Writing

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  • Fellowship around the fire

    Thick, billowing smoke alarmed the passersby on the alley between Coco Grande and Silliman University’s Davao Cottage that Sunday afternoon. One of them, a woman in her 40s, was visibly upset as the smoke engulfed her, likely leaving a scent of something burned on her clothes that looked so pristine. I think she was on her way to church.

    I was looking out of the cottage’s chain-link fence at the time, and our eyes met eventually. Awkward. It then occurred to me that the woman might do something drastic like call the authorities. This idea frightened me, so I started walking away from the fence and turned to my co-fellows. I said we should probably do something about the smoke. I was not even sure whether what we were doing—grilling pork belly at the back of the cottage, our home for the duration of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop—was allowed. And considering the material the cottage was made of, plus the age of the structure itself, it was not hard for me to understand that our choice of cooking method posed serious threats.

    “Aren’t we getting in trouble because of this?” I asked them.

    No one seemed to hear me. But that wasn’t surprising. Amid the frenzy, they were also belting out Britney Spears songs—one of our many common obsessions.

    Still concerned about the situation, I looked out of the cottage’s fence once more, this time to get a better view of the Coco Grande guests hanging out on the hotel’s veranda. Unlike the passersby who immediately showed disapproval in their faces upon seeing the smoke, however, they did not seem bothered at all. Perhaps they were already drunk, or maybe they were just too happy to care.

    There was no way for me to verify either of my suspicions, but their unbotheredness somehow assured me that everything would be just fine. And before I knew it, I was already busy helping my co-fellows with the grilling, completely rid of all the worries I used to have about the smoke emanating from our makeshift grill. Then all I could think of was feasting on those strips of charred meat with my newfound family.

    *

    I have always been drawn to the smell of burned meat and the sight of smoke rising from the grill. I know this fondness of mine goes beyond what science dictates. In fact, whenever I try to find out where it all began, I get a flashback of the celebrations our family had at our compound in Antipolo.

    Grilled liempo was always a staple at these gatherings, particularly those held on New Year’s Eve, as my grandmother believed eating chicken at the start of another year could usher in back luck. This, according to her, is because of the chicken’s habit known as “isang kahig, isang tuka” (one scratch, one peck), a phrase often used to describe a person who gets barely enough to get by.

    Our family’s version of grilled liempo is different from the ones usually served in restaurants and eateries around Metro Manila. It is seasoned only with lots of rock salt and looks rather pale in comparison to the ketchup-stained iterations sold by these establishments. I once asked an aunt about it, and she said it’s simply how people grill liempo in Eastern Samar. I have not been able to verify this, especially since I have not been to our province for more than two decades. And while I found it a little too plain to my liking when I was a kid, I now appreciate it. It is simple and straightforward, and it works like a charm with limited ingredients and low effort, as long as one is working with fresh meat.

    My grandfather, who worked as a cook for a high-end Korean restaurant, drank a lot during gatherings, and he usually wanted this version of grilled pork belly for pulutan. No wonder he and his pals, my uncles, and other male relatives normally started grilling pork belly early into the day, in preparation for the drinking session that could last until the next morning. Sometimes, they would even begin passing booze around the open flame.

    Grilled meat was not just for the drinkers, though, as it was also customary for them to share some with those who didn’t consume alcohol. This is why my grandfather always kept a separate plate by his side and on it piled strips and strips of perfectly grilled liempo until its contents were close to spilling. He would then call someone to take the plateful of meat to the main house, where hungry non-drinkers would usually wait for blessings in the form of ulam.

    There were also times when non-drinkers would simply wait around the open flame, waiting for the plate of meat to be ready. I loved doing this because, apart from watching how the grilling happened, I was also fond of eavesdropping on the drinkers’ conversations. They usually gossiped about people in our sitio or our clan, and I found it so entertaining. This is probably why, to this day, I still love eating barbecued meat with a side of chismis.

