What Misogi Means to Me
Misogi is a Japanese practice of purification.
Traditionally, it involves standing beneath a freezing waterfall or immersing yourself in cold water to cleanse the body, mind, and spirit. But for me, its meaning has become much deeper than the ritual itself.
Misogi is transformation through hardship.
It is the belief that struggle can strip away the things that no longer serve us — our ego, our fear, our assumptions, our need for control — and leave behind something clearer, stronger, and more honest.
Over time, the word has taken on a personal meaning for me.
Not just purification.
But rebirth through challenge.
When I look back at my life, I see a series of misogi moments.
Failing when I thought I deserved to succeed.
Losing parts of myself I thought I could never live without.
Starting over in new countries.
Rebuilding after pain.
Carrying responsibility before I felt ready.
Learning how to keep going when life did not go to plan.
None of those moments felt meaningful while I was living through them.
At the time, they felt painful.
Heavy.
Unfair.
But looking back now, I can see what they were doing.
They were shaping me.
Each challenge stripped something away. And each one left something behind: resilience, perspective, gratitude, humility, and a deeper understanding of what it means to truly live.
This is my reflection on those years.
My own misogi.
And if life has taught me one thing, it is this:
Life is what you make it.
Not what happens to you.
Not what was planned for you.
Not what other people expect from you.
But what you choose to make of it.
To me, living has never been about moving through life on autopilot. It is about being intentional. Feeling things deeply. Building something meaningful. Creating memories — both beautiful and painful — and allowing yourself to fully experience them.
Because that is what living means.
Not drifting through the years.
Not waiting for “someday.”
But being present enough to feel your own life as it unfolds.
When I look back over the past sixteen years, I do not see a straight line. I see highs and lows. Wins and losses. Reinventions. Moments I thought would break me. Moments I never imagined would happen to me.
And somehow, all of it became part of the same story.
A rich life.
Not rich because of money.
Rich because of experience.
2010 — When Failure Arrived Early
In 2010, I graduated with a degree in Electronics and Communications Engineering, full of hope, ambition, and belief in what was ahead.
Like many fresh graduates, I thought the next logical step was simple: pass the board exam, start my career, and move forward.
I studied hard. I believed I was ready.
Then the results came out.
I still remember that night clearly.
My mum and I went straight to the computer to check the list. We scanned every name.
Line by line.
Surname by surname.
I looked for “Barrozo.”
It was not there.
I had failed.
The most painful part was how close I had come.
There were four tests. I scored over 90% in three of them. But in General Studies, I got 68%.
Two percent short.
Two percent between passing and failing.
I was heartbroken.
I felt embarrassed. I felt envious of classmates who had passed — especially some I knew had copied from me during university exams.
But more than anything, I felt like I had let my mum down.
That hurt the most.
At the time, it felt like the end of the world.
But now, with years behind me, I can say this with honesty:
Failing that exam did not end my path.
It redirected it.
And sometimes, redirection is more powerful than success.
2011 — The Year Everything Broke
If 2010 humbled me, 2011 broke me open.
I was working as a telecom engineer and had travelled to Boracay for a cell site rework. The task sounded straightforward enough. We were repositioning a WiMAX antenna to improve signal coverage toward the far end of the island.
Then everything changed in a second.
I heard metal clashing.
Then impact.
Something struck my left cheekbone.
I did not lose consciousness immediately, but I instantly lost vision in my left eye.
There was blood everywhere.
I was carried down the hill in Boracay by hand, bleeding badly. By the time I reached the clinic, I collapsed.
What followed became one of the darkest periods of my life.
Four surgeries.
Six months of hospitalisation.
Pain.
Recovery.
Waiting.
Fear.
Silence.
But it was not just physical pain.
It was emotional destruction.
That period took more from me than I knew was possible. I felt like I had lost my appearance. My confidence. My relationship. My faith.
At my lowest point, I wanted to die.
I can write more about that chapter another time. But for now, I will say this:
Sometimes life strips you down to almost nothing just to show you what still remains.
Rebuilding Without Knowing It
The strange thing about rebuilding is that most of the time, you do not realise you are doing it.
You just wake up.
You show up.
You take the next job.
Pay the next bill.
Answer the next call.
And slowly, almost quietly, life begins moving again.
That is how it happened for me.
A new job.
Then another.
Then another.
From telecom engineering to IT networking.
From incident management to governance and risk.
