Just like what millions of humans around the world had experienced at least once in the past three years, I, too, was isolated due to Covid-19. The quarantine facility was Rizal High School, a public school campus near the Marikina River.

I was the lone patient at the facility, except for some days when another patient occupied the classroom next to me. The other patient and I didn't really talk. The only face-to-face interaction I had was with my nurses.

While screaming high schoolers and teachers sonically dominated the nearby buildings at daytime, I found the peace and quiet at nighttime, when I was free to reflect on what my life had been. September 2022 was a pretty unfriendly month for me: I was rejected for a job I profusely prepared for, I got messy in the dating department, and I caught the coronovirus.

With all these, the itch to write arrived.

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A handiwork

I just wanted to ramble so bad, to write about my past day and weeks and months and how they made me feel. I just wanted to write about the next big aha-moment that came to me while gazing upon the treetops by the fourth-floor of this school building where I was isolated from the world.

I wanted to write, but I knew I just didn't want to create a blog straight-up nor a niche social-media profile; never to open another ad-motivated, data-harvesting internet silo made by Westen billionaires. It was just too easy, too structured, too predictable for me.

I wanted to create something with my hands and heart, like a carpenter who could build things from wood and some tools. A labor of love that does not come easy. Some real, messy, beautiful stuff.

Therefore, dear peer humans, I decided to build this little space on the internet that I can call my own. With all the handiwork required, with all its scripts and code, spaces like this are not motivated by the desire for sheer noteriety nor monetization.

This website, I like to believe, is driven by plain human spirit.



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