    *

    Money became scarce after my grandfather’s retirement, and everyone else became busy with either work or school. With not a lot of cash to burn and leave credits to spend on special occasions, our family began to settle for smaller, simpler celebrations. Drinking sessions were no longer as grand as before, either, as some of the resident drinkers, as they were called, were now getting older and had been warned by their doctors against consuming too much alcohol and fatty food.

    Gatherings grew even quieter after one of my uncles died of a heart attack. It seemed people were finally seeing the link between eating habits and mortality. Even New Year’s celebrations became a little too quiet than I’d been used to—no more merriments around the fire; just humble meals shared in front of the television.

    This did not mean I simply forgot how fun it was to eat charred meat while having a great chat with other people, however. In fact, it was quite the opposite. As I embraced adulthood and began the search for my rightful place in the world, I also started to look for more circles around the fire that I could be part of.

    The university was a perfect venue for this new quest of mine. It helped a lot, too, that I somehow ended up in UP Diliman, where I felt freer to become whoever I wanted to be. On the campus, I met people I’d also consider family, and of course, we all spent a considerable amount of time sharing food, including grilled meat.

    One of my favorite eateries on the campus was the old Beach House Canteen behind the Main Library, which always reminded me of home as an undergrad. The sight of its staff members grilling batch after batch of pork barbecue on sticks underneath a huge tree while patrons patiently waited for their food reminded me of how busy people could get at home when preparing for another grand celebration. The smell it produced took me back to those gatherings, too. Then it made me realize that while the people I was about to share meals with at that canteen—usually friends in the writing program I was enrolled in—were technically not related to me by blood, they were family nonetheless. And I was right. To this day, many of those individuals remain and play important parts in my life.

    I felt the same level of attachment to other places serving grilled meat on and around the campus: Mang Larry’s Isawan, where a good friend brought me once to try not only their isaw but also their pork BBQ; Maong’s in Krus na Ligas, from which my writer friends and I ordered pulutan while drinking at Sarah’s; and Grill Queen along Maginhawa Street, where the same friends and I liked having proper meals before drinking our worries away.

    When I moved to Galas in Quezon City before the eventual death of a four-year relationship in 2018, it was also around an open flame that I was able to find a sense of belongingness. Although I knew someone in the area, I still felt somewhat like an outsider since it was a place where people practically grew up with each other. But as soon as I began frequenting the carinderias and the panaderias there, I became more familiar with these individuals. I started to form not only a transactional bond with them but also a sense of community.

    Yet, I felt I was in the right place when I became a regular at the roadside ihawan right across the panaderia. I think it was because it required customers to literally gather around the fire while waiting for their food to get ready. The thing with this kind of setup is that it makes it a lot easier for people to connect.

    One evening, while waiting for my dinner—two sticks of pork BBQ, one hotdog, and one tenga ng baboy—I overheard a conversation between two other customers about a TV series they were following. Also fond of the same show, I looked at them and smiled. They smiled back at me, and that was it. We did not say a word to one another, but it was so clear to me that at the time, they understood what I was thinking.

    When traveling, I also tend to look for smoke coming from a grill. I think of it as a smoke signal, as though telling me that somewhere in that area, I can find my people. While visiting Cebu with my husband and some of our friends in 2022, for example, I felt at home at Sugbo Mercado in IT Park, where the sight of smoke rising from stalls offering sinugba gave me a sense of comfort despite the language barrier. And although I was expecting something different with the way meat was being grilled in that part of the country, I also got the assurance that something about it would be familiar for sure. For some reason, this sense of familiarity made it easier for me to feel a certain attachment to the place.

    *

    I was scared when I arrived at Davao Cottage days before the grill party. The idea of living under the same roof with strangers in the next two weeks did not seem appealing at all, especially after a global pandemic that had conditioned people to become a little too comfortable with their own worlds. I wasn’t even sure if I was ready to socialize with too many individuals in the next few days, so definitely, this setup seemed like a lot.

    Luckily, I warmed up to them rather quickly. On our first night, over seven bottles of Red Horse Mucho, I already got a sense of how kind everyone was. Even when disagreeing, people remained respectful toward each other.

