New Book! Cover Reveal: I Dream of Peace

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Every Story Holds a Hand: Reading for Care and Belonging

I will be conducting a Reading for Care/Bibliotherapy workshop at the Philippine Readers and Writers Festival 2026. This workshop is for parents, teachers, librarians and professionals working with children. We will read children’s books and design engaging activities that foster belonging and empathy building.

Every Story Holds a Hand: Reading for Care and Belonging

5PM - 7PM Prologue Room

National Bookstore, Araneta City

Cubao, Quezon City

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Ahjumma Reviews: East Palace

Having rewatched East Palace, I realized how beautifully the romance between Gucheon and Saeng-gang was rendered. Their love story was simmering, bubbling on the surface and sometimes flowing through the undercurrent of a raging river.

While they grappled and fought forces bigger than themselves, in the spirit world and back in their reality, their romance was like smoke from an eternal incense, wafting through and about them.

It was there, even when everything else seemed to demand their attention. Their love didn’t need to be proclaimed. It was in the spaces between the battles, the conflicts, the choices, the moments when they were simply there with and for each other. And this is what makes it so delicious.

The romance is not separate from the larger story. It moves with it. It is simmering in their exchange of glances and looking at each other a few seconds longer. Nam Joohyuk’s eyes speak volumes: yearning, care, the need to protect. And Roh Yoonseo takes it all in by staring back fiercely but with tenderness. How many times did I wish they must kiss already?!

But no physical intimacy can outdo nor trump down this connection. The restraint is the romance. Sometimes bubbling to the surface. Sometimes almost disappearing beneath the raging river of everything they have to face. It never really goes away.

That kind of romance gets me. And on a rewatch, when you already know where their story is going, you notice the undercurrents even more.

Delicious. Absolutely delicious.

In the end, as Gucheon and Saeng-gang walk away from the palace, I was wishing for a second season.

When Seoul Surprises: What Kimbap Taught Me About Sticking Together

One of the first things I wanted to try after returning home from Korea was how to make kimbap. We learned how to make one at the Seaweed Museum in Goyang. It wasn’t because I suddenly wanted to become a Korean cook. It was because kimbap had become part of our days in Seoul. We bought it from convenience stores before long bus rides. We packed it for an afternoon at the beach. It was simple, filling, and somehow always satisfying.

So ARMY Daughter and I decided to make tuna kimbap together. For her, it is a survival meal on the go. For me, it was a way to remember the cross-cultural experience having taught by a Pinay guide and invigilator at the Seaweed museum. It is something I want to share with friends at work.

As we spread the rice across the sheet of seaweed, I hesitated. I was afraid of putting too much. ARMY Daughter smiled and said,

“Put enough rice on the seaweed. It holds the rest of the ingredients together.”

I paused. Of course. The seaweed protects. The rice holds everything together. Without enough rice, the filling falls apart.

As we rolled the kimbap, I couldn’t help thinking about how rice has always been more than food across Asia. Whether it is served at breakfast, lunch, dinner, or even dessert, rice gathers families around a table. It accompanies celebrations and ordinary weekdays alike. It is humble, familiar, and often unnoticed precisely because it is always there.

This is the metaphor I keep.

ARMY is much the same, when I think about it.

We are wonderfully different. We come from different countries, generations, professions, and life stories. Some of us found BTS through Dynamite. Others have been here since No More Dream. We carry different experiences, different perspectives, and different seasons of life.

Yet something holds us together because we choose, over and over again, to return to what first brought us here: seven artists whose music taught us to listen more carefully, love more deeply, and become better people. Like rice in kimbap, it is often the quiet things that hold a community together.

Kindness. Respect. Generosity. Patience. Openness. The willingness to make room for one another.

Sometimes the most ordinary things become the memories we carry home. Kimbap wasn’t just a quick meal during our trip to Seoul. It became a reminder that joy often arrives simply and with humility, wrapped in seaweed and shared with people you love.

