The Mark Experience: Insights, Experiences, and More

I wanted to share this story because I wanted to give a more detailed account of how my business actually started. This is the part that is not always told. Most of the time, we only hear the short version: someone starts a business, they work hard, they persevere, and eventually, the business grows. But I wanted to tell the longer version. The real version. How it started, what happened, and how one thing slowly led to another.  One small disclaimer: this is a long story. I intentionally did not shorten it too much because I wanted to show the parts that usually get skipped. The small decisions. The embarrassing moments. The uncertainty. The ordinary days before the business started to look like a business. So if you stay with me until the end, I hope the journey makes sense. I hope someone can relate to it, and hopefully, someone will be inspired by it. ### The ₱10,000 My Mother Borrowed From a Cooperative My business did not start with capital. It started with a ₱10,000 loan my ...

  We have been talking about Ateneo so seriously lately, so maybe it is time to change the mood a little. Let me share a story instead. A story for the young dreamers, especially the students in the provinces who may be wondering if a bigger life is possible from where they are. I hope somewhere in my story, you find something useful, something encouraging, or at least something that reminds you that your current place does not have to be your final destination. This is not about controversy. Not about opinion. But about how a boy from Surigao, raised in a small city where everyone seemed to know everyone, found his way to a university that would change the direction of his life. I grew up in a place where a family name could follow you before you even had the chance to introduce yourself. My parents were both teachers at one of the most known private schools in Surigao. My mother taught elementary students. My father taught in high school and was also known as a strict disci...

There was a time when luxury meant acquiring something new. A new phone. A new gadget. A new car. A new upgrade. Like many people, I once associated progress with accumulation. The latest device wasn't just a device. It felt like a milestone. A symbol of growth. Proof that life was moving forward. And for a while, that made sense. When we're younger, many of our purchases carry meanings far beyond their actual function. They represent achievement. Identity. Belonging. Possibility. We don't just buy things—we buy what they seem to say about our lives. But somewhere along the way, something changed. These days, when I look at my phone, I don't find myself wondering what the next model can do. My first question is much simpler: Does this still do what I need it to do? If the answer is yes, then I'm perfectly fine keeping it. What surprised me wasn't that I stopped getting excited about new things. What surprised me was discovering what excites me now. For years, I...

  In 2024, I learned that a business can break your heart. Not because you stopped loving it. Not because you stopped working hard. Not because you were careless with what you built. Sometimes, it breaks your heart because you gave too much of yourself to keep it standing, only to realize that hard work alone could not protect it from everything. That year, I went through one of the most painful and frightening experiences of my life as a business owner. At first, it did not look like a crisis. It looked like a small payment arrangement that had existed quietly for years. A corporate client had an internal setup where their individual members paid separately. Over time, our team became involved in helping coordinate payment proofs, follow-ups, and related concerns. For a while, nothing seemed alarming. And maybe that was the danger. Some risks do not arrive loudly. Some enter the business as exceptions, become habits, and eventually disguise themselves as normal. Because no major p...

  When I watched the 2026 PVL Draft, I felt something I had never felt before. For the first time, I looked at the list of hopefuls and thought: we may have finally reached saturation. There were too many players now. Too many dreams. Too many talented athletes competing for too few opportunities. What struck me even more was where most of the selections came from. The familiar names were there—UAAP and NCAA standouts. But beyond those systems, the door seemed much harder to enter. Players from other schools, alternative pathways, and even those from abroad did not seem to break through in the same way. And maybe that was why the draft stayed with me. Because I still remember when Philippine volleyball had the opposite problem. I remember when there were not enough teams. Not enough platforms. Not enough places for graduating players to go. My own life as a volleyball fan began almost by accident, inside a taxi. I heard radio DJs praising Charo Soriano and the Ateneo Lady Eagles be...