Celine

There Is More For You

Celine Loriot on belonging, becoming, and learning to take up space

There's a kind of person who makes a room feel safer just by being in it. Celine Loriot is that person.

A nurse, a community leader, a pageant first runner-up, a Filipino BC Board of Director and spokesperson, and somehow, still the woman who will stop mid-conversation to ask how you're doing. When I sat down with Celine, I thought I was interviewing someone who had it all figured out. What I found instead was someone who had done the harder thing: figured out herself.

The spark

When I asked Celine what makes her feel most alive, she didn't hesitate for long.

"Helping people realize the spark they have within themselves."

She talked about styling clients, helping someone see a whole new version of themselves using clothes already hanging in their own wardrobe. She talked about her patients, how she makes a point of treating them not as a file or a room number, but as a human being who is scared and needs to feel heard. She talked about Filipino BC, and what it means to now be a spokesperson for a culture she once felt she didn't belong to.

Different worlds, one thread running through all of them. She shows up for people. Fully. Without reservation.

Lola

When I asked where that comes from, she went quiet for just a moment. Then: "My Lola."

Her grandmother raised 12 children. Twelve. And through all of it, she never made anyone feel like a burden. She was the one who held young Celine through her identity crisis, the quiet reassuring voice that said: you are unique in your own way, keep an open heart, and you will find what's meant for you.

Celine carries her still. You can feel it in the way she speaks about care. Not as a duty, but as something sacred.

Not Filipino enough

Celine grew up in Canada, half Filipino, half French. And for a long time, she leaned away from one half of herself.

"Growing up, it wasn't really that cool to be Filipino. So I leaned more into my French identity."

Filipino kids didn't quite claim her. White kids didn't quite claim her either. She existed somewhere in between, not sure where she fit. It took years, and the love of her partner Armor, for her to come home to herself.

Now she's a Board of Director at Filipino BC. A spokesperson. An event host. She laughs a little when she says it: "Five-year-old Celine would have never thought she'd be doing all these very Filipino things."

That's the thing about becoming. Sometimes you circle back to what you were always meant for.

The pageant she almost didn't enter

Celine was bored one afternoon when she saw an ad for Miss Vancouver. The deadline had already passed. She figured, why not just fill out the application for practice? Just to see what it would feel like.

Hours later, her phone rang.

"You're exactly what we're looking for."

She called her partner in a panic. He told her to do it. She had one month to learn how to walk in heels, find a dress, figure out what a pageant even was. She spent most of it feeling completely out of her depth.

Then she stepped on stage, and something shifted.

"I didn't feel comfortable until I was actually on stage. And then it just came. I was just able to be my authentic self."

First runner-up. Miss Vancouver.

After the pageant, little girls came up to her. We want to be like you when we grow up. She laughs at the memory, but her voice softens when she says it. That was the moment she understood what a platform really means.

The woman underneath all the hats

Nurse. Leader. Organizer. Creative. It's a lot to hold.

Celine admits she's prone to burnout, but also that she genuinely thrives with a full life. The key, she says, is coming back to what matters. Walks. Time with family, because "my parents are not here forever." Prayer, not as a checklist, but as a real conversation. Starting with gratitude, then honesty, then asking for what she needs.

She used to be her own worst critic. A perfectionist who could hear a room full of praise and still only focus on what went wrong. She's softer with herself now.

"Does it align with my vision and my values? Then nine times out of ten, I'm content."

What she'd say to her younger self

When I asked this, she paused longer than any other question.

"There is more for you."

That was it. Simple and full at once. For the little girl who couldn't quite find where she belonged, not Filipino enough, not white enough, not sure enough, she would just want her to know: this is not the whole story. There is more.

What she wants you to take away

"Learn to be comfortable being uncomfortable."

Because chaos, she says, usually means something good is on its way. And a no? A no is not a rejection. It's a redirection.

She said it so easily, like she'd lived it enough times to really believe it. And I think that's what struck me most about Celine. She's not speaking in borrowed wisdom. Every word came from somewhere real.

The ripple she leaves isn't loud. It doesn't have to be. It moves through the patient who finally felt seen, the girl in the audience who finally felt possible, the community that finally felt like home.

There is more for you. She'd want you to know that too.