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My beloved, my Tacloban

Tacloban.

How I miss waking up in the morning and seeing the light of the sun fill up our room. When I look out the window, I would see the sun peaking on the east, resting on tip of the island near the city. How I miss trying to catch a jeepney, usually full of passengers, cursing the way time seemed to go faster when I was late for school. I miss squeezing in with the other passengers, with mothers carrying their children, teens with their eyes stuck to their dog-eared notes, kids sticking their head out the window though they’ve been scolded over and over again, and all their convetsations easily understood.

I miss looking at the neighborhoods that the jeep would pass by, how I memorized when to make the sign of the cross with every church, how I knew every turn and how the passengers would bump into each other when the driver would hit the breaks harshly.

I miss riding the motorcycle to school, how I memorized every street, was in awe with every new establishment, and felt giddy whenevrer I saw a cute guy walking on the street. I miss the conversations some drivers would open, mostly about what has been happening in the city. I miss seeing the stores open, the clanging of their steel doors resounding through the street. I miss running towards my room, with friends teasing me for being late again as I rushed.

I miss going to downtown to have lunch, the streets filled with students and employees in familiar tailored uniforms. I miss waiting in line at the restaurant, as the women in front of me gossiped about their coworkers. I miss going “store hopping”, as I easily go in and out department stores and thrift shops, making a mental wishlist of what to save for next. I miss going to Sto. Niño Church for a mass, or even just to light a candle worth one peso. I miss struggling to get into a motorcycle back to school, as most drivers were having their lunch too.

I miss going home in the afternoon, the city slowly lulling itself to sleep as the fight for jeepneys start again. I miss standing at the jeepney stop, saying “hi” to former classmates and friends that I would see. I miss falling asleep in the jeep, resting on my arm as the driver waited for passengers to fill his vehicle. I miss seeing the city lights as we passed them by, and feeling excited whenever I got a peak at the big construction cranes that was labeled with a big time mall’s logo. I miss seeing the sea near the market, the way it twinkled with the night light.

I miss the noise of the market as employees still in uniform try to strike deals with the vendors for a cheaper price with their products. I miss those preachers, armed with either a megaphone or a microphone, who would read verses from the bible to those who wanted to listen as they stood on a make shift platform on the old waiting shed. I miss the foul stench of rotten vegetables as the local trash collectors rounded it all up onto one container.

I miss passing by the neighborhoods once again, with parents going inside their houses from a hard day’s work. I miss the traffic that big trucks would start, as they turn towards their respective parking lots I miss the barking of our dog whenever he would see me open our gate. I miss the way I would scream “I’m hoooome!” and get a kiss from my youngest sister as I entered our house.

I miss going to sleep around twelve in the morning, my eyes drooping from either studying or writing another story.

I miss my dear Tacloban, the city I’ve lived in for most of my life. And as it struggles to stand, amidst corrupt and opportunist politicians and its citizens fleeing to other places, I know that it will rise again. It will rise again not because people want to, but because it needs to.

Tacloban is not just a place. It is not just a city. It is almost human, caring for its citizens for years. Tacloban helped raised people with values, with a positive outlook in life, and people with ambitions that are strong enough to move mountains. And now that Tacloban is hurting, it is about time its children began to pay back.

Taclobanons, we shall rise again. Let’s not just return Tacloban as it once was, but let us make it even better. Tacloban, you will rise again!

My mother’s journey

Our house after the storm

As I sat up on our makeshift bed, which was made of a wet comforter and wet pillows laid on the floor, my heart broke. It wasn’t a dream after all.

It was a day after the storm, and I was still getting used to the fact that the strongest storm in the world damaged my hometown. The part of the window that was broken could easily peek onto our town, which was filled with washed out houses and trees on the road. The huge truck that “floated” towards the road was moved, which helped people to cross the road without difficulty. But the mess and the reminder of the storm were still there.

The afternoon after the storm, one of my uncles came over and helped us with some of the mess. He fixed one of the gates to create some kind of security in our house. Our gas burner was luckily saved, and we scouted what we could yesterday from our grandmother’s store: canned goods, noddles and such. Since our kitchen was not passable yet, we could not reach our own canned goods. We had three jugs of clean drinking water which were luckily still sealed.

As the sun began to peak over the horizon, I began to make my way downstairs. It was not as messy as the day before, since we have moved some furniture around to let others pass through the living room easily. The two broken widows on either side of the door were covered with curtains. I began to boil water and cook breakfast, which was made of Spam and noodles. Our day was set to begin cleaning my grandmother’s house, whose furniture have stacked together. It was going to be a long day.

