I tried to quit writing & the universe wouldn't let me

Jun 12, 2025

Image description: A grainy, analog filtered photo featuring a man wearing headphones sitting in an office chair and desk, with his back facing the camera.

I wrote a different version of this piece a few months ago. It lives in my drafts, begging me to complete it. I revised the poor thing recently and though I wrote it only a couple months prior — things changed so fast that I haven’t had room to process (let alone breathe.)

I struggle to call myself a writer, though it seems simple enough.

Have I published my work and even earned money? Yes. Anything huge and noteworthy? Probably not.1 Pursuing this path feels antithetical to the picture of success my parents touted.2 My Filipino immigrant parents envisioned stability, as most do. I don’t know if they wanted a child who writes about manananggals3 and medical trauma at 2am while their body holds them hostage.

Alas, I am their greatest disappointment.

I spent most of my 20s in clinical research, a career I stumbled into and somehow excelled. Some days I'd haul ass between Brooklyn and Westchester County, working 10+ hour days in a body beginning to break down. I'd had enough when winter rolled in and my body showed signs of its rapid decay. The twinge in my pelvis became a scream. I kept exorcising any emotional demons through violent vomiting. Medicine kept failing me in ways I'd watched it fail others.

I’ve always been a writer. I practiced it as a hobby and informal ritual to process feelings. But that year, I started documenting symptoms so doctors couldn't gaslight me about their existence. I wanted to analyze the data, as if I could diagnose the origin of my pain into existence. Then I wrote about the float tank where I screamed underwater and no one heard. Or the MRI machine that felt like alien abduction. About how Filipino folklore had more language for my suffering than Western medicine.

Words give shape to what medical charts cannot capture.

Recent Impossibilities

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I haven't metabolized what's happened. Being nominated for consideration for Best American Essays 2025 for "Capturing a Real Live Black Hole in HD." Getting accepted to Disquiet International Literary Program. Receiving acceptances for residencies all over the world. Being selected for the Southampton Writers Conference. Getting to work with people I consider part of my literary DNA all having eyes on my fledging collection?

I hate that I’m using this section as a humble brag, but I’m immensely proud of myself and grateful for the opportunities (and resourcing to pursue each of them) to study under writers I admire. However, success without community feels hollow. I’m looking forward to building with my fellow cohort(s) at these programs, but I also want something more consistent.

I’m looking for people to write with regularly.

This brings me to my call for writers to build community. My dear friend and former mentor, Amaya, pointed out that I’d build momentum if I had a supportive writing cohort to work alongside. As always, she’s correct and I’ve been trying to scour the internet for fellow writers, to no avail. So I made the call myself. If you’re interested and you’re feeling called to write with me (!!!) just respond to this email and we can chat.

Catch me in NYC: 6/15 Pride Variety Show & Open Mic, Starr Bar in Bushwick

Vantage Points by BEARXFIFI

Pride Variety Show: what is it, why we host it, & your invitation

Last year, “BEARXFIFI” hosted its first Pride Variety Show sponsored by the Multicultural Music Group (MMG) at Pete’s Candy Store, a local bar and communal stage in Williamsburg, Brooklyn…

a month ago · 4 likes · 2 comments · BEARXFIFI

This Sunday, June 15th at Starr Bar in Bushwick, I'll be reading at the Pride Variety Show and Open Mic. I'm sharing work from my manuscript-in-progress about chronic illness, medical gaslighting, and finding mythological language for what medicine cannot name. If you're navigating a body that betrays you too, or simply curious about work that treats chronic illness as cosmic rupture rather than inspirational journey, I'd love to see you there. (But also, please come to support some beautiful, talented queers like me and my peers!)

My body keeps betraying me. My body keeps creating anyway. This is not the path my parents imagined. Not the life I planned. But it's the one that found me—messy, nonlinear, and worth documenting.

Thanks for reading is this what you want?! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. My piece (which will be part of an eventual manuscript. Someday!!!!) capturing a real live black hole in HD was nominated by the publication as one of their choices for Best American Essays 2025.

Nevermind the fact my mother is an independent small news publisher for the local Filipino community, but okay.

A type of Filipino monster or demon (aswang)