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Me and My Mole 4/27/24

After the triumphant of my 5k, I went to my usual Saturday morning meeting. Another regular at the meeting who I've never really spoken to caught me in a window of a personal high and tells me she had a dream about me and my mole being cancerous. She noticed discoloring and she had her face's skin cut because she didn't get checked. She assured me she's a nurse and really felt the need to tell me. I thank her, compose myself during the entire meeting, and fall into despair crying myself to sleep at home in the afternoon. Granted I was tired after the run but also I was so scared.

I haven't had a conversation with myself about my mole for a long time. Memories of me trying to rip it off my chin when my brother used to tease me when I was 10 years old flooded back to me the blood all over my face. Memories of my parents asking me to remove it. Memories of my aunt telling me it's getting bigger as though it was disgusting. I felt myself suffocate.

I did what every typical person who deals with problems unhealthily: I put it on the internet by posting an insta-story. My friends gave me a lot to reflect about in terms of projections, cautions, protections, and proposals for peace of mind. I contacted my primary provider and got a referral. After a week of waiting, I was squeezed into a Dermatology office right before the open their clinic at 8am.

There I was sitting at 6:30am waiting patiently to be seen. The physician comes in and tells me my mole is beautiful. He asks if I wanted it shaved down but also noticed I don't seem bothered by it at all. In that moment, I realized a lot of things. 

I loved that part of me.

He said words I really needed to hear as a kid. "It's beautiful."

I drove home with relief from this cancer scare but also grateful to get checked. I am so grateful to be alive, humbled by this experience, and realizing a part of me I did forget wanted to resurface as important. 

My mole said we're here and we've been beautiful all along. Don't forget.

Classroom and Kinship 4/22/24

Yesterday  I picked up high school Theology teacher Michael (aka Mike) Campos from the Flamingo hotel. He was heading back to the Bay Area and we were determined to squeeze a small window of meeting and catching up. As two timely Virgos, we were at the valet pick up at the same time. I couldn't find him at first but he claimed to wear a pink shirt I couldn't miss. Then as we locked signals that we both were in the same space and time, he hopped in my car and we were so giddy with a deep sense of camaraderie: teachers and friends.

Teaching at all girl Catholic School was difficult and fun in itself. He remembers it as a fond time. Attending an all girl Catholic School was difficult but hindsight 20/20 reminds me of how fun it was: free to be feminine in all our goofy, unhinged, and clumsy ways. And when we pondered the meaning of life and gender roles, Mike was there to help us attach it to philosophy. 

Does the end justify the means?

Do the means justify the end?

I've held onto that lens as a compass for most of my adult life. He is 1 of 4 teachers at the high school, that are part of the Jean Munson educator amalgamation persona. If you love learning from me, it's because I loved learning from someone like him: thoughtful, challenging, supportive, and welcomed discourse.

I would have never imagined to be sitting in my car on the way to have soup in this hot desert with my teacher at an age when he taught me close to 2 decades ago. I would have never imagined telling him about the wonderful lives of my classmates, to see him beam with joy and energy since he loved all of us and still believed we were all intelligent, promising, and powerful women.

Our lunch was filled with more life questions and good inside jokes. There was even a moment when we synced up a laughable air quotes to a concept saying " works in theory" 3 times. At that moment, I realized my teacher was also my kin. We shared the belief that transformation is possible and extended that to all our students who met us along their school journeys.

When I left to do a leadership training and Coy offered to take him to the airport, I felt alive again like I was the same 16-17 year old who believed in the world and most importantly believed in me.

I know I can't thank him enough. But I know I can think of him and thank him by living a life that supersedes the thanklessness educators often receive. I can thank myself every day for pouring love into every lesson.

Funny Nightmare 4/16/24

Last night I dreamt that the last class of students I would ever train for my women's leadership conference were all men. The only nightmare part of the entire thing wasn't the men. It was running this program with donor and grant money that lacked integrity (event planner nerd).

Even in my sleep, I am stressed? That's no way to live so I woke up laughing. There's a lot of funny in the middle of a tough transition. It's funny how I care so much about a job I am leaving. I have to pinch myself about my upcoming expiration date even in my default meticulousness. It's funny how many opportunities to keep doing art, publishing, and performance keep coming up instead of me having to search for it. I am so grateful that closing one door, opened up basements and attics of people who hesitated to nudge the notoriously busy Jean Marie.  I find it funny that even if I am on paid leave, I forget to eat and rest because of the state of flow that I feel when I am home reading, writing, or making art.

I live with the uncertainty of the decision I made in my career, but I remember how much courage I whispered to others. And now I have the capacity to coach, love, and kick ass for me.

So looking back at last night's nightmare, it might be revealing what I am really meant to do next in my life. Open my doors to new audiences, new mentees, and new friendships. Scary at first, daring next, and lastly, worth the comedy.

I don't miss it 3/5/24

I've cried a lot in the past few weeks. Sometimes it's fueled by joy, sometimes stress, and a lot of it's grief for how much I've outgrown my lot in life. I've been practicing courage and navigating growing pains. 

Today I told my mentor something that was very hard but I knew my courage was making me move these days very differently. She asked me, "Are you sure about this decision?" I heard it her voice how much risk and loss that was ahead of me at the cost of happiness, I began to tell her the how I suffered over this decision. Before I could explain further in her long pause to me, she said, "Stop. You don't need to justify your growth or your happiness. You've changed a lot since I've known you and you have a lot to be proud of. And honestly since we last saw each other, living and seeing much of the world myself, I don't miss it here either. It's easy to love what we do, day to day, immersing ourselves in it."

I couldn't help but hear, over and over again, hours later from this interaction: I don't miss it.

I know I'd miss it but I also know that I thought that for every stage of my life that ended. I'm at point that I know future me, would transform this grief into gratitude. I look forward to what's ahead of me, because it's not the last of me.

