Hey, you know what I was thinking about the other day? Bullying.

I got bullied pretty bad in 7th grade. It wasn't some "character-building" experience like people claim. It actually held me back for years.

Picture this: I'm just being me, trying hard in school, when suddenly this group of jocks starts targeting me. For what? Being the nerd teachers liked. That was my crime.

It got so bad I ended up standing in a circle of them one day, actually apologizing—and I didn't even know what for. I just wanted it to stop.

That changed me. I stopped trying so hard after that. I dimmed my light. Just did enough to stay under the radar.

What brought this all back was watching Pinoy Big Brother recently. This contestant, Mika Salamanca, got ranked lowest for "authenticity" because people were spreading opinions about her behind her back. She had no idea until she got hit with the aftermath.

That's actually the worst kind of bullying, you know? Not the obvious stuff. It's when someone builds a case against you without your knowledge. When the room suddenly turns cold and you don't know why.

It's everywhere now—cancel culture, call-outs, digital pile-ons. People don't even recognize it as bullying. They call it "sharing opinions." But when those opinions are meant to isolate someone? That's harm, plain and simple.

I can't bring myself to cancel anyone because, honestly, I know how flawed I am. It reminds me of that story about Jesus and the woman they wanted to stone. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." Nobody threw one.

If you're being bullied right now, I want you to know: I believe in you. In your right to take space. In your capacity to grow.

What impressed me most about Mika was her grace. No cursing, no hateful response. Just dignity.

And if that's you—responding with dignity when others try to tear you down—I'm rooting for you. Even when it feels like the world's against you, at least one person is cheering you on.

Because you deserve that. You really do.

You won't believe what happened on my birthday this year.

So my 28th just passed, and I planned this super casual lunch with my two closest friends. Guess what? Both called in sick. On my actual birthday!

But here's the weird thing - I wasn't even upset. Actually found it kind of funny.

It took me back to when I turned 13. That was a whole different story.

I was SO pumped about finally being a teenager. Dad went all out - rented tables, chairs, even hired caterers. I sent all these invites, waited all day... and nobody showed. Just my niece and nephew eventually came by, no clue they were walking into an empty party.

That one hurt. Bad.

For years after, birthdays became this weird test. Would people show up? Did they even care? I'd downplay everything, telling myself "it's not about the party" while secretly hoping someone would prove me wrong.

Fast forward 15 years to this latest birthday. Same situation, totally different feeling.

The big difference? I finally get it:

Real friendship isn't about attendance - it's about intention.

Those two friends who couldn't make it? I know they love me. Their absence wasn't rejection - just life happening.

Maybe that's what all those empty tables were teaching me. How to sit comfortably with myself. How to be my own best friend.

Like Whitney Houston said (my kindergarten principal used to sing this before class, no joke): "Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all."

Honestly? That's been the best birthday gift.

So I had this weird realization the other day that I wanted to share with you...

I've actually started enjoying being the dumbest person in the room. Seriously!

Remember that house dance class I mentioned I was going to try? I went, and it was exactly as awkward as you'd expect. I was completely lost - wrong moves, wrong timing, basically a walking disaster compared to everyone else.

But here's the thing - instead of getting embarrassed and leaving, I stayed. And I kind of loved it.

It reminded me of when I started learning piano last year. I was determined to play that Chopin nocturne, even though my fingers felt like wooden sticks. I practiced an hour every day for six months straight. Sounded like a cat walking across keys at first! But eventually, something clicked. I wasn't just hitting notes - I was actually making music.

The secret? Just push through the part where you suck. That's it.

I did the same thing at this Japanese language meetup last week. First half was in English - easy. Second half switched to Japanese and I was DROWNING. But instead of checking out mentally, I leaned in. Paid attention to exactly what I didn't understand. Tried speaking anyway, even when I knew I'd mess up.

By the end of the night, I'd connected with a tutor and had a clear map of what I needed to learn next.

That's when it hit me: Being the dumbest person in the room isn't humiliating - it's exactly where growth happens.

I'm doing this with everything now. Even listening to scientists discuss quantum physics and consciousness when I barely understand half the terms.

The trick is just to stay. Don't retreat when you feel stupid. Enjoy that discomfort.

Because every single time I've done that, I've come out speaking a new language - whether it's piano notes, dance moves, Japanese phrases, or simply understanding something that used to be completely over my head.

Kind of addictive once you get past the initial awkwardness, you know?

A person very dear to me once told me that morality could be summed up in one simple rule: “Just don’t be an asshole.” At first, I nodded along, because—yeah, fair enough. If everyone just followed that, life would be a lot smoother. It’s an easy moral guideline, clean and concise, something you can carry in your pocket and pull out in any situation.

But the more I thought about it, the more it started to unravel.

What happens when your decisions don’t just affect a few people, but hundreds, thousands, or even millions? What if you’re in a position where every choice has cascading effects, creating ripples you can’t even predict? The problem with “just don’t be an asshole” is that it assumes morality is about avoiding harm rather than actively pursuing good. And in high-stakes situations, in leadership, in influence, in shaping the world—avoidance is not enough.

I think about that psychological experiment—one of many, really—where you tell kids not to do something, and suddenly, their impulse to do it skyrockets. There’s something inherently flawed about moral frameworks that are framed in the negative, in what not to do, instead of what to pursue. A morality that is passive—designed to avoid the bad—will always be weaker than a morality that is active, one that pushes you to seek, to learn, to engage with the world in a meaningful way.

And that’s where the real work comes in.

The Constant Pursuit of Understanding

If you’re serious about morality, you can’t just pick a single principle and let it sit there like an idle compass. You have to test it, refine it, challenge it—because morality is not a fixed point. It’s a lifelong pursuit.

That means studying religions, not just one, but many—seeing how different cultures and philosophies have tackled the questions of good and evil. It means diving into history, philosophy, psychology, not because you need to agree with everything, but because the broader your lens, the sharper your judgment. You can’t navigate the complexity of moral decision-making with a single, rigid framework. You need depth, nuance, and range—a kind of intellectual flexibility that allows you to see the full spectrum of ethical thought.

This is especially true for anyone who aspires to wield influence. The bigger the stage, the greater the weight of your moral calculus. The decisions of an ordinary person can afford to be simple. The decisions of a leader cannot.

The Two Moral Rules: Proactive vs. Passive

And then there’s the contrast between the two “Golden Rules” of morality—the ones attributed to Jesus and Confucius:

1. Jesus: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
2. Confucius: “Do not do unto others what you would not want done to you.”

The difference is subtle but profound. One is proactive. The other is protective. One pushes you to create good, while the other tells you to avoid causing harm. Neither is superior; they are tools for different seasons, different dilemmas.

