Some years mark a turning point. For me, this is one of them.
We all go through seasons of change—times when life feels upended and unfamiliar. For me, one of those moments came in 2007, when I lost my mother. It was sudden. I had just started a new job at Metalmark Capital, and within a month, my entire world shifted.
My boss was incredibly kind, giving me space to grieve. But grief doesn’t follow a schedule. I was always working—juggling multiple jobs in New York City, running on ambition and adrenaline. And then suddenly, I was just… empty. I had lost the most important person in my life. My rock had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, and I was left searching—for meaning, for grounding, for her.
That heartbreak led me to the Philippines, my mother’s homeland. Maybe I was looking for her, or maybe I felt like an orphan without her. But I followed my instinct and spent time in orphanages in Bulacan, guided by my mom’s dear friend, Fr. Vic Robles. He brought me to children who needed help. Who needed hope.
And what I found was this: they gave me hope. These kids—who had so little—just wanted to be seen. They wanted someone to watch them dance, laugh at their jokes, sit with them, hug them. I was their audience. And they reminded me that there’s more to life than the things I used to chase.
I started small—sending care packages to those orphanages. Then one day, my best friend Michael said, “Why don’t you start a charity?” I laughed and said, “If you help me, I’ll do it. But I don’t know what I’m doing.” I never wrote a business plan or looked for investors. I just started. And with love and help, Maya’s Hope became a 501(c)(3) in 2010.
In the beginning, our focus was the Philippines. But then, Ukraine entered my life—my father’s homeland. His parents were Ukrainian and had been taken by German soldiers during World War II. My father was born in a work camp in Germany. He never had a true homeland—he was a “displaced person.” He came to America with hope and a Ukrainian name, which his American-born siblings didn’t share.
In 2009, I met Sr. Bernarda, a nun in the East Village who introduced me to orphanages across Ukraine. What I saw—children hidden away, isolated—lit a fire in me. I didn’t know then that those visits would shape the rest of my life. But somehow, everything came full circle. Just as people once helped my grandparents and father, I felt called to help these children.
Even though Sr. Bernarda is no longer with us, I believe Maya’s Hope carries the torch she lit. Despite an ocean between us, we continue to bring love and care to children in Ukraine.
Since 2010, we’ve helped thousands of children across the Philippines and Ukraine. And today, I’m able to do this work thanks in part to my father, who now helps raise my daughter so I can continue helping other people’s children.
So yes, Maya’s Hope is a nonprofit—but it’s also a tribute.
To Maria Milagros and Wolodymyr—my parents.
To a love story that began on a tiny island called Guam.
And to a mission that grew out of grief, but blossomed into purpose.
❤ Maya
