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i am unsure what this is but will still post.

What does it take for a Filipina migrant to find her voice on international stages?In this special 45-minute podcast, I share my personal journey — from my early love for debating, poetry, theatre and public speaking, to hosting some of Queensland’s biggest multicultural celebrations and eventually becoming part of the hosting team for the AFC Women's Asian Cup Australia 2026.This episode is about passion, persistence, and representation — and how storytelling can open doors you never imagined.For every young migrant, creative, or dreamer who wonders if their voice belongs on big stages… this conversation is for you.— Author BiaMga Istorya sa Gugma

Author Bia and then-partner talked about their mutual love for volunteerism. They were just having a conversation and having fun at the 4EB radio station in Brisbane. DISCLAIMER: This was recorded in the station on 2 October 2023, but this is NOT a 4EB-produced content. The phrase saying 4EB is for fun as a Author B is also a broadcaster there.

Author Bia and her friend Seph dissected narcissism from migrants based on a situation that Author B is currently experiencing.

What if you passed by a street performer who changed your life forever and never see them again?

Author B and friends, Jeff and Joseph, talks about love over bibingka and tocilog.

Author Bia and her friend and love adviser, Iya, answers a letter from a girl called Miss Vegetarian In Love. Miss Vego has a long-time crush on a certain guy. Pero she doesn't know if nanliligaw ba or not. What if there are signs but there's no intention?

Author Bia talks about a new unfinished story. She shares some of the dialogues.

We always call out red flags but this time, let's bring green flags to light. ✅️ Author Bia talks about her green flag experiences in her past and current relationships.

When I needed the quiet of the comfort of my loneliness, you were so loud with your love. Shamelessy loud it's burning what's already dead-cold deep inside me. Maybe I'm not used to the noise of being cared for. Maybe the sound of someone wanting, needing, and valuing me is so foreign that my body rejects it almost instantaneously without trepidation — without trepidation that I might lose all these for good. I lied. Okay, maybe a little. Maybe a lot. But the heck, I'm used to this emotionless shithole... being morosely alone... I'm contented with this mere existence like a melancholic sonata no one wants to listen to. Living is exhausting. Dreaming is a task. You lead a life with purpose. I don't even know what the hell I am doing here! — much more find meaning in us. Your smile brings joy to the — not my walled world. My depressed soul won't allow you. I lied again. You brought me pure brightness that I never thought I would experience. You're like an alcohol, a pain killer to my hurts. An accidentally-found playlist to unintentionally overcome my woes. Being with you, slowly, I was healing. And that's why this had to immediately stop because when one day you leave — the way everyone does — it would hurt some more. The more I drink of your goodness to numb my aches now, time will come when morphine will not even have an effect on me and I will be in agony until I die like a mad person who have forgotten to play an instrument he once was passionate about. "We are not even done with how our melody and our lyrics would end up sounding. It might be the best there is!" You said. But I am no talented musician. I am just a selfless lunatic singing not a tune. Well, there goes another unfinished song that the universe will never get to hear. I'm not sorry I hurt you. Fuck, this is the third time I lied! Forgive me for causing you sorrow. Actually, don't. I deserve to be a "D minor", the saddest key ever... to be punished even. All the more I am asking sorry to myself for rejecting all the love and the beautiful music you had and could have brought to my problematic being. And now, above this ostensible tinnitus, wondering if you were ever real or not, whether I ever deserved your wonders or not, I pondered, "Was I wrong to unhear the beauty of your song just because my heart is deaf from its past pains?"