The Pump That Took Me Home

Seeing this deep well hand pump stirred a flood of memories. We had one just outside our house in Manila, and it was part of my daily rhythm, showering before and after school to escape the heat and humidity. The water wasn’t filtered or particularly fresh, but it was free, and that mattered. It saved us money and carried a kind of simplicity that felt grounding. Even here in Arizona, certain things, like this old pump, can unexpectedly transport you back home. It’s a quiet reminder that pieces of the Philippines live on in the most ordinary places.

🎥 When Opportunity Knocks, Answer with Courage

 

I was once asked to create promotional videos of our CEO. I had never done anything like it professionally, but I had a hobby, a passion for filming and editing. So I said yes. Not because I was ready, but because I was willing to learn.

That one moment of courage turned into a new skill, and eventually, a regular part of my work. I didn’t just take on a task, I grew into it.

Sometimes, the most meaningful growth comes from the things we never planned for. Don’t be afraid to face challenges. They often carry the seeds of your next breakthrough.

📸 This was my setup during one of those early shoots. A reminder that every expert was once a beginner who chose to try.

Charlie Kirk's Memorial

 

Attending The Charlie Kirk Tribute at State Farm Stadium in Glendale was a powerful reminder of what one voice, guided by faith and conviction, can inspire. Standing outside and inside the stadium reminded me of how important it is to stay grounded in faith, and respect our country. Today was more than an event; it was a celebration of courage, truth, and the future of America.

Hopias Over Jackpots

I've been to Las Vegas more times than I can count, it's just a four-hour drive from Phoenix, close enough for a quick escape but far enough to feel like a different world. I don’t go for the gambling; that’s never been my thing. I’d rather wander through the grand hotels, admiring their extravagant designs and unique features. The Bellagio, where this photo was taken, always leaves an impression.

Still, I shake my head at how expensive it is just to stay the night, room rates, resort fees, parking charges, taxes, it all adds up fast. I’d rather spend that money on something that brings me closer to home. That’s why every visit includes a stop at the Filipino grocery store. Phoenix doesn’t have one yet (though one is finally opening early next year), so we stock up on the things I miss most: hopia, rice cakes, and other treats that carry the taste of memory. Before heading back, we always sit down at the Filipino restaurant tucked inside the store. It’s more than a meal, it’s a way to soothe the ache of homesickness, to feel connected to the Philippines even while standing in the Nevada desert.

Home, Earned and Embraced

Standing on a hill with the American flag in the background, a quiet moment that speaks volumes about the life I’ve built. When I first arrived from the Philippines, everything felt unfamiliar, but I met each challenge with humility and an open heart. I learned to navigate this new world by respecting its culture, following its laws, and staying true to my values. Over time, Arizona became more than a place to live, it became a place to grow, to connect, and to belong. Now, with the city behind me and the flag above me, I feel the weight of my journey and the peace that comes from knowing: this is home.

Two Shores, One Journey

 

As I stand at the marina in San Diego, watching the boats sway gently in the water, I find myself reflecting on the journey of my life, from my childhood in the Philippines to the present here in Phoenix, Arizona. Back in Manila Bay, the marina was a place of peace, where I could walk freely, feel the sea breeze, and embrace the simplicity of life without a worry in the world. Today, life in Phoenix is so different, surrounded by desert landscapes, endless heat, and the fast pace of modern living. Yet, in moments like this by the water, I am reminded of my roots and the contrast between where I came from and where I am now. Both places, though worlds apart, hold pieces of who I am, one shaped my beginnings, and the other continues to shape my journey.

From Sacrifice to Serenity

The sun was warm that afternoon, casting a golden glow over the resort’s manicured lawns and glistening fountain. Sitting back in the wicker chair, I couldn’t help but think about how far life had carried me since 1996, the year I left the Philippines with my family, carrying nothing more than hope and determination.

Back then, the dream of a better life felt uncertain, fragile even, but we held onto it. The long flights, the homesickness, the moments of doubt, all were stepping stones to the life we were building. Every challenge faced in those early years made moments like this one possible: sitting peacefully in a place I never could have imagined as a young man in Manila, the sound of water trickling behind me, and the breeze brushing across my face.