(Meanwhile, in a giant airplane a thousand miles up)

My eyes feel heavy as I wait inside the military plane. Beside me were men and volunteers on route towards Tacloban, my hometown. Since the storm hit yesterday I have been sleepless, trying to calm myself. I have lost communication with my daughter since the storm, and the news of how devastating it was worsened my worry for my family. Through multiple connections I managed to get a flight in a C130 military plane, the second plane to reach Tacloban since the storm. I only had two hours of sleep, listening to the news and looking out for any sign that they would be okay.

Soldiers beside me began to gasp and curse, so I took a peek from the window. What I saw was simply heartbreaking: everything in Tacloban seemed to be washed out. The moonlight shone on the sea, giving light to the pieces of wood that once held up houses. The airport that we were going to land on was not the same as before, the control tower and the main building missing windows and roofs.

When I got off the plane, a cold chill went up my spine. I grabbed my luggage as I made my way towards the exit of the airport, which was practically missing. With no phone service I could not contact anyone to fetch me from the airport, so I began to walk. There were no leaves in the trees, the roads covered with furniture, wood and other things that belong in a house. There were dead bodies lined up on the road, covered with cloth. I did my best to not look at them, their family members mourning beside them.

After a few minutes I spot a familiar face, and I called him immediately. He was my friend and a known philanthropist, riding in a black motorcycle. He was a heaven sent savior for me, as he offered to give me a ride home. Faces of my kids began to flash in my mind, worrying immensely of their safety. My heart sank when I thought of my mother and sister, who were under the care of my kids.

When we were halfway to the house, the motorcycle suddenly ran out of gas. My friend promised to come back for me, leaving me in a building for shelter. It was a place I would pass by everyday, but it looked foreign as there was no more roof or windows. I waited for what seemed like hours, determined to get home. My friend finally arrived a while later, and we made our way home. Left and right I would see the houses that were barely there, fallen tree trunks and roofs on the pavement. I saw the school that my kids went to, barely recognizable. I shivered as I saw an arm sticking out of a rubble, frozen and turning black.

As my house came to view, I saw that there were no roof nor windows on the house that I lived my whole life in. Trees and furniture were outside, the gate broken and it looked like no one was home. I immediately rushed to my own house, and saw the destruction. My breathing and heart rate hitched up as it looked ghostly, and my throat seemed to close up.

“Le-an!”

I began to call. A thousand thoughts began to enter my head, one of them concluding that I didn’t have my eldest daughter in that house. I was scared that someone would say “Le-an is not here anymore”. But I steeled myself as I tried to make my voice louder.

“Le-an!”

There was a pause, maybe the longest pause of my life. But the best feeling washed over me as I heard her voice.

“Mommy!”

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As I mentioned on my previous blog, my mom was in Manila during the storm as she was called for a work training. She told us her story on how she got home, a very inspirational story of how a determined mother did everything to come home. I love my mom. <3

Here are some pictures, as promised:

These pictures were during the first day, right after the storm.

This was on the second day, after we’ve cleaned up a bit. Still, the damage was devastating.

Meeting Haiyan: The first hand experience

It’s been more than a week since the super typhoon, but I remember it like it just happened.

When I woke up at around 5 am, it was dark, since our electricity was already cut a few hours ago. Since our bedroom had glass doors, I could clearly see the trees bending and about to break, the clouds in a dangerous grey. I knew that Haiyan was bearing its teeth, smiling evilly. I knew that it has landed in Guiuan, the eastern side of Samar which was a three hour drive from Tacloban. I had three hours to get my family ready, as it was estimated to hit our city at eight that morning. The house began to creek and the wind began to whistle. We joked around, saying that the wind knew how to whistle and my sister could not. Little did we know, that the wind would soon whistle harder.

Since my mom couldn’t get home from Manila because of a work training, it was just me, my three siblings, my grandmother and my aunt at home. I started my day like it was normal, deciding to cook chicken for breakfast. Our kitchen was located at our grandmother’s house, a door away from our own house. The wind outside began to pick up, the rain accompanying the storm. My siblings went to my grandmother’s room, which was located on the first floor. Since I could not check on the house myself, I asked my brother to go to our living room to make sure things are fine.

That was the last normal thing that happened.

