Smaller stories often feel bigger because they ask less of the world and more of the person watching. They trade spectacle for intimacy, and in doing so, they leave room for recognition. What lingers is not what happened, but what it cost—emotionally, quietly, and without announcement.

Desiring to be a filmmaker means stepping past the threshold of artistic drive and into the “set” of film — where vision meets limitation, and ideals negotiate with reality. Long before festivals, premieres, or applause, there are spreadsheets, borrowed equipment, awkward favours, and the quiet question of how to make something meaningful with very little. This is where filmmaking truly begins.

Self-doubt shows up at every stage of filmmaking. When you’re just starting, when you’re already skilled, when you’ve invested time, money, and heart into something you’re not sure will be seen. This piece reflects on how self-doubt isn’t something to erase with certainty, but something to reframe—by returning to the why behind our love for film.

Every filmmaker reaches a quiet phase where the magic fades. Scripts feel forced. Edits feel pointless. The excitement that once fueled you goes silent. But burnout isn’t the opposite of love—it’s proof of how much you’ve already given. This piece explores why falling out of love with film might be part of learning how to love it differently.

"In your 20s, you will be tempted to prove to everyone that you’re doing well in life. It’s important you resist putting on a performance for an audience that isn’t yourself." As the year ends, I keep asking a quiet question: am I allowed to call myself this yet? This piece sits with that discomfort, learning to accept who I am, without your approval, and realizing the present version of myself doesn’t need validation to exist.

The holidays have a way of making stories feel heavier and more necessary. This is the season when we catch up with friends, remember the past with family, speak to those who have passed, and call the ones who are far away. In these moments, stories become more than memories — they become our way of staying connected.

I used to think Christmas movies were too predictable to matter. But somewhere between familiar scenes, repeated lines, and the quiet moments they bring back, I began to understand why Christmas movies feel like coming home. They don’t surprise us because they aren’t meant to — they comfort us, reminding us of family, forgiveness, and the places and people we return to every year.

Christmas in the Philippines doesn’t arrive all at once — it slowly settles in. From church songs at dawn and parols lining the streets to station IDs and holiday films we replay every year, stories have always been how we gather, remember, and feel seen. This piece reflects on how film became part of our Christmas tradition — and why representation and shared stories matter most during Pasko.

The first step rarely feels right. It feels uncertain, awkward, and heavy with doubt. You question your timing, your ability, and whether you’re even meant to be here at all. But beginnings aren’t supposed to feel confident. They’re supposed to feel unfamiliar. And sometimes, the only way to understand where you’re going is to take the step that feels wrong and trust that clarity will follow.

The industry loves speed. But the filmmakers who last? They take their time. If you feel behind, this one’s for you.

Starting your first film is scary. Fear, doubts, and imperfect tools can make you freeze before you even press “record.” But every messy, awkward, “cringe-worthy” attempt is a step toward discovering your voice as a filmmaker. Your story deserves to be told — so take the leap. Make it anyway.

You heard that right, nobody cares about your life story, your struggles, your wins, or even your biggest heartbreak. The world already has so much going on that people don’t always have the time or emotional capacity to pause and truly listen. Especially today, in a society and generation where our country is plagued with corruption and lack of accountability, why would we want to watch something that does nothing but confront you with the harsh reality? Well, you see — that

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