It's been months since my last blog. Months of playing spectator sport to toxic world politics had put me in a space of silent observation. As an immigration advocate, it's hard not to get triggered by daily posts about how immigrants are treated in this country. A lot of comparisons to the rounding up of Jews in Nazi Germany, and in fact, they're undeniably parallel. The images, static and moving, are stark, invasive, and personal. Only this time we are watching in

When I was born, my father was pushing 50. I didn't watch him age. He was always old, while the rest of us, including my mother, generations behind him. I don't remember seeing him with black hair. It was alway gray, thick and full. Bataan, that memory, was part of our daily breath and bread. It had a life of its own, like a member of our family who only cared to show up whenever it wanted. Our house (a rented apartment) in Manila was full of traces of World War II.

The late literary critic and professor Leonard Casper was from my father’s time.  He was two years older than my father, born 1921.  Both served during World War II.  Theirs was a generation of men that I understood from having “grown up” in Veterans Hospitals in Manila and New York City.  I was surrounded by them as a child, one thing I never really questioned as I was born when my father was pushing fifty.  They were all just wise, old men.  And one by one, they left.

#P2PPIT flyer on BlueSky I just joined BlueSky. I was hesitant to start another social media platform that I can't manage on a regular...

This month, on the 19th, my late father turns 103 years old.   In 1941 when he found himself stuck in Bataan, he was only 20 years old.  That was 84 years ago.   We have not seen another world war, and there have been many international organizations that made sure it didn’t happen again.   WWII is the most documented of all wars. There are many missing stories, like Filipino-told Bataan, but the internet still brims with what most would be looking for.

2025 is the year I walk and clear a path made by and for me.   I can only be thankful to those who taught me how to live, love, fight. For the seeds, for the wisdom that grew from them. And grateful to be able to share the same with the next generation of artists and world travelers. On a full-time management job, I find time to do Art. I write. I enter the temple where I become an artist in his fullness. The artist's life is more tangled. But I also think it has al