But I find myself drawn to a morality that balances both—one that actively seeks to make things better, rather than just sidestepping wrongdoing. Because life is not a series of moral landmines you have to avoid stepping on. It’s a field you have to learn to cultivate.

A Morality That Prepares You for Influence

At the end of the day, morality—at least the kind that matters in the long run—can’t just be about not being an asshole. That’s the baseline, the starting point. The real work is in constantly refining your understanding, exposing yourself to new perspectives, and developing a moral framework that is adaptive, thoughtful, and proactive.

Because when the time comes, and you find yourself in a position where your choices shape the lives of many—you’ll realize that “don’t be an asshole” is simply not enough. You’ll need something deeper, something sharper. And the only way to prepare for that moment is to start building it now.

There are moments in life when you don’t just exist—you live. This morning was one of them.

I woke up in a space that was quiet, entirely my own. No obligations, no expectations. Just me, the morning light, and the kind of sound system that deserved to be used at full volume. So, I did.

Bruno Mars, Michael Bublé, the Bee Gees—I let them in, filling the space with rhythm, nostalgia, and the kind of joy that shakes something loose inside you. And then, without hesitation, I danced.

I danced like the main character in a Disney movie opening scene. I danced like my life had just begun. And maybe, in some ways, it had.

For so long, life has been measured in decisions, responsibilities, and the next steps. Today, it was measured in movement, in breath, in the feeling of my body keeping time with something greater than myself. It wasn’t just happiness—it was something deeper. A reclamation. A reminder. A realization that no matter what has happened, no matter what will happen, I am here. And being here is enough.

There’s something about dancing that makes you feel alive in the truest sense. It forces you into the moment. No past, no future—just now. And if now is all we really have, then I want to fill mine with music, movement, and moments like this.

And beyond the music, beyond the dancing, there was something more—a shift. A new energy, a pulse of inspiration that stretched beyond just today. It carried into everything: the way I see my work, the way I make decisions, the way I am stepping into a life that is truly mine. The world is moving, and I am moving with it.

This morning, I danced. And in doing so, I lived.

There was once a traveler who had heard of a grand city hidden behind three gates. The city, they said, offered peace to all who entered. Inside, there was no more wandering, no more searching. Life was simple there. Whole.

The traveler set out with nothing but a key he had carried since childhood. It was said to open the gates.

When he reached the first gate, a guard stood waiting.

“Who seeks to enter?” the guard asked.

“I do,” said the traveler. “I have the key.”

The guard looked him over, his gaze lingering on the dirt on the traveler’s hands, the stains on his clothes.

“Only those with clean hearts may pass.”

The traveler looked down at his hands, ashamed. The weight of the key in his pocket suddenly felt heavier. He turned back, unwilling to press further. For many years, he wandered the plains beyond the gates, carrying the quiet guilt of his unworthiness.

But guilt, when carried too long, has a way of turning into something else.

Years later, the traveler returned to the gates but this time with fire in his heart.

He stormed up to the first gate, his voice raised. “I demand to enter!”

The guard, unchanged by the years, met him with the same steady gaze.

“And what do you carry with you this time?”

“Anger,” said the traveler. “Anger at the ones who told me I wasn’t worthy. Anger at the gate that kept me out.”

The guard nodded. “Then you must pass through the second gate.”

The traveler stepped forward, but the guard did not follow.

At the second gate, there was no guard — only a wise man sitting quietly by the path. The traveler approached cautiously, still clutching his anger like a weapon.

“You carry your anger like a shield,” the wise man said without looking up. “Do you feel it protects you?”

The traveler hesitated. “It does. It keeps me from feeling small.”

“And yet, you look tired,” the wise man said softly. “Lay your shield down. You don’t need it here.”

The traveler frowned. “Why should I? They made me feel unworthy. They built these gates to keep people like me out.”

The wise man finally raised his eyes. “And did you ever wonder why they built the gates?”

The traveler shook his head. He had never asked himself that.

“To protect something,” the wise man said.

The traveler said nothing. For a long while, the two sat in silence. Eventually, the traveler rose and continued on, alone.

When he reached the third gate, there was no guard. No wise man. No keyhole. Only a narrow path winding through a quiet field.

The traveler stepped through.

At first, he saw nothing. It was only open space stretching endlessly before him. The air was still. The grass whispered faintly in the breeze.

He walked slowly, unsure of where he was meant to go. There were no walls, no signs of the grand city he had been seeking for so long. Only the wind, the grass, the distant sound of a river running unseen through the valley.

He kept walking.

And then he saw it.

The city rose gently from the horizon, nestled between the hills, its rooftops bathed in the soft light of dusk. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. He could see people moving along the narrow streets, laughing, carrying on with their lives, unburdened by questions they no longer needed to ask.

It wasn’t the walls that made it beautiful. It wasn’t the gates that made it whole. It was the life inside — the quiet order, the steady rhythm of those who had found peace within its boundaries.

The traveler stood at the edge of the path, watching the city in the distance.

For the first time in his life, his heart felt light. The weight of the key in his pocket, the anger he had carried, the guilt that had bound him — all of it seemed to fall away, carried off by the wind.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key.

He turned it over in his hand, watching how it caught the light.

Then, without a word, he let it fall gently into the grass.

He stood there, gazing at the city.

The wind moved through the field. The grass swayed gently at his feet.

And the traveler stood.

The first clap broke the silence, sharp and deliberate. It echoed through the crisp, cold air, carried by the stillness of the Fushimi Inari Shrine. I bowed, clapped again, and let my hands fall together.

The chill in the air bit at my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of my home country, where 30-degree days felt like a constant embrace. Here, in Kyoto, Japan, it was eight degrees, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones, slowing your breath.

I closed my eyes and began to speak, quietly, just to myself.

“Please, let me hold on to what I’ve worked for. Let me stay steady. Keep my job safe, keep it growing. Let my business thrive, grow bigger, reach its full potential.”

I paused, the chill tightening my chest as I inhaled deeply.

“Let me have enough to live freely. To give freely. That’s all I want. Enough to take care of myself, enough to be generous to others. Enough so I don’t have to worry anymore.”

The words felt raw, stripped down. Honest. They weren’t perfect, but they were mine. The cold seemed to hold them in the air longer than I expected, almost as if the mountain itself was listening.

The shrine was alive with stillness. Vermilion torii gates stretched endlessly ahead, glowing faintly in the dim light of dusk. Each step forward carried me higher into the heart of the mountain, where ancient spirits felt as close as the frosty breath escaping my lips.

The trail twisted upward, the steep incline making every step harder. My legs burned as the gates blurred together, forming a fiery ribbon that led deeper into this sacred space. Each gate carried a name, etched in black, left behind by someone who had given. Someone who believed in the power of faith or gratitude or maybe just the act of offering something back.

