The Day the Roof Came Off

I still remember the sound. Not the wind—but the silence just before it. The kind of silence that warns you that something is coming.

And then it came.

A typhoon swept through our village with such force that the roof of our house—our only protection—peeled off like paper. Rain poured into the center of the room we shared. We huddled, soaked and shivering, my parents shielding us with their bodies.

We didn’t have a backup plan. We didn’t have anywhere else to go. We had each other. And sometimes—that was enough.

That night, I learned something that would shape the rest of my life: Strength doesn’t always look like power. Sometimes, it looks like survival. And survival is sacred.

From the pages of From Tomatoes to the Boardroom

"There’s one night I’ll never forget. A violent typhoon was tearing through our village. The wind screamed. Rain slammed down like bullets. Our home began to shake. We huddled in the center of the room as water leaked through the roof. Then—with a terrifying gust—the roof was gone. Just like that. We were suddenly exposed to the open sky, rain pouring down on us as we shivered and held each other, soaking wet and scared.

My parents, soaked and shivering, didn’t waste a second. They started pulling together whatever scraps they could find—old tarpaulin, bamboo poles, a neighbor’s discarded sheet of tin. Right there in the middle of the chaos, they built a shelter, not with plans or blueprints, but with instinct, grit, and love.

I sat on the edge of our soaked mat, hugging my knees to my chest, watching them. The wind howled. My teeth chattered. Water dripped from my hair. But I couldn’t take my eyes off them. They didn’t yell. They didn’t panic. They moved with purpose, even though the ground was muddy and the night felt endless.

I remember thinking—They’re not afraid. And if they weren’t afraid, maybe I didn’t have to be either.

When everything fell apart, they didn’t fall apart with it. I knew I was safe because they were there. Because they would always find a way.

That night planted something in me. Not just admiration, but a quiet blueprint. Years later, when I stood in critical care rooms during code blues, or sat at boardroom tables facing impossible choices, I would feel it stir—the memory of two soaked figures moving with calm and conviction in the middle of chaos.

That was my first lesson in leadership. Not from a textbook, not from a seminar. From a storm. From parents who didn’t wait for someone to save us, but got up, got to work, and made shelter with their own hands.

They didn’t say a single inspirational word. They just did what needed to be done. And I never forgot that."

So, Why Wings of Courage?

Because courage rarely looks like a grand gesture. It looks like showing up to school in a hand-washed uniform and holding your head high. It looks like facing down colorism and walking past the teasing crowd with a smile. It looks like selling tomatoes so your family can eat—and not letting that define your worth. It looks like flying, even when your wings are tired.

This newsletter isn’t about me. It’s about us. You and I—we know what it means to fight for our place in the world. And now we fight for others, too.

From This Corner Forward

Each edition of Wings of Courage will share one story, one truth, one heartbeat that might help you rise a little higher—even when the wind howls.

Not because you need to be saved. But because maybe you’ve forgotten just how far you’ve already come.

And if no one has told you lately:

You are seen.

You are strong.

You are still rising.

✨ Download Chapter One Free Begin From Tomatoes to the Boardroom here: From Tomatoes to The Boardroom: The Courageous Rise of a Nurse Executive | Nursing leadership