On taking a break and taking the plunge.

Hi guys!

Don’t you miss the old days when a blog was an online journal where you talk about your days and your thoughts, and your readers comment on your day and your thoughts, and you even gain new friends in the process?

The blogging world has seismically shifted. I admit I’ve become trapped in that mode too, in that I often ask myself if my blog entry will add value to my readers (thus generate hits and views), that most of my thoughts get trapped inside my head, and so no entry gets published. And in social media posts, I get so disappointed when I read a sentence or two followed by a call to action for a sponsored product. (Did you know they hire people to write those post captions? Yeah, they do.)

I miss the old days though. So for today I have no eat list or travel post or wedding supplier to review, I have no shopping trick or beauty product to test, this is just me and my thoughts.

Simplifying in 2017

During our Japan trip in November, I had a sudden realization. Traveling makes me happy, and it's one of the things Jay and I enjoy doing together. I'd love to continue doing this at least once a year. But trips cost money, and with our upcoming wedding and a married life together, we need to set priorities.

It was then that I decided on my word for 2017: Simplify. I told myself, if I want to continue traveling the country and the world, I need to simplify my life. I need to learn to do away with frills and wants that don't really serve me purpose and only give me fleeting moments of "happiness". I need to invest on experiences and learning. So here are the things I plan to do to simplify my life:

1. Downsize my closet. 

When I was still living in a condominium, I had a walk-in closet all for myself. It was always full and had more clothes and shoes than I could ever need. When I cleaned up one time, I found several pairs of shoes I'd never worn, and they were already in different stages of disrepair. Because my mom used to own a garments business, I was never left wanting for clothes. 

When I left to work for my uncle in the province in 2015, I had to make do with the clothes I could fit in my suitcase. I basically used three pairs of shoes: two sandals and a pair of rubber shoes that I barely wore. And what do you know, I survived!

Before I left the condo, I had a huge garage sale of my stuff. But there were still several pieces that remained. So in the next two months I plan to unload majority of my clothes and shoes. It's a good thing there are now Facebook groups and even selling apps available to easily dispose of your things. 

Bonus: Here's a video about the genius behind creating a "uniform," or wearing the same thing every day. I'm not at that stage yet, but curating my wardrobe seems also fitting now that I am about to turn 30.

Wearing the same clothes every day is actually really smart.
Posted by ATTN: Video on Thursday, December 22, 2016

2. Limit my shopping.  

I inherited a shopping habit from my mom, and that includes buying designer things. My mom had a neat collection of branded bags but because we had different tastes, I dreamed of buying my own. When I started working, I saved part of my salary to acquire them. Looking back, it seems I bought a designer bag for every job I had. So even if I'm saying goodbye to a lot of my things, I'm keeping my totes and purses. They represent a time when I was more carefree about my spending. A lot of my bags were also gifts. And because I already have several of them, they will have to do. I will think of them whenever I am tempted to buy another one. Let's hope my will is strong enough!

Tip: If you're also reining in your shopping habit, cleanse your social media feeds of what can distract or tempt you. Unfollow accounts of brands and sellers, at least until you are strong enough to look at posts and not get the urge to buy. Make window shopping your guilty pleasure! Or if you really want something, make sure you save up for it first before making the purchase.

3. Befriend a seamstress and other craftsmen.

This is related to number 2. I have been attending a lot of weddings, and I don't really have a lot of formal wear. They don't come cheap, so last year I had a friend's mom make a dress for me. It only cost me less than half of what they sell in stores! So this year I plan to make more visits to my friend's mom. From our entourage dresses, to ones I will wear to worship service, to tops and skirts, I plan to have them done by a local seamstress. I'm even thinking of learning how to sew myself! An aunt of mine shared how she makes her and her family's clothes, even those they wore for her parents' golden wedding anniversary. I think sewing is a very useful skill to learn.

No full body photo, but this is the dress I had made for a friend's wedding.

This doesn't end with clothes. Whether it's a piece of furniture or a service, I will expand my search beyond shopping malls and online advertisements. I'm sure there are hidden gems in our neighborhood, as there are in yours too!