I kept climbing, the cold tightening around me, the air sharper now. My thoughts swirled like the wind around the mountain, carrying me to a time not so long ago when I felt like I was falling apart. I remembered how it felt to have nothing—to feel like I was nothing. No savings. No stability. No confidence in myself.

I thought of the endless nights worrying about my future, about the days when even small decisions felt like life-or-death gambles. Friendships were slipping through my fingers, not because they wanted to leave, but because I couldn’t keep up—not financially, not emotionally.

But then I thought of what followed. The small, steady steps I took every day, even when I didn’t believe they would lead anywhere. And now here I was, halfway up a mountain in Kyoto, walking a path I never imagined for myself.

I stopped at a smaller shrine along the way, resting my hands on my knees. My breath hung in the cold air, visible, as if even that had weight in this space. The city lights flickered below me, distant and faint.

“If you’re listening,” I whispered, “thank you. Thank you for this moment. For letting me see how far I’ve come.”

The gates ahead seemed to shift, their shadows lengthening in the dim light. This wasn’t just a mountain. It wasn’t just a shrine. It was every moment I had doubted myself. Every time I had whispered a prayer, hoping for a way out. Every failure I thought I wouldn’t survive.

I took another step forward, the cold biting at my skin, the weight of the climb pressing into me.

The descent felt different. The path didn’t seem to end so much as dissolve into the night, folding back into the city below. The torii gates no longer felt like obstacles to pass through but milestones to reflect on. The ache in my legs grounded me in the present, but my thoughts drifted.

The prayer I had whispered earlier came back to me, but it wasn’t a prayer anymore. It was a realization, a loop across time.

“You’ve faced worse,” I thought to myself, remembering the version of me who was terrified of the future. “And you didn’t stop. You built this life. You can build the next one too.”

The gates blurred as I reached the base of the trail. The city streets were quieter now, the hum of life settling into a soft murmur. I stopped at the final gate and turned back to look. The mountain stood still, as it always had, as it always would.

Faith doesn’t have to belong to a specific moment or place. It isn’t just a prayer or a belief. It’s the way time folds in on itself when you finally see that you’ve been carrying the answers all along.

I stepped forward, into the cold night, into the unknown, into the next version of myself.

This year, I learned to love better.

Not in the pristine, storybook way. Instead, it was the kind of love that allows space for every emotion: joy, anger, sadness, and disappointment.

I learned to feel them all without letting them drag me into chaos.

Relationships, at times, feel like magnets. They pull and repel, locked in a dance of tension.

But I found a way to step out of that cycle. I became intentional. Steady. Like wood.

I chose when to lean in and when to step back.

This transformation helped me navigate one of my closest, most complicated relationships: the one with my dad.

A Strained Connection

My dad and I started the year distant.

We disagreed on things we were both passionate about. The strain between us grew.

Conversations became battles. Passion turned to frustration. Frustration turned to silence.

Then, earlier this year, he told me he had been diagnosed with tuberculosis. He was 74.

It was hard to process. I was grieving, not just for his health, but for the time we had lost.

I sent help for his medicine but stayed emotionally distant. I convinced myself I was “setting boundaries.”

In truth, I was protecting my pride. I was too hurt to reach out, to let my guard down.

But as the months went by, I felt a growing urgency.

Not because the pain had disappeared, but because I realized that no amount of waiting would fix things. It was a choice I had to make.

The Jollibee Brunch

In November, I made that choice.

I asked my dad to brunch. It felt like a small gesture, but it was heavy with meaning.

We met at Jollibee. As I sat across from him, I felt the familiar surge of anger rising, ready to remind me of every unresolved hurt.

Instead, I started with gratitude.

I thanked him, not for anything recent, but for everything he had done over the course of my life. I thanked him for becoming a dad again at 47, decades after my older brother was born.

I acknowledged how hard it must have been to raise me alone after separating from my mom.

I told him how much I appreciated the sacrifices he made. Giving up relationships. Stepping back from his social life. Making me his focus.

I wasn’t rehearsed. Once I let gratitude take the lead, the words flowed naturally.

I told him how those choices shaped me. How they allowed me to grow into someone who could love deeply, who could bring joy to others.

I let him know that I saw all of it. Not just what he did, but what it cost him.

The Shift

As I spoke, something changed.

The anger I had been carrying for years dissolved. Gratitude has a way of doing that, not by erasing the hurt, but by creating space for something bigger.

And then, my dad surprised me.

He apologized.

It was the most sincere apology I had ever heard from him. He acknowledged the ways he had hurt me, without defensiveness or excuses. For a moment, I was stunned. It was as if a door we had both kept locked had suddenly swung open.

We agreed on something fundamental that day: how we would love each other moving forward.

It would be through acceptance. By focusing on the joy we could bring to each other, rather than the wounds of the past.

Being Firm in Love

While the moment was healing, it wasn’t just about forgiveness. I took the opportunity to share where I was in my life.

I told my dad about the man I had become. How the people around me, at work, my friends, those who know me best, see me as a kind, loving person.

And then I told him that I wished he could see me that way too.

I wanted him to know that all the sacrifices he made weren’t in vain. That they had shaped me into someone others truly enjoy being around.

But I also gave him a choice.

I told him he could either continue to see me through the lens of the past, creating walls between us, or he could recognize the person I am now and the love I have to give. I told him I would prefer the latter.

I told him that I wanted to enjoy him, for however much time we still have.

I explained that my only wish this year was to create memories with him. That no disagreement, no regret, no past wound mattered more to me than the time we could still share.

I told him, as plainly as I could, that I wanted to spend this limited time we have respecting and enjoying each other.

The Lesson

This year, I learned that loving better doesn’t mean forgetting the past. It doesn’t mean avoiding the hard conversations.

It means showing up.

It means allowing space for the full spectrum of emotions without letting them control you.

It means making the choice to love—not because it’s easy, but because it matters.

Sitting across from my dad that day, I felt the weight of that choice.

And in choosing to love him—not perfectly, but honestly—I found something profound.

A love that holds space for everything: the pain, the joy, the differences, and the possibility of something new.

This year, I learned to love better.

It all started with brunch.

Tick... Tock...

Can you hear it? Time slipping away...

The older I get, the more I feel it. Time with family becoming scarce.

It's funny... I recently saw an IG Reel about how the time we spend with our parents and siblings drops dramatically as we hit our late twenties. Work, life, responsibilities—they all get in the way.

Ever since I moved out and hit my mid-twenties, spending time with my family has become something really special.

Growing up, my situation was a bit different. My brothers are at least 18 years older than me. It often felt like I was an only child. They were living their own lives while I was still figuring out mine. 

But now, as adults, we’ve found this incredible new rhythm.