I look out at the view, not just of the golf course and fountain, but of the years lived, the sacrifices made, and the blessings earned. What started as a leap of faith has become a story of resilience and quiet triumph. And in this simple moment of rest, I feel a deep gratitude for the journey that brought me here.

A Taste of Home, Thousands of Miles Away

When you arrive in a new country, everything feels unfamiliar, the streets, the language, even the air. But food? Food is memory. It’s comfort. It’s the taste of home when everything else feels far away.

When I first came to America, I tried to embrace the new, burgers, pizza, Chinese takeout. They were fine, but they didn’t speak to my soul the way a bowl of sinigang or a plate of adobo could. Back then, there were no Filipino restaurants in Phoenix.

Eventually, a few Filipino spots began to appear. Not many, but enough to feel like a small miracle. This photo was taken inside Max’s Restaurant in Las Vegas, a place that brought back memories. There are some Jollibee branches here too, which always bring a smile. But between the two? I still think Max’s fried chicken tastes closer to the kind of love I grew up with.

Funny how a single bite can take you back decades, across oceans, and straight into your mother’s kitchen.

Hope

I’ve lived through many seasons, some filled with joy, others with sacrifice. I’ve left one home to build another. I’ve watched my children grow in a country that gave us opportunity, even as I carried the ache of what I left behind.

And through it all, I’ve learned this: The belief in a better tomorrow is what separates hope from despair.

Hope isn’t just a feeling. It’s a decision we make when the world feels heavy. It’s what kept me going when I didn’t know how to navigate American systems, when homesickness crept in, when I wondered if I’d ever feel truly at home again. It’s what I pass on to my children, not just the dream, but the discipline to keep believing.

Despair whispers that nothing will change. Hope answers, “Not yet, but it will.”

So I choose hope. For my family. For my community. For anyone who’s ever felt caught between two worlds, wondering if they belong. Because tomorrow can be better, but only if we believe it’s worth building.

The Day My AC Broke (and My Wallet Did Too)

Phoenix is unbelievably hot, and the summer months are downright brutal. Here, air conditioning isn’t a luxury, it’s a necessity. A few years ago, my 20-year-old AC unit finally gave out. Most units only last around 10 years, so the technician told me it was well past its retirement age. And of course, it happened in the middle of summer! We went three long days without air, and while we managed to survive, it was an experience I wouldn’t want to repeat. To make matters worse, replacing it definitely put a dent in my wallet.

 

When Giants Become History

Standing beside this sculpture, I’m reminded that even giants can fade into history. Power doesn’t last forever, but the story always remains. What legacy will we leave behind? 

Prescott, Arizona

Just an hour and forty minutes from Phoenix, Prescott offers more than fresh mountain air, it offers a gentle pause for those learning to balance two worlds. Nestled at over 5,000 feet, this former capital of the Arizona Territory welcomes you with pine-covered hills, peaceful lakes, and a slower pace that feels familiar to anyone who’s ever missed home. For Filipino families adjusting to life in Arizona, Prescott is a comforting day trip: a place where kids can run free at Courthouse Plaza, elders can enjoy the shade and stories, and everyone can share a picnic that tastes like home. Whether you're hiking around Watson Lake or browsing local shops that remind you of tiangge back in the Philippines, Prescott feels like a town that understands the value of community. It’s a place where you can breathe, reflect, and remember that even far from home, you’re never far from belonging.

Lonely Car

This photo was taken during my time at Pearson. I always arrive early, and I was always the last one out the door. Even on a salaried contract, I made sure to put in a full eight hours or more each day. That’s just how I’ve always worked: with discipline, integrity, and a sense of responsibility that doesn’t punch a clock. It may look like midday, but this was taken past 7 PM during a Phoenix summer, when the sun lingers, just like I did.

 

Hanna-Barbera Days

 

Captured in the early '90s during my time at Fil-Cartoons. Back then, it felt like an extension of college life. Your co-workers were like classmates, people you laughed with, teased, shared stories with, and grew close to. We’d gather in the cafeteria for lunch, split meals, and head out together on paydays to celebrate. I truly miss those days.

Now, we mostly connect through likes and comments on social media. Quiet, but still meaningful.

And one of the more sobering “adult” moments? Seeing those tax deductions on your paycheck and trusting the government to put them to good use, especially on infrastructure and flood control projects.