Looking back now, I realize that travel isn’t only about the places we visit. It’s about the stories we continue to tell long after we’ve returned home. Every time I make kimbap now, I think of ARMY Daughter’s simple reminder.

“Put enough rice on the seaweed.”

Communities are built the same way. Not by making ourselves the center of the story, but by becoming what quietly holds everyone else together.

Apobangpo! Purple and true! 💜

#BTSFESTA2026 #BTSArirang #koreanfood #seoultravel

The Lighthouse Diary Entry # 90: First Day High of Academic Year 2026-2027

 

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AI Framework: AI Citizenship and Literacy

One of the things I appreciate about working in an IB school is that we are encouraged not only to adopt new technologies, but to ask better questions about them.

This AI Citizenship Framework reminds us that AI learning is more than mastering prompts or discovering new tools. It is a progression. From recognizing AI around us, to understanding it, using it critically, creating with it, and ultimately contributing to society through responsible stewardship.

I especially like that ethical thinking is not the destination but the foundation of every stage.

In the library, this reminds me that our role is no longer simply to teach students how to find information. We also help them question, evaluate, create, and act responsibly in an AI-enabled world.

Thank you, Zakir Hossain, for developing and sharing this framework. It offers a valuable language for conversations about AI in schools.

Storybook Making with Kids and Pilot Pens

 

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New Children's Book: Talia Says I'm Sorry

New children's book! Cover reveal of "Talia Says I'm Sorry" 💜

As a children's book writer, I have always believed that stories can teach children how to be brave, kind, and accountable. Sometimes, they also heal the adults who write them. Sometimes we write the ending we wished life had offered, not to erase the past, but to imagine the world as it could be.

Kahit sa kathang isip, nag-sorry ka sa akin.

Maraming salamat, Lampara Books sa liwanag na handog ay paghilom.

National Disaster Resilience Month: Flood

National Disaster Resilience Month: Earthquake!

How does reading help us understand people who are different from us?

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“𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝘀 𝗦𝗮𝗳𝗲 𝗦𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲𝘀: 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗕𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗽𝘆, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗕𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴” at the National Library of the Philippines.

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What music and song can do to expand and deepen a story!

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Bangtan Hermana Notes: When RM of BTS speaks about books, reading and libraries

 

Pahina Hinahon: Every story and every illustration is an act of hope

Award winning children’s author, Irene Sarmiento delivered the keynote at yesterday’s awarding of the Salanga and Alcala Prizes. A ceremony celebrating the 43rd National Children’s Book Day, with the theme, Pahina Hinahon.

I have three take aways.

First, Filipino writers no longer write for Filipino children. We write for children. Period. Good stories cross borders because childhood itself is universal. It is filled with wonder, questions, fears, laughter, and hope.

Second, a writer who reads the works of fellow authors and finds the child within their pages is both humble and wise. Children’s literature is not a competition; it is a conversation that grows richer when we read generously and celebrate one another’s stories.

 Genaro Ruiz Gojo Cruz winner of this year’s Salanga Prize for his story, Tinamaan Ako ng Galing, even recognized this by mentioning writers whose books he read and learned from.

And finally, her curated list of children’s books was, to me, a reader’s joy and a librarian’s delight. It was a reminder that the best way to become a better writer is to remain an eager reader.

As I watched this year’s Salanga and Alcala awardees receive their recognition, I found myself thinking that every story and every illustration is an act of hope. In a world that often feels fractured, children’s books continue to imagine kinder futures, nurture empathy, and remind us that peace and justice are values worth passing on to the next generation.

Congratulations to all the winners. Thank you for giving children and all of us stories that help us become more fully human.

Pahina Hinahon!

Growing Through Stories: The Monkey and the Turtle

 

Pahina Hinahon: When Peace and Justice Remain Ideals Worth Fighting For

Today’s awarding of the PBBY-Salanga and PBBY-Alcala Prizes brings to mind the challenges of creating children’s books in a time of chaos, conflict, and uncertainty, when peace and justice remain ideals worth fighting for.