I'm grateful for honest mentors that love us so deeply to put aside their beliefs about our lives and accepting that we all choose our paths based on the strength we grew and planted together.

Adult Time 2/20/24

This past weekend, I realized how fast time is for adults. 

I distinctly remember my twenties feeling like an infinite cycle of seeing and hanging with the same people. It's easy to take for granted the routine.

On Saturday, I saw my friend and former coworker Jimmy at a Lady Rebels basketball game doing what he does best: supporting the school band. I felt a bit shy to say hello. I made excuses that he was too busy. I motion to send him a message on Facebook (now an archaic social media platform?!) and realize that I'd not spoken to him in 10 years. After I sent him a message, Coy says look, Jimmy is opening your message from across the basketball court. I thought, wow, after all these years, a friend remains. I shared a hug and a chat with him and his wife Kaileen during half time.

On Sunday, I was invited to attend Stella's daughter Pax's quinceañera. While waiting in the parking lot to be let in, Stella greets me with open arms and tells me how much Pax still looks at her Queens comic no matter how tattered it is. In my hand, I hold another comic, fretting how maybe after all these years I am out of touch to what kids like. I walk into the banquet hall and there are pictures of a grown Pax. I count on my hand the years since 2019 that have passed and the friendship that remained with Stella and all our GRRLS summer organizers: Sandra, Marisol, and Stephanie. We shared a collective cry over how Pax's original song sounds like a live version of Christina Perri (Jar of Hearts song).

Things happen when you're older. 

You're confident and uncertain together sometimes. Not because you're careless or don't care, it's because you've leaned into the beautiful complexity of feeling everything more with wisdom.

Parents just don't understand 1/4/24

A lot of my creative work (comics, zines, essays, blogs, workshops) surrounds the study of my parents. Their response to my kid self growing up was perfect and imperfect. I appreciate both directions. It's been a really long road to arrive as this moment of reflection. Some days this awareness is easy and other days difficult. But as I navigate my health issues and neurodivergence with ADHD, I can't help but think about the lack of support, tools, and suffering my own parents had to endure in a time when these concepts were not explored or studied.

Recently my mom wore a dress to her cousin's wedding in the Philippines. My whole life my mom disliked wearing dresses because she was ashamed of her aging body. She felt self conscious about legs, arms, and body size. So when she wore that dress with the biggest smile, I was explicit about my praise. I needed her to know that I felt proud and hope she read my messages feeling encouraged by the words of her daughter.

Recently I got my dad a gift card for a full body massage. He says no one can see his body. My whole life my dad was confident that he was the handsome guy in college who was still stylish as he grew older. I tried to imagine why he was self conscious. Was it for his open heart surgery scars or something deeper? I don't press the issue further.

Then it donned on me. All those years my parents omitted praise when I was young because maybe they secretly painful years for them as they threw their bodies and lives into the nursing profession. Non-stop caretaking for the world instead of themselves. Stress kills us in more ways than one: motivation, self belief, and our physical wellbeing.

I love them so much which is the root of why I yearned for their infinite wisdom and abundant praise to be poured into me from them. How could I expect praise and understanding from my parents when they could not gift those things to themselves? We cannot get those years back of all the pain, trauma, suffering, and scars, but maybe the soft intro of tools imperfectly delivered on my behalf will pat down our collective wounds.

I grew up hearing from myself and my peers that the goal is to be different from our parents. But maybe, that might not entirely bring us the desired solutions for a better future. Maybe calling in the blue print they left me tattered with the harmful behaviors we inflict on others and ourselves might shed more actionable promise for my future. I no longer want to see me as better than them, even if parts of our relationship are severed or ignored. I can love them and love myself if I pay attention to the little things. The way I laugh, the way I give, the way I forget myself for people. These are the things my parents gifted me that carved their health journeys.

There's still time for me and the ones who come after me. Trauma, anger, despair, and stress don't need to live in my bloodstream forever. I get a choice to repair the blueprint by honoring the whole picture of my family history.

Heart Still Strong 12/19/23

I've been dealing with a side effect of a daily dry cough so powerful that it makes my chest hurt, suffocates me, knocks me out, lose my voice and sent me into a flu. My body is adjusting to two med changes and heading into a third. I place trust into healthcare professionals and I am developing trust in myself too to continue progress toward a new mindset on health, wellbeing, and happiness. 

The greatest gift I could get today was among other homework I have to commit to from my cardiologist, but he said I still have a good, strong heart. I slumped with relief in my chair. I know that this isn't the end of what needs to be done, but it's the extra chance I needed to continue the fight for my health. 

In the metaphorical sense, I've broken my heart more than I can count. I've allowed others, especially in the last 4 months to break it too. I am grateful for patient care from the staff I've encountered in my follow up appointments and my family's care. I am grateful for the privacy I gifted myself during the time of testing and will continue to gift myself while I aim for my next goal post check up. 

This Christmas season I realize that gifts are already in us. The moment we breathe, the laughs we share, the heart that still beats, and the chance to start again each day. No one else can give me what I know now to move in this world with more grace and love for myself. 

The Cost of Ambition 11/7/23

On November 1, 2023 in the middle of my graduate class for the night, I felt on the verge of collapsing. I made my way to ER. On November 7, 2023, I am still trying to make sense of the past week, in how I've been abusing my body for years. That day alone was a compound effect of defeat that I repressed with a smile and snacks. 

In the past week since the hospital, I've slept, I've meditated, I've stayed away from sugar and salt, and I cried so much. I almost let myself die because I repressed all my stress and allowed myself to carry too much without requiring my community to do the same. 

My blood pressure reflected the state of my heart. 

