Where the writing began

I started writing long before I ever thought of it as something I might share.

Back in high school, I didn’t want to attend our religion class. Like many students, we’d use the school clinic as an excuse to step out whenever we wanted to skip. But one day, since I’d already been there recently, I wandered into the library instead.

I didn’t know it at the time, but there was an On the Spot Literary Contest happening that day.

A month earlier, I’d entered an On the Spot Drawing Contest during one of these same little escapades. I drew the Blessed Virgin Mary on canvas using watercolor. I didn’t think much of it until, during a school program in the auditorium, my name was called. I had placed eighth. I was surprised — and quietly proud.

Then came the literary contest.

At another school event, I heard my pen name announced over the speakers: Polyanna. Everyone laughed. No one knew who it was — including me, at first. I walked up not really knowing what was happening, only to find out I had placed second.

The piece I wrote was called Pasko ng Ulila — Christmas of an Orphan.

What’s strange is that I wasn’t orphaned then. But somehow, I was able to step outside my own circumstances and write from that place — to imagine what Christmas might feel like when your parents are gone. I didn’t have the language for it back then, but that moment taught me something important: I could separate myself, feel deeply, and put words to things that weren’t easily spoken.

I didn’t pursue writing after that — not publicly, anyway. There were no blogs back then. Just the occasional entry in a personal diary.

For those who know me well, they know this about me: I’m careful with my words. I don’t usually speak right away when I have something to say. I sit with it. I look for the right words, the right timing, the right way through a situation.

Some people have the gift of gab. I think mine has always been the gift of discernment.

I didn’t know then that writing would keep finding me.

A year ago, I returned to writing quietly — through a small internal blog on Microsoft Teams for our front desk team called The Daily Vibe. It was a space for short reflections about wellness, presence, and the human side of showing up to work every day. Only a few people read it. Sometimes three. Sometimes seven.

But that was never really the point.

Writing changed how I listened. How I reflected. How I showed up. It reminded me that wellness isn’t a program or a trend — it’s deeply human. It lives in the everyday moments we often overlook.

Over time, I felt a gentle pull to widen the space. Not to perform or broadcast, but to let these reflections breathe beyond one team. Because wellness doesn’t belong to a department, a title, or a role. It belongs to people. And people everywhere carry more than they show.

That’s how Well Within came to be.

This space is an extension of everything that came before — lived experience, service, discernment, and the quiet belief that words, chosen with care, can help us pause long enough to notice what matters.

That’s what Well Within is about for me.

Take what resonates.
Leave what doesn’t.
And come back whenever you need a pause.