PICOF 2025 – AN UPDATE If you told 10-year-old Christine that she’d grow up to be a published author, she’d probably laugh and say, “What does that even mean?” I’ve loved writing for as long as I can remember. No one really taught me how to write the way I do. I just kept chasing anything that could help me understand the craft better. I joined every club, every workshop I could. There was always this quiet part of me that believed… this moment would come. Writing, to me, feels like eating my favorite food. It fills me up. I love putting feelings into words, turning thoughts into something I can hold. It still makes me nervous. But I think that kind of nervousness means something’s right. It’s just excitement in disguise. Recently, I got to attend the Philippine International Comics Festival. It was nerve-wracking, honestly. I’d been preparing for months, and when the day came, it all happened in a blur. I had my pitch ready. I must’ve said it hundreds of times. And I never got tired. I was excited to meet every single person who stopped by. I looked forward to the moment their eyes would light up when I revealed a twist. I introduced my characters like they were old friends, and with the way my amazing artist drew the character’s faces, their expressions… it made it so easy to bring them to life. The feedback I received was overwhelming in the best way. Two guests even cried when I shared the story behind my inspiration. I nearly cried too. That kind of connection… it doesn’t happen every day. Some strangers even gave me hugs. And somehow, they didn’t feel like strangers at all. I guess that’s the beauty of storytelling. It brings people together, even if you’ve only just met. I like documenting things, whether they’re big wins or quiet little moments. But this one… this was special. One for the books. Every time something amazing like this happens, I still talk to Simon, the person who inspired Juni. I message him sometimes, just to say how things went. Even though he’ll never read them again, it’s my way of staying connected. Of saying, “Hey, I did something good today.” I can still picture his face. I guess seven years with someone really does leave a lifetime’s worth of memories. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him. I even shared a dream I had about him recently. I’m just glad I got to see him again, even just in a dream. And I know, deep down, I think he’d be happy for me. I don’t cry as much anymore when I think of him. That feels like a small victory. I just hope that by the time we meet again, I’ve done everything I’m meant to do. So yeah. I write these things to remind myself of where I’ve been. To honor the journey, both the highs and the lows. Someday, I want to look back at all this and feel proud. Till the next amazing thing. And if we haven’t met yet… I hope we do someday soon. Back to My Diary

NEW PODCAST, SAME CRAZY DREAMS I released a new podcast series on my YouTube and yes, Spotify! Oh gosh, it’s been a dream. But turning a dream into reality is the craziest thing ever. Do I care if it’s crazy? Not really. I’ve been chasing so many crazy things lately anyway. I think we can all agree… a lot has been going on in my life these days. I’ve learned to weigh what I really want to do, and honestly, I love doing a lot of things. I guess that’s something I’ve fully embraced about myself. So now, I just do what I can think of. As a mom and a wife, it can get pretty overwhelming, especially since I do most of it myself. But I know I’m not alone. With God’s grace, and the support of my family (moral support, mostly), I’ve been able to do so much. It doesn’t feel like work, and I guess I shouldn’t feel too guilty about doing something new, especially since my line of work is so unconventional. I started doing things I loved when I became a streamer, and now I’m a writer. I’ve always called myself a writer, even though most people use the word “author.” I guess it’s because I feel like writers like me just write what’s left to be written. I’m just a messenger for a lot of stories God wants me to tell. Some are mine, and some are probably yours. So calling myself an author still feels like a huge deal. I’m still getting used to it. I don’t know what the future holds, but one thing I know for sure is that I’ll get to where I’m meant to be. I’m not doubting it, it’s just a matter of when. To get there, I know I’ll have to give up a lot of things. But giving up things you love doesn’t mean you can never go back to them. My husband always reminds me that I can still be that person if I want to, it’s just that some things can wait. And it’s not a bad thing to pursue something you truly believe in. Trust me, it’s easier said than done, but seeing the smile on people’s faces and giving others a glimpse of hope—without giving up—can be transformative. A kind of kinetic energy that can’t be created or destroyed. I guess I see myself as a game character. I’ve passed level one, two, or three, and now I’m heading into level four. New challenges are up ahead, but I’m not backing down. Kweezyfiction is a new level of storytelling I wanted to challenge myself with. I’ve never really seen an author put their story out there (for free), but I’m already over the moon just knowing I did it—that I finished a book and launched it with my bare hands. To be honest, earning from this is a huge bonus I’d gladly take—maybe as a sign that I did a great job—but money isn’t everything. The truth is, the greatest prize is you. Whoever you are reading this—you’re a gift from God to me. The fact that you even care about someone like me? I never thought this could truly happen, and I’m so grateful God allowed this in my life. Now that I’m writing, I finally understand the parts of my life that didn’t make sense before. Writing made me reflect and see the world in a different light. And to be honest, I’ve started to understand God a little better. It’s not easy seeing your characters live out their own free will—because even I, as the writer, can’t fully control them. And yet, He gave all of us that freedom: to think, to love, and to create something entirely our own. Because I get to do what I do, I realize just how deeply God loves me. If you had met me five years ago, I was close to giving up—not just on art, but on life itself. So this letter is really for Him—for the One who made everything possible for me. Now I know that my tears didn’t fall for nothing. And all my hard work will pay off in the end. I hope you, dear reader, find that same truth in your life too. Back to My Diary

