Hiii Dear Friends!
Three days ago, I turned another year older. I celebrated by getting cataract surgery because at this age, I’ve started to run out of ‘birthday adventure’ ideas. (Although please note, I am not quite cataract-years old yet; cataracts were the byproduct of chemotherapy.) All that to say, please forgive me if I have not responded to your greetings. I literally have not been able to see them.
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I recently learned from my astrologer friend, Ria, that as a Taurus, I (along with Aquarius, Scorpio, and Leo) am coming out of an eight-year horrendously rough patch. Other than what is currently on my left eye, I didn’t even know I was involved with any kind of patch.
A quick Google search revealed that in May 2018, Uranus entered Taurus essentially causing a major shit show (pun intended).
Let me attempt an amateur astrological explanation: Among the zodiac signs, Taurus thrives on stability and comfort. As a Fixed Earth sign ruled by Venus, the goddess of love and beauty, she burrows into an aesthetic-focused life filled with sensual pleasure and stays there. She does not do well with change.
Uranus, on the other hand, is the planet of radical change, disruption, and rebellion. Uranus is antithetical to Taurus, and yet in 2018, Uranus entered Taurus’s sanctuary with his celestial wrecking ball and sowed disorder.
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I assessed the past 8 years in light of what Ria said. Uranus was certainly present. Every time I tried to build something, it got knocked down.
Retirement: In 2018, I had just retired from New York corporate life to explore the world and my interests. That same year, my Mom was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. Instead of traveling far and wide, I stayed close to home.
Love in Covid: In early 2020, my relationship with my partner, J, had barely grown roots. I went home to Manila for what was supposed to be a two-week trip only to get locked down and away from J for two years.
Illness and Death: In 2022, I moved to Spain to be with J. I had barely settled into my new life when I received a cancer diagnosis. Treatment yanked away my hair, my youthful skin, my eyesight, and the vestiges of my vanity.
As soon as I finished my cancer treatment in 2024, we learned that Mom’s cancer had spread to her brain affecting her mobility, speech and memory.
Then in 2025, Dad died.
Uranus was relentless.
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Anyone who knows me knows I am no Pollyanna. However, as I scanned the past sniffing out Uranus (okaaay, I’ll stop with the puns), I also saw the steady grace of Venus.
Despite her diagnosis, my Mom remained unstoppable. She pestered her doctors into prescribing a protocol that would allow her and Dad to travel. And as a new retiree, I had the freedom to travel with them. How we traveled — to India, to the Mediterranean, and to Turkey and the Holy Land — in between her treatments!
The long-distance challenges with J meant that I met him in the first place! I was struck by his steadfastness. On our second date — the night after our first — he invited me to Tenerife for the holidays. I messaged my Mom, “I’m not coming home for Christmas. I met a really good guy.” She responded, “Stay as long as you need to. Just bring home the bacon.”
After the initial shock of my own cancer diagnosis, I immediately found peace. Family and friends near and far, old and new, carried me through. My mom was my inspiration for addressing each side effect with deft nonchalance. One day, I had just stepped out of the house when my nose gushed all over my shirt. Unruffled, I texted my friend, “Sorry, slight delay. Nose bleed!” I lay down, waited for it to pass, tossed on a new shirt, and messaged “Lezzgo!”
When Mom’s cancer reached her brain, her Filipino doctor told her, “I’m not giving up on you,” even when her Singapore doctor had. The new drug he prescribed restored most of her speech and all of her wit.
Before Dad died, we got him to Hong Kong for roast goose.
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Uranus has left Taurus. As dust from the wreckage settles, foundational truths emerge:
That there is no such thing as stable ground. Life is change, and it is folly to believe otherwise.
That earthly pleasures can be temporary balms; but lasting peace is found in contemplating loss and death.
And that even during times of upheaval, there is room for Venusian tenderness, mercy, and humor.
May my newly de-cataracted eyes never lose sight of these.
Thank you for your birthday wishes.
Love,
Me