The roof of our garage began to strip itself, hurling towards my grandmother’s garden. Their dog was barking furiously, but we were afraid to go out because of the wind. The water from the outside poured through the roof, the drip drops becoming a slow stream of water. When I finished cooking, I checked on my brother who still did not return. Our main door, which was a huge and made of wood, was threatening to burst open because of the wind. He blocked the door with two of our strongest chairs, whose width covered most of the door.

I went back to my grandmother’s house to check on them, my feet were met by rainwater on the floor. One of the wood that framed the window suddenly flew towards the floor, and water came rushing in. Just when I thought it could not get worse, one of the wooden panels of our roof fell. With the two holes providing the water a way to get in the house, I led my grandmother and aunt towards our house. I went towards our room to fetch my phone, but the room was already wet. The culprit? Our door was already open, the glass sliding door before it was already in pieces. The roof was shaking, our ceiling fan looking like it was hanging by a thread. I frantically called my brother and my sister, and we tried to push our bed towards the door. But it only made matters worse, making the other door open with force. We decided to take the important things towards my brothers room, like our files, gadgets and such. The heavy drawers felt like lightweight, as the adrenalin started to kick in. Outside you could see the outline of the EYE of the storm, hovering and as threatening as it could be.

My grandmother’s house was already full of water, which could be seen from our window. My grandmother began to cry hysterically, mumbling and praying. My sister began to cry too, feeling hopeless and praying that our house wouldn’t be destroyed. I tried my best to calm them down, suggesting that we go downstairs for breakfast. When my eyes landed on my brother, his arms were clutching the wooden chair, the door still fighting the wind. He told us to hurriedly eat, his voice shaking as he used his strength on the chair. We all hurriedly lit our candles, prayed then began to eat.

But when I heard my sister shriek, I noticed the water in our living room. Water was rushing from our main door and from the door leading towards our grandmother’s house, and another rush of adrenalin began to surge in my veins. I told them to pack everything; the canned goods, the biscuit and even the newly cooked chicken, and run upstairs. My brother was still struggling with the door as we packed everything in our plastic container. The water was already at our knees when we rushed towards the stairs. By the time I reached my brother, which was just seconds, the huge window which was as tall as our main door exploded, the water surging towards us. My brother let go of the door as he helped my grandmother who almost fell because of the impact of water.

They all went upstairs, and I was left behind as I remembered the lamp and the matches. But by the time I stepped onto our living room the water was already at my chest level. The match, which was in my mouth as I carried the lamp , fell onto the water as I screamed for my brother. All our furniture began to flow towards me, the heavy chairs and desks blocking my way. In that second I thought that it was the end, I thought that I would die.

When my brother peeked from the stairs, I began to swam frantically towards him, giving him my things. Our dog swam beside me, reaching the stairs before I did. I don’t know how I did it, but I stretched my leg and climbed the tenth stair and ran towards the second floor. The wind coming from our room blew as hard as it could as I went towards the girl’s room. It was spacey, and the farthest room in the house. It was also the only room that had minimal water on the floor since water only came from the roof, which was just luckily small drips.

When we got there we were all shaken, and began to pray the rosary. It seemed to calm us, though the wind sounded like a huge car revving up, like vrooooooom. The roaring of the wind began to shake our house like an earthquake, deafening our hearing as our ears seemed to pop like we were inside a pressured airplane. We began to cover the documents with our blankets, insuring that they would be dry. That was when I checked the time: it was only nine in the morning, four hours since I woke up. We tried to eat, but food seemed to lose its taste. When my brother and I checked our window that faced our stairs, the flood reached the third step from the top of the stairs. And outside (we looked through a broken window that faced the west side of the house) the water was taller outside than inside. My brother and I feared that the water would enter the second floor, so we planned to climb our double deck bed in case. We went back to the room to soothe our crying grandmother and sisters.

But do you know the best part? We were soon laughing, joking as if there wasn’t a storm outside. There were moments when we would be quiet, and the wind would take it as a cue to roar again. For two more hours we stayed in that room, praying more, quivering from the storm. And when we got the strength to go downstairs, my heart dropped to my stomach with what I saw.

Our two gates were broken, and the one stuck to cement fell towards the house. Our two big windows were broken, the door still intact but and had a lot of scratches. All of my mother’s big vases were broken, leaving only the little ones. The floor was covered in mud and uncooked riceAll of our pictures were either smudged or covered with mud. . The furniture were all scattered, none of them in their previous places. Shattered glass were everywhere. And when we got to take a look outside, it was worse. Every house was either see through, had no roof, or washed out. The small stores were flooded, and roads were covered with trees.