We’ve started a tradition... monthly meetups. No strict plans. Just lunch, talking about life, and sharing stories.

It’s amazing how refreshing these meetups are. Even after spending seven hours together, it never feels like enough.

We don’t need fancy activities to keep us engaged. Just sitting down, eating, and listening to each other.

Our stories range from everyday stuff to really deep conversations. Sometimes, we tackle tough topics that can be uncomfortable. 

But despite any disagreements, we all look forward to these hangouts.

The generational gap between us adds so much depth. My brothers could be my parents, and my dad is the age of my friends’ grandparents.

This difference adds layers to our conversations. It shapes how we respond to a variety of topics. Is Elon Musk great or just crazy? Should we be scared of an invasion from China? Who could be the most ideal presidential candidate in the Philippines? 

And beyond these issues, we talk about how we consume information—TikTok or YouTube? Our views on health and managing illnesses? 

These differing perspectives make our talks so much richer.

We share stories about relationships... especially romantic ones. 

My dad talks mostly about his early adventures with my mom. My siblings? They often discuss how they navigated married life and adjusted to parenting. They share their regrets, but more often, they express gratitude. Gratitude for the lessons learned, the changes they made, and the wisdom they gained.

And here I am, a recipient of this unfiltered wisdom. Directly from their experiences.

We laugh about funny adventures and weird interactions with unique people we’ve met. Like quirky religious figures, celebrities, politicians, or even a run-in with a criminal. 

I can’t believe some of the names I hear are people I’ve seen on the news. And no, I can’t name them (peace).

Each story, whether funny or serious, adds a new dimension to our understanding of each other and the world.

I love bringing my modern-day perspective to the table. Talking about tech advancements and entrepreneurial dreams, I see how my insights fit into their stories of the past.

It feels like time traveling, hearing their firsthand accounts.

One memorable moment was visiting Quattro. It’s a bar on Timog Avenue, right in the Scout area of Quezon City where I live now.

None of them live here anymore, but they all have memories in this area. My dad was assigned here during his policeman days. My brothers worked in the film industry and had offices nearby.

They hung out here during high school and college. They even rented a place as a family right across the block from where I live now, more than 30 years ago.

I wasn’t born yet, but knowing they had lived here before made it even more special.

Quattro was magical for me because of that realization. It’s a place that has stood the test of time... just like our family’s relationship.

Growing up, I envied my friends who were close to their siblings or had big families. It was mostly my dad and me.

So now, in my adulthood, this experience feels richer. I super value it because I know their time is becoming more scarce. We all have other priorities.

The fact that we make time for this shows the special love we share.

These monthly meetups connect me deeply with our shared past while grounding me in the present. They’re not just about reminiscing but understanding how our lives are evolving.

It’s a blend of history, personal growth, and family bonds, making each gathering feel like a meaningful journey through time.

In a world that’s always changing, these moments of connection and shared history become more valuable.

They remind me of where I come from, help me see where I’m going, and keep me anchored with the people who matter most.

So, if you’ve got family, don’t let the clock tick away without making those connections. Whether it’s lunch, a phone call, or just sitting together... make time.

After all, these moments become the memories that ground us, shape us, and remind us of who we are. 

Don’t wait. Start your own tradition. You won't regret it.

Ring... Ring...

I didn’t expect to end up in tears—happy, joyful tears—from a 2-minute phone call.

Last night at 9:30 p.m., my phone rang. It was one of my close college friends, someone I hadn't spoken to much over the past four years. Life had taken us on different paths—he was deep into the rigors of law school at Ateneo Law School, while I was busy pursuing my career in tech.

But that night... the years melted away.

He called to share the incredible news: not only was he graduating, but he was also at the top of his batch. Hearing this, my heart swelled with pride and happiness. It felt like a moment frozen in time, a time capsule we had opened together, marveling at how life had unfolded.

Four years ago, he was on the waitlist for law school, his dream seemingly slipping through his fingers. His grandfather was his inspiration, and he was determined to become a lawyer. During those uncertain months, I was his sounding board, his cheerleader, his confidant. 

We spent countless hours on the phone... me listening to his worries, encouraging him, and praying with him. I helped him focus on what he could control and let go of what he couldn’t.

At the same time, I was facing my own crossroads. I was contemplating leaving a stable corporate job to chase my dream of working in tech and becoming an entrepreneur. We were both on the brink of major life changes, supporting each other through our respective journeys.

Fast forward to now... he has achieved his dream, and I have immersed myself in the tech industry, building businesses across different sectors. That two-minute phone call where he shared his triumph was a profound reminder of our deep connection.

We laughed... we cried... we celebrated together, even though we were miles apart.

This blog is dedicated to him and his beloved grandmother, who recently passed away. She would be incredibly proud of him for his perseverance and dedication. I was a witness to his journey, and I know she was too. Even though she isn't here to see it come to fruition, her influence and love have been a guiding force for him.

In this moment, I am filled with gratitude. Gratitude for the friendship that has withstood the test of time and distance. Gratitude for the ability to share in his joy. And gratitude for the reminder that these connections, though they may not be part of our daily lives, remain deeply significant.

We should celebrate these friendships—the ones that don’t require daily conversations to remain strong. The ones that, when reconnected, feel like no time has passed at all. Last night, I wasn't the one who graduated, but my heart felt the same joy and pride as if I had. And that is the true essence of friendship.

To my dear friend, congratulations on your incredible achievement. Your journey has been nothing short of inspiring. To your grandmother, I know you are watching over him with pride. And to everyone reading this, cherish your friendships, celebrate their milestones, and remember that true connections are timeless.

You know that feeling

When you're talking to someone close to you, maybe family, and you just can't see eye to eye?

Yeah. That's been my life lately.

Especially when it comes to stuff like what's happening in Gaza
Or why it feels like I'll never be able to buy a house.

It's like we're living in different worlds, you know?

The other day, I was trying to explain to my older relative about Palestine
All this stuff I've learned from the news, social media
But it was like we were speaking different languages.

Frustrating doesn't even begin to cover it.

Here I am, thinking I've got all this information
Hoping to connect
And instead? I feel more isolated than ever.

And don't even get me started on the housing market...

Ever tried explaining to someone from an older generation why you can't afford a house?
It's like
They grew up thinking hard work = house with a white picket fence.
For us? It's not that simple.

Prices are insane. It feels like a game we can't win.

And it's not just that

I'm constantly bombarded with all this other stuff:
Wars with China
Criminal syndicates in our neighborhoods
Content telling me I need to build muscles
Take care of my gut health
Improve my communication
Watch dragons fight on TV
Go for financial freedom!!

It's exhausting.

All I want is to connect.
To understand.
To be understood.

But these conversations... this information overload
It leaves me feeling so disconnected.

