I USED to consider myself a happy person, someone who could weather the challenges of life, whether small hiccups or huge, belly-churning events. A bad day could easily be remedied by a call to a friend or an unplanned dinner withfamily.

When I switched jobs after 15 years, I was beyond excited—ecstatic even— likening the feeling to my first day in school, posting it as my status on Facebook, where I “hoped my classmates and teacher would be kind.”

The first few days went by quickly, and I got along with my officemates and editor. But something happened that made me wary about being too happy.

A favorite aunt, one who had cared for us on our annual family trips to Laoag, Ilocos Norte, suddenly passed away. She died two days after my birthday—just a few weeks after I had started in my new job.

I felt like a loon, crying for several minutes, then broadly smiling upon remembering I had an upcoming trip, my first overseas assignment. It went on like this for a few months, recalling how sad Christmas that year was without Tita Ely.

Of course we managed to smile for the camera, but I could only imagine the pain her husband and five daughters—my uncle and cousins—must have felt. We have always been a tight-knit clan, and her absence was painful and palpable.

Early this year, tragedy struck again. While vacationing in Palawan, I received news that a dear friend and colleague had died a few hours before. People had been trying to contact me repeatedly, but they couldn’t connect. When one finally did and relayed the news, I practically yelled, “Are you joking?!”

Jeffrey had been recuperating from a lengthy illness that led to his confinement for almost two weeks, but everyone thought he was on the mend. We were even able to hold our annual Christmas dinner, where we wore silly reindeer antlers and ate Pinoy food.

I tried to enjoy the rest of that sun-drenched Palawan trip, but my mind would wander back to Jeff and the fact that I would never get to share another meal with him or hear his infectious laugh.

Now I catch myself trying not to look too happy even if I’m bursting inside. It’s an unfounded, irrational fear, but I don’t want to tempt fate.