Every time I write, I am keenly aware of my audience—the ones who might one day read my words, the ones I imagine sitting across from me, as if we are face to face, eye to eye. I appreciate them, these invisible readers who bring their own perspectives and experiences to the table. And yet, as much as I hold them in my mind, I understand that for my words to truly resonate, I must first write for myself. I must write with the passion and authenticity that only comes from engaging with something I know, something that speaks to my core. Because without that inner connection, my words are hollow, and my audience, perceptive as they are, would surely know it.
To write effectively, I must be fully invested. When I am deeply interested in what I’m writing about, that interest translates; it becomes a bridge between my ideas and my audience’s engagement. I have to write on topics I truly know or am passionate about, drawing from genuine understanding, so that when my words reach others, they carry weight, depth, and conviction. Writing without passion is like delivering a speech you don’t believe in—your words may flow, but they won’t land. For a persuasive argument to resonate, it must be something I, as the writer, am wholly convinced of.
But writing persuasively is never simply a one-sided exercise. It’s about anticipating counterarguments, respecting those opposing views, and addressing them in a way that honors my audience’s intelligence and perspective. I know that when I write, not everyone will agree. In fact, I welcome the dissent; it keeps the conversation dynamic, alive, and meaningful. Through respectful rebuttal and thoughtful consideration, I engage in a dialogue—not a monologue—synthesizing all views, my own included, until I arrive at something richer than where I started.
So, I write for myself first. I write with conviction, with passion, and with the knowledge that to engage my audience, I must start from a place of truth within myself. But I also write with the goal of “selling” my ideas, of conveying my perspective as convincingly as I can. To do that, I rely on facts, scientific evidence, and reliable sources, weaving together a foundation that strengthens my argument and demonstrates my respect for those who will read my words.
Ultimately, writing for myself and writing for my audience are not opposing goals. They are, in fact, two sides of the same coin. When I am deeply invested in what I write, that sincerity becomes my message, my means, and my appeal. It is in writing for myself that I truly write for you, inviting you to see as I see, think as I think, and perhaps, even feel as I feel.
What’s something most people don’t know about you?
There’s a river inside me, always moving, always flowing. Some people know of it—of my creativity—but few understand how deep it runs or how far it carries me. It’s not deception, not even close. It’s expression, pure and essential, the way I make sense of the world and navigate the currents of life. I wear my creativity like a second skin, sometimes quietly, other times boldly. Whether I write, paint, sketch, or dabble in a new form of art, it’s always my way of speaking truths that words alone cannot hold.
Writing is my compass, guiding me through emotions, experiences, and dreams. But I don’t just write the truth—I craft stories that blur the lines, diving into creative non-fiction where facts and imagination dance together. I find that truth itself is sometimes too rigid, and life too complex to fit neatly within its confines. So, I let my mind wander. I weave hopes and desires into my words, reimagining what life could be. It’s not that I lie or pretend—rather, I reshape the pieces of life to reflect the deeper truths that can’t be spoken plainly.
Painting and other forms of art are like different languages I use to express what I can’t capture in writing. A brushstroke, a splash of color, the rough texture of a canvas—each one tells a story only I can feel, but others may glimpse in passing. These visual creations are an extension of the same river of creativity, winding through different landscapes, shifting and shaping me as I go.
My creativity isn’t just about making things; it’s about surviving, thriving, and finding peace in life’s struggles. When life becomes too heavy, too complicated, I dip into the river. God gave me this gift, and I know it is not mine alone. I’m thankful for the professors who sharpened my knowledge and encouraged me to explore every artistic corner of myself. They opened my eyes to the many ways creativity can act as both a mirror and a refuge.
What people see in me is only part of the picture. Some notice my writing; some have seen a glimpse of my artwork. But there is always more beneath the surface, more flowing within me that they may never fully grasp. And that’s okay. Creativity, for me, is deeply personal—not a performance, but a necessity. It’s how I make sense of joy and sorrow, how I dream and cope.