    Still, I held back. Inside my head, I made up explanations for why they’d kept their cool: Maybe they were just being tolerant to avoid conflict, maybe they did not really mean it, and maybe things would be different the next day.

    But that afternoon we shared around the open flame, grilling liempo under the most bizarre circumstances and exchanging stories and trading secrets, I felt I truly belonged.

    Now, whenever I look back to that writers workshop, what comes to mind first aren’t the sessions in which we discussed each other’s works. Instead, it is that very same afternoon. I remember the smell of the charcoal burning and the sound of it as it crackled in the unforgiving fire. I remember how the meat hissed as it touched the grill for the first time, as well as how our laughter boomed through the cottage as we took a pair of tweezers from the first-aid kit because we needed something to pick up the meat with. I remember how we joked about being dugyot for making such a decision, especially because we did not even bother to sterilize the instrument.

    I remember how the pork smelled on the grill, and how it reminded me of home. I remember singing to “Baby One More Time” while waiting for the meat to cook and how amazed and touched we all were as one of our co-fellows began preparing ensaladang pako and salted eggs with tomatoes using the ingredients he bought from Valencia that morning.

    I remember how smoky it got inside the cottage that I started to worry about getting reprimanded by the workshop organizers. I remember how I almost froze as I looked out of the cottage’s fence, particularly when I was greeted by the furrowing brows of the woman who looked so bothered by the smoke. I remember becoming even more paranoid about the situation and how I lost care, anyway, eventually realizing that apart from the passersby, no one cared. Besides, my co-fellows were just happy. They were still talking, laughing, and looking forward to finally eating some grilled pork.

    As soon as I stopped worrying, I began to fully enjoy the moment. Even my doubts about the people I was with went away—like smoke curling upward and disappearing into the sky.

    An earlier version of this essay was published in Degustación: A Taste of Poetry & Prose, a 2024 zine released by the fellows of the 61st Silliman University National Writers Workshop.

  • From delulu to trululu

    Magandang umaga sa lahat—sa mga bisita natin ngayon, sa mga guro, magulang, at siyempre, sa mga completer!

    Nakarating na tayo sa exciting part! Congrats sa inyong lahat!

    Sa mga magulang, kulminasyon ito ng pagsisikap para mabigyan ng magandang buhay ang mga anak. Sa mga guro, pagwawakas ito ng kabanata kasama ang mga estudyanteng ginabayan sa loob ng ilang taon. Sa mga mag-aaral, pagtatapos ito ng isang bahagi ng buhay at pagsisimula ng isa pa.

    Marami sa mga completer natin ngayon, tutuloy sa senior high school. Ang ilan, sa kung ano mang dahilan, sasabak diretso sa kung tawagin ay real world. At siyempre, mayroon din mga tutuloy sa pag-aaral habang kumakayod. Sa anumang kategorya ka nabibilang, isa lang ang hiling ko para iyo: Ang magkaroon ka ng buhay na kasiya-siya o fulfilling.

    Sa tingin ko, makakatulong sa pagkamit mo nito ang pagsiguro na nasa tama kang kuwento. Gaano man kaganda sa paningin ng iba ang mga nangyayari sa buhay mo, kung ikaw mismo ay hindi kumbinsido na nasa tama kang istorya, malamang, hindi ka masyadong masisiyahan.

    Pero paano mo nga ba masisigurong nasa tamang kuwento ka? Mayroon akong ilang tips na puwede niyong sundan.

    1. Take charge of your own story

    Maging paladesisyon ka. Isipin mo, wala ka sa isang fictional narrative. True story ito, at hindi ka lang basta main character. Ikaw din ang writer. Kaya huwag kang maging extra sa sarili mong kuwento.

