confessions

If you told me when I was in my 20s and even in my 30s that my skin will be way better in my 40s than when I was in my youth, I would give you a raised eyebrow, and say “lokohin mo lelang mong panot!” 

Now, I am having a hard time translating this Filipino idiomatic expression, but probably I can just say it’s equivalent to “WTH?!” That’s me being lazy today to even think about it. 

Growing up in the 90s, as a morena (in retrospect, it was actually me who put this label unto myself because in my experience I wasn’t the head-turner girl, who in the 90s are mostly the fair-skinned, thus I categorized myself as such) obviously I didn’t like my skin, specifically it's color. As I zoomed in looking at the mirror coming from the place of dissatisfaction, I found more and more flaws– the unevenness, the big pores, the combination skin, and the list goes on.

But the tipping point was when I reached 18, and all those acne and skin concerns came like an avalanche. 

I was like a sand of acne that grew with little face. And for a teenager that could mean the end of the world!

I guess that’s when I started exploring and complicating my skin care. This was further amplified by tenfold, with the advent of social media becoming not just a sharing platform of our non-curated, non-sense but a space for all sorts of influencers and even taken over by businesses in sizes marketing all kinds of things circa 2013-2014.

I had my Korean/Japanese skin care era, my clean skincare era, my #supportlocal Filipino skin care era, my science-backed skincare era, name it I had probably tried it.

And that means hundreds to thousands of dollars worth of products over the years. 

And as I reached my 40s, there was this natural evolution and tuning to less and that includes unlearning, not just with skincare but with life in general.

Right now I just have drugstore skincare that is accessible through my neighborhood pharmacy.

My skin care involves 3 steps: cleanse, moisturize, and sun protection for the most part.

If there is a need to expand, it will go further until a 5-step routine, nothing more. The expanded version has vitamin C serum if I find that my skin is dull on certain seasons and lastly toner (which I currently don’t have in my rotation because I forget to buy **hint hint because I don’t see the need)

With the right skin care products that worked for me (that I tried and tested), I found my “holy grail” **not of products but I holy grail of a system or a way of life when it comes to caring for a grown-up woman's skin.

Just a week of simplifying my skin care, my skin has never seen this glowing and vibrant state. I am loving the skin I am in! I believed, it has finally breathed, consequently it has just manifested what has always been underneath– the beauty that is always there that never fades.

Here are what’s currently in my rotation, spring-summer of 2026:

Cleanse - Vanicream Gentle Facial Cleanser

Moisturizer - Day: Vanicream Daily Facial Moisturizer (with Hyaluronic Acid and Ceramides, Night: La Roche Posay Lipikar AP+Max Triple Moisturizing Cream Repair

Sunscreen - La Roche Posay Anthelios Ultra Light Fluid Suncreen

Expanded version:

Vitamin C serum - Hada Labo Melano CC V Vitamin C Premium Essence

Toner - Human Heart Nature Nourishing Facial Toner (I ran out of this…)

That’s it!

Here is me, no filter and just minimal makeup (photo on the right, no foundation) under different times -- day and night. =)

When I went to The MET on my recent birthday, I was particularly drawn to the paintings of women lying unapologetically, serene, and carefree from matters of the world.

You can see from their bodies that it’s not resisting the force of gravity. These women inside the frames where their bellies, hips and thighs just fell in all directions, and their breasts appeared to embrace all the nakedness and freedom from whatever kind of bondage holding it for a long time. 

I cannot remember the last time (before this past year) I laid like that on my bed or on the couch. If I can sneak in a naptime which is rare as the blue moon, there’s this subtle restlessness that either tunes in to my phone alarm or the next thing to-do on my list. If I can see myself in that moment, it’s an image of me lying on a soft and comfortable bed, but contracted or more accurately I may look like I am constipated but still ready to fight. (WTH)

Recently, since I am now just working part-time, technically I have a lot more “time” (based on the arbitrary system of time that is running the show), in my hands to do my personal projects I realized I don’t know how to rest. Ironically, I become restless when I am doing nothing at all. (WTH #2) Mindlessly, my hands are literally reaching out for something to do, to fiddle, to hold. A lot of the time, I resist the afternoon sleepiness with all my might, not wanting to take a nap.  Because the current programming I have in my system is that it’s a waste of time to nap, or that for sure there could possibly be something productive that I can do out there within that 2 hour period.

My mind rejects the idea of goal-less, intention-less days. It’s not relaxed with the idea of walking without direction, without purpose, without something to get there to. It’s uneasy with just the idea of walking for the sake of walking, doing chores in the house for the sake of doing it and not because it the house “has to be cleaned”, living and interacting with life moment to moment whatever comes along for the sake of experience without a goal, an intention, a purpose or something similar.

I am still getting used to it, but I take naps now especially on days I am off from my traditional job setting. I savor the moment. I now see sleeping is still life “interacting” with me or vice versa on a different plane. 

I set the intention of celebrating my birthday with these three feelings that I want to experience on that day: warmth, beauty, and fun.

And so I planned on things that I feel would fall into these intentions– (1) late lunch in a French restaurant, (2) go to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, (3) and end the night to blow my cake with the jazz concert as backdrop in Bryant Park.

Everything went as planned, nothing more nothing less. If there was a minor hiccup, it was that my mother was chasing the time before the sun sets; which I didn’t understand why. She was with me checking out the nearby food establishments that were still open for a takeaway for us to devour in the vibrant and gorgeous Friday night at Bryant Park. For me it was totally okay, whether it was dark or park lights will be turned off by the time we come, I was in a come-what-may mood. I told her to chill and relax, there’s no need to hurry when we tried to haggle upon a Japanese convenience store to let us in one minute before closing (but failed), she responded with, “No! We have to hurry!”

