The Colors I Miss, The Colors I Make

Life has a way of being spontaneous. You see something simple, and suddenly a spark lights up an idea, a memory, a feeling. Sometimes you’re just standing in a quiet corner, and your creativity starts to wander, mixing reflection with imagination until something meaningful begins to form.

Living in America moves fast. So fast that you forget the small things that once made life feel full. Back home, happiness came naturally no effort, no planning, just the comfort of familiar streets, familiar faces, and the warmth of family and friends. Here, you have to slow yourself down and remember who you were before the rush of everyday life took over.

I still ask myself why happiness felt so effortless in the Philippines. Maybe it’s because I grew up surrounded by people who knew me, loved me, and shared the same rhythm of life. Here, my friends are busy, my relatives are hundreds of miles away, and the silence can feel heavier than expected.

But loneliness is something you learn to face head-on. You fight it, you push through it, and you find color wherever you can. And in the end, I’m grateful because my family here gives my life its color. They remind me that even far from home, I can still paint my days with meaning.

The Fourth Stooge!

As an animation artist, your world naturally revolves around art. There’s always that spark, every time you see characters, designs, costumes, or anything connected to TV, film, web, or print. Back in the early days, many of my friends and colleagues in animation made it a tradition to attend the San Diego Comic Convention. It was a playground for creatives, endless things to explore, and of course, tons of freebies.

But as the event grew more popular, the crowds grew with it. What used to feel spacious and exciting slowly turned into a maze of people, where you’d have to squeeze your way through every booth and table just to catch a glimpse of what was new. Even the free stuff eventually became merchandise for sale.

Still, it was always fun to see attendees in their costumes and discover the latest trends in the art and entertainment world. But over time, I felt myself enjoying it less. The magic was still there, it just wasn’t the same.

This photo was from my last Comic-Con in San Diego. I was lucky enough to run into the Three Stooges, well, not the real guys, but close enough to make me smile. For a moment, standing there with them, I felt like I had stepped right into one of their shows… as the unofficial fourth Stooge.

The Statue I Grew Up Passing By

Every time I visit Manila, I almost always find myself wandering back into Rizal Park. Growing up, this place was part of my daily life, close to home, close to school, and close to so many memories. I passed by it for five straight years in college, never realizing how much of my own story was quietly tied to these grounds.

Most visitors enjoy the open spaces and the breeze, but many walk past the park’s historical gems without noticing. Behind me is one of them, La Madre Filipina.

Created in 1911 by sculptor Ramon Martinez, this statue once stood proudly on the Jones Bridge. After the war damaged the bridge, it was moved here to Rizal Park, where it stayed for decades, almost hidden in plain sight. In 2019, during the bridge’s restoration, La Madre Filipina was finally returned to its original home, now standing 20 feet high on its base.

Its journey reminds me of something simple, when something meaningful stands right in front of you, take the moment. Look closer. Appreciate it. Some stories only reveal themselves when you pause long enough to notice

When the Tide Changed My Direction

Looking out at the ocean, the memories rushed in like the tide, fast, familiar, and unexpectedly tender. Back when I first started working in the Philippines, I was just like so many other Filipinos dreaming of opportunities beyond our shores. I imagined myself in Hong Kong, Singapore, maybe the Middle East, places close enough that home still felt within reach. And just like my childhood dream of becoming an architect, life nudged me in a different direction. I found myself in the animation industry instead, building stories frame by frame.

Still, I wondered about other possibilities. What about America? I asked myself once. But the thought felt too big, too far, too unreal. The United States was literally on the other side of the world, an ocean away from everything familiar. I never pictured myself crossing that distance.

But fate has a way of quietly rearranging your plans. It doesn’t ask permission, it simply opens a door and waits for you to notice. I could never have imagined that one day I’d be standing on a foreign shore, traveling across the ocean not as a tourist but as someone brave enough to try his luck in a new land. It was a blessing, yes, but one wrapped in challenges, sacrifices, and moments of doubt.

And yet, here I am. The waves in front of me feel like the same waves that touched the Philippines, reminding me that even the farthest places are connected. My journey wasn’t the one I planned, but it became the one I needed, proof that sometimes life takes you exactly where you’re meant to be, even if the map looks nothing like the one you first imagined.

The Day I Finally Walked Into My Childhood Western

Growing up, I watched more cowboy movies than I can count, American westerns, Filipino westerns, anything with dusty streets and wooden saloons. I was always drawn to those old towns: the weathered boards, the rusty signs, the oversized stars and metalwork that looked like they’d been hammered together by legends. Never did I imagine that one day I’d actually be living in the Southwest, surrounded by the very landscapes I used to only see on TV. When I first learned Fox Animation Studios was in Arizona, I felt like destiny had tapped me on the shoulder. I wanted to breathe the same air, walk the same ground, and see the world that shaped the stories I loved.

It took me a while to finally visit this ghost town, but standing there, in front of those giant metal revolvers and the old wooden walls, I felt that familiar spark from childhood. It was funny, really, here I was, a grown man in boots and a hat, posing like a background character in a Western, yet feeling the same excitement I had as a kid glued to the screen. Arizona has a way of making the past feel close. And in that moment, it felt like the little boy in me had finally stepped into the movie.

A New Studio, A New Story

I arrived in Arizona on August 21, 1996, stepping into a new chapter of my life to work on Anastasia, the very first feature film of Fox Animation Studios. After two days of trying to shake off the jet lag and settle into a new country, they called me in to start. I was still exhausted, still adjusting, but I showed up because this was the opportunity I had dreamed of.

On that first day, I looked calm and relaxed at my desk, but inside I was nervous. I hadn’t touched a pencil in three months, and suddenly I was handed a musical sequence: Anastasia singing and dancing, with Pooka bouncing along beside her. It was a beautiful scene, but it was also a test. My hands felt rusty, my mind was racing, and I could feel the weight of starting over in a new studio, a new culture, a new level of expectation.

Even with five years of experience and 55 Hanna‑Barbera titles behind me, I knew I had to adjust quickly. Fox had a different rhythm, a different creative energy, and I had to push myself to rise to it. I had to prove not just to them, but to myself that I belonged there.

But once I started drawing, something familiar returned. The nervousness didn’t disappear, but the joy of animation pushed through it. That moment, captured in the photo, shows me smiling and focused but it doesn’t show the courage it took to sit at that desk, pick up that pencil, and begin again.

Echoes of Valor Beneath My Feet

In San Diego, I sat quietly on a map of the Philippines etched into the ground, a moment that stirred memories and emotions I didn’t expect. Seeing my homeland honored in a World War II memorial reminded me of the stories I grew up with: of Filipino and American soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, of courage in the face of impossible odds, of Bataan, Corregidor, and the long, painful road to liberation. The gold stars and engraved names around me weren’t just symbols, they were echoes of sacrifice, resilience, and shared history. As I traced the lines across the west Philippine Sea, I felt both pride and longing. That map beneath me wasn’t just geography, it was a piece of home, a reminder of where I come from and the legacy that lives on.

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.

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.