I treat this blog as an archive of ideas, thoughts, and images that I want to save and refer to in the future.
I saw this banger from Tyler the Creator and had to write about it.
Create like a child. Be present, don’t think, and have fun.
Edit like a scientist. Be skeptical, critical, and meticulous.
When I was a kid, we had a guest bedroom, and every so often, friends and relatives would visit from the Philippines, Europe, the U.S., everywhere.
My parents would cook up a big feast for them. My mom would make her signature dishes, and if the weather was nice, my dad would fire up the grill for Filipino-style BBQ skewers or grilled pompano stuffed with tomatoes, lemongrass, and lemon slices. We’d all gather around the table as the adults traded stories late into the night.
I remember one visit in particular, my Tito and Tita came in from Chicago. After the meal, my dad cracked open some beers, and my Tito turned to my dad and said, “Nothing beats this.”
That moment stuck with me. Because he was right, there’s something special about being able to host the people you love.
I hope that’s what the future looks like for me too, visiting friends’ homes with my own family, reminiscing about the old days. And I hope they’ll crash at my place too, filling the house with food, laughter, and stories.
I first landed in San Francisco for an internship in September 2018, if I recall correctly, it was a Saturday. It didn’t hit me that I was living away from Canada for the first time until the moment I stepped off the plane.
I took a taxi to my new apartment in Nob Hill. The landlord greeted me, handed over the keys, and I started unpacking and settling into what would be my home for the next few months.
I remember feeling a mix of excitement and loneliness. I didn’t really know anyone in San Francisco at the time, and the city felt vast and unfamiliar.
After spending the afternoon getting settled, I decided to explore. That evening, I walked through Chinatown, wandered into North Beach, and continued all the way to Fisherman’s Wharf to my final destination: In-N-Out.
People rave about In-N-Out, so I made it my first official meal in the U.S. I ordered a Double-Double, animal style, just like a Reddit post had suggested. The burger was tasty, though I remember thinking it wasn’t quite the as hyped as some of my friends made it out to be.
As the night wore on and the temperature dropped, I started walking back home. Now, being back in San Francisco for a work trip, I passed by a few of those same landmarks and they brought me right back to that very first day.
What a time that was.
During a Focusmate session, I was working on a PowerPoint presentation for my upcoming one-hour talk at my team’s offsite.
At the end of the session, my Focusmate partner, an older man writing a book, asked how I was feeling.
“I’m excited,” I replied.
He smiled and told me something he often says to his kids: There’s no physiological difference between feeling excited and feeling nervous. So you might as well feel excited.
That perspective really stuck with me.
Excitement and nervousness are rooted in the same physical sensations. The only difference is how we interpret them. Your mindset shapes the emotion.
When I first moved to New York City, I was searching for a writing community. In that first month, I went to every one I could find but none of them felt right. Many of the spaces I visited were either too unserious or as my friend Yeng puts it, too boomery.
Yesterday, I hosted the Olive Tree Writing Club’s end-of-year party and open mic. And what I loved most was how the lineup of readers reflected the diversity of the club itself.
By coincidence, the lineup was by genre. Emily, Tommy, and Ori shared moving pieces of creative non-fiction. Sakib and Manan followed with poetry. Grayson read an excerpt from his upcoming sci-fi novel. Atty gave an ode to fan fiction. And Evan closed the night with a LinkedIn post, not a LinkedIn post like what you’d think, but an inspiring story of his time as an NFL coach.
After the final round of applause, we lingered and chatted, people congratulated the readers. A few members pulled me aside to share what this club has meant to them.
Aamir asked me, “How does it feel now that it’s over?”
I told him that it was a relief but I felt a deep sense of fulfillment. I joked to Ranuak that for my next free Sunday morning, I’m going to the spa.
As I looked around the room, at the hugs, the laughter, the shared joy, I thought to myself: This is what it’s all about.
For the past week, I’ve been heads down preparing for the Olive Tree Writing Club’s Open Mic and End-of-Season Party. Our final OTWC event before we break for the summer.