I started questioning everything
Does any of this even matter?

Nihilism started looking pretty good, you know?
Just a way to cope with all this chaos

But that didn't feel right either.
It felt like giving up.

So... what do we do?
How do we find meaning in all this mess?

I've been digging into some ideas
Viktor Frankl... Jacques Derrida

Don't worry, I'm not going full philosophy nerd on you.

But Frankl... he believed we can find meaning even in the worst situations.
It's not about what happens to us
It's how we respond.

And Derrida? He talks about how meaning is always shifting.
Never fixed.

At first, that frustrated me.
Now? I find it freeing.

Life doesn't have to be a rigid script.
It's more like a conversation.
Always evolving.

When I put these ideas together
I start to see a way forward.

It's not about finding one big, unchanging meaning
It's about creating it.
Through our actions.
Our attitudes.

We're not powerless.
We can shape our lives, even in small ways.

And that... that gives me a sense of purpose.

Maybe it's about finding those little pockets of meaning
In our daily lives.
The connections we make.
The goals we set.
How we choose to respond to challenges.

It's not about having all the answers
It's about being open to the journey.

You ever feel that way?
Like you're searching for something more
Even when everything seems uncertain?

And here's the thing about those older relatives
As much as they talk like they've got it all figured out
They don't.

They're navigating life just like we are.
Just with different tools.
Different experiences.

We're all trying to find our way.
And that's okay.

Maybe accepting that no one has it all figured out
Maybe that's what can bring us together.

Our differences don't have to divide us.
They can connect us.

So next time you're in one of those impossible conversations
Remember: We're all just trying to figure this out.

Maybe we won't solve everything today
But we can take a step.
Towards understanding.
Towards connection.
Towards a life that feels a little more meaningful.

We don't need all the answers.
We just need to keep moving forward
Together.

What do you think?
How do you find meaning in all this chaos?

Been running this for over 20 months now. Hasn't turned out to be the cash flow machine I dreamed of. Could point out reasons beyond my control, but I'll be honest.

I wanted it to earn me $5k/month cash flow, with minimal operational headache. The problem? I didn't have the maturity back then to run the business properly - especially with expectations on effort and rewards. Had limited views on how to grow it and compete on Amazon.

Tried Amazon FBA, hoping it would be smooth sailing. Learned a lot, but also messed up and got anxious several times. Once, I thought I was gonna get screwed because the barcodes I used were illegitimate. Worried the Amazon warehouse would reject the delivery, and I'd pay huge sums for nothing.

The idea was to bring well-known Filipino slippers to the bigger US market, increase margins, sell to more people instead of competing locally. It would also mean increasing PH exports - a noble idea!

Back then, I had minimal ideas on projecting financials. Knew the theory, but not as detailed as now where I really think about personal cash flow.

When we launched, I had significant financial safety net - some savings as a runway. Now, I don't have the same safety net, way less money than before. But I guess that's why I run the business smarter now, more maturely, a little wiser.

While Amazon FBA didn't yield the major financial outcomes I hoped for in terms of cash flow, it opened up more doors. Felt like my first year of a practical MBA.

Now in my 2nd year, I'm not "onboarding" anymore but really focused on creating value. Because I successfully launched a brand in the US, I got connected to another local brand I loved - Ube Cream Liqueur - and did the same for them. More complicated, but had significantly more confidence going into it because of my previous experience.

Not that I already did the same in the US, but because I knew I could FIGURE IT OUT. That I had the confidence to learn ANYTHING.

Yesterday, signed a partnership contract with a US Distributor Partner who'll help me expand Islander Slippers through a Shopify website. We're aligned on principles and goals of bringing Filipino brands to the global stage.

Been looking for a partner as passionate about the brand as I am, with complementary skills. My partner Ricky brings expertise in digital marketing and access to the Filipino community there. Can't wait to see how Islander Slippers unfolds in the US market!

Our values are towards not playing a price war, but a value game. Don't want to limit Islander Slippers as a commodity but present it as truly valuable.

Last night synced up with Ezekiel, our Canadian distributor partner. He's already had his second batch of inventory order, showing he can actually sell out the product within his network. Validates the demand among Filipino communities abroad.

Spent an hour discussing the marketing strategy in Canada. Realized it was so valuable that we dove into the customer profiles until we aligned on our avatar. The agreed persona wasn't what you'd imagine, but I'm confident because we used observations and data rather than theory and assumptions.

Overall, I feel like I'm in day 1 again of this venture. Optimized Amazon so it's passively generating cash flow and steadily growing. Onboarded 2 distributor partners across North America successfully. And we're on to the next exciting part - really nailing the marketing there! Stay tuned for more updates!

Another morning, another chance to do my routine without the 9-5 rush. I appreciate having this alone time - to get some sun, play the piano, and just vibe before work. It's a luxury not everyone gets.

It's been almost 4 years since I left my corporate job, and over 2 years since I stopped working for PayMongo. Leaving that stable income was a big risk, but I'm glad I took it. This entrepreneur journey has been one hell of a ride.

The road hasn't been straight at all. I've had failed businesses, partners who screwed me over, and tons of self-doubt along the way. But going through all that made me stronger and wiser about what it really takes to make it as an entrepreneur.

Money-wise, I haven't hit it big yet based on my own high standards. But the experiences gave me priceless lessons you can't put a price tag on. I know what it feels like to have a business going nowhere, to get blindsided by people you trusted, to face the harsh realities head-on.

This is the kind of MBA that I decided to take.

Moving forward, I'm focused on really nurturing the ideas and passions I deeply believe in, one thing at a time. No more spreading myself thin. I want to create something amazing that gets me a seat at the table with other successful entrepreneurs who can learn from my journey.

The imposter syndrome creeps in sometimes, making me doubt if I have what it really takes. But I have to shut that voice up. With relentless hard work and belief in myself, I know I can make it.

So here's to embracing the ups and downs, twists and turns of life as an entrepreneur. It's one crazy ride, but I'm grateful to be on it. This bumpy road is shaping me into who I'm meant to become.

So, I've been thinking a lot about AI lately. It's kinda wild, isn't it? We've got these super smart programs like ChatGPT that can talk about almost anything. But have you ever wondered what's going on inside their digital brains? It's all just fancy math, really. No feelings, no personal stories – just a bunch of numbers and calculations.

Think about this for a sec. There's this guy, Jacques Derrida, a big name in philosophy. I learned about him after watching this YouTube video. He had some cool ideas about how words and meanings are always playing tag with each other. Now, imagine tossing AI into this game. We've got a machine that's trying its best to keep up, throwing words around, trying to make sense of them. But it's kinda like a robot reading a script – it says the words, but doesn't really get what they mean.