What stories do we tell children when the world feels fractured? How do we write hope without ignoring suffering? How do we nurture empathy without looking away from injustice?

Perhaps this is why children’s literature matters more than ever. Every story we write, illustrate, publish, recommend, and share becomes an act of faith in the kind of world we want children to inherit. Stories remind us that kindness is not weakness, courage often begins with ordinary people, and even in the darkest moments, compassion can light the way.

Congratulations to this year’s PBBY-Salanga and PBBY-Alcala awardees. Thank you for continuing the work of imagining better futures for Filipino children: one story, one illustration, and one young reader at a time.

May we never stop believing that books can help raise a generation that chooses peace over violence, justice over indifference, and hope over despair.

 

Growing Through Stories: Paalam, Puti

 

Growing Through Stories: The Zimbragatzees of the Planet Zing

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When Seoul Surprises: Who’s the King? Who’s the Boss?

On our last day in Korea, we traveled to MBC Dae Jang Geum Park in Yongin, home to one of South Korea’s largest historical drama sets. It was there were my favorite Kdramas were filmed, Jewel in the Palace, Scarlet Heart Ryo and The King’s Affection. As ARMY, it was extra special because it was where Min Yoongi filmed the music video for Daechwita. Standing inside Injeongjeon Hall, the throne room where the music video was filmed, was awe inspiring.

The palace sits on top of a hill beside a mountain with the view of earth and sky. As much as the palace grounds and surrounding efifices recreate Joseon era Korea, the terrain was perfect for it. I was truly impressed at how art and culture is being managed and restored. And to think that we didn’t pay any entrance fee, it was really a treat.

The palace was magnificent. The painted folding screens. The lattice windows. The long stone courtyards. I walked from throne room to where Agust D moved between king and rebel. Daechwita kept playing in my mind and I can’t help but recognize once again this masterpiece of an anthem.

The other night, I started watching East Palace. Within minutes, I paused. The throne room. The palace doors. The courtyard. It all looked familiar. The same spaces where Agust D once became a king in Daechwita had become the royal palace of another story.

It made me smile. Korea has surprised me once again.

#KdramaIsLife #TheEastPalace #BTS_ARIRANG #BangtanPilgrimage2026 #soueltravel

Growing Through Stories: The Greediest of Rajahs and the Whitest of Clouds

 

Bangtan Hermana Notes: What is BTS asking in NORMAL?

One thing I’ve always loved about BTS is that every era asks a question. The questions simply grew older as they did.

“No More Dream” asked why young people were expected to inherit someone else’s definition of success. “N.O” questioned an education system that left little room for individuality. “Baepsae gave voice to a generation struggling against inequalities it did not create, while “Am I Wrong” challenged a society growing numb to injustice.

As they matured, so did the conversation. “IDOL” refused to let other people define who they were. “Black Swan” confronted the fear of losing oneself as an artist. “Persona”, “Shadow”, and “Ego”explored the different selves we carry, while “Life Goes On” and “Yet to Come” quietly reminded us that even extraordinary lives are still lived one ordinary day at a time.

Running through all these songs is the same quiet insistence:

Before they are idols, they are people.

That’s why I don’t think NORMAL is a departure. I think it’s a continuity; a lineage of Bangtan’s way of thinking and making art.

The boys who once asked, “Can we make it?” have become men asking a different question, “How do you remain human after the world stops seeing you as one?”

And this is where I move away from the campaign behind NORMAL, which is, in itself, a brilliant take on journalistic conventions and the manufacturing of narratives, and I return to ARIRANG, the album title.

We now recognize Arirang as a song about ordinary people. People who loved, lost, endured, left home, and found their way back. People who do ordinary things that do not appear special, yet through the seemingly mundane and routinary, arrive at something sublime.

How beautiful that BTS chose ARIRANG. Because after becoming global superstars, they’re returning to perhaps the simplest question of all, “What does it mean to remain human?”

Before they asked us to watch the  music video of NORMAL, they quietly spent time showing us what normal looked like through their vlogs. Living. Laughing. Working. Taking a break. Pursuing a hobby. Doing the things ordinary people do.