Since starting the community three years ago, I’ve hosted over 80+ events. Over time, I’ve learned there are two main components to any event: getting people to come and crafting the event experience.
The guest list is the most important part of any event. You could throw a simple gathering, but if the right people are in the room, it’ll still be a memorable night.
One benefit of running OTWC for a few years is that we’ve slowly and intentionally built our distribution. At this point, I don’t stress about whether people will show up, we’ve built enough trust and momentum that I know they will.
For the open mic, I sent out a bunch of personal invites. I have many members’ numbers saved, so when we announce an event, I’ll shoot out texts first. It’s the most high conversion thing I can do but also the most time-consuming.
Then I share it on our community WhatsApp and our email list. Our email list has a few hundred people who’ve been to OTWC in the past, so the open and conversion rates are strong.
I actually love writing those emails too. I treat them like mini blog posts. Sometimes I reflect on what OTWC means to me, or I share behind-the-scenes stories, or lore about the club. For the open mic, I wrote about a friend who started a design club inspired by OTWC, and how seeing his season-end party motivated me to host one of our own.
Ideally, we’d also post to Instagram (that’s how many people discover us), but I didn’t have time for that this round.
Once people arrive, it’s all about the experience.
Every detail is an opportunity to inject your own style and flavour. Everything from the pre-event messages, to the day and time, to the event page design, the venue vibe, the schedule, whether or not there’s alcohol, the music, the snacks, the lighting, all of it contribute to the holistic experience of the event.
I love sweating the small stuff. It’s those thoughtful touches that make OTWC events feel so unique.
Last Sunday, I was on a rooftop having a conversation about aura farming. Legit one of the best conversations I’ve had all year.
There was a dude in the corner, sun glasses on, looking all chill, reading a book.
One of my friends whispered, “That guy in the corner is aura farming.”
“What book is he reading though?” My other friend asked.
“He’s reading Think and Grow Rich.”
“Na that’s negative aura.”
———
Writing is a form of aura farming.
This isn’t some Rich Dad, Poor Dad shit.
I’m creating an aura asset. An asset that will collect aura for me while I sleep.
———
I’m hosting an open mic tomorrow for the Olive Tree Writing Club.
I have an urge to read a piece I wrote about aura farming.
Is reading a piece about aura farming at an open mic, aura farming?
———
If you’re a high aura individual, and you’re negative aura farming, but you’re doing this intentionally, then that actually increases your aura even more. This is known as counter aura farming.
Counter aura farming only works though is your high aura. If your low aura, and you try to counter aura farm, that’s just negative aura.
Lately, my favorite content creator is Ariathome, who’s been blowing up recently. He’s a producer who walks around NYC with a portable DJ setup, making songs on the spot with strangers.
In one video, he cooks up a Wu-Tang-style beat with a hip hop OG on his way to work.In another, a guy asks for a summer-style beat, harmonizes with it, sings in Spanish, then switches it up and starts rapping in English. In yet another, a guy in a full suit drops some surprisingly fire bars.
I love how ridiculous and spontaneous it all is. Some dude biking on their way to work, will drop some bars, then just bike off to work like nothing happened. Everyone freestyles. None of it is planned.
Each video has comments like:
From my own experience, I’d say they’re not wrong. I’ve made so many creative friends here. The talent and creativity in NYC is unmatched. Just last week, I was at an artist exhibit hosted by one of my friends and there were so many talented artists in different mediums like photography, textile art, paintings, musicians, dancers, and more.
This video reminds me what I love about NYC, talent is everywhere here.
We’ve got one last rooftop party and open mic this Sunday evening to close out the season. RSVP here.
At last Sunday’s Olive Tree Writing Club, I shared that it would be our final session before we take a break for the summer.
Even though we built OTWC to be sustainable with a repeatable playbook and shared hosting duties. Over time, it still takes a toll.
For a while now, I’ve been heading to Verci every Saturday afternoon to place our coffee order. I can’t stay out late on Saturdays because I’m up by 7:30 a.m. Sunday to get to the venue. Hosting also means I don’t make any Sunday plans.
