Bukidnon is home to endless mountain ranges, cool breezes that cling like quiet blessings, and a kind of silence that doesn’t demand anything from you—but gently invites you to listen.

But most importantly, it’s home to me.

I’ve been in the events scene for almost 15 years now—a playground that’s wild, festive, and fast. Where dances and songs are a daily rhythm, and the adrenaline of lights-camera-action becomes your second skin. I’ve worked with national and international brands, partnered with political and affluent families from across Mindanao. I didn’t have many chances to explore Visayas or Luzon—being a full-time student meant living on a tightrope—but I thrived in the city. The city sharpened me. It made me hustle. It trained me to respond fast, deliver faster, and sometimes… to forget to pause.

But Bukidnon?

Bukidnon slows me down—not to stall me, but to save me. To remind me that growth doesn’t always have to be loud. That impact isn’t always seen—it’s often felt, quietly, like roots spreading beneath the surface. Its mountains humble me. When I stand beneath their towering grace, even my biggest worries seem… small. Deadlines fade beside dusks painted over ridgelines. Missed calls can wait—but mist rolling over pine trees at golden hour? That’s a kind of peace you don’t reschedule.

Here, I’m not performing. I’m just being.

Bukidnon doesn’t care about your bio, your title, or your metrics. It only asks: are you present? Are you breathing? Are you growing?

And I am.
Not upwards for applause—but downwards, into depth. Into grounding. Into home.

No wealth, power, or recognition can shake me—not because I’ve hardened, but because I’ve softened, in the presence of something greater than ambition. I’ve found enough. I’ve found peace.

And maybe that’s the kind of success I’ve been looking for all along. Not in how far I can go, but in how deeply I can stay.