Updates soon, till then-- an essay featured in Cordillera Today ages ago:

The details of your life change. They always do. Sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly. And yet, we define ourselves by the things that stay the same, the things that remain constant.

Because, surely this is what is true, this is what endures?

It is a scientific approach, a logical approach-- that which is the "control" in this vast experiment of life.

Returning to this city, Baguio-- it is here I come face to face with my past selves. There is something fixed about this place. Not that Baguio hasn't changed, quite the contrary. It's just the memories of who I was-- carried not only by me, but by the people who know me-- the echo of that identity is so strong here. In my parents' house-- artwork from high school still hangs, various diplomas, framed pictures from childhood. Cleaning my room the other day, I stumble across a forgotten photo of an ex. There is a corner where old stuff toys quietly rot.

It would be easy to step into the roles that have been assigned for me here. Sometimes I do so with quiet joy-- to take my place as dutiful daughter, older sister, high school friend, Open Space artist.

But sometimes we have to define ourselves by that which has changed within us. This is a scary thing, because that means there is no reference point, there is no means of reassurance that it won't change again.

Perhaps, it is easier to see people for who they were, for how they were, then to wrap their head around the idea that perhaps the familiar face is a stranger now, playing tourist in a country called the past?

I was here last in January 2007. As awesome as it was to return to this city, it chafed at me a little bit, because I felt that New York had changed me so profoundly and I was disappointed that no one saw any of it. I wasn't smug about it, but trying to explain that change, trying to impress upon them how bright, and vivid and technicolor my life had become (a little bit like Times Square) it was a bit more difficult than I thought. Sure, I could dress like a New Yorker, curse like a New Yorker, but that's all surface stuff. The change went deeper than that. Living in New York had rocked my foundations, had put into question everything that I knew to be true about who I was. And if I had to undergo that process and was able to come out whole on the other side, then you can be damn sure I wanted people to acknowledge it.

I am here again, in this city on the mountains-- trying to find my place. Right now, I occupy the in-between, this period of transitions. It's a little bit like being in the twilight zone. The Scots have a beautiful word for this time of day, "The Gloaming" which references the glowing quality of the sky. In the film industry, we call it "The Magic Hour". Here in the Philippines, where superstitions abound, there is a belief that the supernatural world is at it's nearest during this in between period-- not quite night, not quite day.

As humans, we are so afraid of these blurry places, where things are not quite so easy to understand. It is here, where logic fails us. Believe me, I am pretty apprehensive with the grey areas myself-- but at the same time there is something reassuring about all this uncertainty.

Like that Filipino twilight, it is only when lines are blurry and undefined that there is space for the impossible things to become possible.

This means that there will always be space for hope and love and redemption. That things can get better, that mankind isn't headed down the drain. I may sound a little too hippy-dippy and unrealistic, and well, illogical. I think there is a certain poetry to it, seeing that I write this on Easter day.

So for today, this moment, be a little bit illogical. Look around and acknowledge the changes going around you. It might not look wonderful from this side-- times may be hard, money scarce, and it has always been easier to get into trouble than out of it. Take a moment though. In New York, it is spring and butterflies will emerge from their chrysalises. I don't think science has ever been fully able to explain how the lowly caterpillar can turn from mush into a beautiful butterfly, but it happens anyway, regardless. I have to believe that we as humans are equally as capable.

As a friend once remarked -- "where science ends, God begins."