As a stereotypical Filipino boy, basketball found me early.
On dusty courts.
On improvised rings.
On borrowed shoes.
On afternoons that felt endless.
On watching NBA highlights,
dreaming of seeing a game live one day,
even though America felt impossibly far away, and impossibly expensive.
Like most kids here,
I did not just play basketball.
I imagined myself inside it.
I imagined the crowd.
The lights.
The noise.
The moment.
And somehow, it never left.
Not because I dreamed of making it to the pros,
but because the game slowly became part of who I am.
Before I learned how to speak with confidence,
I learned how to dribble.
Before I learned how to deal with pressure,
I learned how to take a shot with people watching.
Before I learned how to handle failure,
I learned how to miss.
From Michael Jordan, I learned that failure is not the end.
You fall.
You lose.
You come back.
From Kobe Bryant, I learned discipline.
My favorite. The one I followed most.
First in.
Last out.
No excuses.
From LeBron James, I learned leadership.
Stay consistent.
Carry the pressure.
Lift others.
From Stephen Curry, I learned belief.
Trust your shot.
Trust your difference.
Play your way.
Four players.
Four lessons.
All shaping one kid from the Philippines.
When I think about it now, maybe that is what life is.
A little persistence.
A little discipline.
A little leadership.
A lot of courage.
Basketball taught me that greatness has versions.
Sometimes, it looks like trophies.
Sometimes, it looks like improvement.
Sometimes, it looks like showing up when you want to quit.
Sometimes, it is not about being the star.
Sometimes, it is about building your shot.
Finding your rhythm.
Understanding your role.
And playing your own game well.
Because in the end, the real win is not becoming someone else.
It is becoming comfortable with who you are.
And committed to who you are becoming.
Maybe that is who am I.
A work in progress.
Raised by the game.
A Mamba fan at heart.
Still learning.
Still trying.
Still showing up for the next play.