I currently live with a lot of fear and gratitude these days. I get lightheaded and catch myself holding my breath naturally from anxiety. I met my shadow self in a meditation I'd done on the plane: an angry snake woman resembling me as she yelled at me for allowing US to suffer this long. After she told me the truths of our shadow being hurt at putting myself second, she began to grow smaller in size. She slithered her way into a hair clip for me to pin back my hair. She said I will live near your head, so you're reminded that we are part of each other, especially in our brain. I woke up relieved.

Some hard truths I had to confront: 

My mind wanders between the self-love affirmations and of how I would live if kinder to myself. I let that go and look at the day as still young and still unwritten. So many things I don't want to or have to do.

For now, I still wear the hospital bracelet on my left arm. It's to remind me of that trauma and how every day after that, I show up for me.

Leader-shape 10/12/23

Today was the first time in a long time that I cried on the job about the job. When I got the disappointing news about my year long unpaid back pay, I said this feels like a tomorrow problem. A Monday problem. My instinct was to be avoidant. 

I took a deep breath and allowed the anger and frustration to flow through.

My first angry thought, "I mean nothing to this place. No matter how I love what I do, grateful for what I do, and put into what I do, there is no leadership above me to match my energy of advocacy."

My second thought, "Protocol over people. If this were their misfortune, they'd raised higher hell. And I am expected to be patient, silent, and forgotten."

My last thought, " If I ever come into power and lead at a higher position, or become their boss some day (manifesting*), I won't forget this dehumanizing feeling and promise to do better."

Then I cried. Slow, quiet, painful, and necessary. My colleague found me with my wet keyboard, gasping for words with a deep throat-y answer. And as two members on the lowest end of this public sector food chain, she showed me the compassion I'd been searching for.

She was made of leadership material because she didn't need a title to make sure people mattered. 

In limbo 10/9/23

I don't talk enough about how it feels like I am being birthed out of a literal growing pain. Anyone else in my shoes would and could feel like their world is falling apart.

And then I think about all the really great things about life that aren't all clear but feel promising.

It feels so lonely this season, but I believe in me. I really believe that I will become who I need to be so I can continue to walk into my purpose of helping bring more kindness in this heartless world, more insight to the collective amnesia, and love for me without nothing weighing me down.

Down with Disappointment 10/6/23

Getting my Friday morning meeting canceled didn't make me feel the least bit disappointed. The week had tired me out on the disappointment threshold. I was not in control of all the outcomes. People let me down a lot this week. I reminded myself, that I can only control me (grappling with high blood pressure stress numbers).

And in the grand scheme of things, I was only doing 1/5 of things I loved to do. The rest of that fraction was putting out fires or watching things burn. And frankly, I was tired of being the only one who dispensed fiery passion to get things done.

I lined up my homework and projects to do ahead of time today. Instead, I opened up the old word document for my next graphic novel and kept writing. It felt necessary and selfish in a revitalizing way. I didn't care if it was perfect or made sense. I was finally doing art for my own sake.

I got my second rejection this year for a show I wanted to do and realized it wasn't because I lacked talent. Organizers were protecting resources and access for members of their community. These things can get lost in translation and it's up to me, to keep empowering myself toward the stories I have left to tell. And in essence do the same for my creative community.

Daily De-stress reminders from this moment:

My real birthday 9/20/23

Guam's slogan is "Where America's Day Begins." Always one day ahead of America based on time zone.

This morning Coy kissed me before leaving for work saying, "Happy birthday on your REAL birthday."

Made my annual greeting to Kristine Bactad born on Sept 20th of the same year in the same hospital.

My mother tells me last night I was born two hours early from my scheduled c-section and I laughed by saying, I just was so ready to start living.

I am really grateful for every part of me and every second I've been alive. All of the pieces were gifts. The moments I was broke, self-harmed, and depressed drove me to desire hope, love, and humor.

35 was about learning who I am without titles, who I am as I disappoint people, and who I am as a student and not a teacher. It's been an incredible feeling to stay in my lane. It's liberating to not share my entire schedule. And it's been so revelatory in knowing my healthy limits.


35 of 35
  1. Got to perform improv for the first time with a very special group of classmates
  2. Got to become a better runner
  3. Got to travel to new places like Portland and Cedar City
  4. Got to read more non comic books
  5. Got to stop myself from fake laughter for the sake of someone else's feelings
  6. Got to pray every night 
  7. Got to see some old friends from Ethel M 
  8. Got to rest more
  9. Got to 10 years of marriage with the sweetest Beard
  10. Got to say no more
  11. Got to stand up for myself while still be kind
  12. Got to ask for help
  13. Got to hold space for my parents' vulnerability
  14. Got to go to Brenda's book club
  15. Got to do a monologue at Around the Campfire
  16. Got to road trip to see Spanish Aqui
  17. Got to go watch theater outdoors in the Thunder
  18. Got to maintain my Guam friendships for another year
  19. Got to become a fan of the LV Aces 
  20. Made Yoga part of the routine
  21. Got better at packing my lunches with love
  22. Got to thrive in my graduate courses by using creativity and research
  23. Got to make new friends in San Jose
  24. Drew less
  25. Had so much pizza
  26. Grew my hair even longer
  27. Experienced losing Esther to cancer
  28. Had some health scares
  29. Slept more siestas out
  30. Dog parks with my hotdog
  31. Fought for my pay
  32. Communicated the need for rest
  33. Stood up to my sibling being calm and collected
  34. Guest spoke minimal but meaningful
  35. Smiled for all my efforts

Birthday Wisdom 9/17/23

This past week I've learned a lot about my threshold for patience. I've come to realize that my parents love me, but can't bring themselves to say it while feeling it. It's usually muddled in the nitpicking of my lifestyle choices, hair choices, food choices, or anything they can point a possible error.

Growing up with this framework of what I call "critical" love, aka tough love, it still hurts. This past week I've been making a different choice in the way I view and feel this feedback from them. I see it now as a way of telling me about themselves. 