To all who work, create, and contribute. Here's to the friendships we build along the way. Happy Labor Day!

Matsuri Festival

Phoenix offers a wide variety of events throughout the year, and one of my favorites is the Matsuri Festival held annually in downtown. It’s completely free to attend, just find a nearby parking lot or garage, pay the fee, and you’re good to go. Once inside, you’re immersed in the richness of Japanese culture, with everything from traditional toys and intricate artwork to unique memorabilia and mouthwatering food.

One display that really caught my eye was a stunning installation of paper cranes, hundreds of them suspended in the air, each delicately paired with a marble. The way they swayed and shimmered in the light was mesmerizing. Simple, yet beautiful.

Frugal In America

Back in 1996, I was fresh off the boat. A few weeks in, after receiving my first paycheck, I wandered into a sports shop called Just For Feet. I browsed the aisles, watching other customers pick up items, and thought to myself, I want those too. So, to cut the story short, I grabbed a shirt and a pair of Adidas shoes, $20 for the shirt, $88 for the shoes (Again, this was in 1996!).

At the time, I had no clue where or how to shop. I remember thinking, If all the clothes here cost this much, I won’t be shopping again anytime soon. For me, those prices were steep!

As I settled into my new surroundings, I realized it was all about knowing where to look. Eventually, I discovered some great stores where you could score quality clothes at bargain prices, places like Ross, TJ Maxx, and Marshalls. You just have to watch out for small imperfections or damage. Most of the items are factory rejects due to minor flaws, but I’m not picky, those little quirks don’t bother me.

And yes, I’m half Ilocano. That frugal instinct? It runs deep.

Homesickness

Homesickness never truly fades. I’ve been away from home for so long, and while Arizona has become my second home, a beautiful state with its own charm, there are moments of stillness when memories from back home come rushing in. When you're alone and your mind drifts, it's easy to find yourself reliving the life you left behind.

Sometimes, I scroll through social media and see friends abroad gathering together, surrounded by laughter, food, and familiar faces. They look genuinely happy, and I’m happy for them. I know what it’s like to live far from home, and for many of us, those moments of connection are how we cope with the quiet ache of loneliness. Having friends around is a blessing.

There are times I think about going back home. But then I think of my kids. This is where they were born, where they’ve grown up, and where their opportunities lie. Moving back would mean uprooting everything they’ve known.

So I stay. I choose to sacrifice a piece of my own happiness for the sake of theirs. And in that choice, there’s a quiet kind of love.

Living in an apartment

This used to be Montecito apartments here in Phoenix. 

When we arrived in August 1996, Fox provided us with one month of accommodation, a modest one-bedroom unit just a mile from Fox Animation Studios. After that, I began covering my own expenses, and I’ll admit, it was tough signing those checks and watching my hard-earned dollars disappear. Lol!

The apartment itself was decent. We had access to a pool, which was a lifesaver during the scorching summer months. Although our unit didn’t have a washer and dryer, the complex had a shared laundry room that got the job done.

Living in an American apartment taught me a lot. You quickly learn that neighbors come with all kinds of personalities and attitudes. One memorable moment involved a Filipino friend and co-worker who lived across from me. He was chatting on his wireless phone just outside his door when my next-door neighbor marched over, pointed to his unit, and told him to take the call inside. He complied, and she walked away.

That same neighbor once banged on our wall with a hammer, at midnight, while we were sleeping. She kept at it for about ten minutes. I probably should’ve filed a complaint with the admin office, but I let it go.

Some neighbors were warm and friendly. Others… well, you could tell they weren’t thrilled by our presence.

Those experiences made me miss the neighbors I grew up with back home in the Philippines, there was a different kind of warmth there.

(The apartment has changed names a few times since we moved out, thanks to new ownership.)

A Tasty Memory

As a child, I vividly remember a man pedaling through our neighborhood on a bicycle rigged with two metal drums, selling bread. Each morning, he'd ring his bell and call out in a Mandarin-accented voice, “Sali-sali tinapay, padi-coco!”, which meant “Assorted breads, pandicoco!” (a local dinner roll filled with sweetened coconut). That chant became part of our morning soundtrack.