    Natutunan ko iyan noong second year college ako’t nagipit nang husto ang pamilya namin. Imbes maghintay na bumuti ang sitwasyon, nagdesisyon akong magtrabaho. Sakto, 18 years old na ako noon. Na-hire ako bilang isang part-time academic tutor. Di nagtagal, pinasok ko na rin ang iba pang raket. Sulat-sulat, edit-edit, tutor-tutor para may pantustos sa pag-aaral at pang-araw-araw na pangangailangan, lalo na’t hindi pa libre noon sa UP. Hanggang sa di ko na lang namalayan, nasa finish line na ako. Pinagpatuloy ko lang ang ganoong mindset. Kapag may gusto ako, pinaghihirapan ko. Pinapangatawanan ko ang gusto kong daloy ng kuwento ko.

    2. Take what you need, leave what you don’t

    Habang isinusulat mo kuwento mo, makakarinig ka ng opinyon ng iba tungkol sa kung ano ang dapat mong gawin. Di ito maiiwasan dahil kahit sa mga literary work, uso ang pagbibigay ng feedback, solicited man o hindi. Pero kahit sa workshop pa iyan, malinaw na bilang may-akda, ikaw pa rin ang masusunod sa huli.

    Ganoon din sa buhay. Kahit anong sabihin ng iba, ikaw at ikaw pa rin ang masusunod—kung anong landas ang gusto mong tahakin, kung sa anong paraan, at kung anong standard ng success ang susundin mo.

    Mahalaga ang mga ito, lalo na iyong huli. Sa panahon kasi ngayon, madali tayong mabudol ng social media. Kaka-scroll natin at kakasilip sa kung paano mabuhay ang iba, minsan ang dali nating mapaniwala na dapat ganoon din ang buhay natin. Unhealthy ito dahil may iba’t iba naman tayong gusto sa buhay. Iba-iba rin ang mga privelege na mayroon tayo, pati na rin abilidad.

    Noong bata pa ako, akala ko, may isang depinisyon lang ng tagumpay. Kaya noong magtapos ako bilang veledictorian noong high school, ramdam ko ang pressure. Dapat maging successful ako. Pero habang tumatanda, naisip kong hindi ko pala trip ang mga bagay na tipikal na iniuugnay sa tagumpay. Puwedeng iba pala ang meaning nito depende sa tao.

    Ngayon, ito para sa akin ang tagumpay: Pagkakaroon ng buhay kung saan hindi ako nasi-stress kung may kakainin pa o kung may panggastos sa ibang pangangailangan. Pagtira sa isang lugar kung saan naroon ang lahat ng kailangan ko. Pagkakaroon ng kakayahayang maghanapbuhay sa paraang gusto ko—sa kaso ko, pagsusulat. Pagkakaroon ng sapat na oras na gawin ang iba ko pang gusto—paglikha, pagbabasa libro, pagtunganga habang nagkakape para magmuni-muni, at pagkakaroon ng quality time kasama ang asawa ko, ang dalawa naming pusa, iba pang kapamilya, at mga kaibigan. Sa madaling sabi, tagumpay na para sa akin ang pagkakaroon ng de-kalidad na buhay na hindi ko kinaiinisan paggising ko sa umaga. Di perpekto, pero hindi ko gustong takbuhan kahit may mga aberya minsan.

    Marami pa akong ibang ambisyon. Bilang tao, hindi naman din talaga tayo natatapos mangarap. At siyempre, tagumpay ding maituturing ang pagkamit sa mga iyon. Pero kung ano ang mayroon ako ngayon, masasabi kong kuntento ako.

    Sana, mahanap mo rin kung anuman ang makakapagbigay sa iyo ng ganitong pakiramdam. Kaya sana, huwag mong hayaang ibang tao ang magdikta sa iyo ng kung ano dapat ang maging batayan mo ng tagumpay. Kaya kapag may naririnig kang opinyon ng iba, kunin mo lang ang kung ano sa tingin mo ang makakatulong sa iyo. Ang hindi, iwanan mo.

    3. If you’re happy and you know it, don’t be afraid to start over

    Hindi totoo na kung nasaan ka ngayon ay di ka na puwedeng umalis. Gawa-gawa lang iyan ng illuminati. Sa karera man o sa personal na relasyon, hindi kailangang magpaka-martir.

