Enóla — Daughter of Life, Dreamer of Tomorrow, Survivor of Yesterday.

I have always felt that stories can be found anywhere—in quiet alleyways, nestled inside worn notebooks, or echoing through ordinary life. And I have always wanted to capture, hold, and bring them to life on paper.  Hello, world.  My name is Enóla, and I hail from the sun-kissed province of Northern Cebu, where life is not always hard, nor always easy. I matured early to the light, to the reality that life is tough. I am an only child, and others would always think my world was paved with gold, shining with glitz and glamour—but the reality beneath the glitter was much different. However, I was nurtured in a love deep and unshakable, from my parents and grandparents—persistent gardeners cultivating the delicate blossom of my spirit. Whenever someone asks, ‘Why don’t you have a younger sibling?’ I always grin and answer with my memorized line: ‘Rice is expensive.’ And it turns out, I was right all along.  I was just six years old, but the weight of life’s harvest was already pressed upon my shoulders. That little six-year-old girl is now a fourth-year education student. The journey has been prickly, but I tread it with modest feet, led by God and driven by my own determination. As the Bible says in Psalm 46:5: “God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.”  *And I did not fall, for I bent before him.*  I am a member of the Iglesia Ni Cristo and also serve in the church choir. Psalm 96:1-2 “Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth. Sing to the Lord, praise his name; proclaim his salvation day after day.”   College was so different from what I have read in books. It was less about moonlit romances or carefree trips with friends—especially if you had none—and more about scaling mountains of reports and defending projects like a warrior in a Mario-level quest.   Having talent while studying was a rare gem, and I was privileged to hold a few. Sometime in December 2024, my blockmates chose me to write the script for our play when we were in third year. It was such an honor and we were literally on cloud nine after receiving a perfect score for our first theater play.  Throughout my years in the academe, I already wrote countless scripts for our performances and even for school promotional videos.  My journey through this school has been a storm-laden river. I met the shadowed version of myself, the weary traveler. I encountered souls I thought would walk beside me as companions, but they revealed themselves as rival climbers, forgetting that the only summit I race toward is the one my younger self, my ambitious self, and my joyful self have set before me. How did I become a writer? Am I born for it or did I make myself one? My answer would be the latter. Anyone can have a pen in their hand, but not everyone is able to use it. I recall being 13 years old and writing a short story at the back of my Science notebook when I was in grade 7—my teacher was so dull. I wrote of a princess and her knight, a story stitched from the same threads everyone else read—fantasy—but my tale knew no happy ending. Instead, it lingered in the shade, a “tragic ever after” that clung to the page like ivy.  At first, writing was merely a spark, a flicker of curiosity. But gradually, it became my shadow, my silent friend. When I was thirteen, I crashed into a storm of depression following a tragic incident that my entire family hardly survived. We lived like phantoms in our own lives—staying in the shadows, running from hunters, escaping from the world. In that darkness, I found peace in my pen and paper. They were my refuge, my confidante, the never-judging ears. They saw me laugh, they heard me weep, they witnessed my scars, my struggles—everything that I could not speak out loud. That is why Enóla was born—unfiltered and bold. I kept on pouring myself into writing, particularly during the time of the pandemic, when my name flourished in what we called ‘Dummylandia,’ with thousands of followers and readers who imbued life to my words and inspirations. Folks started seeing the ink of my soul.    When I was a freshman, I joined our school’s journalism club and later became the Head Literary Writer. Being surrounded by people who breathed metaphors fueled my passion to continue writing and to inspire others through the power of words. Now, I want my works to be read by a wide audience across the globe, to have my true life known, because it is something inspiring that no one knows about.  That is why I decided to join Hive. I wish to contribute by sharing my prose, the inspirational ones, my story, my heartaches, everything in between. To me, Hive feels like a bright field where my words can take root, grow towards the sun, and bloom. I first heard about it from our journalism adviser, who said this is a big opportunity to let our voices be heard beyond the four walls of our school—to step past the gates of school journalism and speak to the whole world. I was moved to join as well, knowing that some of the familiar souls I met in school have already found a home here, especially @whosee. I would also like to thank Mr.@intoy.bugoy for conducting an online orientation on September 2, 2025, which paved the way for me to join and become a Hiver.  Now that I am officially part of this community, I wish to convey both the poignancy and the pain of being a student, and a daughter who learns to dance through storms—and perhaps connect with individuals who adore words as much as I do. And if even one reader finds comfort, inspiration, or even just a still smile in what I do, then I know my reason for being here is served. To my folks wandering around, I hope you come across my chateau and support my works. I hope that my words find you on a quiet night, or in the middle of your storms, and remind you that you are not alone—that somewhere, a girl named Enóla once wrote through her pain and turned it into light. Together, may we grow, write, and dream under the same sky. See you around.