Why I Refuse to Give Up on My Dream

My dream is simple. I want to write books and screenplays endlessly, and I want people to enjoy them. As always, there are, however, complications in reaching it.

Today, I received a book from one Filipino author I look up to. She was the first writing mentor I had whom I actually met in person. The other two, I only had the opportunity to converse with through emails. And what she wrote on the title page (since I asked for her autograph) caught me motionless. Not that it was entirely personal, but it did cause a pinch. In a good way. Here’s what it said:

I wrote this to remind myself that we can be fabulous at any age — and also choose new things. Hope you are well!


In 2013, I had been published in the US. I celebrated it, as it was the first affirmation I got that my talent wasn’t put to waste. But that wasn’t the best year of my life. 2014 was.

For in 2014, I was at my peak, my God-given talent used at full speed. I was at the top of my game. I released yet three other books and met Director Jay Abello, who taught me the ropes of writing for the movie industry. He even brought me to Bacolod to watch him shoot RED for CinemaOne Originals.


Direk Jay, discussing the script to me. Photo was taken by one of the RED production staff.

But then, as it always did, life happened. I had bills to pay and a family to support (since my father left us more than eight years ago, and it wasn’t any different with my partner as he also did four years ago) and the next thing I knew I was parking my passion so I could actually earn from a prestigious job that paid well.

My job grew on me, no matter its complete disparity with what I loved doing. A graduate of AB English, minor in Theater Arts, proudly at the top of my class, you wouldn’t expect to find me holding a position in the retail industry. But I was, and I couldn’t say I regret a moment of it.


That’s me on the furthest right. My team (a third of it, since they were the only ones left for the closing shift) serenaded me on my last day at work.

So I ventured into photography as a hobby, a resort┬áto keep my creative side intact, and hung out with people who knew people from different walks of life. I met mountaineers and journalists and simple everyday people who lived the life they chose for themselves. Since I couldn’t write, my mental energy used up when I get home, they were my way of clinging to my hopes of keeping the artist in me alive.


Fast forward to more than a couple of months ago, a personal situation had forced me to quit my job. I had to attend to matters and even with my leave credits (since I couldn’t use them most of the time), I simply couldn’t fit everything into place anymore. I had to let go of something that had helped me keep afloat.

Now, I am back to where I started, trying to connect dots, trying to get back the opportunities I have lost the past 2 years, and wishing I could do my 2014 success — and more — all over again. It’s exhausting, once you overthink about it. Then again, wouldn’t you say I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be?

Miss Mina Esguerra wrote two things that was unknown to her to be personal to me:

  1. That we can be fabulous at any age. I am at my 31st year (more on that when I finish my supposed birthday post), and to me that means books and movies, lined up along the shelves of my private library at my future house.
  2. That we could choose new things for ourselves. THAT MEANS LEARNING. And I choose to write and take photographs and learn other skills. For I do not know how long I’d still be living in this world.

I refuse to give up on my dreams because I have reached for them once. I intend to do it again. This time, fabulously and with new armors.

Thanks, Miss Mina, for reminding me.


Minding Someone Else’s Mind

I began following a person’s blog, and as embarrassing as this would sound to all those who would care┬áto imagine what I actually meant, I would like to admit I began to develop a simple frenzy over his words.

I regret to write in this entry how I could not divulge the person’s identity nor the person’s blog name for it had remained untouched for the past half a year. I would like to admit again, though I could swear most of you read between the lines, that I had been reading the same poems and the same thoughts over and over the past few nights, with the hope – might I add – that something new came up. Yes. His thoughts had driven me to utter insanity. I wanted to read more.

What I loved most about his writings was the fact that he seemed to be searching for someone. Aren’t we all? Yet, this longing that he felt, I guessed, was one which I believed was extremely rare for a man. I had been witness of men ripping women’s hearts out. I couldn’t go into details about all that as this wasn’t meant to be a rant, but I wanted to express how deep my conviction had become that men often love their women… until the next one comes along. (That’s just me.)

I guess that was the whole reason I often read romance novels and watched romantic comedies with happy ever afters, and fairy tales with love-at-first-sight junkies. That was the whole reason I began imagining stories of my own and writing romance novels with heroes that were too perfect even with their flaws. I began to develop images of men I knew could not exist in the real world, and I actually believed they didn’t… and that they never actually never would.

So when I stumbled across this man’s blog, I questioned every single thought I had about love. I questioned the very fantasies I had about men, and how I created them to be when it came to romance and marriage and lovemaking and courtship. I asked myself if my fantasies weren’t exactly fantasies at all for a very few lucky women. I asked myself if I was one of those very few lucky women. And while I thought about the answer to those self-directed questions, I further asked myself something which my best friend asked me moments ago: For how long was I planning to read and re-read his entries until I had finally found myself so worn out of imagining that the woman he was searching for was actually me? I would have to find that out, too.

So for now, I guess, I didn’t have that much of a choice but to keep going back to his blog, read and re-read, and imagine and hope that for once in my life, I had found someone who would resemble a man so perfect that he would not fit the real world I came to know and believe.