It's as if AI is just scratching the surface of our huge world of words. We humans, we don't just say things; we feel them, we live them. That's a big difference between us and AI. We're swimming, floating and diving in a deep sea of words and meanings, while AI is just paddling in the kiddie pool.

So, how should we hang out with AI? It's kind of like diving into a good book or some deep, thoughtful story. You don't just skim through it; you dig in, you ask questions, you let it make you think. With AI, we can do that too. We can poke around, see how it comes up with its answers. It's kinda fun to see what makes it tick.

But I noticed something funny. When you chat with AI, it usually just agrees with you. It's like talking to a super agreeable friend. Comforting? Sure, but it can also be a bit of a bubble. You end up just hearing what you want to hear, not getting pushed or challenged.

That's where we come in. It's on us to mix it up, to embrace the weird, wonderful world of ideas and thoughts. AI can help us see things in a new way, but it's just one piece of the puzzle. The real adventure is in the conversations we have, the stuff we share, the laughs and the "aha" moments.

This whole tech thing, it's giving us a chance to step into other people's shoes, to check out the world through their eyes. And that's pretty awesome. It's not about giving up what we believe; it's about holding on to it while learning about all the other cool ways people see things.

Alright, so we've had a bit of a dive into the world of AI and how it's like this super cool, yet kinda emotionless, word juggling machine. We've also chatted about how important it is for us to not just take what it says at face value, but to really think about it, poke it a bit, and see what's underneath.

But here’s the really cool part. This whole journey with AI? It's like a big, bright invitation to explore. It's not just about AI and what it can do. It's about us, you and me, and how we see the world. It's a chance to open our eyes to all sorts of different views and ideas. 

Imagine this: every time we chat with AI, or read something new, or talk to someone with a different take on life, we're stepping into a whole new world. It's like having a magic ticket to travel to places we've never been, see things from angles we've never considered. 

And you know what? I find that pretty exciting. It's not about changing who we are or what we believe in. It's about adding more colors to our picture of the world. It's about understanding each other better and finding joy in all these new perspectives.

What do you think? How do you see AI changing the way we talk and understand each other? Let's chat about it. I'm always up for a good heart-to-heart, especially one that makes me see things a little differently.

One lazy Saturday afternoon, Chewy and I were lying on the couch, just looking up at the ceiling. The house was quiet except for the usual weekend sounds. It was the kind of quiet you get when you're with a good friend who's been there through all your ups and downs.

Out of the blue, Chewy asked, "Isn't it crazy, the kind of choices we've made after college?"

As the sunlight crept across the ceiling, I thought about how much things had changed. "Totally," I said. "Back then, the idea of taking risks or starting my own thing seemed like a joke—or just plain terrifying."

We laughed, a little surprised at ourselves. Life has this funny way of tearing up your plans and handing you a new script when you least expect it.

"I was obsessed with getting straight A's," I told him. The stress of it all felt like a distant memory now. "Like getting an A was some magic key to everything."

Chewy nodded. "We were all caught up in that chase for grades, thinking it was everything."

As the day turned into evening and the room grew darker, I felt thankful for all those tough times. Missing out on cum laude, not making valedictorian in high school because of that one math test—it all taught me that success isn't just about what you achieve on paper.

"What made you change your thinking?" Chewy asked, looking right at me.

I knew the answer well—it was time to tell my story. How I figured out that success isn't about awards or titles. It's about the real stuff you go through and what you learn along the way, especially when things don't go as planned.

High Hopes and Hard Truths

Every night, before I closed my eyes, I saw 'Summa Cum Laude' written on a piece of paper stuck behind my bed. It was a goal I had set for myself, hoping to stand out at Ateneo de Manila University, much like my hero Steve Jobs. I thought getting the top grades would be my ticket to making it big.

But university life had other plans. It threw me curveballs in the form of tough math problems—the kind I used to solve in my sleep. Suddenly, math was a mountain I couldn't climb, and my grades were the proof. Striving for the perfect report card became like chasing a shadow—it was always just out of reach.

The turning point came after one particularly bad math test. The red marks on it felt like a loud "no" to my dreams. That night, in the quiet of my room, the goal I'd been aiming for felt more like a burden. So, I decided to let it go. I didn't want to chase a perfect score anymore. I wanted to really live my college life, to learn more than what was on the tests.

This change wasn't about giving up. It was about waking up to what's really important. Instead of worrying about grades, I got involved in everything else college had to offer. It was a blast, and I grew so much as a person.

Then, in my last year, my friend Jonats gave me a new challenge. He suggested I try for cum laude again. At first, it seemed out of the blue, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt right. It was a chance to finish what I started, not just for the honor, but to show myself and others that it's never too late to do something amazing.

Jonats' Encouragement

My college days taught me a lot, like studying to understand things, not just to get good marks. But everything changed when Jonats, a good friend who could see things in a different light, hit me with a wild idea that took me back to my freshman dreams.

We were sitting on the university’s cold floor when he opened Microsoft Excel on his laptop and showed me a plan. "You're closer to getting honors than you think," he said, full of confidence. "All you need is a perfect run—straight A's, nothing less."

He laid it out clearly: I had to nail every class. No room for mistakes, because even one B+ would ruin the whole thing—I'd miss cum laude by the tiniest amount, just 0.01 points. It reminded me of high school when I almost topped the class but didn't, all because of one test. That old letdown haunted me, a sharp reminder of dreams that are almost reached but slip away.

Jonats was convinced I could do it, though. He wasn't just after getting me a shiny title; he wanted me to show what I was capable of—not just to myself but to everyone watching.

His belief was like a spark. The goal was huge, almost crazy, but it made me want to chase it. So, I took the bet. I decided to go for that flawless semester, not just for the honor, but to push my limits and see what I was really capable of.

That decision led to one of the busiest semesters I ever had. I dove into my studies, determined to ace every class. And I got into some pretty unexpected situations, too. Like the time I said yes to hosting a big festival, the Moriones in Marinduque, just so I could get out of a final exam that was freaking me out. It was a wild ride, but it was one of those things that made the chase fun and memorable.

It turned out to be more than just chasing grades. It was a real test of my determination and a chance to grow in ways I hadn't imagined. And it taught me a valuable lesson—that the real win is in the effort you give and the growth you experience, not just the finish line you cross.

Battling for Every Point

That last semester at university felt like a marathon with every class pushing me towards one goal: graduating with honors. But Philosophy was the hurdle I couldn't quite clear. It was all about thinking clearly and expressing your thoughts just right, which wasn't my strongest suit. My essays would come back dotted with the professor's notes, each one steering me away from the A I was aiming for. No matter how hard I tried, those B pluses stuck around like unwelcome guests, blocking my path.

