09/01/2025
The Unseen Struggles Behind BRUHA: A Journey of Sacrifice, Resilience, and Filipino Identity
As the new year begins, I find myself reflecting on the journey that brought me here. For five years, I’ve been asked to share my story, but I’ve always resisted. The truth is, it’s been an emotional and mental struggle—one that’s left me wrestling with self-doubt, imposter syndrome, and a sense of not belonging.
I moved to Brighton a few years after my dad passed away in 2010. I was 19 at the time—lost, angry, and grieving in ways I didn’t know how to process. Drinking to numb the pain, spiraling into unhealthy habits. I realized that if I stayed in Norfolk, I would keep running away from my grief. So, I left, hoping to find a fresh start in a city where I could escape the weight of judgment and expectation. Brighton offered that escape, but I had no idea what lay ahead.
Growing up, my relationship with my mum was strained. We come from different cultural backgrounds and communication was often a struggle. My mum, who came to the UK in her 30s, worked tirelessly to support not only us, but also her family in the Philippines. Working three jobs didn’t leave time for us as a family, she faced racism daily and made endless sacrifices - putting herself last every time. In the face of adversity, she showed me the true meaning of resilience and love. Along with many others who seemed to have forgotten her, I owe her everything.
But none of this came easily. BRUHA represents my family’s culture and my personal journey, but it wasn’t built without immense hardship. I started the business when I was 29 and took the leap into full-time self-employment. Then came the pandemic—a time when everything I’d worked for seemed to unravel in front of me. Forced to close our doors while still having to pay bills. The economic landscape was shifting under my feet and still continues to do so, and its clear that the path forward would be anything but smooth.
During that time, I faced unimaginable challenges—personally and financially. I didn’t qualify for any government support because I hadn’t paid myself to be eligible for the self-employment grant. Brighton council delayed our covid grant for 2 years, destroying our credit. No furlough, no grants, no safety net. My generation has inherited an economic crisis, and I found myself pouring everything I had into a business that seemed to be fighting an uphill battle.
But even when everything seems stacked against us, I pressed on. I’ve always believed in the power of food to bring people together, to bridge gaps, and to tell a story. For the last five years, I’ve been everything for BRUHA—chef, waiter, manager, cleaner, delivery driver, stock coordinator, you name it. I run around doing 70-80 hour weeks paying myself 100% less than my staff and always at the expense of my health, juggling a severe illness and a business has been near impossible. My body shows the signs: exhaustion, stress, and the physical toll of a constant, grinding pace. Yet, despite this, I’m incredibly proud of what BRUHA has become.
The emotional cost, however, is something few understand. Growing up in the Filipino-British community in Norfolk was tough. I constantly felt like I didn’t belong—neither fully accepted by the British community nor by the Filipino community. I’ve often been judged by my appearance, questioned by those who assumed I couldn’t possibly be the child of a Filipino woman. Judged by my complexion and receiving subtle and not so subtle racism on the daily at my own place of work. A place I created to celebrate Filipino culture. Even today, when customers come into BRUHA and question whether I’m truly Filipino or ask if I’m the owner, it stirs up deep feelings of insecurity and trauma. It’s a reminder of the complexities I’ve lived with—where my identity often feels like it’s under constant scrutiny.
Because of this, I refuse to conform to societal pressures of exposure. Showing my face isn’t necessary and most of you have met me in person anyway, I’m the guy sitting you down, taking your orders, cooking the food, bringing it to you, checking back (💀) and washing up your plate.
Despite these challenges, I’ve found a deep sense of pride in the restaurant we’ve built. BRUHA is not just a business; it’s a celebration of Filipino culture and the spirit of hospitality that defines our food. When customers tell me “This reminds me of my Lola” or “it feels like back home” it hits me in a way that words can’t fully express. Like going over a hill really fast in the back of a car. I say “thanks” and “I’ll tell the chef”, knowing full well I cooked it.
Running BRUHA, however, is not without its hurdles. It’s more than just cooking food. It’s about balancing the books, managing staff, and navigating the pressures of the hospitality industry in this economic crisis, all while staying true to the values that inspired me to open the restaurant in the first place. For years, I’ve been searching for investors and partners who share my vision—people who understand that the goal isn’t just profit, but preserving the integrity and identity of what BRUHA stands for.
I’m not in this for myself, clearly. I’ve given up so much and continue to give up my personal life, and in many ways, I’ve lost parts of who I am. But I’m trying to stay focused on the bigger picture: to showcase Filipino food, to give our community a place to gather, and to keep pushing against the idea that Filipino food doesn’t have a seat at the table in the wider culinary world.
So, as I look ahead, I’m filled with gratitude—not just for the customers who believe in us, but for the opportunity to continue this journey. I know that the road ahead will remain challenging, but I’m determined to ensure that BRUHA, and Filipino food, continue to thrive.
If you believe in what we’re doing, if you want to be a part of this journey, I invite you to reach out. Whether you’re an investor, a partner, or simply a supporter who believes in the power of food to connect us all, I’d love to hear from you. Let’s take BRUHA, and Filipino cuisine, to new heights together.