The best part? The bread was always freshly baked, warm, fragrant, and irresistibly delicious.

Life felt simpler back then. No rush, no noise, just the comforting rhythm of everyday moments like that.

Zoom Meeting

This was my office before the pandemic. I am now working from home so, I kinda miss this work spot.

 There was a funny situation today. While we were having a Zoom meeting and while the CEO was talking, we heard somebody ordering food at the drive-through. Haha.

Credit Score

If you're planning to move to the U.S., there's one crucial thing you need to understand: credit is everything. Your credit score plays a major role in your financial life here, and maintaining good credit is essential.

When I first arrived, I had no credit history at all. That made it nearly impossible to get approved for a loan, banks simply had no record of how I managed my finances. Thankfully, my employer stepped in and acted as our guarantor, which made all the difference.

If you don’t have that kind of support, your best option is to ask a relative or trusted friend to co-sign your loan. Their credit score becomes the bank’s reference point. But be careful, if you miss a payment, the bank will hold your co-signer accountable, and their credit score could take a hit. So it’s not just your reputation on the line.

Just today, I found out my credit score dropped by one point. The reason? I paid off a long-term loan. I was shocked! I expected my score to go up, not down. Still, I’ve built a strong credit history over time by staying mindful and paying my bills on time.

Here’s the irony: banks actually want you to have loans. If you don’t use credit, like a credit card, car loan, or mortgage, they may view you as a higher risk and offer you lower scores and higher interest rates.

So if you're thinking about migrating to America, be prepared to build and protect your credit. It’s not just a financial tool, it’s a key that unlocks access to housing, transportation, and more.

This is life in America. Credit isn’t just important, it’s foundational.

Garage Sale

While rummaging through my garage looking for something I needed, I noticed a pile of items that had been sitting untouched for years, things we no longer used, like a baby crib, a car seat, old shoes, and more. That’s when I decided: it was time for a yard sale.

I headed to the dollar store, picked up some poster boards and a marker, and made a few “Garage Sale” signs. By Friday night, I had sorted through the clutter and pulled out everything we didn’t need anymore. Early Saturday morning, I laid it all out on the driveway and placed the signs strategically around the neighborhood.

Soon, people started showing up. Some parked and browsed, while others just drove by, scanning the setup from their windows. Most folks knew exactly what they were looking for, if they didn’t spot it right away, they kept moving. But for those who stopped and bought something, I gave them a good deal. Honestly, I’d rather see these items go to someone who needs them than haul everything back into the garage.

By around 2 p.m., we wrapped things up. I packed up the unsold items and donated them to Goodwill. In the end, we made about $125, not bad for clearing out years of forgotten stuff.

It reminded me of when I first arrived in the U.S. years ago. I had friends who came ahead of me, we used to work together back in the Philippines, and they’d tell stories about scoring great finds at yard sales. When you’re new here, you start from scratch. You’ve got limited pocket money, but you need everyday essentials. So every weekend, I’d drive around looking for “Yard Sale” or “Garage Sale” signs. After a few hours, my little two-door car would be packed with all sorts of things, some useful, some bought by mistake.

Sometimes I’d bump into friends doing the same thing. We’d laugh, compare our hauls, and swap tips on where to find the best deals.

Life when you’re FOB, Fresh Off the Boat. It’s a hustle, but it’s also part of the adventure. 😊

The Uphill Hustle: A Manila Commute and an Unexpected Plot Twist

I stumbled across a familiar street view on Google the other day, and it instantly pulled me back to my commuting days in Manila. Getting to work was a daily adventure, three rides, each with its own rhythm. First, a jeepney to Guadalupe in Makati. Then a short bus ride to Pioneer Street in Mandaluyong. And finally, a tricycle to reach the studio.

One morning, after hopping off the jeepney, I was walking up a steep street toward the bus stop when an elderly woman approached me. She gently reached for my hand and asked if I could help her walk. She looked exhausted, struggling with each step. I offered my arm, feeling good about doing a small act of kindness.

A few steps in, she raised her other hand and asked for money. I was surprised, but I reached into my pocket and gave her some.

Then came the twist.

As soon as she got the cash, she pivoted and walked away, fast. Like, really fast. Faster than me. Turns out, she wasn’t quite as frail as she seemed. I stood there watching her zoom off, feeling like I’d gone from hero to zero in ten seconds flat.