JUST RELEASED BOOK 1, SO WHEN IS BOOK 2? That’s exactly what’s happening right at this moment. I just released the first-ever book I’ve finished into the world. It’s overwhelming, and it’s the first time I’ve sat down in a very long time. Today (well, actually yesterday, since it’s 5 a.m. as I write this), I received the great news that my book finally made it to the Google Play Store. I wasn’t sure it would be approved, especially since I also almost applied for Amazon. But after thinking long and hard about whether that was the best route for me, and with the final step just being to hit that submit button, I didn’t give in. I chose the harder path—the one where I wouldn’t have to give the rights to my book to a multimillion-dollar company that doesn’t guarantee visibility or success. I know it could help—they’re successful for a reason. But I had to pause and really take it in. I’m the kind of person who sits down, stares at the blinking cursor on the screen, and takes my time thinking about whether a decision is truly right for me. I was so scared, because Eyes See You is my baby. And I know I’m not the only one who’s had to make this kind of tough call. Some went through with it. Some didn’t. And for that reason, I had to call on the One who knows everything—God. I really wasn’t sure. These kinds of decisions… no one really knows what you’re going through. I come from a humble family. We have nothing to our names. It’s easy to think we’ve got nothing to lose, and that making it in life would be a blessing. But deep in my heart, I knew this book—I wrote it with the same passion I had when I was 10 years old, scribbling stories in my yellow notebook. If that counts, I’ve already written hundreds of short stories. Some of my classmates enjoyed them. Some even gave me five pesos per story. And now I realize—that same little girl is still here, typing this. I know I wouldn’t be happy just earning from my hard work. It helps, sure—but money isn’t everything. So I wouldn’t let it be the reason behind my choices. I want to find the right people who will enjoy my art. Because this story? I birthed it with my pain, my sorrow, and my love for storytelling. I want to inspire younger Christines out there to dream. The truth is—I want to win for them. So they don’t give up.   To be honest, I’m enjoying every second of this dream. Even though not many people have seen my work, just being appreciated for what I’ve done is the best kind of payment I could ever ask for. And if God allows this to succeed, I want to help others write. Because that’s what I did when I had nothing. I just kept talking on the page—even when no one seemed to be listening. But it’s not true. Someone up there always was. I hope whoever reads this receives all the desires of their heart. That they never get lost in the sauce, and that they keep going—especially when the road gets tough. I’m actually crying as I write this, because while I created a fictional story, the real one is right here. And she made it. She did what most people doubt they could ever do. Sorry, I know I’ve been rambling. But now that Book 1 is finally out, maybe you’re wondering… When is Book 2 coming? The answer is: next year. It’s all here in my heart—finished. All that’s left is for me to put it on paper. Like always. To my real-life Juni—I love you. Thank you for inspiring me to write again. Losing you was the most painful thing, but I know if you were here, you’d be the first to proofread everything. This book is for you. See you when the time comes for me too. Love, Christine Back to My Diary

WHAT IT’S LIKE TO ATTEND CONVENTIONS Art conventions are some of the rarest spaces where the line between creator and audience fades away. You’re not just witnessing a final product. You’re glimpsing the soul behind it. The late nights, the doubts, the spark that kept them going. It’s like being surrounded by a thousand open sketchbooks, each one whispering a story only they could tell. During my four years as a streamer, I only attended a handful of these events, but each one left a mark. I got to meet so many people, viewers who stayed up late with me, strangers who became teammates, friends forged through pixels and laughter. It was all fun and games, just like everyone said… until something deeper began to stir in me. A spark. A craving not just to entertain, but to connect—truly connect. I’ll never forget one moment. I was walking outside a convention center with my then-boyfriend (now husband) when someone from the crowd recognized me. He chased us down, out of breath, holding a gift. When he handed it to me, I was overwhelmed. We took a photo together, and I smiled… but inside, something shifted. That moment stayed with me. It made me realize I didn’t want to be someone people just adored for being “there.” I didn’t want to build a fandom around my personality alone. I wanted to create something that could live on beyond me—something that could stir hearts, change minds, leave a mark on the world. That’s when I knew it was time to go back to my first love: writing. Because to me, success isn’t found in followers or fame. It’s in making something real. Something that matters.   When I set out to create Eyes See You, I had a clear vision: write the story, shape it into something I was proud of, and then share it with the world. Simple, right? Well… not exactly. I spent so much time focused on writing and perfecting the book that I didn’t stop to think about what comes after. How do you actually get your work out there? How do you make sure people see it, feel it, and maybe even carry it home with them? I didn’t have all the answers—and truthfully, I still don’t. But what I can do is share what I’ve done so far as an exhibitor. This isn’t a definitive guide or a one-size-fits-all approach—every artist’s journey is different, and every story connects in its own way. But if you’re curious about how I’ve been putting my book into the world, here’s a glimpse into the steps I’ve taken—specifically through conventions: CAMPUS PLAYFEST EXPERIENCE: My very first convention—ever. It was my brother who introduced me to it. He’s a fellow anime and manga enthusiast and the president of his school’s art organization, Alpha Illustrations. From the start, I had a feeling this wasn’t the kind of high-profile convention people usually flock to. I mean, it was free, and that alone was a clue. But I had a clear mindset going in: there’s no such thing as “too small.” Every opportunity holds a lesson. Every experience adds to the toolkit. So I gave it a shot. Even though it was my first time as an exhibitor, I wasn’t new to event prep. I’ve planned big days before—heck, I even pulled off a surprise wedding for my guests (but that’s a story for another blog). So I approached this con with the same energy and intention. Here’s how I prepared, step by step:  1. I sketched my ideal booth setup. Visualizing it helped me stay focused and figure out what I needed.  