Where is the place in which a voice can speak honestly, speak near cruelly, as a matter of factly, and yet eloquently in spirit of truth to the individual experience of being? 

No where, but in these here pages. 

One day however, may this voice amplify to which it is undeniably heard, and may the voice speak without hesitation yet rather with full confidence, awareness, and ownership of itself,  may it spew out a conscious stream of words in harmony with found identity that is married to the soul of which sees, recognizes and is faithfully involved in the vast purposes of a single being. May passions stack upon passions, stack high, topple over and rain down passions across the land. One day soon be near, one day soon be here. As the voice begins to speak. #imwithher 


Into the Woods…with heavyass backpacks

“She asked me ‘Just the two of you?!””

“Who said that?”

“My boss…and also my sister, her husband, my boyfriend, my mom, everyone I told…Maybe because we’re girls. “

“But we don’t need a boy to come along… we’re the buffest people I know.”


Turn signal, on ramp, Hwy to the coast, inspirational podcast turned down for car ride conversations and the makings of an event theme song that did not catch on:

♫ Big Sur-ing on a Thursday

 Aint showering til Sunday

 Backpacking with my girl, Rosay

 In the wilderness, we keep it stanky ♪

Off to Monterey County, a destination the two marked in their calendars at the beginning of the year after seeing a guided bag-packing trip advertised on Groupon for $200, scoffing at the cost, and ultimately deciding to guide themselves through the wilderness to destination hot springs. 

“We can totally do this on our own.” said two ladies with no survivor skills.

 After one coffee shop powwow to discuss details of the trip aka Google reviews of the trail and watch you-tube videos of people getting lost on said trail, the two neglected to make any preparations until the week of. Preparations consisting of 1-2 squats, a push up, and a round of hip hop abs to condition for the excursion as well as procuring a sleeping bag that doubles as a large coat, a female urinal aka a “she dick”, and pepper spray. However, seeing as one of the two had not worn a backpack since high school, walking through life with nothing more than a fanny pack since then, and the other, being a minimalist in her own right, who often fits all necessities in a little black satchel…needless to say, the two had no idea the actual weight of a pack carrying camping gear nor a clue about what they were in for:

Countless switch backs on steep rocky terrain, narrow paths along cliff sides, burning sun, fallen tree obstacle course, fallen tree bridges, fallen tree ladders, elevation heaven bound with an equally hellish decent whilst carrying the weight of a small sized person on their backs.
One of the two may have concocted her own bug repellent that included a special brew of vinegar in the solution which my have in truth attracted more bugs than it repelled. She remained in denial over the adverse effects of the solution even as she literally felt the flies licking her face. And the other may have come prepared with a survival kit from Wal-mart and may have for what ever reason accidently got it stuck in a tree to which she responded by yelling at the said tree that the kit had cost $20, all to no avail.
After a day and night and 10 miles into the woods, the two decided to change into swimsuits and wade in the river. The river turbulent and nearly freezing, was certainly not destination hot springs, but any body of water was good enough.

“This is like hydro therapy.” Said one of the two.

“What’s that?”
“Its when you take a dip in freezing water and trick your body into thinking it’s dying to reduce inflammation. 

“Sounds about right.”

One of the two perched on a rock and noticed specks of dirt on hands and legs. Upon closer inspection, the specks of dirt were actually coiled worms that proved difficult to remove. Most were dislodged expect for the unlucky bunch that remained undetected in her thigh crease that later suffocated and died after 12 more miles of hiking. Upon a quick Google search one of the two discovered the coiled worms were actually leeches.

“Blood letting and leech therapy has been used in medicine before.”said one.
“Ok so we had hydro-leech therapy at the hot springs.”
Long story short, the two survived. And furthermore the two felt overwhelmingly more alive, simultaneously large and small surrounded by giant redwood, pine, oak and enormous mountain range. Meeting light at daybreak and remaining on the path until sunset. Despite the warm sun, there remained a tickle of cold sea breeze. The air, fresh and fragrant, filled their lungs at every deep or labored breath.  Sore muscles, stiff necks, aching feet, thirst, sweat,–pain so good, always serving as a reminder of being alive. Standing the midst of nature with little urge to capture and share, but rather a desperation to absorb and appreciate in real time.

“I think we’re a little mad for doing this.” said one.

“Like the Mad Hatter said ‘all the best people are.” Replied the other. 

Sauntering 2k16

Have not written in a while. Let me explain. Been preoccupied with important matters. Fancy me a saunterer for I have been on a walking journey.

Although approximately zero persons may agree to qualify my deeds as a journey, a journey I shall refer to it regardless. And in all journeys, there must be a starting point. The starting point in this case marked not by a physical location, but rather, an event.

Three months ago I received a hand-me-down from my cousin. This was not the usual anticipated hand-me-down of jeans two sizes too small. No, rather this hand-me-down may perhaps help one fit into said jeans (currently stowed away along with similar sized garments in a box labeled “#GOALS”). And liken to the age old saying encompassing the sweet irony of finding new purpose in neglected things: One woman’s “here, I don’t even use this anymore.” is another woman’s “I HAVE A FIT BIT!”

And so began the journey up and down hillsides, round and round office parking lots, and most time-just marching in place with arms pumping like a true proud goober on a mission.

You see, achieving daily step goals takes much effort and time–commonly taking precedent over rest, responsibilities, relationships and incidentally, writing. There is something so gratifying about going beyond 10000 steps that leads to an obsessive need to account for every stride.

“What’s the point in walking?” I once asked a friend sporting bare wrists. I, however, never fail to wear my bright blue band. I realize the color does not pair well with any outfit. So I decorate my arm with beads and bangles to camouflage the band.

