Spring has sprung… and with it, a softer version of me.

In my last blog, I shared part one of our Budapest trip. I ended it with winter for a reason. Some memories belong to the cold to grey skies and quiet reflections. But this part? This belongs to spring. To awakening. To realizing that I have come a long way.

There was a time when Europe in winter was just a dream,a faraway Pinterest board moment. A girl paying in pesos, imagining euros. And yet there I was, standing in New York Café “the most beautiful coffee shop in the world,” as they say, paying for our coffee. Me. Paying in euros. It sounds small, but for me, it was monumental.

We queued for almost an hour that morning. Tourists buzzing with excitement, cameras ready, everyone chasing the same magic. I was tired, but the moment we stepped inside, exhaustion melted away. The ceilings were painted like heaven itself had signed its name there. Gold details. Frescoes. History whispering from every corner. I felt like I had time-traveled.

We could only order from the limited transitioning menu,breakfast slipping into lunch, so we settled for coffee and pretty desserts.

But honestly, that was enough. While waiting, we wandered to the other side of the café, taking a million photos. My best friend heard a familiar language — Italian — and effortlessly made new friends. She helped them capture their perfect shot in the most magical corner.

I watched her in awe.

How beautiful it is to speak in different tongues. How powerful it is to connect anywhere in the world. In that moment, I quietly told myself: I want to learn another language too. Not just words,but courage like hers.

Back at our table, we heard another familiar language. Filipino. Our kababayans. Young, working hard, living bravely abroad. We smiled at each other, that silent understanding only shared by those who left home chasing something bigger. Once, we were like them. Angry. Silly. Eager. Making reckless decisions.

Now? We share lip balm and compare Korean skincare. Funny how life shifts from chaotic youth to tired but intentional adulthood.

After brunch, we went straight to Fisherman’s Bastion. The rooftops were painted in colors that reminded me of every season of my life every person I met, every version of myself I outgrew. We got lost trying to find the right entrance and exit, accidentally wandering into areas we didn’t even realize required tickets. It wasn’t intentional, just two girls laughing through their confusion.

There was so much walking. My legs were screaming. I ran to a bookstore doorway just to take a photo, still yapping endlessly because I am my most comfortable self around her.

And then something dropped on my head.

Cold. Suspiciously cold.

“I HAVE SOMETHING ON MY HEAD!” I shouted a little too loudly.

We looked up.

A very fat pigeon was confidently pointing its butt directly at me.

She burst into laughter. I was furious. I wanted to teleport back to the hotel and scrub my scalp with holy water. Instead, beside a trash bin, she handed me wet wipes and we scraped pigeon betrayal off my hair laughing so hard we could barely breathe. Crazy moments like that make you feel human.

We continued to Buda Castle, though parts were under renovation. Bird incident forgotten (but not forgiven). Euros saved. Memories prioritized.

We crossed the stunning Széchenyi Chain Bridge and walked along the Danube toward the Parliament. Then we stood before Shoes on the Danube Bank.

And everything shifted.

The laughter softened. The wind grew colder. The memorial , simple iron shoes lining the river, carries the weight of unimaginable loss from World War II. I’ve watched the documentaries. I’ve read the history. Anti-Semitic hatred that led to unspeakable genocide. Standing there, joy melted into grief.

How fragile happiness can feel in the presence of history.

But maybe that is the point to feel both.

To remember and still live.

To lift our spirits, we headed toward the Central Market, but somehow ended up chasing the moon instead. It wasn’t even night yet, but my best friend was determined to find a giant hanging moon installation she had seen. So we walked. And walked. Passing Michelin-starred restaurants, I imagined what their menus looked like. I whispered to myself: Soon. I will save for this kind of life too.

We found the moon. It was… underwhelming. By the time we returned, the market was closed.

We laughed at our own misfortune. Again.

Hungry and dramatic, we devoured Hungarian goulash and chicken paprikash.

We exchanged plates mid-meal like it was second nature. Sharing food. Sharing lip balm. Sharing exhaustion. I hope everyone finds a friendship like this,because life is not only meant to be shared romantically. Platonic love is just as sacred.

For our nightcap, we ordered spicy mango coffee. Beautiful. Creative. Would I order it again? Absolutely not.

We bought a few haircare items. I searched for a lipstick , not really a lipstick, because I find them heavy,just something to add more color to my face. Viki and Kami always tell me to wear more color. I believe them. They don’t just wear vibrant shades their souls radiate them.

That night, back at the hotel, we packed while replaying every ridiculous moment. Laughing at pigeon trauma. At missed markets. At our endless yapping.

Early morning, we catch our trip back,we hugged tightly. Promised this wouldn’t be our last European trip. I told her I would visit Milan, buy cantuccini, and stock up on Venchi dark chocolate.

Spring, to me, is proof that the sun always returns.

Winter clouds carry a certain sadness. Living under grey skies sometimes awakens regrets I thought I had buried. Not homesickness just something about the heaviness of clouds that makes the heart reflect too much.

But that trip, the very first days of the year ,felt like awakening.

Spring 2023 was my last season in Alaska. I left. I started over. I felt lost. But now, spring 2026 feels different.

I have arrived.

Not just in places ,but in people’s lives. In rooms I once felt unworthy to enter. At tables where a seat was waiting for me all along.

I’ve tasted meals that felt like they belonged to my future. I’ve seen cities that once lived only in my imagination. I’ve outgrown the version of myself from a year ago.

Life is fleeting, slipping quietly between seasons, yet monumental in the way it changes us.

Budapest was not just a winter trip.

It was my proof.

That from pesos to euros.

From grey skies to sunlight.

From who I was…

to who I am becoming.

Spring has sprung.

And so have I.