Eventually into leadership.
Then senior management.
Then director-level responsibility.
None of it happened overnight.
None of it was perfectly planned.
Much of it was built through resilience, curiosity, adaptation, and the simple refusal to stay stuck.
Looking back now, I realise I was not just chasing titles.
I was becoming someone stronger through every chapter.
Love, Migration, and Reinvention
Somewhere in those rebuilding years, love entered my life again.
MaZen came into my life during a season when I was still trying to understand who I was becoming. She became one of the most important parts of my story.
Together, we travelled.
We built memories.
We dreamed bigger.
We took risks.
Then came migration.
Leaving the Philippines for Dubai.
Starting over again.
A new country.
A new work culture.
New expectations.
New uncertainty.
Migration changes you.
People often talk about opportunity, but fewer people talk about what it costs emotionally.
Leaving behind familiarity.
Missing family milestones.
Learning how to belong somewhere unfamiliar.
Building a life from scratch with no guarantee it will work.
Then later came another move.
The UK.
Another reset.
Another reinvention.
Another chapter.
Each move demanded a new version of me. And each time, I had to learn how to begin again.
Building a Life Brick by Brick
The years that followed were full.
Career growth.
Promotions.
Business ventures.
New ideas.
New responsibilities.
A gaming community.
Building TekHive.
Starting LivingRichToday.com.
Creating DistantConversation.com.
Buying a home.
Building a house in the Philippines.
Travelling.
Welcoming new dogs.
Starting new projects.
And alongside all of that came real life.
Family illnesses.
Hospital stays.
Redundancy scares.
COVID.
Worry.
Responsibility.
Pressure.
That is what I have learned:
Life is rarely one thing at a time.
Joy and pain often arrive together.
Achievement and anxiety can live in the same room.
Gratitude and fear can sit beside each other.
And still, we continue.
We keep building.
Brick by brick.
What “Living Rich” Means to Me Now
When people hear “Living Rich Today,” they sometimes think it is about money.
I understand why.
But that is not what it means to me.
I do not consider myself financially rich in the flashy sense. I do not live life to show off. I do not measure richness by cars, watches, status, or luxury.
But I do feel rich.
Rich in experiences.
Rich in family.
Rich in memories.
Rich in love.
Rich in stories.
Rich in perspective.
To me, being rich means being present enough to notice your own life.
It means creating something meaningful.
It means leaving behind memories, stories, and proof that you were here — and that you truly lived.
A rich life is not always expensive.
Sometimes it is dinner with family.
A quiet drive.
A trip home.
A conversation.
A risk you took.
A painful lesson that changed you forever.
Sometimes richness is simply being fully awake to your own existence.
2026 — The Start of Legacy
This year brought something I still struggle to fully believe.
After nine years of marriage, my wife is pregnant.
Even writing those words feels surreal.
Disbelief.
Joy.
Gratitude.
Anxiety.
All at once.
I am incredibly happy. But I am also deeply aware of the questions that come with this new chapter.
Have I built enough?
Have we built enough?
Am I enough?
What else can I do?
I do not think those questions ever fully disappear.
Maybe becoming a father does not remove uncertainty. Maybe it simply gives uncertainty a new shape.
But underneath all of it is gratitude.
Because this chapter feels different.
Less about achievement.
More about legacy.
Less about climbing.
More about passing something forward.
For so long, I thought life was about surviving, rebuilding, and becoming. Now, I feel it slowly becoming about guiding, protecting, and leaving something meaningful behind.
Final Reflection
If you are reading this and you feel behind in life, you are not.
If you have failed, you are not finished.
If life has hit harder than you expected, keep going.
Some seasons are for winning.
Some seasons are for surviving.
Some seasons are for rebuilding.
All of them matter.
My journey has included failure, heartbreak, surgeries, migration, love, leadership, business, family, grief, hope, and new beginnings.
And I would not remove any of it.
Even the painful parts shaped the life I have now.
So if there is one thought I want to leave with you, it is this:
Do not sleepwalk through your life.
Live it.
Be intentional.
Take the trip.
Build the thing.
Call your family.
Take the risk.
Feel the joy.
Feel the pain.
Create memories.
Because in the end, a rich life is not measured only by what you own.
It is measured by what you experienced.
What you built.
Who you loved.
What you overcame.
And whether you were present enough to truly feel it.
Live deeply.
Live intentionally.
Live rich — today.
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