Tell me how to live because maybe they are STILL grappling with how to live their lives.

I could type endless stories of how we butt heads, but I'd rather remember learning to accept them as they are. It stings when they can't reciprocate that response, but there's a lot of peace beneath meeting people where they are currently at (headspace and heartspace wise).

Tonight while visiting my parents, my dad had a relative on speakerphone. She proceeds to ask my dad if my brother and I are nurses, if he's married (my parents are long time divorced), what properties he currently owns, and my dad is quickly finding or feigning the courage to answer this rapid fire interrogation.

I am pissed. I am mad because of the pressure she's putting on my dad to know all his business. I am also mad because this much information is material for gossip. It really kicks in an overprotector instinct in me. I look at my mom and begin to say, " I don't like this person." She tells me to shush.

My dad is off the phone and comes over to us, ready to start potentially new gossip that is separate from the call. I said, "Why does that person have to know all about our business? Does she not understand privacy?" He explains that I am too American to understand that's "how Filipinos are." My mom nods in agreement. I look at both of them and say, "This is not how Filipinos have to BE." Somewhere in the time of this conversation and me finally heading home, we spoke about skin color and hair that leave me torn a bit how much my parents still value Eurocentric aesthetics. No yelling or points to be proven between us. Hearing, learning, challenging, and making different, respectful choices.

I realized how much I've made a decision to outgrow parts of my culture that perpetuate cycles of shame, gossip, and social climbing since Bruha Baddies podcasting (peer to peer candid dialogue as a Filipino community).

Happy early birthday to me for the life they gave me and the life I continue for us.

Anniversaries 8/17/23

On our last day in Portland for our wedding anniversary trip, we were picked up at our AirBnB by our Lyft driver. It was a quiet ride and then our driver calls our attention.

"I... just want to let you know both something...you're my 1,000th ride."

And I reply,

"I...just want to let you know something too. It's our 10 year wedding anniversary."

We both laugh together and I asked if we get a large carboard check for being a driver milestone. Then as we almost reach our destination, I say, "In all seriousness, marriage is a lot of work." He agreed too. He mentioned that he's been married for six years.

We part ways feeling really good. One of the bright moments in a chaotic last day (stranded many times).

And I am beginning to believe that maybe more things are a lot like this moment in life. Maybe there's a really great joke or inspiring piece of wisdom in a stranger. This brief exchange serves a far greater life purpose of kindness and awareness. I am searching and making space for how the universe speaks to me through shared joy and surprise. 

From Body bag to self belief 8/3/23

This morning was the last visit of the physical therapy assistant Rock. He was kind and breathed a lot of self belief back into my father-in-law, Coy Sr. Much of the last few weeks have been spent going to senior yoga, doing pain clinic exercises, Veteran Affairs medical appointments, and learning a lot about the aging body.

A few years back, in popular rhetoric, there was an age divide with terminology like boomer, millennial, gen x, and gen z. If there's anything I've learned a lot lately of is how strong and non-infinite the body can be at the same time. And maybe if we set aside the ageism labels and spent more time on the weaknesses and wisdom shared by time, future, past, and present experiences, solutions could emerge in how we ultimately taking care of this house our soul lives in.

As Coy Sr. tried to balance on a foam by standing tall, I thought about how much I take walking straight and standing tall for granted. 

As Coy Sr. walked down a long hall that bridge the hospital together while I ran down to save his appointment for being canceled by tardiness, I think about so much overthinking time is wasted on the indoor track thinking I am not fast enough like the other gym goers.

And when the pain clinic doctor tells him sometimes pills are overprescribed to treat the symptom, not the cause, I can hear how much I really need to be paying attention to every part of this gift called life. 

Even the way we speak to ourselves matters. When I remind Coy Sr. that his flexibility is still there from all those years in Ely when he was a young athlete, he also uncovers the pride in himself that was long ago buried. And it's not just him I am learning from that is older than me. I see my mom laughing and smiling as she harvests rambutan in the Philippines. The ladies in class on Tuesday night yoga at Lutheran church were ready to put their lives on the line from a potential intruder when class was disrupted by noise.

It might be naïve to say at 36, that I am grateful to get to be here. Someone might deem me too young. Someone might deem me too old. But I can safely say, I am paying attention and treating my body with so much intention.

Breathing me back to life 07/18/23

It's become real kitschy to say we have boundaries that we wish friends and family would respect. But I'd like us all to challenge the complete thought there about giving consent and getting consent. Sometimes we take it personally when someone doesn't want to disclose everything. But as a serial over-sharer, I think I do more harm than good for myself and my listener. 

Past me would tell people my whole schedule right down to the minute. Past me would fit people into my life like Lego bricks tightly linked as I flew on the freeway sweating and running to the next function. Past me would post on social media deliberate or vague memes that gave people an emotional pulse on my current day so they could send me a direct message to investigate, fix, or probe me for more information.

Friends would initially listen because they cared. We bonded. We problem solved together. But over time with over sharing, we became an echo chamber of extreme disgust for anyone who thought differently from us or even had a slight opposition to us. I suddenly found my head and heart opened up to rooms of hate that I would not normally enter. 

As the internet further integrates into my life, the susceptibility of my boundary and the trek to extremism seem so normalized or tantalizing. My body asks me to shut it off by saying that the jog away from the machine felt good. My mind is happy to connect with me after yoga's meditative orb. 

I am trying to find my place in all of this. I am trying to love the people in my life as I am and as they are. But like a drug, initial access to all types of information makes us all hungry to give and get more.

Boundaries look differently for everyone. Mine on the outside looks like I stopped doing the things I once loved. I am in a season where I just want to recognize mine without my bleeding heart for all the things and people I used to serve. I want to get my health back. But it starts with my mind. And right now, my mind isn't well around some communities, especially the internet.