2. Research, research, research. I looked for budget-friendly, effective alternatives to the materials and tools I wanted to use—getting creative where I had to.  3. I made a product checklist. I designed merch that tied into the theme of my book, Eyes See You, and listed everything I planned to sell.  4. Planned the logistics. I used the Grab app to transport everything from my home in Manila to the venue, factoring it into my expenses.  5. Booth setup practice. Once the materials arrived, I did a trial run of my setup at home. Honestly? This part was the most fun. One important thing I learned—and I think this matters for any first-timer—is not to fixate on earning back your investment right away. Good things take time, and this is no exception. I let myself soak in the experience, met artists who later became friends, and finally understood what it felt like to be part of a living, breathing convention. At that point, Eyes See You was still on preorder. And yet, I sold eight copies—most of them to friends and family, but it didn’t matter. That small start was still a start. And it felt like the beginning of something bigger. EASTWOOD EXCELSIOR POP UP It had been a few months since my first event when the next one came around. In that time, I’d been deep in developing my website and preparing the eBook PDF release of Eyes See You, so I opted for a pop-up setup this time—something simpler and easier to manage. I knew I couldn’t replicate the full-scale effort of my debut booth, especially since that first setup took us four hours just to assemble something small! But I wasn’t discouraged. I reminded myself: it only gets better from here. Every event is a step forward. This time around, setting up my booth took only an hour—such a big difference from the four-hour hustle at my first event. The venue was close to home too, which made everything feel lighter and more manageable. What I loved most about this event was how rooted it felt. It was a chance to show up for my local community, to connect with people just around the corner—some who had never heard of my work, and others who were curious enough to stop by and ask questions. That kind

3AM THOUGHTS I grew up in a home shaped by absence. My father came from a broken family. He was a drummer, always speaking of his own father—my grandfather—as one of the greatest to ever hold sticks. A man who played in bands, traveled the world, lived on the road. But when I asked if he had ever truly known him, my father would simply say, “I never met him. He’s probably dead.” That was all I had—half a story and a name I never knew. I grew up untethered, unaware of where I came from. When I was thirteen, a lump appeared on my father’s neck. It turned out to be cancer. And while he was biologically my father, emotionally, he was a stranger—perhaps even a villain in the story of our family. He inflicted wounds that ran deep, and when my mother had to leave for work overseas, I ended up in my aunt’s care. My father grew weaker as I grew older. And by the time I turned fifteen, he died—alone. That period in my life was surreal. He died on a Saturday. I was back in school on Monday. I didn’t tell anyone. I sat through a quiz like nothing had changed until my aunt showed up, and I was pulled out of class. I remember the stares, the whispered speculations—some said I was attention-seeking, others just looked at me with pity. But none of that mattered. I just wanted the day to be normal. To keep pretending life was untouched. But deep inside, something had broken. I felt it—the incompleteness, the ache of not knowing who we really were. My father wasn’t a good man to us, but I often wondered if he had simply become what he himself had suffered. A child abandoned. A boy forced to carry silence. When I turned twenty-two, I went looking for answers. I searched for my grandfather for the very first time. Since my father was his junior, I searched for the name they shared. Facebook gave me a face—dark-skinned, a drummer, from Ateneo. It all lined up. I sent a message. And he replied. I’ll never forget the sound of his voice. That first call changed something inside me. For the first time, the story began to make sense. We reconnected. He wasn’t perfect—far from it. My father was his firstborn, and he had four other children from different women. But I wasn’t there to judge. I told him everything about my father, what kind of man he had been to us. My grandfather listened, and he carried a quiet guilt. He believed he was to blame for what his son became. Now he’s gone too. But as I stood by his coffin, I felt no resentment—only gratitude. Grateful that God had allowed me to find him, to look him in the eyes before his final rest. The lies I had been told, the void I had lived with—they no longer held me. I was free. For a long time, I coped with loss by pretending it hadn’t happened. Every death, every departure—I met with the same numb resolve. But I’ve changed. I’ve learned to let go. With age, I’ve learned to step outside myself and see things more clearly. When life gets hard now, I no longer run. I stay. I feel. I face it. Our parents’ pasts, our grandparents’ mistakes—they do not dictate our future. We can choose differently. The road is not easy, but it is not impossible. And their failures? Their missteps? We carry those not as burdens, but as warnings. So we don’t have to fall the same way. We can break the cycle. We can begin again. Back to My Diary