As a Millennial myself, with two decades of experience in my chosen field, I know my industry inside out. I have reaped its rewards, but I’ve also fallen victim to its traps and perils many times. I’ve seen close friends go through similar struggles in their own careers. That’s why encountering a book about a character who spends years building a profession, only to bravely walk away to reclaim herself and pursue something more passionate, feels like a breath of fresh air—especially for those of us whose lives are so often bound by routine and commitment.

The risks of moving away from one’s comfort zone will always outweigh the safety of staying. But fiction gently reminds us to imagine what could be—if only we dared to walk away.

I dreamt of a future with you—of serving our homeland together the best way we could. You even named a charity program I hoped we would build. I believed we would grow old together. Like my grandma, your care and attention felt so healing.

You always taught me to be strong. I didn’t realize then that it was to prepare me for your leaving—and me being left behind. I was the first to face a critical illness, and you brought me back to health with your steady presence, wise thinking, and unwavering support. I never imagined that when illness came to you, recovery would be denied. I never imagined that we would be separated—not just by countries, but by two dimensions that, for now, I cannot cross.

You will always be one of the greatest losses I will carry in this lifetime. And I will always struggle to understand why God took you so soon—just as you were on the verge of realizing your dreams, and ours.

But I know you still see me every day. I feel your presence in a sweet scent, a bird, a butterfly that appears out of nowhere. Maybe your death wasn’t about you leaving, but about you arriving ahead—at our eternal home. And every day, I take one step closer to you.

Forever love,
Yellowbelle

In loving memory of Jeorge G. Alarcon, Jr.
Sophia University, 2012
Tokyo University of Foreign Studies, 2009

Pope Francis, to me, was not just a pope I saw and heard on TV, the Internet, or in newspapers.

One time, he even appeared in my dreams, making my connection to him very personal—psychological and spiritual.

During the pandemic, I had a dream of Pope Francis sitting on a rocking chair in a room that felt like a part of my own house. Behind him was a window, and through it, I saw a black bat trying to break in.

Waking up after this dream, I pondered what it meant. In my view, Pope Francis symbolized goodness, while the bat stood for evil. Seeing Pope Francis peacefully seated on the rocking chair inside the room, I interpreted this to mean that my heart was aligned with what is good. But the bat outside the window felt like an ominous warning—that evil is always prowling around, waiting to pounce.

The dream felt like a reminder of the constant tug-of-war between good and evil. It was comforting to realize, in the end, that good will always triumph. But it won’t come easily, because evil will always try to cause mayhem.

Protecting one’s soul during a time of overwhelming social media distractions, grief from the COVID-19 pandemic, and financial difficulties caused by lockdowns was indeed a challenge. I had to cling to habitual prayer to draw strength from God and face the trials that came my way during that time.

When I heard about Pope Francis’s passing after Easter Sunday in 2025, I was deeply saddened. I knew how the world looked up to his example and leadership—a breath of fresh air in cathedrals left empty by rising secularism and disillusionment.

Pope Francis championed a kind of religious leadership that emphasized the greatest commandment of God: to love everyone. He opened the Catholic Church as a haven for migrants, the sick, the poor, the LGBTQIA community, and others on the margins. He built dialogue with foreign religious and political leaders, and called for the cessation of conflicts in the most humble way—by washing and kissing their feet during Papal visits.

His sincerity resonated with everyone—from Catholics to people of other faiths and nations—winning hearts hardened by time and brokenness. The words of Pope Francis soothed every wounded heart in need of healing and every weary soul in need of hope.

When Pope Francis died, his death signaled not an end, but the beginning of an unfinished project—to reinvigorate the Church to be more inclusive, more humane, and to truly practice love the way Jesus Christ intended.

Looking at the youth today, I know that the message Pope Francis left behind did not fall on deaf ears. Young people are listening, and they are vowing to continue the struggle for inclusivity, synodality, and humanity, in order to build a better world for everyone.

This book won the De La Salle University Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center Poetry Fellowship Grant in English in 2013, during my first year as a faculty member of the university. Although I have always been writing stories and poems since I was a child, I have never really considered myself as a poet. In fact, when I was in college, I became involved in two literary folios (Handumanan and TRIP) produced by the Philippine Collegian, official weekly student publication of the University of the Philippines Diliman between the years 1999 to 2000, not even as a poem contributor but as a business manager who facilitated its release.  I have been mostly writing feature articles and sociological research papers at that time.

It must be the beauty of Japan and my curiosity and wanderlust as a first-time international traveler in 2008 that unleashed the poet in me. My brain started to think in terms of literary images and metaphors. And as I commit to writing the metaphors on paper or note them on my mobile phone, verses turned into stanzas and stanzas turned into full-length poems.

Apparently, the experience of traveling and immersing in nature in Japan triggered poetic ruminations in me. After witnessing sunset in Mt. Fuji along the coast of Inamuragasaki on a trip to Kamakura in the Summer of 2010, for instance, the inspiration led me to write a poem called “Sunset at Mount Fuji” after going back to the hotel. The aura of that poetic moment manifests in this stanza:

From the shores of Inamuragasaki

Mount Fuji loomed on the north

Slowly descending behind it

In a burst of colors – the sun

Portraying its drama in hysterics

Of red, gold, orange and yellow streaks

Playing hide and seek

With cotton-candy clouds

           -“Sunset at Mount Fuji,” Verses from the Old Pink Tree

On a trip to Mount Norikuradake (乗鞍岳) in the summer of 2009, the southernmost and third tallest major peak of the Northern Japan Alps, the breath-taking scenery inspired me to write these lines:

A tranquil pond of emerald waters

Shimmered with the reflection of soft fleece clouds

Along its banks a path of shy flowers

Where elusive animals scuttle and peep from corners

The hanabatake*** was a sight to behold;

           - “The Mountain that Touched God’s Face: A Paean to Mount Norikura”, Verses from the

Old Pink Tree 

But it wasn’t only encounters with nature that made me write poetry. It was also my personal encounters with Japanese people that inspired a poem. These lines, for instance, that came to me while aboard the Nankai train to Kansai International Airport, were inspired by my encounter with a kind Japanese professor in the university:

The spring wind

                   Blows to my direction

                                        The warmth of your kindness

           -“The Old Pink Tree,” Verses from the Old Pink Tree

A nasty encounter with another Japanese professor has led me to document my experience in this poem:

The Sensei** slammed the door shut behind her

Using her body as a barrier

So that I could not enter the room

And she demanded with flashing eyes,

“Why are you late?”

I had nothing to say

Since my head was throbbing

From last night’s headache

Spinning from lack of sleep

After pulling an all-nighter

To write my term papers;

Then I heard her say again,

“So the train was not late.”

I was doomed.

She shut the door in haste

Right before my face.

           -“Shinkansen Society”, Verses from the Old Pink Tree

Both pleasant and unpleasant experiences in Japan, hence, have found a place to stay in the pages of my first poetry book. The book also included poems written based on my experience of the Great East Japan Earthquake of 2011.

Then the black crows came

                   On its heels the ancient visitor

Bringing waves higher than the built walls

                   Flooding the towers with sea salt

Boiling hot until it dripped with rage

                   Molten lava seeping through the seams

The earth was burnt to death.

                   -“When Sunflowers Can No Longer Heal the Earth”, Verses from the Old Pink Tree

To get a copy of the book, you can follow these links:

Lazada: https://lnkd.in/evwH7PGy

8Letters Website: https://lnkd.in/ee9c_8pz

Gumroad: https://lnkd.in/ebRkeT6q

Kindle: https://lnkd.in/gkPgHcmM