I did not arrive at storytelling through theory or trend. I arrived through survival, memory, and love.
I began journaling as a child—consistently, instinctively—long before I understood how powerful it would become. Writing gave me a place to process what was happening around me. It helped me name emotions, make sense of trauma, and feel seen in moments when I didn’t yet have the language to speak out loud.
When I was eleven years old, after my father passed away, an English teacher gave a simple journal prompt. Without that assignment, I might never have written down my father’s last words to me, what he was wearing, or the small details that time so easily erases. That journal preserved a moment that still lives with me today. It taught me, early on, that writing is not just reflection—it is preservation.
As I grew older, that understanding deepened through family history. I watched my mother research her lineage, travel to connect with relatives, and carefully document names, dates, and stories. I remember my uncle recording extensive interviews with my grandmother—hours of questions and answers that captured her voice, her memories, her lived wisdom. Those recordings became treasures. They showed me that stories are not meant to disappear when someone is gone.
When my family moved from Corpus Christi to Houston, far from relatives and familiar roots, storytelling became a way to anchor us. I wanted my children to know where they came from—to feel connected, not alone. By sharing stories of both living and deceased ancestors, we created celebration, belonging, and continuity. That practice shaped my life’s work.
I have always been drawn to teaching and community—transformation that happens when people feel connected, capable, and valued. I have facilitated family history workshops and led community-centered events.
Professionally every project, every workshop has pointed to the same calling: to help preserve family history, memories, and stories—while uplifting community in the process.
At Kuwento Co., I bring that lifelong devotion to storytelling into a space dedicated to honoring Filipino narratives, legacy, and lived experience. While the community focus may be specific, the mission is universal: to help people feel seen, connected, and remembered. To ensure that stories—whether written, spoken, or passed down—are not lost.
This work is not just what I do.
It is who I have always been.