Other classes went well, my grades climbing up where I wanted them to be, but Philosophy just wouldn't budge. I realized that even nailing the final wouldn't get me that A. When I found out I was right, that even my best shot wasn't enough, it hit me hard. I needed that A like a key to unlock my cum laude dream, but it kept slipping away.

So, I went to my professor, hoping for a bit of wiggle room. I talked through every bit of my work, from class discussions to essays, to the final exam. But he wouldn't budge, standing by his grades as firmly as he stood by his philosophical arguments. "You can always file a formal complaint," he said, not mean, but final.

Filing for a grade change was a long shot, and deep down, I knew it. It felt like a last desperate move, not really expecting much, but still holding on to a sliver of hope. So, I didn't get a clear 'no', but I wasn’t holding my breath either. That B plus seemed like it was there to stay, drawing a line I couldn't cross.

In those moments after, I was a mix of feelings. There was disappointment for sure, but also a sense of letting go. The chase for that perfect GPA was out of my hands now, and what was left was what I knew about myself and what I valued most.

I took that mix of hope and acceptance with me to the grad ball. It was a night to remember, a celebration of our time at university, and I wasn't going to let one grade ruin it. I focused on the positive—how much work I'd put in, how much I'd learned, and how much I'd grown. That night, I celebrated all of that, not just the wins, but the whole journey.

Rolling with the Punches

The grad ball was all about celebrating the end of our time at school. Everyone was dressed up, laughing, and dancing under bright lights, excited about what was coming next. I was too, but I also had this knot in my stomach, waiting to see my final grades. Would they be enough to get me that cum laude?

The room was buzzing, full of life, and everyone was looking forward to starting something new. But I was also a bit on edge, wondering if all my hard work had paid off.

Our org's advisor, who'd seen us all grow up over the years, was there too. In a quiet moment, he offered to let me sneak a peek at my grades on his phone. It felt like that phone held my future.

Taking a deep breath, I scrolled through the grades on his screen. And there it was: a B+ in Philosophy right alongside all the A's I had worked so hard for. My GPA was just a tiny bit away from where it needed to be for cum laude—3.49 when I needed a 3.50. It was exactly what Jonats and I had worried might happen.

For a minute, everything went quiet for me, even with the party in full swing around me. My friends were all happy about their grades, but I was stuck on that one little point I didn't get. I felt so many things at once—proud of how far I'd come, but also let down that I didn't make it all the way.

I didn't let that disappointment take over, though. Missing that honor by just a little bit stung, but I wasn't going to let it ruin the whole night. As the shock wore off, I decided to just enjoy the moment. I got out there on the dance floor and danced like nobody was watching. It was my way of saying that one grade wasn't going to get me down.

Laughing and dancing with my friends, who had no idea about the storm inside me, I understood something important. In the big picture of life, those almosts and what-ifs don't matter as much. What really sticks out is being able to get past the tough times, to make your own way, and to enjoy where you are right now—no matter what.

What Success Really Means

After the grad ball, I spent a lot of time just thinking. Sure, I was bummed out about not getting cum laude, but that feeling didn't last long. Soon enough, I started to think about the bigger picture—what does being successful really mean, anyway?

Back when I started college, I thought success was all about getting the best grades and the most praise. But standing there with my diploma, ready to start my real adult life, I saw things differently. Success isn't just about what you can show on paper.

Jonats got me to shoot for top grades again, but what really changed me wasn't just trying to get A's—it was the whole experience. I worked harder than I ever thought I could, I bounced back from tough times, and I found out how much I actually like learning. And even though I was trying to be a role model for the younger students, I ended up learning a lot about myself, too.

What I learned is that success isn't about one big win. It's about always moving forward, setting goals, and sticking with them, even when things get rough. And it's about being okay with whatever results you get after you've done your best.

Understanding this didn't make the disappointment of missing cum laude disappear completely, but it helped me see it in a new light. That one grade didn't define me or what I could do. I showed myself that I could take on tough challenges and enjoy the hard work they required.

As I moved on from university, this new way of looking at things helped me face all kinds of challenges, from working at a huge company like P&G to diving into the unpredictable world of startups. I knew my worth wasn't about what other people thought of me, but about the effort I put in and the person I was becoming—someone who's always curious, ready to adapt, and never gives up on growing.

Taking Chances and Learning on the Go

When I finished college, I stepped into a world full of chances that would've scared the old me. But the tough times at school had made me stronger and more sure of myself. This new confidence pushed me to dive into the business world, especially the exciting startup scene where taking risks isn't just part of the game—it's the whole point.

Startups are wild and unpredictable. They're not like regular jobs; there's no set path to follow or guaranteed paycheck. But they're thrilling because everything you do makes a real difference. I learned that starting a business isn't just about the money—it's about making your ideas happen, solving real problems, and really making a mark.

One of my big adventures has been getting Islander Slippers out there in the US. This job isn't just about selling flip-flops; it's about sharing what they stand for—a slice of Filipino life—with the world. Sure, it's a big job, but everything I learned at university about facing challenges and believing in myself has helped me take it on.

At the same time, I've been helping other startups grow, using what I know about sales and marketing to help them find their feet. Every win and every bump in the road reminds me that I'm still learning and growing, and that being successful means keeping on trying, no matter what.

Looking back, all those hours I spent chasing good grades taught me more than I realized. They got me ready for bigger dreams—like turning the Philippines into a hub for great businesses, building its very own "Silicon Valley". I know now that success isn't about getting to a certain point and stopping; it's about living in a way that aligns with your values, making choices that match what you care about, and never stopping chasing what excites you.

Success on My Own Terms

Sitting here today and looking back, I see how life never really goes as planned. The road is full of twists and turns, and where we end up isn't always where we thought we'd be. But that's okay because it's all about growing and finding out who we really are.

I used to be that student who wanted a top honor to prove myself. Now, I'm an entrepreneur who's learned that real success isn't something others can give you—it's about feeling good about the work you do, loving the challenges, and living true to yourself.

I've come to see that having goals, like the cum laude I once chased, is a big part of what keeps us moving forward. But those goals don't tell the whole story of who we are. We're really the collection of all our experiences, the things we've learned, and the connections we've made with others.

For anyone just getting out of college, don't let the fear of not meeting other people's expectations hold you back. Make your own rules, aim for what feels like excellence to you, and enjoy the ride. Dream big, take bold steps, and always be kind—both to other people and to yourself.

So, with my dreams in my heart and a mindset free from narrow ideas of success, I'm ready for whatever comes next. I'm not just following a set path—I'm making my own, one step at a time, with purpose, passion, and a firm belief in taking the road less traveled.

Applying the formula for myself

I always thought that I literally CAN’T AFFORD to take any risks in life. So even if I dreamed of one day delivering the Apple Keynote, I worked backwards and identified the steps to achieve my goal while securely providing for our family’s financial needs.