The storm was gone, but our problems merely started.

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Phew. I tried my best not to cry as I wrote that post. It was simply nerve racking. I will post some pictures of our house on the next blog post. Above you can see a new portion of my blog labeled “The Haiyan Experience” I will post the eight days that I stayed in Tacloban after the storm, before we moved here in Cebu. Please follow my blog if you’d like to read more.

On a lighter note, I was published on the “Thick Jam” website, my story is the first you’d see on the site. If you want to read that story, which was submitted a week before the storm, here’s the site: www.thickjam.com

The morning before the storm

When I woke up this morning, the sky looked like a gray canvas.

Slowly, I could hear the pitter patter of rain pouring down on our roof. The trees were still, but I knew that soon they would be bending. The streets were bare, empty of vehicles except for the man riding a bicycle with a rainbow colored raincoat on. The “calm before the storm” has already passed, the warm night turning into a cold morning. I listened to the radio all night long, and when I woke up they were just announcing that the storm was brewing near.

I checked my siblings, all who were still asleep and oblivious to what was happening. I observed the things around me: the quiet hum of the AC, the jingle of the ceiling fan as it turns, the music coming from the radio. I reminded myself that one the storm hits, all of the electricity would be cut. The candles have been ready for use since last night, the flashlights’ batteries all new. My biggest fear of sleeping in the dark without the street lights on donned on me, but I had to be strong.

Soon the rain poured harder, making me more nervous. My other siblings woke up, also shocked with how the sky looked like. The super typhoon was minutes away from making land fall, hitting our region first. It would be scary to think that the storm was getting stronger as it passed the Pacific. Cars began to rush by, making the water on the pavement swoosh with every tire it comes in contact with.

Around eight, it became eerily silent. It made me doubt that maybe the storm would not pass us. Cars began to fill the roads, the drivers honking loudly, trying to rush on home. It became significantly warmer, although the sky still held its gloomy color. The news still said that the storm was going to hit soon, and classes were suspended for all. The social sites all boomed with worry from people who has loved ones here, and some expressed their fear.

In the end, we could only hope for the best, and expect that things wouldn’t take a turn for the worst. You can never be prepared enough for what is about to happen. And even if I don’t look forward to meeting this storm eye-to-eye, I just hope it passes by quickly without much damage.

I survived

Everything seemed dark, gray and DEAD. My breathing got more laboured, as my hands quivered. My heart twitched and ached in all places, as I tried to stay ALIVE. Just when I thought I conquered all my fears, this one kind of hell blew up all over my face, as lava of hot tears flowed through. The bittersweet taste of betrayal and anger lingered on my lips, as I remembered the last kiss, the last thing we shared together, the last moment when you really loved me. I tried to keep my heart from blowing up into pieces, tried not to over react, but the words blew up in all direction. Everything in me was dying; every cell was destroying the other.

It seems like centuries ago when I last looked straight into your eyes and said “I LOVE YOU”. Fast forward through time, through the sweet nothings and half-hearted apologies, I spend my nights hating the songs we once loved, waking up crying whenever I saw u in my dreams, the memories eating me alive. I spent my days thinking of what went wrong, lost in the world of anticipation of a better tomorrow. I kept myself busy, coping with the drastic change, as I filled the empty void that was once filled by you. I never thought my heart would have ached for you like that. I would sometimes catch myself staring blankly into the air, trying to fill my mind with meaningless thought, avoiding the thought of you.

But as the sun hid and rose from the mountains, I started to hate myself for acting so hopeless, for drifting into a nightmare I built to protect myself. As soon as I realized that, delusions of a better tomorrow became more real, as I started to accept defeat from the aimless cupid. I slowly and surely gained conscience of the things I have done, the things I have achieved and lost. I no longer felt the rush of regret, but rather, the rush of being someone new.

I may never find the heart to forgive you for what you did to me, for making me go through all those things just to forget you, but what I do want to do is to thank you. Because of you jerking off leaving me bleeding half to death, I found the courage to become stronger when it came to love. I have finally moved on, and am going through my life great without you. To that, I say, I survived.

