perfect. It just needed to be whole enough to hold something warm.

Maybe, years from now, I’ll pick it up and think less about Berlin and more about this moment, how a broken thing helped me feel whole again.

That same mindset is how I’ve started approaching life, too. I used to be obsessed with doing things perfectly. I'd rip out journal pages if my handwriting looked messy or the doodles didn’t match the mood. I thought that if something wasn’t just right, it wasn’t worth keeping.

But slowly, I’m learning to let go of that. My journal now is a collage of scribbles, crossed-out thoughts, and half-baked ideas. And it’s beautiful. Messy and full of heart.

There was another moment in Japan. A different kind of humbling.

We were at a small sushi bar, and (confession!) I don’t really know how to use chopsticks. Not properly, anyway. I can spear a dumpling just fine, but picking up a grain of rice? That’s advanced stuff.

I was fumbling through my meal, apologizing under my breath, when the chef caught my eye. He smiled and said, “The food goes where it needs to go.”

Something about that stuck with me. I’d been so focused on how I was doing things, I’d lost sight of why I was doing them in the first place.

When I look back on my life, it’s easy to see the flaws. The missed chances, the things I didn’t finish, the sentimental mugs I broke. And it’s tempting to believe that other people—those who “made it”—never struggled with the small stuff. That their paths were clear and graceful, like brushstrokes on a canvas.

But if there’s one thing I learned in Japan, it’s this: nothing ever goes exactly as planned. Broken things tell stories. And trying, however clumsily, is what matters most.

So as we cross into the second half of the year, maybe this July can be a soft reset. Not with guilt over what you didn’t do, but with a little hope for what you still can.

When we first launched PULSE, there were typos. There were awkward layouts. There were moments where we held our breath and hoped you wouldn’t notice. (You probably did.)

We’re still making mistakes. We’re still learning. But we keep going. Because more than anything, we believe in stories that inspire—and in the people who read them.

This month, we want to hear from you. What stories do you want to read? What stories deserve a spotlight?

Drop us a line. We’re listening. Send us your story ideas or nominate a person to michiancheta@newswatchplus.ph.