The picture I chose for this post was captured by Mari's mom last summer (2022) of me going the farthest I've been out to sea. I felt fear and courage at the same time. Change, boundaries, love have both components of fear and courage. 

Cheers to me taking a leap back into me.

Thriving Thirties 06/30/23

Last night I went to a pop up Filipino cuisine (ISTORYA) event at Noypitz, a place and event I've never been to before. As I was having dinner late as one of the last reservation guests seated, the famous Ruby Ibarra was doing her rap set. There she was crowded on stage by people holding up their phones with gratitude at getting a live performance from one of the trailblazers of rap music in our culture. 

While I enjoyed the amazing food designed to emulate indigenous dishes, I too, tried to record Ruby from afar. It donned on me the joy of being in my thirties. I could enjoy a great concert from the comfort of my dinner seat. I didn't have to elbow my way to the celebrity for the glorious moment or picture. I joked with my friend Gabe that the picture I took shows empty seats to a restaurant, something you'd hardly see at a concert. He asked, things are much more refined now in terms of aesthetic and intention as thirty-somethings. I joked with him but also with conviction, "Well isn't this almost the same practice of being in our 20s waiting for food at gourmet food trucks? Long line, hefty price, and uniquely crafted experimental eats? We just get to sit down this time, but really we're doing the same thing."

The other really great part is that since we were the last to eat, we also got to linger and get a photo of her from the comfort of a make-believe line. No wrist bands or bouncers. Just two restaurant patrons chilling by the stage.

There's beauty in being young, trying new things, or staying out late. But there's also a lot of beauty in finding new comforts while we grow up too.  Adventure is in everything if you're looking for it.

Growing up 06/12/23

Photo by Marlon Bulaong

Sometimes it's really hard for me to fully hate or dismiss people. I can't help but see every single person I encounter as a shade of who I am. I see in people decisions I considered, roads I never took, and doors that I finally closed. No matter how frustrated or confused people make me, I honor that it's their life while also honoring mine. 

During the last day of my conference, I noticed how upset one of my students became as they knew our time would be complete and they would return to the pressures of living in their Filipino household. I didn't have to be around her to know and understand the pressure she was under. As she composed herself in the 20 minutes before her family came to celebrate graduation, something in me awakened.

An old memory of a girl who was much like her. A girl who would rather be dead than living someone else's expectations, the someone(s) being my parents. I saw me, young Jean, balancing unsuccessfully the weight of my parents' and country's world on my shoulders.

She introduced us to her family as she carefully explained all their prestigious job titles while her mom watched her deliver this accurately. It'd been 17 years since I was kicked out of my home and working 3 jobs to survive in America under my own plan. I often thought about the narratives my parents made and dealt with as their daughter was not in their home and living with a man. The possible slut shame, the disappointment of me being unhinged, and the dangers I would encounter in a Metropolitan city must've been on my parents' minds causing them sleepless nights.

And here I was, leading women with a name I built for myself in this so-called scary city. I didn't lead with a title, I lead with behavior. What kind of adult did I need to be, so others could feel inside themselves a sense of hope?

I shook their hands as my student proudly said that I was also Filipino. I don't think it impressed them much and I was okay with not being regarded at all. At 18, when I got kicked out, I also framed that as walking away. I reclaimed my freedom as a Filipina on my own terms.

And when she wrote me a few days after the Sunday ceremony about how much more she loves herself, how her life was changed, and grateful we now know each other, I saw a shade of myself that was bright and on her way to maintain surviving.

How to Stand up to a Dictator 05/23/23

We know of all the popular leadership books written by Brene Brown, Adam Grant, and Simon Sinek. I often think about those 3 books as I get ready to train a new generation of leaders for the summer. Maria Ressa's book "How to Stand up to a Dictator" came to me in right season of my life.

I live in a world that's given up a lot of things to technology. Thoughts, minds, art, data, friendships, health, and families. Maria Ressa helps make sense of why we all fell into the traps and beauty of polarization for profit. 

When we hate each other, we're more engaged with the platform. The more hate we type, the more it echoes back.

She calls social media the invisible atom bomb and we are all compromised.

This is not to alarm or disillusion the reader. It's meant to wake us up from the spell and show up for each other, be curious for research, and be aware of when internet violence becomes REAL violence  (mob violence). 

Anyone of us can be extremist if we're not paying attention to the calls to action of the people/influencers/friends we worship and repost. Hell. Including me. It had me curious about my prescriptions to people in proximity to me.

Some of my favorite quotes from Maria Ressa that I will take with me as a leader, human, and citizen of the world: 

This book made me feel seen as someone who cares deeply about human progress and community. It gave me hope by reading her fight for integrity in facing unjust situations. She held onto her agency even when every opportunity to surrender was the easier option.

I am moved by her wisdom, her dedication to the motherland (Philippines), and the preservation of values that's grounded her every step of the way.

Cynthia Te
Isaac Moeckley
Raenna Aldabe
Alysia Moreno
Cyrenz Garcia

Minimum Quota 5/7/23

Yesterday at Free Comic Book Day, I drew for a whole family that came from a taekwondo tournament. The preteen daughter egged her mom about not being a good artist because she doesn't have great art materials. I kept drawing trying to stay in my lane, but that girl kept complaining to her mom that she wasn't doing enough for her as an artist and that she wasn't good like her cousin. 

I looked up and looked right into that girl's eyes. This earnest move typically scares kids today since it's confrontational. 

I state, "You don't need expensive materials to become a great artist. All my college students are encouraged to get their supplies from the Dollar Tree. A philosophy I live by is if you can make something out of nothing, imagine when you have it all. You can create in abundance without the pressure and anxiety that we attach to fancy supplies. We don't correlate our worth to the price of our materials. We create it all with boundless practice and skill."

