Tomorrow, Probably

Broken promises, big moves, and finally writing the first post

I keep telling myself that I will find the perfect time to write. I find writing inspiration in little bits of my day, or when I come across others' works. I've been writing ideas on my notes app whenever they arise and daydreaming about all the topics I want to write about, but even after a year, I still haven't mustered the courage to begin my own blog. I even bought myself a domain that has yet to be used.

I always tell myself that I have time, that I'll start writing tomorrow, that I'll begin studying for the LSATs once the clock hits the next hour, that I'll begin my blog once I get the kick. Do these things ever get done? Not exactly.

Broken promise after broken promise has chipped away at my trust in myself. Why do I keep doing this? Is it because I don't truly believe that I can do it, even though I try to show everyone that I can? Do I stack leadership role after leadership role so I can say that I am truly proud of myself, or do I do it to show other people that I'm worthy? Maybe it's a little bit of both. Maybe it's a little more of the latter.

I think the answer starts back in Manila. In my early high school years, I erred on the quiet side. Immigrating to Colorado from Manila was quite the switch-up. I went from knowing everything about my world to knowing nothing at all. My adolescent world was shaken when I went from soirees and despedidas to white picket fences and homecoming games. Not knowing how to operate on this new side of the world silenced me more than anything else could have.

Today I live in New York City. I've dreamt of this reality for years. NYC was my fight against conforming to classic American life, against a reality that, in my eyes, wanted me to shrink into a version of myself that I was not. When I was in tenth grade, I promised myself that I would leave Colorado, move to NYC, and never come back. I bought a large NYC poster and hung it by my window, and I'd wake up every morning yearning for the day I finally got to pack my bags and move. I'd go on family road trips and imagine that the cookie-cutter houses were skyscrapers. When I finally moved to NYC, I had a feeling that it would be a long, fulfilling, and important journey.

I created many traditions for myself here. During my first year, I'd take the Metro-North from Fordham to Grand Central, listen to the NYC playlist I created in tenth grade, and walk down Fifth. Sometimes I'd go the opposite way, starting in Columbus Circle. These walks became my holy grail every time life got hard: the views of the city would remind me how much work it took to get here. Every time I got on a plane to NYC, I'd play "New York" by St. Vincent. I read books about NYC, set in NYC. I romanticized my life in every way possible.

I wandered into every museum I could and stared at paintings without knowing what they meant. I bought hot dogs from vendor stands and ate them on Central Park benches. I went on dates with friends, potential romantic interests, and myself in hopes of exploring every inch of this city. I found favorite cafes, workout spots, and piers that I could keep returning to. I watched Sex and the City religiously. Little by little, I was creating a home I was proud of.

Two years after I moved to NYC, I studied abroad in London. The fall before, I saved every dollar possible. It paid off, and I traveled to 15 different countries in the span of six months. Before I left, someone I loved told me that immersing yourself in different environments makes you a better person. They talked about wanting to see the world and live in different parts of it for long stretches. I recognized myself in that, and at first, it made me incredibly sad because, in my head, my future career as a lawyer would keep me in one place. And, to be honest, I was fine with that. At the time, my goal was to secure a stable, high-paying job in the city and live here for as long as I could possibly imagine.

But after leaving NYC for a bit and traveling around the world, I have found myself at quite a crossroads.

Moving to America was the first time I had to adapt to a world different from my own. But it wasn't the biggest. What about when I worked with British colleagues every day and grabbed pints with them after work? Traveled 10 hours to the Sahara Desert with little to no service? Trusted the tour guides with my life as I climbed mountains in Albania with no harness? Learned Icelandic from locals under the northern lights? Fell asleep on a calm train through the South of France after a night under the Eiffel Tower lights? I felt invincible. In Colorado, adapting made me smaller. Abroad, it did the opposite. The NYC playlist I made in tenth grade had one city on it. The one I made for abroad had 15.

Nobody handed me any of that. I saved every dollar, planned the trips, and figured it out in places where I knew no one. And none of it was for a résumé or for anyone watching. It was just for me. Maybe I can trust myself more than I thought.

How could I stay in one place after experiencing all of the beauty the world had to offer? How could I stay anchored when there is so much to see and experience?

And yet NYC was the promise I made to myself in tenth grade. If I told my high school self that I wanted to leave NYC after college and start over somewhere new, she would probably think I was lying.

Accepting that a new chapter of my life will begin once I graduate is terrifying, but necessary. It's probably the reason I freeze when it comes to getting things done. I hate not being in control, and right now I feel as though I don't have any control over my future, even though I completely do. Not knowing exactly where I will be next year is unsettling, but maybe that's the beautiful part.

Five years ago, I couldn't have pictured that I'd spend the first half of 2026 traveling to 15 countries. So maybe not knowing where I'll be next year isn't a hole in the plan. Maybe it's just another poster on the window, a place I haven't seen yet but already want to get to.

Maybe the first step toward feeling more in control of my future is to trust myself the way I did abroad, and to begin writing, like I always tell myself I will.

I finally did it. Welcome to my first blog post.