These are just some of the ways I plan to simplify my 2017. Another thing I did was choose a nondescript planner from the bookstore. In previous years, I used the red Moleskine weekly planner. For a couple of years I also joined the Starbucks planner craze. This year I was also planning to get another coffee chain's planner, but decided I didn't need the calories, and the price difference between that and the Php250 one I picked up was huge. 

What's your word for the 2017, dear readers? Are there ways you wish to simplify your life too? Share them in the comments section! 

2016: What A Year!

To say that 2016 was a tumultuous year is an understatement. From beginning to end, it seems that the year dropped on us one bomb after another. From deaths to tragedies to political situations, our country and the rest of the world went through one tough year. You don't need to go beyond your Facebook feed to see how divisive the world has become. 

Personally though, 2016 was good for me. I needed to go through 2016 to reboot, recharge, and realign myself with what I really wanted with my life. 

The year before this, 2015, had been rough. Between family drama, a business venture that didn't pan out, and getting sick again, I needed to breathe. In the latter part of 2015, an uncle offered me a job in the province, and it was the perfect opportunity for me to reset. I stayed there for a year. 

After living independently for many years, it was refreshing to be cared for again. I didn't need to worry about cooking my own food, doing the laundry, and cleaning the place. I had to adjust living with others though, because I wasn't used to not being alone in the house anymore. 

Many afternoons in the province were spent enjoying snacks like suman sa lihiya or tamales, a delicacy from Tiaong, Quezon. 

My job was pretty easy, the office a mere five minutes away from the house, and I always had a ride to and from the municipal hall, save for some days when I had to commute. On weekends, I went back to Manila to spend time with Jay and his family. 

Slowly, I began to heal. I began to dream again. I began to pick up the broken pieces and believe that things can still get better. 

I enjoyed bonding with my aunt, who loved entertaining guests over food. We had tacos for dinner one night!

And they did. After a year in Quezon, I went back to Manila. I took classes and workshops that helped me pursue my passion for writing, and I started being active on this blog. I met with friends, family, and carefully chose the jobs I applied for. I traveled. I felt my faith being restored and my commitment to God get stronger. 

4x4 ride at the Laoag sand dunes in Ilocos. 

With authors and editors Mina V. Esguerra (left) and Ines B. Yao at the Writing for YA workshop in September.

Experienced fall and winter in Tokyo, Japan.

At the airport before our flight back to Manila, I mailed a postcard addressed to my Dad, the first of many. At that moment, my siblings and I were in different parts of the world. I was in Japan, my Kuya in the States, and my sister in Norway.

With my high school girlfriends turned maid of honor and bridesmaid.

The most important blessing I received this year was when Jay and I decided to get married. We have been together for more than half our lives, and to finally take that step toward marriage is a prayer He answered in His perfect time. 

Our Japan trip was the cherry on top of my beautiful cake. We witnessed our first snowfall (it hasn't snowed in Tokyo in November for 54 years), and were fortunate to glimpse the magnificent Mt. Fuji. With the snowcapped mountain behind us, Jay asked me to be his wife. It was amazing. 

"He has made everything beautiful in its time." -Ecclesiastes 3:11

But God wasn't finished because there was another bonus in store for me. I planned to sell my banana loaves in December just in time for the Holiday season. I prayed that people would order because having no regular job, this was my chance to earn an income. And boy, did God deliver. 

Many friends ordered for their gifts and personal consumption. My heart is full!

My baking sidehustle was such a success, orders have spilled over to 2017! This is the path I really want to pursue, and I hope I get to have an opportunity to do so. 

2016 taught me a lot of things. To patiently wait, but to also ask for what you want and need. To pray, but to also work hard. To hustle, but to also rest when needed. 

Thank you dear readers for going on this journey with me. I know you're there (so please leave a comment! heehee), and my wish is that thru this blog, may I meet new friends and kindred spirits. See you in 2017 and let's discover together! 

Happy New Year! 

Not Today

Hello. I've been away for too long I already forgot my password for this blog and had to reset it just so I could get in. But I'm here and that's good.

Today was a rough day. Rougher and tougher and darker than most. But I survived. And I decided to write down my thoughts here because I know it's a safe place. It's still public and open for everyone to see, but not as public as Facebook where almost all my relatives are. Only a handful of people know about this blog and even fewer people visit it, so I know that only those who are really looking will be the only ones who will find me. So hello there, thanks for looking and finding me.