Like a river running quietly under a bridge, my creativity moves through me constantly, always present, always alive. I am grateful for every twist, every turn, every outlet through which it flows. It allows me to shape my world in ways that words, paint, or any medium alone never could. It is not just a talent or a skill; it is my lifeline, my prayer, my way of living with gratitude for all the beauty and chaos that life brings.
If I see Mr. Donald Trump with uncombed hair, and cucumbers on his eyes–I’d go nuts. If I watch a movie of Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore, especially the 50 First Dates and those that co-stars Rob Schneider (a Filipino-American)--I’d go bananas. If I hear Mama “butcher” a Hawaiian word with her Filipino accent–I’d pause and laugh, then slap and slap my forehead in teary eyes. Because she’s here, in Hawaii more than half of her life (she’s 69); and still, Ma can’t get her Hawaiian skills right or conversational at least. For example, our royal Highness’ name, our King Kamehameha’s (a.k.a. King Kamehameha the Great, 1782-1819), which is pronounced Kame-ha-meha, to her it’s Ka-meme-ha. Also, for Princess Victoria Kaiulani (the last heir, which is pronounced as Kai-la-ni); to her it’s Ka-i-ulani. And with Kaneohe (a district here in Oahu), which is pronounced Ka-ne-o-he; to her, it’s Kanyeo-he. She drives me nuts. Because, if it’s a crime or tort in our state to mispronounce and disrespect (intentional or not) Hawaiian words and or names of the royal family perhaps Mama could have spent that half of her life in jail. She could have been deprived of aloha and sentenced to life imprisonment (no death penalty in Hawaii). Maybe there’d be possibility of parole, only if Ma’s Hawaiian gets decent, or she straightens her pronunciation of King Kamehameha’s name at least. Thus, with these tickles, I’ll laugh without a doubt. But is it happiness? Am I happy? Let’s see.
Smiles and laughters are not bond certificates of happiness. Reality is; There are Tupperware smiles and Ziplock laughters concealing sadness and emptiness–for “life ain’t easy.” And to carry on is always a challenge.
So, am I happy?
At one point, I think it’s a myth that it’s easier to tackle loneliness than consume myself pathetically in finding it. Perhaps I struggle to achieve it that I confront this “woman in the mirror” accused of being unhappy.
The “bare minimum” for me: One, the courage to be happy; Two, the audacity to be at peace. But if we are to humanize this two: Truth is, they don’t get along with each other. They’re like oil and water. Eternally in mean rivalry, their defining question is not “Who let the dogs out.” Rather, who is the greatest? But if Ali is alive, they’d be in the ring with him for the title. Truer than truth though, they are equally important. Missing one of them could be detrimental to our health and wellbeing. Also, there is no such a thing as greatest except the Almighty One. Moreover, isn’t it, when happy, most likely, we’re at peace? And when we’re at peace, chances are, we’re happy? Then again, am I unhappy?
My teachers are the beacons of my hope: Through their exemplary dedication and unparalleled expertise, I am a better person.
In the gym, where I go late nights: I walk one hour in treadmill, another hour in open strides, ten minutes in stair stepper, I carry weights, stretch and crunch every ten minutes. I try to end the night in the pool tackling 8 to 6 lapses at least. I love swimming. And I can last and finish my goals by merely listening to my playlists or audiobooks in my iPhone (and no caffeine needed). Although I seemed loitering the place, I’m a good customer of 24-Hour Fitness since June of this year (according to my Statement of Account). Prior, and beginning February (when I got my rose gold Apple Watch Series 1 as a gift) to June, I tan and walked along the beaches of Ala Moana and Waikiki. I work harder when I feel low (sadness, despair, pessimism–I don’t underestimate the evils of fatigue). And so I meditate. I breathe deep. But most of the time, I push myself to exceed my goals, so at home I can enjoy my bed with no remorse. Then I listen to Tomorrow in its most mellow tone.