She grew quiet and her mother sighed relief. Raising 3 kids with big personalities is tough and providing for them may prove to be tougher.

I meant what I said. I've seen what I said. Five of my students are graduating this year and have produced brilliant creative plans and portfolios of their work. I wouldn't take all the credit, but I know a gem of conviction was planted along both our ways.

Teaching is tough and requires a lot of trust and conviction. It's deeply psychological how we reach a person and create a sense of achievement and risk taking. I used to think I needed to do that for every single person in the classroom or workshop.

But I don't control. I can gift truths. People can shop for what they keep in their tool belts.

And that's the beauty of being able to inspire 1. Anyone more than 1 person inspired is icing on the cake. And for me, I've had the honor today looking back to say, thank you for being more.




(Students in Order from top to Bottom)

Cynthia Te UROZYONIX STUDIOS (@urozyonix) | Instagram 

Isaac Moeckley Isaac Moeckly (@isaacm_design) | Instagram 

Raenna Aldabe (Home - Raenna Aldabe )

Alysia Moreno alysia moreno (@alysiamorenodesigns) | Instagram 

Cyrenz Garcia (Cyrenz ◈ Graphic Designer (@cymg.design) | Instagram )

For more info find their portfolios on Flux 2023 - Main (unlvgraphicdesign.com) 

Jean Theme Repeated 4/25/23

photo by Norma Jean Ortega

Last night a colleague told me "I didn't know someone like you could exist. Is this person forreals? Could someone be this bright like the sun all the time. And you really are who you are."

Earlier in the day, I was just walking around in the classroom and two of my colleagues said to me while I passed by, "You're just such a happy person."

I've probably heard an itieration of these lines fed to me 3 major times in my life. The first two times it was from people who wanted to hate me. The last time was from a person coming out of a deep, dark depression and spoke to me on his first day outside.

I know that when I greet some people it makes them cringe. It used to bother me, but I know now, that when you come across a rare energy like mine, it can be really uncomfortable.

I also know this is one of many reasons people quickly attach to me. For a long time, I wasn't aware of how open and available my energy was that it became addicting to people who thirsted for a long time to be affirmed, seen, and cared about.

So when I heard my colleague-become-friend tell me, it was a moment that I was completely unafraid of being myself. He saw in me what I'd been scared to see in myself because it meant being too much to too much people.

I write this to say that while it feels special to have rare energy, it's not mine to keep all the time. I share it when I have the capacity to do so, and it's meant to ripple through the space. I hope that when people comment on my energy, they have a piece of what that could feel and look like for themselves too.

Failing & Freedom 4/20/23

Being sick teaches you a lot about time.

How much time you have. How much time you give. How much time you waste.

As I laid on my couch in so much pain and fear, I realize that I didn't belong to myself. I tired myself out on trying to make everyone else happy but me. This is a lesson I keep learning and unlearning. That's ok.

So I quit. I quit a lot of things.

I quit caring more than others. I quit saying yes to everything. I quit being a leader. I quit being a friend in some circles. I quit trying to coach every student to the finish line. 

I've never felt healthier after letting go. I came to terms with who I wanted to hold me and who I was willing to hold. It was also a check to my ego. NOT EVERYONE NEEDS/WANTS ME. That's ok. It's consent.

I also learned how I put too much importance on being loyal to the point of it killing me. My blood pressure with the stress was making me dizzy. I learned the hard truth that some people don't really care what you've been holding up. They don't really care if you're absent. And in the end, their anger and resentment are none of your business. I am not God, none of us are and so let's not pretend we have an infinite hold or influence on people. 

We literally cannot be everywhere, everything, all at once.

Nor would we require that from people. Some people hide behind my greatness and now scramble to see the veil drop. Failing at being the best of everything is the best gift I've received. I am not recalculating moves of perfection. Instead, I am only present to the person or thing in front of me.


Biblical Cancel Culture 4/2/23

Today the bible is constantly cited as a point of contention with it serving as a symbolic moral compass for Christians and non-Christians alike. The narrative being currently served is that it's unrealistic and full of flaws.

It's actually very realistic about cataloging human flaws. I realized this as a I wept for the first time during Palm Sunday. Maybe it was the very graphic story of Jesus being led to his inevitable death. Maybe it was from leaving my phone at home by accident all morning so I was very present in my body and emotions. Maybe it was from being absent from church attendance for 3 years (throughout the pandemic).

But as I recounted the violence of the mob of a once celebrated leader, I was reminded the power of cancel culture in today's world. I also thought deeply about the leadership piece that could be applied to secular social movements today. How many of us don't have the energy to be part of social movements for long? How many of us have faced our own cowardice and doubt when helping others we believe in? All the human elements of a flawed and painful human life are tragically present, even Jesus doubting God in his deepest agony.

I know that whenever shit goes down for any human, we think, where the fuck is God? Does God understand pain?

And then I think of all the accusations Jesus endured with his non violent communication, "If you say so. If you say that I am." If?! Instead of saving his own life, suffering public humiliation, and torture, he just powered through the motions.

Dying for our sins was something I always heard and repeated as a Catholic. In 2023, at 35 years old (not that much older than Jesus), dying for your sins, means to me, committing to the vision of good for human kind. And sometimes, leadership and friendship have their own ugly shades of experiences or loneliness, but that vision is probably something the world desperately needs to balance it.

I cried today, because I know I've tried. I cried today, because it's a grave injustice that many experience in today's canceling of each other or consequences exacted unjustly on good people. But I also cry because I believe and have faith deeply in rising above the human condition with the human spirit.


Cheering People On 3/26/23

I am a good kind of sad today. A very good friend of mine, chose to quit our team. My friend had the courage to tell me the truth about his priorities, his feelings, and boundaries he's setting for the way he spends his time. While he unfolded this hard moment, I envied his courage and was grateful how he modeled honesty that benefited all of us.