I'm fine. I'm alive. And that's the only important thing. I'd like to think I'm stronger now. Because in the middle of thinking of things to do to make sure I don't jump over the edge, I told myself to snap out of it and that really, I'm just overthinking things and making them more complicated than they really are. It's like I'm Ron and I'm being hugged by those tree roots in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and I was able to relax and calm my mind just in time before the roots suffocated and killed me (not sure that's 100% accurate but run with me here, my mind's a bit all over the place).

I knew I was a safe distance from plunging onto the tracks, because how can I be in danger when I was still thinking about the remaining articles I have to write for a side project I accepted. I'm still fine because even though the constant feeling of wanting to run away and disappear was nagging at me stronger today, I still thought about it being useless because they'd always find me, because I can't not go to church and let them know which locale I'm at. So I'm still good. When the responsible and Type A in me is still fully functional, then there's nothing to worry about.

It's just a bad day. And I've waded through worse days before. I have swum the murky waters and gotten myself out of the quick sand all the other times. Somewhere between the treading and learning to hold my breath underwater, I made a deal that for as long as God wakes me up each morning, then I'd try my best to beat the dementors and make it out alive. Because as long as I breathe into a new day, it means God didn't give up on me so I shouldn't give up on myself either. There is still something that will happen in my life and I am alive for that reason.

It's not really the desire to end my life that grips me. I don't want to die. Because if I die then that's it. I stay dead until judgement day. And although the promise of eternal life is the best thing I can imagine, I won't get that if I take matters into my own hands. So I don't just die, I condemn myself to eternal damnation too. And that's just a lot of misery.

I don't want to leave this earth yet. I just want to fast forward life. I just want to know what happens next, I just want to get to the part where everything makes sense and all the pain means something. I just want to pause and get the cheat codes so I get to pass this stage scot-free and get to the end. I want to finish the game and win the prize.

But it's not that easy. This is not a game and I am not a cheater. So I will soldier on.

Because there is only one thing we say to death: "Not today."

A Fork in the Road

To paraphrase John Lennon, life is what happens when you're busy making plans.

I've always considered myself a planner. As someone with a type A personality, it's not uncommon for me to make lists and as a writer, content plans once became an everyday thing. I find it hard to accept when things don't go according to plan, even when that's expected, even when I do have a backup. I mean, why can't everything just go smoothly, right?

This year was no different. When 2015 started, I had this grand plan to #gofurther, to take a huge step and make a great change in my life. It was more than a career change, it was a dream, a goal, a leap towards what I wanted my life to be like. When I resigned from my job last year, I was so motivated and starry-eyed, eager to jumpstart something and already imagined a one-track turn of events. Because when you dream, dream big, right? When you go on a journey, you must be positive and look at what you want to achieve, and must have a mindset that you can overcome the obstacles and trials and you will triumph in the end. Right? I wanted to be a success story. But I forgot that success stories don't always happen overnight. Or even over a few months.

It is more painful when the hurdles thrown at you come from someone who's supposed to have supported and laid out a good future for you. Oh you don't know how much I want to spill everything here and share my sordid story, but recently all I wanted was to escape and shut everyone out. I'm still finding it hard to accept that things have turned out the way they did. Especially because these days, everyone's social media accounts are glossed over, branded, and seem staged. I mean, people can throw hate at you just because you're this gloomy person ranting/venting/calling for help, and it's raining on their filtered/VSCO'ed feed, so they scroll down and move on.

I'm rambling.

When midyear hit, life happened. Things happened so fast that it felt like going inside a tornado and coming out alive. Yes, I survived, but it felt like everything I had was eaten and taken away by the twister I didn't know how to start over. Even now I can't believe what happened happened.

But I've also gone through so much that I've learned life has a way of sorting itself out, and all I need to do is put my trust in God that this is just but another bump in the road that is my life. I'll be honest, I kind of feel bad and admit that I've been a bad Christian, or at least, not as good or obedient as I was years before. I let my faith drift away from me, I clung onto things that I shouldn't have clung to, or maybe I trusted myself so much that I forgot to ask for help in a higher power and maybe this is just a slight slap in the wrist to remind me that I am not in control.