And when I check the Verci calendar and see there’s a party the night before, I brace myself. One time, I showed up 45 minutes before OTWC to find the place a total mess. I had less than an hour to turn it around. I’ve never cleaned so fast in my life. And that wasn’t the only time it happened.
And that’s just for our regular sessions. It doesn’t include the extra effort that goes into special events.
Sometimes, during the event itself, I’m so tuned in to making sure everyone else is having a great time that I forget to enjoy it myself.
That said, I genuinely love doing this. It’s been a blessing to host this space. I get to see my writing friends every week. I’ve met hundreds of writers through OTWC. It brings me so much joy, and it’s become part of how people know me.
But man am I looking forward to taking a break.
I’m sure I’ll start missing it soon enough. And when that happens, It’ll be exciting to bring it back.
Today, I read in the news that the Hudson’s Bay Company has gone bankrupt. As of today, all of its stores have officially closed.
For my non-Canadian friends, The Bay was Canada’s version of Macy’s, a major department store that sold everything from clothes to home appliances. But it was more than just a store. It was a Canadian icon in the way Tim Hortons is iconic.
Its closure marks the end of the oldest company in North America. Founded 355 years ago during the fur trade era, The Bay was deeply tied to Canadian history.
Part of me felt a quiet sadness reading the news, though it didn’t come as a surprise.
Every time my family went to the mall, we parked at The Bay. At Bramalea City Centre in Brampton, Square One in Mississauga, and Woodbine Centre in Rexdale, we always parked at The Bay.
We bought so many things there over the years. It was my mom’s go-to spot on her lunch breaks. My parents bought me my first G-Shock for my birthday there. Even as I grew up, I instinctively parked at the Bay when I visited a mall.
This past Christmas, we had dinner at Sherway Gardens, one of Toronto’s nicer malls, and we walked through The Bay. The atmosphere felt somber. The shelves looked sparse, and hardly anyone inside. It felt like visiting an old friend in deteriorating health. My parents commented on how empty it was. I explained that my generation doesn’t shop at department stores anymore. They’re a dying breed.
I knew The Bay’s death was inevitable, but seeing its obituary in the headlines still hits different.
The next time I visit the malls of my childhood, I’ll see the empty shell of what was The Bay, and I’ll feel that unmistakable tug of nostalgia for a time that’s gone by.
I stumbled across this channel called Mihon Reko, which describes itself as “A Listening Bar For Analog DJs, Beatmakers & Vinyl Lovers.” The sets span old school soul, funk, jazz, and hip hop. All my favorite genres.
I started with the “Tender Love” set, and just one song in, I had to swap my AirPods for my Sony headphones because the music was that good.
It feels like being at a Japanese listening bar with vintage tracks playing, a relaxed atmosphere, the occasional voices in the background, and an ice-cold Sapporo in hand.
Over the past few evenings, this channel has become my go-to. I’ll throw on a set while working on something casual, and it’s such a vibe.
Today, I had a stressful meeting at work.
It got me thinking about the habits and systems I rely on to manage stress. Here are a few that have helped me the most:
I work out 4–5 times a week. On especially busy or stressful weeks, those workouts become even more important. If I skip them, I feel more anxious and stressed throughout the day. But when I get in a good workout, especially in the morning, I feel mentally clear and ready to take on my day.
When something’s bothering me, I set aside time in the morning or evening to think through it with pen and paper. I start with a stream-of-consciousness brain dump to get all my thoughts out, then use that clarity to process the emotion and think through what’s next. It helps me move from feeling overwhelmed to feeling in control.
I try to meditate most days, usually around 3–4 times a week. Meditation helps me stay present and centered. One of the biggest things it’s taught me is emotional regulation. It’s taught me how to experience something without immediately labeling it as “good” or “bad.” Often, it’s our judgment of a situation that makes it more stressful than it needs to be.
Back in 2019, a friend gave me the Five Minute Journal for Christmas. It’s a simple gratitude practice that takes just a few minutes in the morning and evening. Even during difficult moments, it reminds me there’s always something to be thankful for.