    Gets ko, hindi lahat ng tao at di puwedeng sa lahat ng oras, puwedeng mag-walkout ka na lang basta. Lalo na kung may mga taong umaasa sa iyo. Pero sige, ganito na lang: Kung hindi man kaya ngayon, edi sa susunod na pagkakataon. Ang mahalaga, hindi mo nakakalimutan kung ano yung sa tingin mo ay deserve mo. Isa pa, magandang simula na rin iyong alam mo na may iba ka pang gusto. Huwag mong bitawan ang kagustuhan mong iyan dahil iyan ang sasagip sa iyo kapag tingin mo ay susuko ka na.

    Ilang beses na rin akong naligaw sa maling kuwento. Buti na lang, kahit medyo natagalan, natauhan pa rin ako’t nagkaroon ng lakas ng loob na umalis at magsimula ulit—bad breakups, resignation sa kumpanya na matagal nang pinapasukan, pati pag-drop out sa master’s program kahit thesis na lang ang kulang dahil iba ang gusto kong gawin. Grabe ang kaba ko as mga oras na iyon, pero hindi naman ako makakarating sa kung nasaan ako ngayon kung hindi ko nilakasan ang loob ko.

    Kaya huwag kang magpadala sa pressure ng lipunan tungkol sa mga imaginary guidelines at deadlines na naglilimita sa tao, lalo na kapag babae ka. Respect your pace. At, hangga’t maaari, doon ka sa gusto mo. Mas madaling maging magaling sa isang bagay na gusto mong gawin.

    4. Focus on characters that value to the narrative

    Sa kuwento mo, may karapatan kang magdesisyon kung sinu-sino lang ang bibigyan mo ng oras at atensiyon. Malaya ka ring huwag bigyan ng airtime sa ang mga taong toxic na walang ibang ginawa kundi iparamdam sa iyo na hindi ka sapat, o kaya iyong mga marites na mas marunong pa sa iyo kahit walang ambag.

    Na-bully ako noong high school. Akala ko noon, normal lang iyon kaya kailangan kong magtiis o maghintay na lang hanggang mawala ang inis nila sa akin. Pero pagdating ko sa kolehiyo, nakakilala ako ng mga tao na tanggap ako at kayang sakyan ang mga trip ko. Doon, nagdesisyon akong sila ang mas bigyan ng oras, lalo na’t pakiramdam ko, mas makakatulong sila sa personal growth ko. Hindi naman ako nagkamali, dahil malaki talaga ang naitulong nila sa akin para mas mapayaman ko kung ano ang mayroon ako. At hanggang ngayon, bahagi sila ng support system ko.

    Applicable din ito sa mga kaibigan at pamilya. Gaano mo man sila kamahal, kung hindi sila nakakabuti sa iyo, baka kailangang dumistansiya ka muna. Baka ito na rin ang magbibigay sa iyo ng sapat na espasyo para maisulat mo ang istorya na gusto mo.

    5. Be comfortable with roadblocks and loose ends

    Di madaling maging kabataan ngayon. Ang daming problema sa lipunan at mundo. Mahirap din talaga ang buhay. Ang mahal ng lahat. Kaya kung mahirapan ka man kahit grabe na ang kayod mo, isipin mo, hindi ka nag-iisa. Hindi ka failure. Mahirap talaga kapag sistema ang problema.

    Pero di rin ibig sabihin nito, susuko ka na. Magpatuloy ka pa rin habang nananatiling mulat at may pakialam sa lipunang ginagalawan mo. Para hindi ka masyadong mapagod, kailangan maging komportable ka sa ideya na hindi laging aayon sa plano ang mga bagay. Kumbaga sa pagsusulat, kailangan mong tanggapin na minsan may mga roadblock at loose end.

    Kahit sa kuwento ng buhay ko, may mga bagay pa rin na hindi ko pa napi-figure out. May mga oras pa rin na pakiramdam ko, hindi ko alam ang ginagawa ko. Pero laban pa rin! Wala namang perpektong manuscript. Kahit iyong mga published na, minsan, may flaws pa rin.

