I am an artist

I am an artist. I am meant to create art. Artistry is in my blood, in my family line.

When my Lolo Andy was alive, he would stay in his room and type away what I thought were legal documents for the cases he was working on. On the night of his funeral, I learned that he wasn’t slaving on legal documents one-hundred percent of the time but was composing poetry, essays and stories most of the time.

His written art were all about family, virtues, integrity – things that his heart was full of. I could sense his struggle to be a light in a very dark and gloomy world. I could taste the pain he felt when trying to cope with the death of our Lola. I could even feel the warm embrace of love he had for his loved ones. His literature was so alive and real.

While drinking from his cup of words, I felt my soul trace its roots back to him. Part of my identity was revealed. I am part of a song that my grandfather composed in his most authentic moments. Now, my dad, titas, sisters and cousins are joining in, contributing to the harmony.

Lolo Andy and most definitely our forefathers who came before him were artists who painted our lives with color, emotion, sincerity, and passion. This is the reason why the call of the pen keeps wakes me up in the wee hours of the morning and the call of art and color tugs at my heart during unforgettable soul-binding moments.

To my lineage, I must be true. To my gifts, I must be grateful. To myself, I must be permissive. I must let my art live. Awake my soul. Rise my senses. Give glory to the Source of all Good Things. The gift of time, we will not waste.