Okay, sappy bullshit time over. Let’s get onto more sappy bullshit.

As of writing this final reflection [November 28, 2025], I have two more days with Toy Soldier Films: December 2nd and December 3rd. The time with the company has gone by faster than I ever imagined, and the fact I was in the office for two days a week didn’t help. At the same time, I’m grateful for how fast this semester has gone by. I can’t imagine leaving Toy Soldier Films, but I have to move on from this at some point. For many, an internship is just a foot in the door. Mine was, but it was also a symbol of perseverance. That I could make it in this industry. That there is more to media than just news, sports, and entertainment. That I did put my foot in the door, just not in the country I thought that door was in.

Growing up, I never thought that I’d be in this position. In a household like mine, the arts was just not there as an option. As an extracurricular that can get me into a good school with a nice engineering program? That was okay. As an actual career path? Absolutely not. Even when I was in high school applying for magnet schools in my district, my parents tried to talk me down from applying to the performing arts school because they heard horror stories of people never making it in the industry. I knew where my parents and family were coming from. When they were growing up, they lived in the slums of Manila, cramped in a small house and lived off what little money their parents made and the remittances the family who “made it” out abroad sent back. (Okay, I’m exaggerating, but it was just not a good time to be in the Philippines in the 70s and 80s to keep it short.)

Point is, I was the first generation. To be fully Americanized, to experience a (relatively) stress-free life. I didn’t have to worry about food on the table, I didn’t have to worry about getting a job young to support my family, all I had to worry about was studying, getting a good job, and maintaining the life I have right now. I didn’t even know my parents were taking on loans to keep me in school until my dad brought it up off-handed! That’s how much they want me locked in on my studies. Even with this work placement, they were hesitant on paying for the application fee and visa because they were worried it’d get in the way of my classes. And I’ll be honest, I felt that way too coming into this work placement.

The first week I walked into the Toy Soldier Films office, I knew that it was going one of two ways: it would be either the best experience of my life and I’ll forever be indebted to Will and George for taking me on, or it’d be the worst experience of my life and I’d be looking for an Etsy witch to curse the company while waiting for my flight back home from Heathrow Airport. Thankfully, this experience ended up being the former, but not for the reasons I thought.

If the point of a work placement is to learn about working in the industry through experience, this was 100% a learning experience, just not in terms of hard skill. Most people in my major back on home campus already are proficient in the things we learn at school, so Ithaca pretty much ends up becoming a four-year networking event. For the people who aren’t proficient at things, Ithaca becomes four years of consistent imposter syndrome because everyone else around you has been doing the thing you’re just now learning far longer than you have. This did a number on my mindset, attitude, and social interactions with my classmates for a hot minute (and sometimes still does) because I felt like I had to always play catch-up.

While I was grateful and mentioned my internship to some people back in Ithaca, something just clicked in me when I landed in London that told me, “You don’t have to tell people about it. Do the work, and the results will speak for themselves. It worked in Ithaca, so it’s going to work here.” And for once, I took my own advice. I didn’t immediately go on LinkedIn and boast it to the world, I didn’t run to the classmates I looked up to about this work placement when they have like 500 internships that are them broadcasting minor league baseball games, and I sure as hell put the work in if I was able to bring a TikTok account and YouTube channel from 0 to almost 1k in three months.

That’s what I really learned from this whole experience. The technical skills were a plus, but the meat of this work placement was discretion. Going from an environment where everyone is trying to be the next big thing to an environment where people are secure enough to say they’re already successful helped me realize that success isn’t defined by how recognizable your face or your voice is, but it’s defined by what you define it as. If success means starting a YouTube channel from scratch and hitting 1,000 subscribers in three months, then that’s success! If success means consistently using a piece of software that always intimidated you, then that’s success!

Working for Toy Soldier reframed the metrics for success. While I still do everything in my life for my family, how I approach that and what a good result looks like is now something that I’m in control over. In a similar vein, I still look for validation and approval from my peers, but it’s so much easier to just not think all the time. This past semester forced me to grow in ways that staying in Ithaca just would not have happened, and would have kept me trapped in that mindset. If not for Toy Soldier, I would not be as skilled or as matured as I am now.