My experience in the last few months (after what happened happened), and reading beyond the usual websites I visit also reminded me that I am just one person in this world, a world with billions of people living lives I know nothing about, experiencing hardships worse than I am going through, and that I should stop thinking the worst of it. Yes, there are still dark days, days when I feel like it's too late and I can't reach for my dreams anymore, when I see other people's journeys and feel so alone in mine, but those days end.

Then I wake up and decide to begin again.

These days I face people who have nothing to their name, whose days don't revolve around hashtags and smartphones, but in toiling land and literally sweating their backs. These days I face people whose hands are so rough from working, whose skin haven't come across expensive lotions (or any kind of lotion), with wrinkles and spots that are visual testament to the hard lives they live. These days I talk to citizens whose only wish is to extend the life of someone they love.

But these days I also come across people who fake diseases, who scam people and make up sob stories just to get money they will feed their family (of nine or twelve), of people who take advantage and turn assistance into dependence.

I am now in a place where suddenly the problem of not having a perfect Instagram feed seems feeble, where celebrities and trending topics don't even cross people's minds, and realizing that a designer purse some people covet can feed an entire village. Isn't it curious how we can live in the same zip code and lead polar opposite lives?

Don't get me wrong, I've always been aware of the disparity between the rich and the poor. But it's different when you come across it every day, when you literally hold the thing to get them through the day's survival.

It's September and before we know it, it'll be 2016. I don't know what the world has in store for me in the year to come, but right now, I'm trying to learn the art of being still, of understanding and accepting where I am at this moment, and that being here doesn't mean being stuck here. I just have to appreciate the view.

A Confession Fourteen Years in the Making

Fourteen years ago today, at 6:05am, my Dad died of lung cancer. I was sitting by his bed, singing him songs, and my cousin Anna was with us inside the ICU. Since midnight of August 29, after pulling the plugs of several apparatus connected to his body, he had been revived four times, and that fifth time was the last. When he flatlined, I ran outside and called everyone. They all went inside, cried, and said their goodbyes. I don't remember exactly what I did after that, but I remember leaving the ICU, still wearing my Girl Scout uniform from the day before, and using the stairs to walk around Manila Doctors Hospital.

The day before he died, I was still in school, preparing with my classmates for a Filipino play called "Dula sa Plaza Miranda" (incidentally about a policeman) where I played a market vendor. My cousin Jane called me on my cellphone and told me why we weren't at the hospital when my Dad's condition was already deteriorating. Even at that time, I hadn't really comprehended my Dad's condition. Weeks before, when he laid in bed at home, I was oblivious to the slew of people coming in and out to take care of him. I was busy being a teenager.

But most of all, I thought my Dad was invincible. To me it was just a phase, a battle he would conquer. He was only fifty-five. Yes he smoked, but he had clear lungs during his annual X-rays and was at the forefront of the PNP's health campaign, showing up in his jogging gear and running at the camp's quadrangle. But the disease took everyone by surprise. Stage four, and the doctors gave him only five months to live. Still, he was my Dad. Dads don't die on their young children.

My Dad had his wake at the Camp Crame Multi-Purpose Hall. It was almost immediately filled with flowers three times over, and the people who worked there said they never saw as much flowers from the past wakes held there. A lot of politicians and famous people went, including then President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, and the Hall was always filled with people. But more common people went, those whose lives were helped and touched by my Dad. I remember not sleeping, because I didn't want to dream of my Dad. Everything was too fresh and so many family drama was happening which I just didn't want to be a part of. My cousin Kuya Allan from Cabuyao said he remembers me being interviewed by radio stations talking about my Dad. I also asked Ate Nora, his longtime secretary, to prepare his CV and provide it to the media. I remember making sure the chairs were always arranged like so, that there were enough food to feed the visitors, and that they weren't bored because I remember my Dad saying during a PTA Conference at the INC Tabernacle that after two hours being confined in an area, a crowd gets agitated and may start to get unruly.

During the week of the wake, I had a debate competition to attend to. Looking back, maybe I shouldn't have went, but maybe my family thought it would help with my grieving, or I probably told them I could handle it. It was held in Collegio de San Juan de Letran in Intramuros, and I was the team captain for our school. I talked to the opposing team captain (who would later be my UP Pep Squad teammate, he was a drummer I was a dancer), and I think we discussed who should go first.