    6. Root for your own character

    Napansin mo ba, uso sa ating mga Pinoy na kapag may pumuri sa iyo, di mo dapat i-claim? Kapag sinabihan kang magaling, isasagot mo, “Di naman!”

    Ganito ako noon. Pero, habang tumatanda, natutunan ko na kapag may pumuri sa gawa ko, ang mas dapat ko palang sabihin ay, “Salamat!” Anong gagawin ko kung talagang pinaghirapan ko naman talaga ang output ko kaya maganda? Sasabihin kong hindi para lang masabing humble?

    Dahil sa ganitong mindset, naging mas magaling akong cheerleader ng sarili ko. Lagi kong ina-assess kung kumusta ang gawa ko, at kung sure akong pinagpaguran ko iyon at maganda ang kinalabasan, ike-claim ko talaga. At dahil alam kong ginalingan ko, kahit walang ibang makapansin, at least, malinaw sa sarili ko na deserve ko ang magandang outcome.

    Alam ko, minsan, iniisip ng iba, ang delulu ko. Pero sa dami ng nega sa mundo, pati ba naman ako, magiging hater ng sarili ko? Oo, di maiwasan na maging kritikal sa sarili kung minsan. Kailangan din naman iyon. Pero, malaking bagay talaga na alam ko kung kailan magbubuhat ng bangko. At sa totoo lang, sa mga pagkakataong pakiramdam ko ay walang ibang naniniwala sa akin, okey pa rin ako dahil kakampi ko ang sarili ko.

    Sana ikaw din. Root for yourself. Maniwala ka sa kakayahan mo, keber kahit isipin ng iba na feelingera ka. Dahil bukod sa pagiging mabuti at patas sa kapwa, mahalaga ring maging mabuti at patas ka sa sarili mo na main character sa kuwentong nililikha mo.

    Maganda pa rin ang daigdig. I-romanticize mo ang buhay paminsan-minsan. Celebrate your wins, big or small. Huwag mong pigilan ang sarili mo na sumaya. Dahil ang taong masaya at kuntento, mas may kakayahang maging mabuting anak, kapatid, kapareha sa buhay, kaibigan, kapwa, at produktibong mamamayan.

    Kung fulfilled ka dahil alam mong nasa tamang kuwento ka, mas may energy kang mag-ambag ng kabutihan sa lipunan at mundo. Mas kaya mong ipaglaban ang mga adbokasiya na malapit sa puso mo. So, may your delulu come trululu!

    Maraming salamat sa pakikinig at isang mainit pagbati muli sa lahat!

    Ibinahagi ko ang talumpating ito bilang panauhing pandangal sa Ika-9 na Palatuntunan ng Pag-Angat ng Antas sa San Isidro National High School, Antipolo City, na ginanap noong Mayo 30, 2024.

  • Watch me eat my feelings

    Food is so close to my heart that almost every memory tucked away inside my head is anchored to a particular dish or food item. When I look back to a memorable meal, what I mostly recall is the way it made me feel as I was devouring it.

    I also remember people by the food I associate them with, like what we ate the last time we spent together. Moreover, I believe that one of the best ways to show someone how much you care about them is by making sure they are fed.

    Obviously, I am very emotional when it comes to food. I think this has to do with some mental health stuff.

    When deciding what to eat, for example, I usually go for whatever feels the most comforting at the moment. I can be at a fancy buffet and still crave a bowl of instant ramen just because it reminds me of when the same cheap noodle soup kept me warm on a cold, lonely night.

    Sometimes, I choose junk food despite being aware of how badly my body would react to it simply because I’m feeling nostalgic and want to reminisce about an earlier time when the only problem I had was I couldn’t convince my mother to let me buy my favorite chips.

    At this point, I think it’s already clear how fascinated I am by the intersections and overlaps between food, emotions, and memories. And yes, you got it right; I wish to talk about these things—and more—in my newsletter called “Eating My Feelings,” which can be viewed for free at minaeats.substack.com.