This one’s taken the longest to build. There’s no quick fix, just reps. Over the years, I’ve come to see stress not as something to avoid, but as something that can actually be good. It’s a signal that I’m growing.
After an Olive Tree Writing Club session, I asked my friend B how it went. Here’s what he said:
Someone new was sharing her work. As she began explaining the idea for her short story, her voice was a little shaky, you could tell she was nervous about putting herself out there. But as she kept talking and the group started asking questions, she relaxed. Her confidence grew. And she had a great idea.
That’s the special thing about this group.
Writing is hard enough as it is. It’s easy to doubt yourself. To think that your idea isn’t good enough. That you aren’t good enough. That no one will read this anyways.
But in this group, you don’t just get feedback, you get encouragement. People believe in you. And that kind of support goes a long way, especially when you’re just starting out.
B started coming earlier this year and he’s working on a big, ambitious novel himself.
Hearing what this space has meant to him reminded me just how important this space is.
Part of why this community exists, and part of my role in it, is to believe in people’s ideas and encourage them to keep going.
Because we’re all on this creative journey together. And when you have others who are going through it, and others that have been through it, we’ll all help each other succeed.
Over the past three years, I’ve hosted all sorts of writing events from weekly writing sessions to workshops, parties, and write-a-thons. But there’s one event that the community has asked for again and again: a weekend writing retreat.
From day one, I’ve always wanted to host one. And now, it’s finally happening.
From July 11–13, the Olive Tree Writing Club is hosting our first-ever writing retreat.
Expect focused blocks of time to dive deep into your novel, poetry collection, or longform Substack piece. We’ll also make space to hang out, play, and connect with fellow writers.
We’ll close the weekend with an intimate open mic session, where you’ll have the chance to present your work and celebrate each other’s progress.
Come join us for the most productive and inspiring writing weekend of your life.
Grab your ticket here!
One thing I’ve learned about creativity, and my own writing, is that inspiration strikes me like clockwork every day at 9 AM.
I sit down at my favorite café, order a black drip coffee, and the ideas come to me like a magnet. I’ve come to realize that this is when I’m most alert, most creative, and most motivated to think and generate ideas.
During the week, that energy goes toward my job. But on weekends, I channel it into creative work. If I catch the wave in the morning, I can easily come up with multiple strong ideas. But if I wait until the afternoon or evening, it takes me two or three times as long. My energy just isn’t the same.
That’s what creative discipline looks means to me. Showing up at the same place, at the same time, with the same routine and trusting that the work will come. It’s also why I take my routine so seriously. I protect that time no matter what.
About a year and a half ago, a friend, A, started regularly attending the Olive Tree Writing Club. Eventually, inspired by OTWC, he started his own community for designers called Aci-d.
I remember him sharing the idea in the early days, and I shared a few pointers as he got it off the ground.
Last night, I saw on Instagram that they just held their end-of-season celebration after a full year of events. Lots of people showed up. There were demos, a yearbook, and a great vibe all around. It looked like a blast and honestly, it was inspiring to see.
The beauty of living in NYC is that I made so many creative friends here. I heard about their ideas early on and I’ve seen them make their idea into a reality.
It reminded me of how creativity works as a feedback loop. Maybe I helped spark something at the start, and now seeing what they’ve built inspires me right back. I hope I can do the same for those who’ve inspired me along the way.
A friend of mine recently secured funding from a top-tier VC firm just weeks after quitting his job to pursue his startup full time.
During the due diligence process, the investors asked for referrals from former colleagues. Without hesitation, he called up his old manager, who was more than happy to vouch for him.
When he was on the verge of quitting, he could’ve coasted his final days. But instead, he took the time to document everything, ensure a smooth handoff, and leave on good terms with his team.
Just days later, it paid off.
It’s a great example of why you never burn a bridge. You never know when you’ll need to cross it again.
I’ve been wronged in the past, and even then, I chose to take the high road. Every time, it’s worked out for the better.
Yesterday, a friend texted me if I was free for dinner. He was planning on inviting a few friends for a casual meal on Memorial Day.
