My name’s Kielle, a literary writer and campus journalist. I spent two years studying architecture before shifting to fine arts. In doing so, I realized that to build the grand architecture of my life, I must also consider the architect—myself. I am a late-bloomer in this day and age—in academics, in journalism, in wanting to pursue and create change. I had my first and last time as an honor student when I was graduating senior high school. I thought the world ended when my life was bound to be encapsulated in floor plans and tracing papers—the self who is jailed to make architectural drawings. After many conversations with friends and family, I took the time to realize that my love for creative writing, arts and design, and journalism continues to burn in me with an unwavering passion. This pushed me to shift even further not with regret, but with growth.

I was also a journalist in my former local publication. The adviser warned me of the paperwork, the processes that I must go through, the energy it takes to start a publication. I wasn’t hesitant to start pursuing the idea. The interest and passion for journalism could wait, but I had to ask myself: am I ready to begin at all? That question clarified my decision to shift from architecture to fine arts. At the same time, it deepened another ambition: to create a platform for artists and designers in our college—for our interests, our welfare, and our growth.

I am not going to lie, I did just right when I took architecture. And now I am studying fine arts. We are more than just handling paintbrushes or rushing our paintings when the deadline is near. We evoke messages that words alone are not enough. Art makes the mind get noisy while admiring in silence. It turns us into detectives—examining both the smallest details and the larger truths of what the artist wishes to share. Carrying that perspective beyond art, I began to question myself whenever I believed that simply being the “bigger person” was enough. It had led me to a point that I wasn’t even aware that it is tiring to be hearing “Thank you, Kielle!” whenever I get the chance. The responsibilities are always fulfilling, but the true burnout comes lurking behind my back.

I give, give, and give so much that I become deaf to myself—forgetting to thank the one person who keeps giving. It is true that to give is better than to receive. In my case, balancing creativity and journalism is no laughing matter. A simple “thank you” suffices, even amid tasks tied by sheer punctuality. Even something as simple as helping classmates navigate their academic struggles. As their Kuya, it feels like an obligation to help whenever I can. After all this time, has anyone ever acknowledged me no matter big or small?

“Salamat! Kielle.”

“Thank you! Kielle.”

“Agyaman! Kielle.”

The same familiar greeting—for opportunities, for trust, for recognition.

I needed the space to give myself not for ruin, but for growth.

I needed the patience to be thankful.

I needed to understand that I am human after all.

As a journalist—literary writer for a university-wide publication, assistant committee head in a mandated student organization, visual communicator, and aspiring editor-in-chief—I have worn many hats. The weight of creative overextension comes with a price; exhaustion can still exist with gratitude.

A premise: I have given more than enough to them.

A question: Have I given enough for myself?

It is never too late to run through everything—the chaos of it all—to prove that one is worthy of holding responsibility for the students of our college. There’s still a “student” in being a student leader, like an older brother protecting his siblings. It is indeed draining to let anyone expect because all I had to do was to try. It wouldn't hurt to hear someone else say that I am welcome—that I am their guest. For other people to expect that I am dependable, it becomes permanent to the point the passion can overdo into responsibility. Am I for convenience? Or for the effort I will endlessly value?

It takes a lot of passion and grit to start a publication because it is both an oath and a duty to do what a journalist should do—what a journalist is meant to do. It pushed me to review and refresh my knowledge of journalism, in news writing, editorial/school paper graphic design, and I slowly realized how it is sucking the energy out of me. What does it really take to start an institutional platform for artists and designers? It is the passion to step outside the discomfort zone.

The fear grew large until now. Am I failing the time? The people expecting? The unsurvived platform? The passion that did not waver?

The answer?

I’d give it a try, anyway.

It starts with how much I am willing to give myself away. In the midst of leadership and to improve oneself, creativity needs solitude. As busy as the mind gets, silence conquers all—the equilibrium needed to weigh down the doubts and fears of the mind. Even if leadership demands sacrifice, it should not feel like the end of the world to step back, rest, and let the world move without you for a while. There can’t be order without a little chaos, right?

Maybe the publication will exist one day. Maybe it’s worth it after all. Maybe the things I am building now will outlive me in campus history.

The work may have begun, but another question remains. Are you willing to balance yourself to give away in the name of passion, leadership, and community?

To the future Kielle, may you never be the Jack of All Thank You’s, nor the master of no welcomes. Keep building the platform in the world that has yet to exist.

The Frontman