It brought me something I was avoiding a long time. 

I lie to myself all the time about being in some of my project commitments. I am afraid to let go because I feel like my friends would think I am a bad friend. I look at how I spend my week and I wish I were doing other things: more improv play, more dog time, and more time at home.

I said to my friend what I think my friends would say,

"But you're my security blanket."

He said lovingly and firm to me, "You're going to be fine. You've been fine. And if you don't keep doing what you're doing, I am going to kick your ass."

We laughed and I knew that our friendship was still strong. A good friend knows their role is clearly not to hold you forever. It's to hold you for a moment, and place mutual faith in each other that the world is ours for the taking.

A core value of mine is cheering people on and sending them on their way. Being loyal made it hard to see that everyone around me gets to grow up without me. Their growth has nothing to do with the love we share and care we have for each other. 

I grew up today in the most necessary way. In order for me to cheer people on, I have to be open to being cheered on too. No matter how close or distant, real friends remain with you always from the ideas they gifted you on this journey.


Phones Over Family 3/15/23

There used to be conversation around our dinner table. Now pictures are taken of food, app games are played, video clips are rolling, and everyone has their heads down. 

I gently nudge to my family members beside me to put their phones away.

A few minutes of silence and absent conversation, only to bring back the phones from the absolute discomfort of each other. 

The waitress comes by to ask if we want dessert and there's this unanimous no, but not from the celebrant. While I try to reel back in to why we're here and encourage some time to be sentimental, it's a feeling my family shoos away. The celebration dinner is framed like an obligation, a chore, and one of them laughs while I try to remind them in the parking lot that families typically hug when it's time to depart.

Another family member goes on to say, "No time for that. Relationships are drama." This story seems so harsh as an outsider looking in and in all honesty, I hope you pity us. I gently remind my family as we're walking to the nearby Marianas for a desert that I won't subscribe to indifference.

I wish I could tell my family that I am grateful for a lot of things: being alive mostly with them at the same time. But in these spaces where love should be present, I find myself lost behind the phones they choose to hide behind.

I share this moment as a caution to us all. How many scrolls, how many likes, and how many posts will make up for lost time between each human person beautifully existing before us?

Don't forget to look up, look within, and look at each other, every single day.

Thank you for being here, only to tell you, lay your phone done for a minute or two.

Leaving Behind the Living 2/27/23

There are a lot of gifts Esther Williams left me. The greatest one is coming into my life.

In 2018, her first day was working NEW Leadership Nevada week (the most stressful and rewarding part of my job). I was a "yes" person then and always seeking approval from a boss I feared. During a workshop, I decided to sit on the floor near a cooler that Esther lent us. I was super tired. Esther turns to me, "Jean, you are the heart."

That sentiment never left me. She would remind me over and over again when I navigated fear, burn out, and stress. She had more courage than anyone to stand up to someone we collectively feared. She ended that work relationship with such grace, class, and civility. Over the years of not working together, she still sent me holiday texts, google chat messages to check in with me, and allow me to decompress in her office at Anthropology when I was feeling down.

Over the course of Covid, she navigated breast cancer and suffered sometimes alone. She was used to being the one needed rather than being the one to ask for help. Another lesson that continues to teach me. 

Let people love you.

Let them show up for you.

We would have lunches and food was harder for her to eat. She'd sneak a fry out of my carne asada just to taste something junky for a second. My hair had gotten longer in the times we would not see each other from remote work. Her hair loss made her love mine. My head of hair was no longer a nuisance from her reframing it as something she missed. I keep this moment dear and I would give her my hair if I could. But her wish as she pet it last December when Caryll and I snuck a visit, was to "please keep it."

The office was eerily quiet with everyone out for some reason. Caryll entered before noon. Also adding to the stillness at the WRIN office. Even if she didn't work with us anymore, she'd champion and cheer us because she loved us and every student we served like Brenda and Tsion. And at 12:40pm, she passed.

Nothing in front of me mattered. The homework, the emails, and even trying to find the right words to comfort me and Caryll as we absorbed this news. Class went on and the grief lingered. I knew in my heart my friend was resting, but when I got home none of my dinner tasted good.

Finally I let out that big, ugly, cry of necessary relief.

I love her. She loved me. She looked at me with encouragement and spoke to me manifestations of good that she believed I was capable of giving the world. Meeting her was important because it earmarked and challenged me to remember my worth.

And now I am left cherishing hers. What a privilege and honor to know, learn, and love Esther Williams.

Happy Valentine/Galentine to Me 2/12/23

As I walked up the driveway to my parents' house to pick up my car, memories of Spring 2006 flooded back to me. I remembered the day 17 years ago when I walked down this same drive way barefoot hoping Monica's dad would pick me up so I could go live in a Motel 6. 

I took a brave leap in my undergraduate years to walk away from my home for decisions of being labeled a bad daughter.

Who knew today I would feel gratitude for that moment to prove my family wrong? That in fact, I was a good daughter who would begin to rewrite all our traditional ways of thinking, initiate more risks, and take up more space in every way in America. I would begin my 3 job work ethic. I would seek found-family in my professors, colleagues, and employers. I would spend the rest of my life later trying to craft better narratives than the one I was assigned at home: disobedient, ungrateful, and maarte (overreacting). I sought informal and formal counseling and am now headed in the direction doing that for others. 

I am seeing the mechanics of an entire tumultuous time bear fruit in my adult life as I drove home in a car that I paid for to a home I built for me and my new family.

Earlier this past month, one of the greatest critiques about my book is that the main character is whiny and plays a victim. That every minor character has no growth. I didn't have an answer to that edit because I am still living in unanswered questions of my own environment. I was hurt by the edit because of the reality of it in my reality. As soon I pulled into my garage, the answer dawned on me and it might help all of you seeking validation from your parents. 