I know I dropped the ball with those bi-weekly updates on Substack, but could you really blame me for trying to explore a brand new city that’s at my fingertips? Semester recap incoming, but thanks for reading if you made it this far.

It’s the least I could do for them. I mean, they’re the ones paying for me to go abroad anyway. And this kinda stuff isn’t cheap. The average cost of a study abroad program for a single semester is between $7,000 and $15,000 according to NerdWallet. Again, average. So many factors go into study abroad, like location, the provider, affiliation with the school, and the types of experiences that might cost extra. It’s a hell of a bill to cover, but that’s just the unfortunate reality.

I wish my tuition for this coming semester was that low. It would’ve saved me a ton of money that can just go to my daily living expenses. But enough about me. I don’t want to think about my tuition any more or else I’ll start crying writing this.

My family, like many people, are immigrants. That’s a fact. No denying it. I, like many people, am a child of immigrants. That too is a fact. I am also first-generation Americans. That’s (supposedly) a fact.1 No matter where I go, I and my family will be the “other” people. There’s no denying that we won’t look like the crowd we’re in except back where my family moved from: the Philippines.

This isn’t going to be about feeling disconnected from your culture and heritage and from the environment you’re growing up in. Lord knows there’s enough of that from children of immigrants on the Internet. There’s another thing that comes with being a child of immigrants, especially if one or neither of your parents or other people in your family didn’t become a citizen of the country they live in…

You know it. You love it. Drumroll please!

*dududududududududududududududududududududududuuuuuu* *clang!*

The dreaded visa appointment.

For as long as I can remember, I would accompany my mom to her visa appointments on the weekends and after I got home from school. It’s only more recently that I can actually remember specific details like going into the city, waiting in a bland waiting room while she talks to an employee behind an acrylic wall, and then getting ice cream (or go shopping like we did for her last appointment).

There’s a sterile feeling that comes to these kinds of bureaucratic activities for the regular person. The DMV often comes to mind. The last time I was physically in a DMV office I was in this gray building with linoleum flooring in a chair three feet away every any other chair waiting for at least three hours before hearing my number called up.

After my name got called up, I went to a clerk from across an acrylic screen under a slip with a little tray between the screen to give to them. And heaven forbid you forget something either, or else you have to come back another day or pray that there’s an open appointment just a few hours later. (True story, happened to my aunt.)

Since I grew up, I stopped accompanying my mom to these appointments. I had school, work, a life outside of my own family for once. I do miss the days of sitting at the consulate with my mom and then getting lunch to get for the family at home, but a lot of the memories I associate with that include simply sitting in a gray box for three hours. Honestly, I don’t remember what I did to keep myself entertained before smartphones were mainstream and I got an iPhone in middle school.

Still, it’s a core part of my childhood and relationship with travel. Every trip outside the U.S. would include my mom being held up in a separate line from the rest of us (or my dad forced me and my sister to join my mom while the rest of my family used the fancy e-Gates at some airports). I can’t lie, I didn’t really understand why we all had to be together. I guess I would’ve looked suspicious if you saw this little kid walking up to the immigration counter if you were an immigration officer, but this kept going on until I was an adult. I remember seeing side-eyes from the officer who processed us when I was like 15 and taller than both my parents.

Either way, there’s this demoralizing feeling that comes from crossing through immigration, even when you’re coming back home. You can’t look too jittery or else you look suspicious, but then you can’t look too calm or else they’ll question why you’re so calm. It’s a damned if you do, damed if you don’t. There’s an edge to immigration officers that only come from working in public service like that. It’s weird.

Travel is always going to be a big part of my life. I have family in the Philippines, dreams of visiting countries I never knew existed, and I just have places to be. And if that means the little inconvenience that comes from having a bad first impression of the country you’re in from the airport, then so be it.

So, what gives?

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Everything Gives.

Growing up, I had an active mind. I was a studious fool, proficient in the arts, and felt this pressure to make something out of my life. I knew in the back of my mind that success was the goal. How to be successful? Not important. As long as I achieved in life, that’s what mattered.

That’s not to say I had a rough upbringing that drove me to this mindset. Two loving parents and a very involved extended family made for a strong community. I knew that I had people I could rely on. Just that those people had expectations for what my life should look like.