I imagined working for decades at Apple, which means that I need an entry point into the US tech industry and, ideally, an MBA from Stanford - my dream school being close to to Silicon Valley. But first, I needed to gather experience and secure funding for my journey. I bet my hopes for success by honing my Sales skills at P&G, viewing it as the best training ground for negotiating and communicating effectively with customers. This path seemed so straightforward that I could confidently explain it to anyone who ask me about my life's ambitions.

And so I did. My initial two years at P&G were a whirlwind immersion into the world of business and sales. I was assigned to the company's largest customer and undertook projects that allowed ample room for innovation, trial and error, and learning. The first six months were perhaps the most memorable, shared sentiment among many P&G sales managers. I was assigned in a sketchy part of Caloocan, tasked with selling soap, shampoo, and diapers to local sari-sari store owners.

My workdays began at 5 a.m., finishing around 8-9 p.m. After ensuring that the truck worked, we'd head off to Caloocan and start my daily routine, spanning 30-35 stores until I hit the day's sales quota. Back at the base, we'd count our inventory, return our payment collections, and prep the truck for the next day. It was really sketchy — my selling partner shared that he'd nearly been stabbed when returning collected money to the truck. Yet, I would never trade this experience for anything else. The intense amount of pressure, the targets, and the need for resilience strengthened me and honed my selling skills and pambobola. Picture this: Talking to 180 sari-sari stores per week for 12 weeks, that’s 2,160 conversations where I would get screamed at, ridiculed, teased, appreciated, thanked, welcomed and ignored. What an emotional rollercoaster.

Months later, I found myself in the same room with the billionaire owner of a top supermarket chain in the Philippines. The conversations became increasingly complicated, the stakes are much higher, and we’re talking about million-dollar deals hoping to gain sales growth for both sides. Fortunately, my performance did not go unnoticed. Both years, my manager generously rewarded my efforts with the highest possible raises and began preparing me for promotion as soon as possible.

And then I stopped following the formula

The pandemic allowed me to carve out time for deep introspection about my life's goals. A combination of daily journaling and MBA applications pushed me to seriously examine my purpose and what I truly desired from the MBA program. While my aspiration to become Apple's next CEO was quite ambitious, it wasn't the legacy I really wanted for my life. To give you an idea how I got to this thought, I started to picture what people would say about me on my funeral.

I was sure, though, of my natural interest in the tech/startup world, but without a background in software engineering, I believed I needed an MBA as my stepping stone into the industry. And yes, I operated under the assumption that tech career opportunities were scarce in the Philippines.

Then, my true lifelong ambition became clear.

At that time, the notion of building a tech career in the Philippines seemed almost unattainable for several reasons - reasons I may delve into in future articles. However, I ultimately decided to focus on not just constructing a career for myself but imagined a future where aspiring tech professionals, like my children, wouldn't have to think about leaving the Philippines in pursuit of their dreams. What if we could establish our own "Silicon Valley" right here?

Through a sequence of events, I found myself resigning from my position at P&G, dropping all my MBA applications and my plans to work abroad, and started on a journey as a Salesperson at PayMongo, a local fintech startup backed by Y Combinator and a selection of prominent Silicon Valley investors. Now, my work was aligned with my grand vision, and I believed that helping PayMongo succeed was my best route towards this goal.

Surprise, there’s no formula

As a newbie to this sector, I was careful not to present myself with a messianic complex, acting like a know-it-all and instructing everyone how things should be done. Instead, I devoted countless hours to learning the intricacies of startups - from absorbing insights from online talks, building relationships with teammates within PayMongo and other startups, to connecting with dozens of startup founders. For months, I enrolled myself into a coding bootcamp in order to hone my ability to communicate with software engineers. I dedicated my services to a small angel investing fund for nearly a year without expecting any compensation. On top of my day job, I took on part-time roles with other startups, again, free of charge. The so-called "dirty work" was something I truly embraced and enjoyed, whether handling company registration documents, providing customer support, managing PPC ad campaigns, analyzing data on Google Sheets, or setting up process automation between teams.

Now, I've come to understand that PayMongo is just the first of many Philippine startups with which I will have the privilege to work with. I have assisted some in securing investment from angel investors and venture capital funds, helped others acquire their first set of customers, and for some, I've recruited top-tier talent. As I encounter more allies and uncover fellow dreamers, my energy and passion for pursuing my mission continue to flourish.

Instead, it’s a bunch of puzzle pieces

Reflecting on my journey, the experience of graduating from the ME program and serving in Sales at P&G gave me a unique perspective that remains rare in the tech industry. I continually challenged myself to not be limited by the confines of my role, striving to understand the broader impacts on other teams and the business as a whole. In addition, I developed the growing desire to transform complex topics into simple stories that anyone can understand. So when I tried to explain my work to my Dad, I forced him to watch the KDrama, "Start-Up" and told him that my dream was to be like "Good Boy" but for the Philippines.

Along the way, I discovered countless career opportunities in the tech industry for professionals who might not have a "technical" or software engineering background. I began in a sales role but gradually expanded my skillset to include strategies for customer acquisition, which was just as valuable as learning to code in a startup context.

It's encouraging to witness a growing number of talented individuals realizing their potential contributions to the startup ecosystem. Just last Christmas, I had a conversation with two younger alumni friends from Ateneo. They said that there's a growing interest among their peers in participating in the startup world, either by working at a startup, launching one, or facilitating funding through venture capital firms – an interesting shift compared to previous batches. Currently employed at different venture capital firms investing in the Philippines, they thanked me for "leading the way", sharing that my leap into the startup world encouraged them to pursue the same.

After PayMongo, I had the opportunity to collaborate with various startups across a diverse range of industries: gaming, web3, e-commerce, edtech, and logistics. At the same time, I continued to work with numerous investors, looking for promising startups for investment. I've also ventured into creating an NFT project based on the Wordle game and start an international exporting business for Islander Slippers. At present, I'm working on a project for people who already know how to create a website but struggle with grasping the concept of NFTs, to utilize the potential of NFTs easily. These are exciting times, I can't wait to share these stories in the future.

It's 1AM and I started writing this blog during my stay here in Canada in the cold weather, wearing socks and a sweater. I had just attended the wedding of my nephew, who owned the first iPhone that started it all. This blog is not to show that I've arrived or figured it all out, but because I desperately need people to join in my journey. Whatever I've accomplished in the past three years is only a small puzzle piece in the bigger picture. We've only just begun. Now that you're here, I ask you to follow along -- work with me, dream with me, pray for me, or cheer for me. Because one day, when your kid decides to build the next Facebook, Google or Amazon, you'd be thankful that he can do it from your home's garage.