“Doesn’t this just all go together?” I asked my sister one day referring to all the happenings going down my left forearm. Nodding my head to prompt her response.

“No.” She replied.

I carried on regardless– in quick strides and pumping arms, obviously.


With all that said, I am still processing my decision yesterday to walk out the door sans band. Every step has gone unaccounted for since then. Ultimately messing up my data and record of daily steps. Has the decision caused an abrupt end to the journey? Or maybe just an end to another obsession. I recall feeling a similar way when I un-subscribed to social media after realizing my addiction to dark humored memes, specifically all content related to “#thisbitch” in particular of which too had taken some precedent in my life over rest, responsibilities, and so on.


In any case

Here I am now

In my spare time,

Writing .





 DAY 79: TO THE TIP (East Peak, Mt. Tamalpias) 


And if you’re a bad little kid, he’ll smoke you.

-Antione, telling the story of the Kapre in big trees that turn naughty kids into cigars. 


It’s a babbling brook. That’s what I call my coworker…her name is Brooke.

-Anna, a highly creative-responsible-working adult, reminding us all that bully is lyfe. 


 In other countries, there are exchanted creatures. In America, there is only GMOs.

-Antione, hungry and cranky as he reminisces about the home land.




That’s too close…don’t do it…ok you can do it if you want…ok come back now. DO YOU GUYS KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE DIE EVERY YEAR BY SELFIE STICK?!

-Rosie, coaxing us away from the lure of cliff photos by stating the most recent accidental death statistics. 

And each time we climb up big rocks-dangerously close to the edge, she turns away and closes her eyes. 




  Don’t worry, I have signal.

-Ermilyn, equipped with three cell bars, reassuring Hanna we were safe in the event of an emergency…including mountain lions. 


This looks like a portal to another land or a place for hikers to poop.

-Hanna, imaginative and realistic in one breath. 



She said she was sitting on a porch, but those that weren’t hypnotized could only see that she was sitting on a high tree branch. 

 -Ermilyn, continuing the tales of the Balete tree, the seemly lavish abode to ghosts, complete with a porch.





  Must be nice.

-Me, envious of a hawk flying away on a zepher. 




There is a great disconnect between the body and its own mind. So often the body is still, solid, and deeply rooted. Whereas, the mind constantly flies from one place to another, perching for moments, but never settling too long,–much like a free bird. 


DAY 44: HI-KING (PT Reyes, West Marin)


If I get lost, people on the trail will remember exactly where they last saw me.
-The King, explaining why wearing a crown is an excellent survival technique.


The more you look, the more you absorb.

-Edgar, on seeing a nearly transparent spider.


I want to be a dancer, an actor, a designer, a restaurant investor…

-Steve, a successful business owner, revealing himself as a fellow DIFFUSIOUS



Tugas, here it’s called Molave. There’s a lot of it in the Philippines. The wood is very sturdy and solid so it is used to make furniture.

As long as the tree isn’t derooted, it can grow back from even a stump. 

And there’s another tree, the Balete. Now, the Balete can not be cut down. 

Well, because that’s where the ghosts live. 

-My Dad, who regularly feigns ignorance when asked about ghosts stories, turns out, knows quite a lot. The trick is to ask him what he knows about trees.

DAY 58: TBH (Panoramic Trail, Berkeley)



This trail went form 0-100 real quick. To be honest…I mean TBH… I only go on hikes for the breakfast afterwards.

-Anna, keeping it real and schooling Rose and me on what the young people say these days.

Day 65: THERE IS A 100% CHANCE IT’S ALREADY RAINING (West Point, Mt. Tamalpias)


You have to come all the time. I can offer you shot gun. 

-Me, negoatiating with Darren to hike rather than bike on Saturdays after he dug tunnel to drain a mean puddle, proving valuable survival skills.


I feel like I’ve been performing this whole time.

-Xyril, exhausted after following my every command to “dance” in the woods despite the high potential of breaking an ankle and or a neck. 


Tabi tabi, po.

-Me, asking for dwende’s pardon after hearing a loud creek, much like the sound of an opening door, coming from the tree tops.


Push it! Push it!

-Anna, running up hill in order to reach the top so she can sooner reach the bottom and be on her way to breakfast. Meanwhile, I nearly get emotional thinking of our very pregnant friend, Angie, whose water broke in the wee hours of the morn and will no doubt be later surrounded by people instructing her to push. 


I appreciate the rain. 

-said each one of us at different parts of the day.



Thrity, Flirty, and Thriving on DIFFUSIOUS DAY 40 


Have you ever had Tequila? No, I don’t think you have. You see the tequila you get over there in Ca-lee-fooor-nia, isn’t authentic tequila. You know when they say to take a shot with lime and salt, the purpose of that is to mask the chemical taste. I went tequila tasting today, all local variety grown from blue…agave. Here the tequila is pure. There were eleven samples offered at the tasting but I had tewelve. Guess what was inside the twelfth one…it starts with an S. No, not salt…scorpion! The twelfth sample was not for everyone, it was only offered to the manliest of men…me (and some other Asian dude on the tour). So, I drank that scorpion tequila, as the manliest of men…

The flavor was so strong. I didn’t think it go would down, but it did. I then excused myself from the group and went to the restroom. That’s right, Mia…I threw up.

And the lesson here is that TEQUILA IS EVIL! No matter how authentic or how pure. It. Is. Evil.

…that’s right, even for the manliest of men.

-Brother Bear, calling from Puerto Vallarta to describe just one of his many birthday celebrations upon turning 30, and as always, doling important life lessons to his little sister.