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So that was a little dark. I wrote this when I was FOURTEEN. I think I was moving on from someone, and I really like to overreact on things and that’s how I write. Keep in mind this was all but a crush, one sided feelings. I thought like a “matured” kid then. It’s all so, weird to read what I wrote then. (shivers)

Taking baby steps

With a dream of winning either a Pulitzer award or a Nobel Prize in Literature, I dream big. But with every dream, we all have to take baby steps. For me, those baby steps were starting to write for magazines and starting my blog. And with these two slowly becoming stable, I decide to take the next step: Try to get published.

So most of you have been encouraging me to either write a whole book, or compile my stories and get them published. So I figured, I could try to do both! Since I have a three week semester break, I could do just that. I have used a site called Wattpad for my whole story, while I will compile all my short stories. I’ve always wanted to become published, to be in definition, a “writer.” I know it’s a complete struggle to do so, but this is something I really want to do. I’m going to do it one small step at a time, hopefully finishing before Christmas, or earlier. This is honestly a struggle for me, as I have a hard time trying to concentrate on one story, thus the series of short stories. However, I will see this as a challenge for myself.

To check out my “novel” in the works, here is the link: Sparks and Fireworks

As for my short stories, I will try to self publish them since I don’t know any agents or publishers who would be interested in publishing an eighteen year old girl. I’ve got my fingers crossed! I’m shooting for the highest star here, hopefully hitting the mark. 🙂

The selfie generation

My generation is vain. Yes, yes we are. We can’t deny that we absolutely cannot go to a trip or a party without a camera. We all would like to “preserve” moments and post them onto Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. It’s really an insane thing, and even our parents and elders are catching on. We have a thing for posting one picture out of thousands that we have taken. Admit it, you take about thirty pictures, and upload only half of them.

So when our professor told us that our final requirement for our subject would be self portraits, you could only imagine our reactions. Yes, we were ecstatic! We finally could be vain and actually get something profitable out of it. Our professor told us to pass the best five pictures, but like I said, I took like a hundred pictures and painfully chose just five. Without further ado, here are my best five pictures. Most of these were taken by my faithful photographer, the camera stand. 😀

So far, I got a great grade out of this, and the remaining other pictures are stored for my “future” profile pictures. Do you consider yourself as a part of the selfie generation?

The Lexus and the Olive tree

If you take a look at the Philippines, what do you usually see at first glance? From my perspective, it is a country with people struggling everyday to compete with the international economy. It is a country in the works, continuously striving to be a part of the “big boys” But it is also a place filled with people who are grounded to where they came from, a country with traditions that are older than time itself. We have our beliefs in both our mythology and religion. Here, family is more important than anything. They have strong ties with where they came from, and we use the famous saying of our Philippine hero: “A person who does not know how look back from where he came from, will never get to his destination.” So before everything, let me introduce to you the concept of the Lexus and the Olive tree. As some of you may know, the Lexus is one of the world’s most expensive brand of cars. It is one of the top line cars out there, with its sleek designs and up to date equipment. Now imagine an Olive tree. An Olive tree has its roots firmly held unto the earth. Some of their huge roots can be seen above the soil. The Olive tree has gone through many things, but still firmly holds its ground. For the past semester, my teacher has been teaching us the world of globalization. I have learned that globalization is like tying up the world with one big knot. That knot includes the exchange of information, culture, economics, ideas and etc., between countries around the world. This way, everything is evened out for each country, giving each country the chance to compete against each other. It is like gathering countries together into one big ship, and being able to converse to each other freely. This also could assist businessmen in expanding globally, giving people jobs with each investor that comes in. Globalization also aids political leaders to become aware of what is happening in other countries. It also lends a hand in the advancement of technology, and giving people the information needed about our environment. Through globalization, the world is moving forward in the era of modernization. Our telecommunications has played a great part in tying up the world, making people go to places without leaving the comfort of their own home. Imagine a world without communication technology. A world without the internet, maybe we have a chance to survive. A world without your phone, perhaps. A world without your radio, maybe. A world without TV, maybe. But what about a world without all of these altogether? Before these inventions came to life, each country was blind with what was happening with the other. Products that are for sale would have different prices in different parts of the world, because there is no uniform price for them because of the loss of communication. Politicians would not be as “friendly” to each other, as they have to travel in person to meet one another, which can be tiring. People would not be aware of what is happening across the oceans, whether or not a war is happening or if there is a change of politics. Everyone would be technically blind with the world, and everything we know will shatter. These advancement in these innovations are categorized as the Lexus. For our Olive tree, we can simply describe this with the concept of our native land. These are the values and traditions that hold together a certain society, and has been a guide to how one must live. The Olive tree is just as important as the Lexus, because with the Olive tree is a world filled with history, lessons from mistakes and etc. With these in mind, where does it leave my country? We come from a strong Olive tree, rooted to the the land for thousands of years. Even with the colonization of different countries, we still have our values and traditions that keep us together. However with the fast paced world, we now constantly sacrifice our Olive tree in order to move ahead with the rest of the globe. We are struggling to find a balance between the two, barely holding on to the other. We compromise one so the other could succeed, and usually we are slowly uprooting our Olive tree to be able to drive our Lexus. In the end, it would really depend on the people within our country. Neither the historians nor the businessmen can dictate which would prevail in the end.