In my professional career as an accounting and legal professional, I am hoping to get my CPA by May of 2018. I also hope to finish law school when I reach 50 (same age that my late father earned his Master in Law). I don’t want Harvard. I dream of Yale; but I wouldn’t mind to spend three or four more years of my life at Richardson’s School of Law (because my wallet told me so). But with all humility, and in my most fervent hope, I want my Juris Doctor more than anything in this world. I will not die without it. That if I have to crawl to school, I will. That in hell or high waters, I’ll be a lawyer even if takes McPick 2 for the rest of my life. I want JD so badly, because it’s a family thing. Also, as a volunteer at Legal Aid Society of Hawaii (since 2008), I’ve been stuck in helping clients in their tax or legal distresses, because my paralegal certificate (issued by the Hawaii State Bar Association) only allows me to work with attorneys. Sadly, most of the time, they refuse to work for free (pro bono) as it really cost a fortune to pursue degrees in United States. However, I am a strong believer of equal access to justice. That I pity my clients (mostly elders, people with disabilities, single parents, homeless, immigrants, and temporary workers from different countries, or the needies) who suffered injustice, because they were deprived by poor representations. I’m not at peace with that thought: That because they’re poor, so they deserve poor. Oh, poor!
This is why, in school, I labored for good grades (like a slave in Renaissance age). I’m not a genius; and being in my forties, I have physical challenges too. Also, to do well in school these days, it meant money. For a business degree, especially mines, accounting, from computer hardwares to softwares, to subscriptions and journals, I was just fortunate to afford McDonalds. I endured “hells” for the “heavens” of A. I worked so hard on all of my subjects (there was no easy one), ever forcing me to turn nights into days, leaving me only dawn for at least a yawn in pursuit of my undergraduate degrees of two associate, and a BA (Bachelor of Arts). It led to a scholarship from the American Businesswomen Association (Hawaii chapter). It gave me the privilege to sit with the Board of Directors in Fellowship Nights sponsored by University of Hawaii (UH). We discussed and agreed that we need the Honolulu Rail Transit. I used this topic in all of my semester concluding essays for my English courses. I was able to discuss it passionately knowing my fellow Filipinos lived in the west side of Oahu, where the rail would run. It made me happy to argue for them.
At home, I barely stay because my kids are on their own. Most of the time, I’m either in school or at work; but definitely, I’m in the gym everyday.
Hence, the paradox of happiness is every time we think of it, we question and falsely convict ourselves. But if we just look back on how far we come through in life, a sense of self, and peace are always within reach. For happiness is not a question, nor a pursuit, neither a tease–it’s an affirmation to keep. I am happy.
Finally, it’s very disappointing to be hurt by someone you wish who’d love you unconditionally. It could be debilitating; if we endure it as is. But we are blessed with beautiful minds and resilient spirits, that with our hands and feet, knowledge and skills: we can be at peace. Therefore, my challenges do not make me unhappy nor sick. They can’t be stronger than the faith and hope I have within. Besides, I know how to walk away and accept fate, if things are not meant for me. I am brave.
Spring Semester 2015 is up, and so am I. Because, finally, I’m completely moving to the bigger campus of the University of Hawaii West Oahu. And what this means to me, is that I am getting close to my humble dream of becoming a Certified Public Accountant and tax attorney–and in lieu of a lifetime devotion–to be more of service to my less-privileged clients at Legal Aid Society of Hawaii.
However, as I was struggling yesterday with the $4.00 tote bag that weighed more than 20 lbs. of $1,000+ worth of hard bound textbooks, I couldn’t help but cry for the prices I had to pay in achieving my dream: First, being away from my children. Second, possibly being away from you too, my WordPress friends (for inevitably losing this liberty to write and blog as much as I love to).
It was a quick sentimental moment. But I ended up writing the poem below (quite inspired by William Shakespeare’s All the World’s a Stage).
Regardless, thank you everyone for the support and friendship–a million thanks to you all! I hope you cherish your crafts (just as you cherish your blogs and followers too). Have a good weekend, and be happy!
Lyrics, Sentiments and Me 
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