    I am in no way promoting unhealthy eating habits. In fact, I have been trying so hard to change my ways. It’s just that I know transforming one’s relationship with food isn’t something that can be easily done overnight. It is so much more complicated than that. But maybe, talking about these complexities can somehow contribute to my healing that could, in turn, help me change for the better.

    Who knows? Perhaps, in the course of posting updates here, I can truly make some progress. That would be a great outcome for me.

    Finally, I hope that you can get something from this, too. I hope you join me on this journey.

  • Why I write

    It all began when I was in fifth grade. Our English teacher and adviser asked if I would like to join the school’s English publication. Back then, I didn’t really understand what it meant. But campus journalism seemed fun. Also, Mama said, “Why not?” And so I did.

    The following week, I was told to go to school early, so I could attend the training sessions in the morning. I belonged to the afternoon shift then, and going to school early meant having to wake up earlier than usual. It didn’t thrill me at all. Plus, it also meant missing my favorite morning shows on MTV Channel. Worse, I found the training sessions boring. Editorial writing? Duh.

    A few days into the training, the coach approached me, telling me that we were attending a series of lectures on campus journalism at another school the next day. She instructed me to bring a packed lunch and extra cash and inform my parents that I’d be out for the entire day in the next two days.

    It wasn’t the first time I was participating in an activity outside school, so of course, Mama was okay with it. In fact, she was excited for me. She thought it would be cool for me to learn more about writing.

    What we didn’t know, though, was there would be a competition at the end of every lecture. I only realized that on the first day of the event. I was scared because I hadn’t really prepared. I had only been training for a couple of days, and the only type of article I’d been thoroughly taught about was Editorial.

    But since I was so scared of Ma’am Luz, our coach, I joined the contests anyway. All of them. Despite having limited knowledge about campus journalism, I tried my best to be creative, spell words correctly, and ensure my handwriting was legible. And I followed the lecturers’ instructions.

    I ended up bagging five awards, including top spots in Feature Writing and Editorial Cartooning. Ma’am Luz was so happy, and she kept bragging that it was my first time, that I had only been training for a few days, and that I was just in grade five. I was too young to be there. At that time, it was usually the graduating students who were set to compete. Of course, school paper advisers from other schools were impressed.

    That went on until I reached sixth grade and then high school. The only difference was, out of stubbornness, I decided to join the Filipino publication in high school instead. Just for a change.

    I kept getting awards in high school, and I always made it to the Regional Schools Press Conference, which meant a lot to every honor student. Just being a participant there meant having extra points for extra co-curricular activities, which of course was included in the computation of the grades among those running for honors.

    In my third year, I made it to the National Schools Press Conference. Not just that, our team actually won first place in Scriptwriting and Radio Broadcasting. At that time, I was already the editor-in-chief of the publication. It was weird, for the position was usually given to graduating students who needed the points the most.

    It all continued in my fourth year. I did not make it to the National Presscon that year, but I was able to win other essay writing competitions, both in English and Filipino.

    Because of my victories, it became too easy for me to decide what course to take in college: journalism. Some of my teachers weren’t too happy about it, thinking it would be such a waste of talent. They thought I should choose another program, preferably something more practical like accountancy or engineering. I told them I didn’t like to be like everyone else in our batch. Plus, writing was my thing.

    Then, graduation came. Again, I graduated top of the class-number one among around 600 students. I was once again named Journalist of the Year. I got other awards, too, but I can no longer remember all of them. Let’s just say that at that time, I was convinced that I was really good at writing. I was ready for UP Baguio, where I was about to major in Communication.

    At UP Baguio, things seemed fine. In fact, a professor encouraged me to write more after reading my first output in his class. He praised my essay for its creativity and boldness, and he liked it despite having some grammatical errors. He liked my other submissions, too. That year, I also fell in love with literature. Finally, able to have a legitimate library experience, I tried to expose myself to more literary classics.

    A few months before the end of the academic year, I made up my mind: instead of pursuing journalism, I’d be a creative writer. And so, I submitted my application for the creative writing program at UP Diliman. Apart from grade requirements, there was a writing test as well. Fortunately, I passed. I transferred the following school year.

