When people ask me where I learned how to write, I never know how to answer politely.

I could say the University of the Philippines.
I could say from a brief stint in journalism.
I could say years of ghostwriting for finance bros on the internet (tragic, but true).

But really?
I learned how to write in Marinduque.

Not in a classroom. Not in a workshop.
But in the way most writers from small places do — by paying attention.

By growing up surrounded by stories that didn’t always look like literature but were stories just the same.

Writing Advice From the Province

Last week, I was invited to speak at Marinduque State College for Buwan ng Panitikan — Literature Month. I was supposed to talk about writing and literature, but anyone who’s ever tried to write about home knows: those two things blur together fast.

Because here, panitikan — literature — isn’t just what’s written in books.

It’s what’s spoken over merienda.
It’s what’s joked about at the sari-sari store.
It’s what’s muttered under your breath at the dinner table when the lights go out again.

Stories live everywhere. They’re not waiting for literary contests. They’re not waiting for you to sound impressive.

They’re already happening.

All writing really asks is: Were you paying attention?

Literature as Survival

This was the thing I most wanted to say to the students:

Writing from the province — writing from Marinduque — is not small.

It’s not less than.

If anything, it’s harder. It asks you to write against forgetting. It asks you to write things that might otherwise disappear.

That’s why literature matters here.

Not because it’s fancy.
Not because it’s clout.
But because it’s survival.

We write to remember what happened.
We write to name what was ours.
We write so someone else — years later — knows we were here.

Start From Where You Stand

Students always ask the same question at the end of talks like these:

Paano magsimula?

And I always say the same thing.

Start from where you stand.

Not where you wish you were. Not from what you think will go viral. Start from the version of your life that’s right in front of you — the awkward, funny, quiet parts.

Write badly first.

Write until you surprise yourself.

The best writing advice I know isn’t fancy. It’s not even original. It’s just this:

Pay attention. Pay better attention.

Because nobody else has lived your life.
Nobody else sees the world exactly like you do.

And the story only you can tell?

That’s the one worth writing.

Final Note

Writing from home isn’t just about place.
It’s about memory. It’s about voice. It’s about seeing the world in a way that only someone from here would know how.

That’s your inheritance as a writer.

That’s your edge.

That’s your survival skill.