America 2/7/23

This morning I had the opportunity to find a gem in my mom's casual conversation, while we shared my car for the day. She had returned on Sunday after 7 months away in the Philippines for retirement.

"You know what I miss about America?"

I always wonder if she will crack a joke or find a way to scold me. So I mentally prepare myself for the punchline.

"Hot water and the roads."

I was taken aback by this answer to her own question. These are two fundamental things I think most Americans forget in my generation. We're busy echoing many ways to apologize for the way things are so we can disassociate with the crimes of the past. But I am left to wonder what are some comforts we could not do without when it really comes to change or leaving this country? What are the small and big things our parents yearned and dreamt about so that I could be desensitized to its pleasure and power as it becomes my norm in 2023?

This statement made me reflect on my own privilege and power that I take for granted every single day. While I am getting to work or school, I don't often think of the infrastructure and safety provided by the city planning of Las Vegas. I almost forgot about all the 18 years of my life I spent with the painfully cold water in the showers I took before school when living in Guam. My reality was different because of her mobility.

My mom inspires me in ways she won't ever know or come to realize. Together our conversations are enriched because of our generation gap, the context of the way we construct our Filipino-ness, and the way America experiences us (not the other way around). 

So the next time I shower and feel hot water on my skin or even park at my next destination, I will remember her words. I hope you do too.

Rabbit Year 1/22/23

Speed.

The year just started and whenever old friends and colleagues see me, that is the word they use to describe me.

And I honestly aimed to slow down since 2018. 2018 was my biggest break out year as an artist and activist. I used to pack my weekends with 4 events and meetings each day. I traveled a lot and piloted programs. In 2019, I addressed my depression stemmed from burn out with therapy. And when I healed from that, I jumped right into the pandemic survival mode of 2020 and 2021, medicating myself with the comfort of California burritos. In 2022, I was socially awkward and dreamed of traveling home. Improv and a bank breaking ticket home were new forms of medicine for that year.

I never stopped learning from each year and I never stopped wanting to teach the lessons that immediately grew from reflection and meditation.

People have advised and critiqued the way that I live because being around me exhausts them. This type of company made me feel embarrassed and built a desire in me to shroud me and my talents.

Even as you're reading this, you may still get the impression that I am fast.

But I no longer care what you think or what anyone else thinks about my speed. While my speed makes me clumsy, it also makes me clever. While my speed may seem overwhelming, it is also empowering and exhilarating. My speed is birthed from the hours of industrious bakery work for over a decade, morning workouts, and siestas. 

I am not a problem in today's world. I am a solution for showing up and showing out. In the year of the rabbit, I will hop into new places and spaces of mind, body, and speed.

AI: Am I? 12/12/22

The night before everyone started posting utopian AI pictures of themselves, I'd shown STRIPPED the comics documentary. It featured the changing tide of comics from traditional materials to webcomics. A huge debate of accessibility versus craft was discussed.

And something that my students took away from it in their debrief after the film, was that while they now have access to reading and making comics, they understand the sadness felt by earlier creators that experienced the conflict of change.

That argument is not different from today in our AI rendered world. But the argument's framework is a tale as old as time.

Napster to music.

Filters on instagram to edits by photographers.

Youtube versus television.

Tiktok versus movies.

Kindles versus printed books.

Streaming versus movie theatres.

All are conflicts and conversations about profits rise while a kitschy trend brings in a wave of users. But not all battles were lost. There were advocates and stewards to this day who still honor the old/dying art forms/mediums. And that's the real beauty of keeping something alive. 

Simply put, the fact that most of us can't sew our own clothes or build carpentry easily means that we didn't encounter a steward who could give us and teach us to honor those skills. Instead we must purchase lost knowledge. 

I've worked a long time teaching the comics craft to people. Those that are easy to dismiss me have never sat down to see all the mechanisms. Those that are fascinated with me, see and honor the work behind the skill.

I believe that even though AI exists, so do our brains. So do our choices. 

And where do I stand in the face of changing technology? I can honor the work it took to design it. I can honor the wonder of those that use it. But I'll always remember my high school blog that got lost on the ethernet from a website being shut down. And that means, that no matter how much I throw my humanity into a machine, it's not me. I won't let it be.

Pizza Club 11/23/22

This past summer in Guam, when I was lying on Mari's couch with my legs in the air and shooing away her dog Dede's butt, Sangi asked me a question as she rested on the other end of this L shaped chair.

"Do you like corn?"

"I love corn."

"Do you like pizza?"

"I LOVE PIZZA!"

Mari fiddling with her decorative planners across the room at her dining table joked that we sounded like a bunch of middle schoolers learning about each other for the first time. In a way, she was right. When you're around the right people, you can navigate pretty easy between fun and serious. Young and mature without the shame associated of "acting your age." And this summer I learned more about Sangi that I realized. We had a lot of common in high school even if we hung out in the same circles, we jumped crowds. Sangi is loyal, funny, sentimental, and kind. I was too busy trying to survive, that I didn't enjoy fully being a friend from 14 to 17 years old. 

When I left Guam in 2005, my friends got to enjoy a friendship with Sangi so much more than I did. She's their godparent, confidant, party planner, partner-in-crime. And through my adult years, Sangi continued to be a good friend to me from afar. So when this pizza question came up and we giggled about our love for it, I knew that I was so lucky someone like her was in my life.

After the INA wellness retreat, many moons after our couch pizza survey, we decided to treat ourselves to pizzas nearby. We took this picture of us at the beach, talking about life, and devouring the most delicious island pizzas. If she weren't Sangi, she would shame me for being lactose intolerant, shame me for eating pizza after a "wellness" retreat, and we would've ate in the restaurant.

Instead, we got to be Sangi and Jean, two girls writing their lives according to them. Free, breathable, and loyal to their identities.

That's the Pizza Club folks.