Caught between Manila's neon and the quiet woods—part dreamer, part rebel with a soft spot for broken melodies. I live in the spaces where Eraserheads whisper meets Zeppelin roars, where folk harmonies tangle with electronic pulses and witty Filipino wordplay hits different at 2 AM. Coffee tastes better with autumn in my ears and sadness in my veins. Sometimes I'm the person singing harana at your window, sometimes I'm the one walking away to a heavier beat. Authenticity over everything—give me artists who bleed their truth, whether they're crooning in Tagalog or screaming in distortion.