I believe however, that the Filipinos know better than to let go of the Olive tree. Because no matter how much we try to attach ourselves to the modern world, we would still be yearning for the simple life that we have grown accustomed to. No matter how many times we eat at Mcdonalds, we would still yearn for that home cooked meal from our mothers. No matter how far we are from our country we would still strive to keep to our values and the things taught to us by our elders.
But even with all of this, it’s still a world with opportunities that could be lost in a snap of a finger, and everyone is on their heels trying to even get a whiff of the opportunity. The Lexus is still trying to pierce through the Olive tree, almost crashing itself to it. We will only be the ones to blame if we allow the fall of our Olive tree. What others may not realize, is that we do not have to sacrifice one with the other. But that’s a real struggle isn’t it? You have to learn how to move fast, without really leaving where you came from.

And with the world as it is, will we actually find our balance between the Lexus and our Olive tree?

How about your country? Do you think you have found the balance with the two?

My first embarrassing moment

So just this afternoon, I went for a jog with my bestfriend. We were stretching and stuff, when I suddenly slipped and fell. Thanks to my super awesome reflexes (and the fact that I was used to falling), my hands and knees took the harsh fall instead of my face. and lo and behold, a gash showed on my right knee. People passed by us, because just my luck we decided to jog in the City’s Sports Development Center. It was downright embarrassing, and fate had to rub it in my face with a reminder of it. I got up, dusted myself off, and jogged as if my wound wasn’t so painful. I’m so used to these moments that I know what to do. (Which shows how clumsy I am)

Weirdly enough, this embrassing moment reminded me of my first embarissing moment. Imagine a kid, about four years old. Now imagine here in the Philippines we have jeepneys that have specific routes. Now my mom made me pay the driver. So there was little me, passing the fare. People were saying how cute I was. When handing over the fare to the driver you have to say where you are hopping off. Our house was in a barangay named “Nula-tula”. Now for a four year old, that word is a handful. So when I walked over to hand the fare I said, “Nulalata”. The passengers erupted into laughter, which made me cry. My perfectionist side was showing, and I hated myself for that mistake. And today, I have mastered the damn twister word. (Fourteen years later)

So why am I sharing this with you? I don’t really know. Maybe I just want to open up a long forgotten ghost within you about your embarrassing past. So what’s your first embarrassing moment? Maybe I’d write about it someday. 🙂

On being a contributor..

Being a seventeen year old writer(then) who wants to become a great writer is tiring to be honest. I have to find readers, people who are actually interested, then I have to balance school and my dream. It’s a great thing that my degree program is related to my dream, or else everything might go kaput. Anyway, this year has been awesome so far, and I can almost taste my dream coming into a reality. I’ve been guest blogging, publishing my works wherever I could, and slowly these efforts have been paying off. I have been chosen as a contributor for two magazines!

The first one, is a local magazine here in the Philippines. This magazine features Eastern Visayas, which is where I came from. It features those who came from our group of islands and made a very obvious footprint on the big world. It tells stories and shows people that everyone’s dream can come true. So here’s my first article on said magazine which was published last April:

It was really a great boost to my dream, because they wanted me to write in the magazine again! So just this October, the new issue came out:

And it’s really exciting! The second magazine that asked me to contribute was called LDR Magazine. So far, this is a new mag for long distance couples. For those of you who have read my article on long distance couples (read here), it was actually the one that attracted the editors to my blog! And so I’ve been asked to write articles, and when they updated their site, I saw it! (read here)

So it’s really exciting! Now that I’m eighteen, I can enter more blogs and magazines because I’m legal 🙂 I do hope I could reach my dreams one day! So I hope some of you could help me achieve my dream of being a full-on writer by either subscribing or recommending me to those interested!

I also want to thank all of YOU who read my blog. Without you, well, I’d still be writing with less than fifty views per day. <3