Welcome to my canopy! Stay as long as you need, as long as your heart finds joy in doing so.

-Jhallean Garcia

the Keeper of this Canopy

I often played until the sun turned orange, casting golden light across the hills facing our home. But when I turned five, life carried me to the city—Mandaue, where everything moved faster and the silence I once knew was replaced with the hum of traffic and tall buildings. Even as a child, I longed for the softness of the mountains, so when I turned 7, I returned to Brgy. Sandayong, and I've been living and growing here ever since.

For high school, I continued on to Tuburan National High School, where I spent both my Junior and Senior High years—a time when my world slowly opened wider. It was there that I discovered more of who I am, where I built friendships and even learned how to dream.

Today, I am currently walking a trail as a Civil Engineering student at CTU-Tuburan Campus. With every formula I learned, I know that I'm not just preparing for a career—I'm also shaping the person I want to become.

One of which is reading—I love, love, love reading. Whether it's a novel that pulls me into another world, manhwa and manga that sometimes make me question my existence, or even anything. Words have always felt like windows to places I've never been to. They comfort me and keep me company especially when the world grows loud.

I also find joy in watching dramas and animes—in the way stories unfold and how characters grow through pain, love, and challenges. There's just something comforting about seeing pieces of fictional characters that reflects who you are on a screen.

And then, there's writing— my quiet refuge. Whether it's a poem or a piece of creative writing blooming from my imagination, I write to breathe, to reflect, and to reconnect with myself.

These small hobbies are like the flowers that fill and make my canopy even more colorful.

Among the few things I hold close to my heart, one stands out like a single sprout in a desert and it was becoming part of the College of Engineering's publication team, The BluePrint Sigma. What began a hesitant step turned into a meaningful chapter of my journey—a space where I learned to lead and write with purpose.

Eventually, I was entrusted with the role of Editor-in-Chief. It felt surreal, being believed into something you didn't even know you are. Under my reign, we were able to publish the Volume 3 of our Engineering Magazine, The Lifelong Apprentice.

It may not seem grand to many, but to me, it was one of the most special things. It was a reflection of how far I've come and how much I've dared to bloom into something beautiful.

I’ll be attaching the link to the magazine at the end—feel free to explore the pages we poured our hearts into.

The Lifelong Apprentice: tinyurl.com/TheBluePrintSigmaV3

A few of those storms began at home. Like many, I've faced moments when the warmth I needed felt distant, when misunderstandings lingered like dark clouds, and when silence spoke louder than words at home. Those times made me question my worth, my place, and sometimes, even my voice.

Then came my internal battles, the ones no one could see. I've often doubted myself, wondering if I was enough, if my dreams were too big or if I was just too small to reach them. Those thoughts crept in like shadows during the quiet nights, and it took me everything I had just to keep them from growing.

My moments of doubt taught me to listen closely to myself, to understand that strength isn't always loud—it's also in quiet perseverance, in showing up even when it's hard to, and in choosing to grow anyway. The struggles within my family also made me grow understanding of things that people often carry but never speak of.

I learned to hold space for my feelings, to honor even the most fragile parts of me, and to remain someone steady for my own good. And though the storms bent me, they also shaped me into someone softer, yet wiser than before.

Now, when I encounter the storms, I no longer fear them—I thank them instead. Because through them, I learned how to bloom and grow.

But beyond the degree and the profession, I dream of a life where I can live free of the heavy worries that money often brings. I want to reach a place where I can breathe without the constant weight of financial burdens on my shoulders—not just for myself, but for the people I love.

Most of all, I plant these seeds with my parents in mind. Their happiness is something I hold close to my heart. I want to give them moments of peace, of joy, of rest. I want them to see their sacrifices grow into something beautiful through me.

And quietly, I dream of living a life where I can simply be me—without always having to shrink, without constantly worrying about what others think. A life where I can exist gently and freely, as I am.

Each day, I try to tend to these dreams, step by step. One small effort at a time, knowing that someday—they will bloom.

I have this strange little habit of imagining myself as the villainess whenever I read historical manhwa. It's not because I want to be cruel but because, somehow, I always end up wanting to fix the broken ones. There's something about their loneliness that speaks to me.

Then, when I was in Grade 2—I once went home the very last, simply because I wrote too slowly. Everyone else had finished and left, while I was still carefully shaping my letters, trying to catch up.

Lastly, I cry easily when someone shouts at me—not because I'm weak, but because I've never been shouted at in our home. My heart isn't used to loud voices.

Like seasons, life changes—sometimes blossoming, sometimes wilting. But even in the harshest storms, I try to hold on, to breathe, to endure. I believe that there's always something waiting in every season, even if it's just the strength I never thought I had.

Endurance, for me, isn't about being unbreakable. It's about choosing to keep going, no matter how slowly, and trusting that summer will come once the rain stops.

My family—my parents, grandparents, and aunts—have always been my foundation. They are the roots that held me steady even when life felt uncertain. Their sacrifices and unconditional love became the soil where I could take root and begin to bloom.

Then, there are my friends, the rays of sunlight in my life. They stood by me in laughter and in silence. The ones to offer me torch when I couldn't find my own light.

And of course, Ikong. My 9-year old pet pigeon. She may not speak, but her presence has been a quiet comfort through the years. She reminds me of the kind of love that needs no words.

And somewhere in the quiet corners of my life, there's someone whose presence is like a soft breeze. They're subtle but steady, warm but unspoken. Though not seen by many, they've helped me feel understood in ways I never knew I needed. If they ever find themselves reading this, I hope they know this part is for them.

Together, they are the roots and rays that helped me rise—and still do, every single day.