    I was so thrilled with my new program. However, it was also there that I began developing a lot of insecurities. My classmates, who were mostly from prominent private schools and who grew up speaking English and reading good books, intimidated me. I admired how eloquent their prose and verses were and I was jealous. Around them, I realized how unpolished my language was.

    But I did not give up. Despite getting a lot of negative comments regarding how awkward some of my sentences were and being reprimanded over grammatical errors, I did not give up. Instead, I pushed myself harder.

    During my last semester, a professor told me that I had actually been improving. Hard work was paying off. Not bad.

    Then I graduated and went to work as an article writer in Makati. It was not my first job. Even before that, I was already working as a writer for a production company. I had gigs with several companies, too. In the years to come, I would do editorial work for other companies as well. So I’d learn about other forms of writing, particularly the types of writing that could pay the bills.

    But even then, I made a commitment to myself that I would still read a lot and try to improve my creative writing skills. I would polish my craft. I knew I had to work harder, given how behind I had been compared to other writers my age. I was okay with the idea. In fact, I found it exciting.

    However, life happened. I had to deal not just with work but also with family-related dramas and messy relationships, which were so draining and time-consuming. I also struggled financially, especially when I decided to leave my family’s home.

    Suddenly, I had little to no time to write. It was hard. I wanted so bad to create, but there was just too much happening around me and I was overwhelmed. Yet, I realized: Why would I let people around me dictate what I could and couldn’t do?

    And so I fought. I fought for the chance to write again. I fixed my life and turned it into something that would let me do things that I really wanted to do, even if it meant losing certain people along the way. In my head, I was simply choosing myself and my dreams.

    It’s already been three years since I made that difficult decision, and I am happy about my progress. It isn’t that much, since I still have to mind other things like work and grad school, but still, not bad. I have produced a couple of strong pieces in the last three years, published a piece in a magazine, and made it to a national writers’ workshop. And, just last week, I received an email saying that my essay has been accepted in a major literary journal in the country.

    Moreover, I am still writing. I don’t stop. No matter how busy I am with work and personal life, I still find time to create. And I’ve never felt more confident with my work.

    Of course, I still have bad days. A lot of them. There are still moments when I simply feel bad about everything I produce. However, I don’t let these moments completely distract me from my goal: to be a writer who writes, not a writer who just keeps on whining about writing.

    So I go on. I take small breaks when things seem too much. I pick up something else to do like reading books I like and need. Of course, I indulge in unproductive activities, too. I watch shows and films on Netflix and elsewhere. I listen to a lot of sad songs on Spotify and sing my heart out loud on WeSing. I eat a lot and sometimes just do nothing. Sometimes, I just sleep.

    And once I am fine again, I continue to write. This time, more energized, focused, and determined. It is during these moments that I become more certain about the reasons why I am writing in the first place.

    I write because it’s what I want to do and because I’ve already given up a lot of things to get this far. I write because I believe in my stories. I write because I have faith in its ability to amplify the voices of the marginalized and document what’s taking place not just in me but also around me. I write because it matters.

    I write because I believe helps me get to know more about myself. By writing, I get a chance to scrutinize facts and narratives and memories until they make more sense until I heal from whatever wound they previously caused me.

    Sometimes, I even write in order to forgive. That’s because writing allows me to take a step back from experiences and process them more objectively and more thoroughly.

    I write because I can’t imagine myself doing something else. I write because although it’s so hard that it fleshes out all my flaws and insecurities, it also occasionally brings out the best in me. I write because, by writing, I get a chance to immortalize people and things. I also get to immortalize experiences.

    I write because even if it’s usually unrewarding, just being able to produce something can also feel great. Even if it takes a lot of work. Even if the process is sometimes painful.

    I write because I believe that I’m meant to do this, so even if there is still a lot of work to do and a lot of things to learn, I am ready. I write because I am willing to make the necessary sacrifices.

    I write because I’m a writer, and no, I don’t want to be anything else.