I didn’t have any plans yesterday, so I said yes.
It was going to be a small group, he said. And he suggested an Italian spot near Union Square.
As I left my apartment to get to the restaurant, I texted him, “On my way, should be there on time.” Just so he can keep track of my ETA, I shared my location with him. But I decided to share my location indefinitely because we’re close enough friends at this point. It made me reflect on this idea of sharing your location.
For those who don’t use an iPhone, Apple has this feature where you can share your location with a contact. It asks you if you want to share your location for 1 hour, until end of day, or indefinitely. Whenever I share my location, I have to pause for a moment and think through my choice. Is this someone I want to know the location of? Are we close enough?
Knowing someone’s location is an intimate detail and I feel like another milestone in the friendship. It’s a similar feeling to adding a friend to your Close Friends list on Instagram. I have around ~20 of my friends’ locations. I have all of my close friends’ locations.
When you know their location, you know where they live, you know if they’re travelling, you know if they’re a homebody or if they like to go out, you can see where they like to go out, you can see if two friends that don’t know each other are nearby, you can see if they are sleeping at someone else’s apartment. If they’re nearby in the same area, or in your neighbourhood, you can hit them up to hang out.
Apple also gives you the option to request someone’s location. I don’t ever do this. I usually share my location and I see if they reciprocate.
Two weeks ago, I was going to a party with J. I’ve known her for a few years now and as we were trying to figure out where to meet up, I decided to share locations, I chose Indefinitely. I’ve known her for nearly three years now, that’s an eternity in NYC. She shared her location too. The next day, I saw that she only shared her location until the end of the day. Now, she knew my location and I didn’t know hers which is an awkward dynamic. After a few days, I stopped sharing locations with her.
Similar, my friend that I shared my location with at the beginning, hasn’t shared his location with me either haha. I’ll stop sharing my location with him now.
Why do we wear what we wear?
That’s one of the questions I set out to explore when I first got into fashion.
Today, I want to talk about the two most powerful forces that shape what we wear: identity and nostalgia.
And to explain it, let me tell you a story from Purdue University in the early 1900s.
Back then, corduroy was commonly used for hunting and workwear, especially throughout the Midwest. It was durable, functional, and widely available. So much so that there was often a surplus of Corduroy garments.
In the early 1900s, Purdue students began buying corduroy pants from surplus stores and thrift stores. But they didn’t just wear them, they transformed them. They’d decorate their corduroys with friends’ names, hometowns, majors, inside jokes, and more. Each pair became a wearable yearbook.
Other schools took notice, and soon the tradition spread across campuses. At Purdue, wearing these “Senior Cords” became a rite of passage, within the campus, it signalled that you were a top dog, you were a Senior., Outside of the campus, it signalled that you were part of Purdue University.
The tradition faded around the 1970s, but fashion is cyclical, and in recent years, it’s seen a revival. Search up “Senior Cords” online, and vintage pairs are going for hundreds to thousands of dollars. One of the hottest brands in NYC, BODE, has custom Senior Cords as their signature offering. Senior cords are making a comeback not because we want to look like Purdue University students from 1904 but because these garments carry a unique history.
The point is that fashion is never just about clothes. It’s about storytelling. It’s about signaling who we are and where we belong. And it’s often about a longing for the past, a way to carry our memories with us.
Lately, I’ve been honing in on mine. Here’s my formula:
With summer approaching, I’ve been thinking about how to adapt this uniform for the warmer months.
For footwear, I’ll lean into more breathable, slip-on options like loafers, sandals, and leather slippers.
For bottoms, I still haven’t fully embraced shorts (something I may work on this Summer). In the meantime, I’ll stick with lightweight, boxy, and light-colored pants like fatigues and chinos for breathability and sun protection.
The beauty of oversized button-ups is that they work year-round. In colder months, they layer well; in hotter ones, you can leave them unbuttoned or roll up the sleeves. I’ve also been enjoying tighter-fitting T-shirts, tank tops, and of course, short-sleeve button-ups.
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