It was a disaster. The debate was different than what I had imagined, and I thought I was a lawyer arguing a case before a jury. So instead of talking about my argument at length, I became tired and instead dumped a stack of papers by the panel of judges, which included Teddy Casiño. Obviously, we lost.

After the debate, I asked our driver, my uncle whom we called Kuya Jojo, to pass by the INC Central Complex because I was going to pray inside the Sanctuary. After exiting the compound, instead of going back to the car, I hailed an FX and got inside the front passenger seat. The driver asked me where I was going and I told him to just follow the car in front of us, thinking it would go to Camp Crame because it had an Iglesia Ni Cristo flag sticker on its back compartment. He asked, "Paano kung sa kamatayan tayo dalhin niyan?"  (What if that leads us to death?) I answered, thinking we were indeed going to my dead father, "Eh doon naman talaga tayo pupunta." (That's exactly where we're going.)

I gave him the one thousand peso bill (a bill given to me earlier by my half-brother and the only money I had on me) to shut him up. He took a turn on Visayas Avenue, and offered to pay for my meal. I began to feel afraid and told him I was going down. I got down in front of the Montessori school and right across (where the Wilcon Home Depot now stands), there was a small carinderia (eatery) called Aling Christie's. Actually, I don't know if that was really the name, it's just what I remember gravitating to because at that time, a woman called Christie from Chicago was being talked about by my family at the funeral. I took it as a sign and crossed the road.

I went inside and the family who owned the eatery immediately took me in. It was raining, I was alone, and maybe I looked lost. I was wearing a turquoise floral printed top and skirt, a beige windbreaker, and  a set of diamond ring and earrings that my mother made me wear for the debate competition that morning. I don't think I had my phone with me. I was lost.

They made me eat rice and Tinolang Manok. And then they asked if I could call someone. Instead of calling my family, I called the only landline that came to mind. I dialed the landline of my grade school friend who, without thinking twice, asked me to hold still and wait for him. He came several minutes later, and together with his cousin/nephew, drove me back to Camp Crame. Sitting at the back seat of his car and seeing lightning strike as we passed by East Avenue, I told him about the nearing Judgement Day. Talking to him about it years later, he told me he had been worried.

He didn't go down to the Hall anymore, and when I walked back to the wake all my relatives were fussing all over me for having gone missing. I didn't look at them, I just closed my eyes and let them lead me to the dressing room where the relatives stayed. They were all forcing me to either go to sleep or talk to them about what I was feeling. I did neither.

A eulogy was held the night before the funeral, and I spoke before the public. I told everyone what a good Dad he was to us, how important it was for him to eat together as a family despite his busy schedule, and a late-night talk about resting your mind, in between gulps of warm milk and bites of hot pandesal (which he probably bought from that certain bakery along JP Rizal in Makati). I was still wearing my Girl Scout uniform at the eulogy, up until the funeral the next day. I don't know why I did that, and now I cringe whenever I remember it, because I should've dressed more appropriately, in white like my Peña relatives, or black like my Laygo ones.

No, scratch that. Now that I'm being honest, I dressed in my Girl Scout uniform because in my mind my Dad made me join the GSP because it was the closest I could be to being a policewoman. When he was still alive, sometimes while walking around the malls we'd just break into a march and he'd lead our little pack saying, "Left, left, left right left..."

At the funeral I was in green, complete with the pink and white scarf and the black belt, with a Discman hidden inside, tucked in my underwear, the earphone cords discreetly wired inside my dress. My Dad's remains were first sent to the Makati City Hall, where he was honored for having been a Pulis Makati for a good part of his career.

Then he was interred at the Libingan ng Mga Bayani.

I remember after the funeral, we all went back to Camp Crame, changed our clothes, and went to eat at the Barrio Fiesta on Edsa. I  was wearing a teal and white henley top with a cat print, a teal skirt, and navy blue suede sandals. One side of my sandals was missing a sole but I went ahead and wore it anyway. I don't remember what everyone was talking about, I was busy staring at nothing in particular, letting my thoughts percolate inside my head.

When my Dad died on August 29, 2001, my Kuya Anton was 16 years old, I was 14, and our younger sister Juliet was only 9.

Nobody thought to make us go to a grief counselor. Everyone was too busy fighting about the money.