Moments in time.
TEN YEARS IN THE MAKING—AND I STILL FEEL LIKE I HAVE A LONG WAY TO GO.
It’s been ten years since I launched my public relations firm. In the beginning, it was just a side hustle. And I was living above a restaurant in the Village in Toronto. Everything I have now was a dream that I thought would be years and years away from ever achieving. There were even voices in the back of my head, telling me, maybe I wouldn’t ever achieve it. And yet, I still feel like I have a long way to go.
Sometimes, we just need to stop and look at what we’ve created—and breathe. This is more than enough.
Surprisingly, I would do it all over again. Because the journey has been so fun. I’ve cried, laughed, smiled, dreamt, screamed, feared for my life and felt all of the emotions of what this adventure has put me through. Along the way, I’ve made some big wins, taken the L, walked away with grace, learned from my mistakes, met new people, lost loved ones and most of all, I’ve never stopped dreaming.
These are the moments in time where you just want to reflect. Read my most recent “moments in time” post.
Current hyperfixations.
Lately, I’ve been drawn to hydroponic systems—specifically how fruits and vegetables can be grown efficiently within limited space. It’s less about gardening, and more about understanding how food production can be redesigned: controlled, scalable, and independent of traditional constraints.
A lot of this ties back to a broader interest in sustainability, planetary systems, and even space—how we might one day need to sustain ourselves in environments where land, time, and resources are limited. The question becomes less about convenience, and more about capability: how we learn to produce what we need, wherever we are.
The kitchen lab.
Kare Kare: On memory, inheritance, and the dishes that stay with us.
Kare Kare is slow, rich and deeply familiar—a peanut-based stew that carries weight in both flavour and Filipino history. It’s the kind of dish that just pulls me into a time machine, bringing me back in time when my grandmother first introduced the dish to me as a kid.
It’s also the one dish my mom makes with certainty. She’ll admit she’s not always the best cook—but this is hers. It’s how she remembers her mother, and how, in some way, I come to know her too.
I’m starting to take it into my own kitchen now. Not to replicate it exactly—but to understand it, and to see what it becomes in my hands.