The expectations of the people in my life weren’t necessarily high. More like... specific. My family dreamed of sending me back to the Philippines and to study engineering. With that engineering degree I’d give them a great life at a condo in the wealthy part of Manila. My teachers thought I’d be my generation’s next big thing in music (my band director) or writing (my AP Lit teacher). Shoutout to them, though. Mr. Hamilton and Mrs. Mangarella, y’all were real ones.

Fast forward to now, and I feel that my mind has chilled down. There’s a focus that came with accepting that my life is so different from how I thought it would be. I’m grateful that this journey has come to a brief stop, but now it’s about to push forward again.

What’s New This Time?

I’m a rising junior at Ithaca College about to study abroad in London for the Fall 2025 semester. A far departure from engineering in the Philippines. This semester is about restoration, art appreciation, and exploring who I am outside the confines of a liberal arts college campus

There’s a common saying that college is a bubble. It’s an ironic statement considering that college is meant to expand your horizons and challenge your notions and all the other marketing that schools push on you. Study abroad is one of those weird exceptions where you’re put into the same environment, but with completely different people.

That’s what I’m trying to seek out. And you can come along.

What’s in it For You?

You’ve made it this far, so you’ve got a good idea of what this place is. “Deep” thoughts, “sarcastic” writing, and good photography. But if you are more curious what’s in it for you, imagine this:

• Bi-weekly thoughts from my mess of a brain on tech, K-Pop, and life in England. Think of it like a long text from your friend when they have REALLY good tea.

• Photographic series from my travels while in London.

Starting small is the best way to stay sustainable, and that’s how I think life is meant is to be enjoyed. So come for the attention-grabbing headlines, stay for the kid inside the man behind the keyboard who didn’t think their life meant anything.

Going to the library for a summer event was one of my first tastes of community. I remember getting my first library card quite vividly. My mom got a handout that I brought home from elementary school one day and it was promoting a summer event for kids. Being a 6yo whose home life mostly consisted of cleaning the house with my dad, I begged my mom to go with me and take me. I went to the summer event and the librarian convinced me to get my first library card.

Looking back, I didn’t use the library enough. My family couldn’t fathom the idea of me being on my own out in the world. I mean, I had my family at home. What other community would I need? But the years of not having the choice festered into how I’d eventually become a homebody and wouldn’t go out at all for the most part.

I think that was the trick all along. Having the choice to go out whenever I wanted. Now that I have that choice, I don’t take advantage of it enough. But hey, maybe once the new library is 100% moved-in, maybe it’ll be the third space I dreamed of. (Maybe with a cup of coffee from Dunkin’ of course.)

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My grandpa used to be a speechwriter for the Philippine military during the WWII era. He would research things about the enemy, happenings around the country, and put it into a speech for whoever the head honcho was that day. It’s similar to what I’m doing at school right now. Researching the news and writing up a neat little reader for the anchor to present on air. Also like me, he went to school for journalism.

I never really knew him. He died before I was born. My family would recall him being strict back in the Philippines and how that didn’t change much as he grew old. Ultimately, he died just before he could see his first grandchild: me. None of his children went into the media like he did. They all did what they could to make it out of the Philippines to America.

The first thing my family told me when I said I was going to school for what I’m doing is that I’m going the path of my lolo. I didn’t know he was also a journalist, but it was cool that we’re going back to the basics now. I didn’t give it much thought until these past few weeks.

Whenever I’m down, I wonder what my lolo would think of me if he knew what I was doing. I’m a semi-successful DJ, a hard-working student, and a leader to people. I’m sure he’d be proud of me, but then there’s the part that I wonder if he’d still see me the same if he knew who I liked.

I don’t like to think of that whenever I see a white butterfly. They were a sign that I was on the right path and to keep going, even if it seems scary. I think it’s his way of looking out for me and making sure I take care of myself. He knows what it’s like being a creative, so I take his advice.

Bye bye little butterfly.

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It’s a funny term. “Communications school.” The one program that’s ragged on at other schools is our flagship program next to musical theatre and physical therapy, but the name itself still just as vague here as it is in most places in America. We have everything from film and TV to journalism and advertising. Anything that involves communicating something to another, we probably have it.

To the average person this doesn’t sound like something to be concerned over. After all, it’s not like it’s my life now? It’s going to be my life in the future!