Still, I don’t regret helping her. She had her own creative way of asking for help. And in a city like Manila, where every day throws you a curveball, you learn to take these moments with a smile.

Zoo

I’ve never been a fan of seeing animals confined in zoos. In my view, they belong in the wild, free to live as nature intended, unless they’ve been rescued or are in the twilight of their lives and need care.

When I first moved to Phoenix, I visited the Phoenix Zoo. I was pleasantly surprised to see animals roaming in spacious, open habitats, safe from predators but not boxed in. Even the predatory animals had room to move, stretch, and live with some dignity. It felt more like a sanctuary than a prison.

Naturally, I couldn’t help but compare it to the Manila Zoo, which I used to visit often as a child because it was close to our home. Sadly, the conditions there were far from ideal. I remember seeing monkeys cramped inside tiny 3x3 meter cages, and once, a seal placed in a small, dirty pool barely ten meters wide. It didn’t survive long. What chance did it have?

The city of Manila is now undergoing a major renovation of the zoo. While the upgrades promise a better experience for visitors, I worry that the animals still won’t get the space and care they truly deserve. The land area is simply too small to provide proper habitats.

Zoos should be places of refuge, not confinement. And while progress is being made, there’s still a long way to go in ensuring that animal welfare is prioritized over entertainment.

Arizona Sunset

Arizona sunsets are something else, especially when clouds scatter across the sky just right. They don’t happen every day, but when they do, you’ve got to be quick with your phone. The colors shift and fade in minutes, like nature’s own disappearing act.

Most of my job sites have been on the east side of town, which means driving has always come with a challenge: the sun. It’s in your face on the way to work in the morning, and it greets you again on the drive home. But every now and then, if you’re heading back at just the right time, dusk, you catch a break. The sky opens up in brilliant hues, and for a few moments, the road feels like it’s leading you straight into a painting.

Christmas in October

In the Philippines, Christmas starts early, really early. As soon as September rolls in, businesses begin decking their halls with festive decorations, and familiar holiday tunes start playing in the background. It’s part of the charm of the “-ber” months, and something I’ve always found comforting.

So today, when I walked into Lowe’s and saw Christmas trees and décor already on display, I had to smile. It’s only October 20th, not even Thanksgiving yet, but clearly, the holiday spirit is creeping in. I wasn’t planning to buy anything, just browsing for a good tree at a reasonable price. The selection ranged from $79 all the way up to $699, depending on size and materials.

Then I spotted one that stood out, 7.5 feet tall, beautifully shaped, and priced at $138. It was selling fast, with only a few boxes left. I figured if I waited too long, I might miss out. So I went ahead and grabbed one. It was heavier than I expected, but worth the effort.

We haven’t had a Christmas tree in over a decade, not since we let go of our old one. This feels like a fresh start, a little spark to bring the season back into our home.

Next step: ornaments. Time to bring some sparkle to those branches.

American Healthcare System

 A Visit to the Clinic

So, I guess this is my very first post, and it’s about something that really hit me in the wallet. I went to a clinic for a minor procedure, nothing major. But I was stunned when they told me how much I had to pay upfront. Yes, I have health insurance, but with the kind of coverage I have, it felt like I didn’t. I ended up footing nearly the entire bill myself. It hurt. A lot.

The whole thing took about half an hour of waiting, and another half hour for the procedure. Quick, simple, and $930 out of my pocket.

Here’s the kicker: my health insurance company takes roughly $700 a month from my paycheck. And when I actually need care? Disappointment. Before they cover anything, I have to meet a deductible of around $1,400 per year. Only after that does the insurance “kick in”, and even then, they only cover a portion. I still have to pay my share.

Let’s do the math. My employer pays the other half of the premium, so that’s $1,400 a month going to the insurance company. Multiply that by 12 months, and we’re talking $16,800 a year. And yet, unless I meet my deductible, they don’t pay a dime.

This is America, folks. The healthcare system is deeply broken. You can pay thousands in premiums and still be left holding the bill when you need help.

And before I forget, I'm still expecting more charges to roll in from lab work and other fees. So that $930? Just the beginning.

This is life in America. And it’s not okay.