Then came the campaign using newspaper headlines. The ordinary became spectacle. The lyrics complete the thought.

“Fantasy and fame…”

Fame is a fantasy, not for the people living it, but for the people watching it. The public version of BTS has become so much larger than the seven men themselves that even standing in a bathroom becomes news. The fantasy isn’t BTS. It’s everything we’ve projected onto them.

I don’t hear NORMAL as a complaint about fame. I hear it as a gentle defense of humanity.

BTS aren’t asking us to stop admiring them. I think they’re asking us not to confuse admiration with mythology. Their achievements are extraordinary. Their artistry is extraordinary.

But none of those things make them any less human.

Within an album called ARIRANG, NORMAL feels both like remembrance and inheritance. The dream has already come true. The stadiums are already full. The question now is no longer how to become extraordinary.

It’s how to remain recognizably, stubbornly, beautifully human.

And somehow, I think that’s one of the most Bangtan things they’ve ever said.

Apobangpo! Purple and true! 💜

Maingat at Maging Maalam sa Panahon ng Sakuna! Tayo ay Magbasa!

 

When Seoul Surprises: What We Learn From Namjoon’s Continuing Namjooning

The ginkgo and birch trees that line the streets of Seoul has always fascinated me. I can’t think of a better word to describe the mood and the vibe. Basta, they’re romantic. Trees are romantic.

So, I plucked a couple of leaves from a ginkgo tree in front of the middle school where Min Yoongi studied and, in Hongdae, leaves from a birch tree. I carefully tucked them inside my journal as precious keepsakes but also as subjects for my cyanotype prints.

A few days ago, I took advantage of the afternoon sun in our yard and began printing. We were on a very tight budget in South Korea, so I thought of crafting something that would journey from there to here and back again. The more I read about these trees, the more I understood why they quietly stayed with me.

The ginkgo is one of East Asia’s most enduring symbols.

Having survived for millions of years, it is often called a “living fossil.” Across Korea, China, and Japan, it represents resilience, longevity, hope, and quiet endurance. Ginkgo trees stand beside temples, schools, and palaces, witnessing generations come and go. They remind us that strength is not always loud. Sometimes, it simply means remaining rooted while the seasons change around us.

The birch tells a different story.

Its pale bark has long symbolized renewal, new beginnings, and simplicity. Even after long winters, birches are among the first trees to suggest that spring is coming. There is something quietly optimistic about them.

Together, these two trees seemed to tell the story of our journey at Festa 2026. One reminds me to endure. The other reminds me to begin again. That is why I could not simply leave their leaves behind on the streets of Seoul. Instead, they came home with me.

Under the Philippine sun, they became cyanotype prints. In a few days, I will frame them as pasalubong for my ARMY friends and Kdrama Titas. These are my souvenirs made from leaves, sunlight, water, paper, and time. Perhaps that is what the best pasalubong has always been. It is not the price tag, but the thought that someone traveled through a place, remembered you, and returned carrying a story worth sharing.

As I looked at each finished print, I realized they were no longer simply  leaves from Korea. They had become conversations between Seoul and home. Between Namjoon’s way of noticing the world and my own.

For the longest time, Namjooning for the fandom meant visiting museums, bookstores, parks, and cafés because Namjoon had once been there. I think it means something much more.

It is learning to notice. To slow down enough for ordinary things to reveal themselves. To understand that beauty is not something we consume but something we learn to pay attention to.

A fallen leaf. A neighborhood tree. An afternoon walk. The warmth of the sun while making a cyanotype print. A simple gift made by hand.

Namjooning is not about collecting places. It is about allowing places to reshape the way we see ourselves and the world. As a librarian, I have always believed that stories live inside books.

But I also believe that stories live inside leaves, trees, sunlight, and the hands that choose to create. That is why Namjooning never really ends.

Allow a place to tell its story and listen with intention. Bring its story with you and let it inspire you to create something new. Apobangpo. Purple and true. 💜