04 — dispatches
Dispatches on reporting in the Northern Mariana Islands, caring for clients at home, and everything learned in transition.
Scrolling through my feed, I caught a video on Albert Camus and the myth of Sisyphus—and realized how closely that endless hill mirrors the daily routines of caregiving. Yet where mythology sees punishment and absurdity, the bedside reveals something else entirely. A short reflection on routine, presence, and holding space for human dignity.
In nursing coursework, we study dementia through clinical pillars—the Four A’s of Alzheimer’s. But on a regular day, those terms are simply the repeating friction of living in someone else’s internal weather. A personal reflection on caregiving, dignity, and the enduring habits of the heart.
An island economy is built on a simple truth: money derives its value from movement, and movement requires people. A personal reflection on the arithmetic of island life, power bills, and why federal partnership and long-term community stability are the real key to the Northern Marianas' economic future.
An essay on eleven years in the Northern Marianas, the quiet anxiety of work permit expiration dates, and why the islands need permanent solutions for long-term workers.
While a new expedition searches the Taraia lagoon, an old Army report from Saipan tells the story of two American flyers whose names were not Earhart and Noonan.
Set against a vegetable farm in 2004, a newly arrived journalist reflects on the disorientation of leaving Manila behind and the sudden warmth of finding a second family in the employee barracks of San Vicente.
A tender look at an unpretentious childhood, the village that raised it, and the long, graceful shadow of a mother’s sacrifice.
Growing up, I thought our family name was just a clerical error—until a sudden room full of angry relatives taught me what it actually took to survive.
A late toast to Pale’ Ike—for the table at Kagman, the dry wit, and the late coffee that held a loose crew of journalists together for good.
A journalist-turned-nursing assistant looks back on thirty years of heavy words, big armor, and the art of finally learning to say what happened.
In Pieces Yet to Be Collected, a silent reflection on memory and place, the essay explores how the rooms, streets, and haunts we leave behind remain quietly tethered to our former selves, waiting for us to return and claim what we left.
This essay is a reflection on the stewardship of end-of-life caregiving, reframing the surrender of adult autonomy not as a second childhood, but as a sacred trust. Through personal detail and deep empathy, it honors the profound weight of protecting an aging individual's dignity as their story draws to a close.
The writer relates deeply with the Netflix hit show, "When Life Gives You Tangerines", finding parallelisms with her own life, how she has been a disappointment for falling short of her filial duty, and of expectations.
While on Saipan, Hans Hornbostel was entrusted with a bundle of intelligence reports that Earl Ellis left behind. While rumors of Japanese spies and poison swirled around Earl's tragic death, records reveal a much sadder reality of a secret mission derailed by a personal battle with alcoholism
This essay from a pet's point of view, reflects on a 1950s door as the center of its daily routine, a source of heartbreak when their adoptive parents leave for work and sheer joy when they return home.
An island crossing has a way of staying with a person, especially when it takes two days longer than planned. Decades before Freedom Air or Star Marianas offered a smooth trip between the islands, the voyage felt like a life-or-death gamble, negotiating rough seas and unexpected drama en route.
A reflective personal essay that uses the Korean drama When Life Gives You Tangerines and the sour Filipino calamansi to explore pivoting from newsroom journalism to caregiving, navigating accumulated grief, and finding resilience, purpose, and renewal after personal loss.
In this essay, the writer shares her discovery of the quiet sorcery of graphic design in a print shop, and how a newfound love for grids, fonts, and layouts reshaped her path.
The ache of loss never leaves us entirely, but by leaning on old prayers, quiet wisdom, and a deliberate reason to keep going, we learn to walk softly through the changed landscape.
When a routine casino excavation in Garapan unearths an unexploded WWII sea mine, the newsroom goes into overdrive. Reporters mill about the site, brave the perimeter fence to get a good visual of the operation.
The writer takes you to a warm, sharp-witted reflection on stepping away from the newsroom to become a private caregiver, where listening to the extraordinary lives, quiet resilience, and lasting wisdom of aging clients reveals that the finest stories are found right at the bedside.
Memories Without an Address is a short reflection on a late-night WhatsApp chat between two former reporters looking back at Saipan. It’s a story about vanished hangouts, scattered friends, and the quiet realization that we can’t buy a return ticket to a past that now lives only on a phone screen.
Notes from covering archaeological discoveries across the Marianas.
Fourteen years ago, I watched from the front row as the CNMI pension system collapsed in court, forcing retirees to accept deep cuts. This is the story of how a desperate gamble on casino cash temporarily saved the Fund.
Reflections on reporting for community papers in the Pacific.
Reflections on reporting for community papers in Saipan.
A personal reflection on how 19th-century whaling ships breached the Pacific’s ancient isolation—turning warm island hospitality into catastrophic biological exposure, with historical echoes that still reach from Guam to Queens.
A new beginning: why I built this site and what I hope to share here.