Which is exactly why I’m concerned. The culture at a communications school kind of teaches you that this is going to be your life and you better get used to it. The same peers you’re cracking cold ones with at that one apartment party you met at is going to be the same person giving you the news at home on your TV before you go to work at a small production company.

Communications school is more than just learning how people communicate. It’s film school, journalism school, and then some all in one place. There’s not many places that do it like communications schools, but the fact that it’s my life now and potentially my life forever is a little... yeah.

I mean, I’m not that concerned, but it’s a valid thought to have when everyone is inexperienced, including yourself. How do you know that what you’re listening is correct if you don’t bother? But at the same time, you don’t have that much time anyway because it all goes to extracurriculars and studying.

It’s probably a me problem if we’re being honest. After all, most of those people get their news through AP ENPS anyway.

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This week I was at my therapist and he told me that any time I speak he hears a guy in his fifties and not a twenty-something. I think that finally set me off. To be free from the pressures of academia and to actually start living my life. I’m not a student who’s a person sometimes. I’m a person who just so happens to be a student.

Whenever I scroll through the #studyblr tag I’m bombarded by aesthetic study spaces and regiments of people with some of the strongest discipline in them. It’s an achievement and aspiration, really. All of these people with such strict self-imposed schedules. I’m not here to yuck someone’s yum, but is that even marginally healthy? If it works then it works, but we just gotta think about it for a second.

Tangent aside, I used to want to be that kind of person. The one who was locked in 25/8/720. Yet it was so destructive that it changed my relationships with people as I entered college.

I think this is a long-winded way for me to say that I need go out more. But me so eepy :((((

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Man, sophomore. Weird word in the way we categorize high school and college. Freshman kind of makes sense because you’re fresh on campus, so does senior because you’re the top of the ladder in terms of students. Junior and sophomore feel like they should be switched for some reason. I remember being so hung up on it back in high school, but now it feels like another word to me. A reminder that I only have so much time here to make something worth it.

That’s another thing too. Everyone tells you that you have the time to make something of yourself, but it never feels like you do have the time? And when you do, you don’t really know what to do with it. I’ve been struggling with that for a while. We only have so much of it, but everyone from upperclassmen to your professors and even your friends tell you that you have enough of it. It never feels like there’s enough time in the world. Or maybe I just have really bad time management skills.

In other news (you get the joke? I’m in journalism school.) I had my auditions for the news department of the student TV station on campus. I think I took it a bit too personally when I choked, but at the end of the day it’s college TV. I have my opportunities in the future. Radio also started up again this week, and my show is starting up next Saturday! I have so much planned in store for that show and I can’t wait to show you guys.

I have a lot planned for the year. It’s just a matter of it getting out of that phase. I’m kind of dreading the school year, but I’m also excited for it too. Let’s see what it brings for the both of us.

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I’m back home for the summer and in a few days I’ll be going back up to school. Yes, there have been moments both here and there that make me question staying, but in my heart I know it’s worth it to experience the lows in order to experience the highs. At the same time, I feel so relieved to be back home and not have to stress about grades, friends, and keeping up in the rat race. It’s such a relief to not have to think those things.

There’s also the feeling of not being here long enough. I don’t regret many things like choosing where I go to school, but I do regret not reconnecting with anyone and having meaningful connections to look back on. This past summer has felt like such a blur and it’s like I never got to do anything.

Obviously, the vacation has to end at some point, and I’m glad I did so I don’t feel like this any longer. But the cold feet still lingers behind as I leave for another year and grow distant from the community I grew up in.

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The days of blogging as I once knew it are long gone. Social media replaced forums, newsletter platforms replaced self-hosted blogs, and above all else, the internet stopped being intimate. So much of the internet’s day-to-day takes place on Instagram and Twitter (I refuse to call it “X”) or Slack and Google Drive. No matter where you are in the world, there’s at least someone online doing something.

It’s high time I put my foot down and step away from the mess. Be more intentional with how I use platforms. And that starts with going back to the beginning. And blogging.

Do I expect anyone to follow me along? No, not really. But do I hope that I can live out the fantasy of writing from a coffee shop in the early 2010s when everyone and their mom started a fashion blog on Tumblr? Hopefully.

That’s all for now.

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