Skateboarding has always belonged to the ones who push past the edges. Kids who fall, get up, and fall again. But every generation has that one person who doesn’t just break expectations, they erase the line completely. For the Philippines, that person is Kevin Almazan.

Born without the means to walk, Kevin grew up in a world that was quick to list the things he supposedly couldn’t do. Skateboarding wasn’t just low on that list; it wasn’t on it at all. But the first time he saw a friend skating, something sparked.

“Nakita ko sya nag-i-skateboard tapos hiniram ko yung skateboard niya… sabi ko ‘pwede ko bang ma-try?’” (I saw him skating and borrowed his board… I asked, “Can I try?”) Kevin shared.

He recalls. The board rolled, and everything changed. “Sobrang saya lang mag-skateboarding.” (Skateboarding just made me genuinely happy.)

From that moment, “can’t” had no place in his vocabulary.

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Freedom on Four Wheels

Kevin remembers the first time he stepped on a board, almost like a sensory flash. Kids playing, older skaters moving around their local spot, the sound of wheels on concrete. 

“Unang naramdaman ko pagkasakay ko ng board is sobrang saya… ang daming naglalaro sa spot namin dati.” (“The first thing I felt when I got on the board was pure joy… there were so many people skating at our spot back then.”) 

Of course, not everyone understood. People told him skating was too dangerous, that he could get hurt, that it wasn’t for someone like him. But Kevin wasn’t interested in what people thought he couldn’t do.

“Hindi ko sila pinakinggan kasi ito yung nahiligan ko.” (“I didn’t listen to them because this is what I love.”) 

What others saw as a limitation, Kevin treated as a challenge and eventually, just part of his normal. When asked if being “different” changes how he sees spots or tricks, he shrugs it off with quiet confidence:

“Wala namang pinagkaiba kasi parehas kaming skater… kung ano yung spot nila, yung tricks nila na pwede nilang gawin, pwede ko ring gayahin.” (“There’s really no difference because we’re all skaters… whatever spots they hit or tricks they can do, I can try them too.”) 

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Skateboarding is for Everyone

The local skate scene didn’t just accept Kevin; they embraced him. Maybe because skaters understand something deeper: skating is an equalizer. Your background, your body, your baggage- none of it matters once you’re on the board.

“Tinanggap ako ng local skate scene kasi wala namang different e… Skateboarding is for everyone.” (The local skate scene accepted me because there’s really no difference… Skateboarding is for everyone.”) 

What keeps him inspired is simple: community. His crew, Notion. His team. His heroes. 

He lights up when talking about watching skaters like Jerry Santillan and Margielyn Didal on his phone years ago. Now they’re part of the world he exists in. And on tough days, skating becomes more than a hobby. It becomes therapy.

“Kunwari may problema ako, sasamahan nila ako mag-skateboard. Kasi yung skateboard nakakatanggal saglit ng problema… Skateboarding is freedom e. Freedom siya para sakin.” (“When I have problems, they come skate with me. Because skateboarding takes the problems away for a while… Skateboarding is freedom. It’s freedom for me.”) 

To Kevin, skating isn’t just movement. It’s meaning: “Skateboarding is for everyone.”

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Equal Ground

Kevin’s journey has already taken him further than he ever imagined. In 2023, he flew out of the country for the first time. Something he never thought possible.

“’Di ko inaasahan na makakalabas ako ng bansa, ng Vans Philippines… mararanasan mo yung tears of joy.” (“I never expected to travel abroad because of Vans Philippines… you really experience those tears of joy.”) 

But even as doors open, he stays grounded in the reality of skating in the Philippines. The growth is real. More skateparks, more kids, more community, but the support system still lags.

“Merong mga local government na walang support… sa lugar namin sa Calamba, puro sila basketball court. Sana mapansin nila yung skateboarding.” (“Some local governments don’t give support… in our area in Calamba, it’s all basketball courts. I hope they start recognizing skateboarding too.”) 

When he skates abroad, the difference hits even harder. In Malaysia, he recalls seeing skaters everywhere. Community alive, infrastructure respected. And what really stuck with him was how PWD skaters were treated. He even shared:

“Dito...kapag sumasakay ako ng LRT, pinagbabawalan nila ako magbitbit ng skateboard. Paano yung transportation ko?” (“When I ride the LRT, they don’t allow me to bring my skateboard. How am I supposed to get around?”)

But in other countries?“Support sila… pwede ka mag-skate kahit saan, ’di ka sasawayin ng guard. Nauunawaan nila yung kalagayan mo.” (“They’re supportive… you can skate anywhere and the guards won’t stop you. They understand your situation.”) 

Kevin isn’t asking for special treatment. Just equal ground.

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No Limits

Despite everything. Barriers, stares, assumptions, Kevin shows up. Every session, every spot, every fall, every landed trick. And the kids notice. They watch him, root for him, idolize him.

His message to them is simple:

“Gusto ko magbigay inspirasyon sa mga bata… ipagpatuloy nila yung pag-skateboard. Laging mag-aral, makinig sa magulang… at alagaan nila yung skatepark.” (“I want to inspire the kids… I want them to keep skating. Always study well, listen to your parents… and take care of the skatepark.”) 

For him, it’s not just about being a PWD skater. It’s about being a skater. Period.
Skateboarding isn’t about fitting in; it’s about rewriting what’s possible, and Kevin Almazan has been rewriting it since the day he borrowed that first board.

He is living proof that limits only exist if you let them. He is Built Different.