Thus I let it be, and so we brisk-walked on every fast food, stalls, groceries around the block until finally we found Chipotle Mexican Grill was still open and no queue, and grabbed three bowls and two large drinks.

Years ago, I was the type who really finds it satisfying checking off items from my list. But it doesn’t go beyond the feeling of (pseudo) satisfaction, it just stops there in that moment. Maybe there’s a sort of relief coupled with that one big breath that finally everything is done, and that’s it! I say pseudo because it was just satisfaction on paper, but it doesn’t come through the bones kind of thing. But  the past year was quite the opposite of that. I am still the pen and paper type who likes to list things in my notebook. (To interject something trivial about it, it’s not about ticking off everything, but far from that, I write in my journal because I just like the feeling of my favorite pen gliding on my favorite notebook…) It can be an endless list of things to do for the day, and usually ends up a lot of the time crossing out just a couple of them. But ironically surprising, there were no frustrations nor disappointments on my part. It’s more between neutral and ecstatic and over the moon at times, or that nonspecific lightness of being. I am alluding to the latter with leaving a lot of room for magic, miracles, and wonder in contrast to a full list of boxes to tick.

My birthday was well-planned, thus the feelings and vibes are kind of expected to say the least. Nevertheless I enjoyed what I have crafted from my mind and experiencing the three-dimensional reality version of it. 

The late afternoon lunch at Bistro Eloise somewhat set the mood for the day of just a laid-back birthday celebration. I liked their Chicken Corden Bleu the most, but not a fan of the Boeuf Bourgignon.

We then made our way to The Met. I planned to see European exhibitions, especially 19th century paintings. 

Finally to cap off the night, we spent the remaining hours of my birthday at Bryant Park which coincidentally had their round of concert at the park that day. 

There were few things that was not part of my itinerary that resonated and I enjoyed the most, namely–

-Taking only the subway bus all throughout the day. I dislike using the NYC bus system because I find them inefficient from previous experience. And so, I just endure up and down, maze-like subway commute both for work and leisure. But thank you God, universe, and all of existence that it has let me ride the bus on my birthday. It was as if I was on a tour bus to be exact! I felt like the bus system has upgraded and runs more frequently than before. I get to sight-see New York City on the golden hour, minus the tourist fee, how’s that?

-To take the above experience to the next level (God, universe, and all of existence was in exact alignment that day =)), part of the route was near Madison ave and 60th Street. I walked along Madison ave, and my eyes were having a party with all the beautiful clothes, shoes, among other things that were spread in the entirely of the street. Because of being in New York City for quite a while now, a lot of the times I don’t feel like I am in on of my original favorite places in the world… And then, there were these glimpses of the opposite, and I take them all in when something like that happens. 

-I had an out of body experience (that’s what it felt like) when I was gazing at the paintings. The current version of me was looking at the version of me who at one point of her life was all about just following her bliss.

-When we were about to go home, I decided to use the bathroom before taking a 30-minute train ride home; I opted for the one in Bryant Park though there was quite a queue. The city is notorious for long wait lines everywhere, and if you don’t know how to entertain yourself, good luck. But luck was on my side because there was a car show, featuring vintage cars which I prefer more than the modern ones. Sweet! And for a brief moment I was taken out of planet earth and brought to a different world the moment I walked in the bathroom. It smells so good that I thought I was in the lavender fields in the French countryside. The cleanliness was impeccable, and I wanted to stay for a few more minutes while doing my business in the cubicle. And the music was the cherry on top, that rinsing my hands felt like I was renewed. 

My takeaway from this experience is that if you want something new, something magical, awe, miracles, and wonder, make a large room for it.

A bowl is only useful when it’s empty. (I think it's a Chinese proverb)

My mother had a diagnosis of lung cancer in October last year, had surgery, and is currently taking what they call a targeted oral therapy (TOT) which is inconsistent by the way. By inconsistent, I mean she is taking it on and off depending if there were side effects that in the opinion of her doctors takes away the quality of her life. 

There was a season she was off from it for almost 3 weeks, due to the severity of her diarrhea, coupled with vomiting, and loss of appetite, which had settled in about four months ago. She also had mouth and nail sores, the former is kind of on and off, and with the latter has improved tremendously (there are new nail growth even if she’s on TOT). Now she’s dealing with oral, nasal, and just one or two nail sores (usually when it’s just in frequent contact with something rough, or if her hands were wet/moist), and seborrhic dermatitis on the scalp. And so she’s off again from the TOT for another 2 weeks. But even just after a few days of pausing the medication, her face has cleared up. Her immune system has restored itself, just like always. 

And so I want to share some of the things that have helped her with these side effects.

Diarrhea, with potentially having low potassium, loss of appetite, nausea and vomiting–

I guess this was a hallmark side effect of these kinds of medications that treat cancer. In my opinion, these medications somewhat disrupt the rhythm and the normal flora residing in our gut, thus the loose bowel movements. Probably the body finds it too overpowering.

She had small frequent feeding, with just types of food that are light to the stomach. In the Philippines, we have our own version of “chicken noodle soup”, minus the noodles. We call it Arroz Caldo, a warm and almost soul soothing chicken porridge recipe, with hints of ginger, topped with toasted garlic bits and chopped green onions. To help open the palate, you can squeeze calamansi, Philippine lime before your devour, or of course you can use lemon. If you want more protein especially when you’re starting your day, you can add soft boiled eggs. 

For mom, we favor the use of chicken breast or boneless chicken thigh minus the skin, just to have cleaner broth for easier digestion.

Another chicken stew we serve especially when someone is sick is what we call Tinola. I think you can use a variety of protein here but most commonly used is chicken. At home, we use the whole chicken or just chicken wings. The base is similar to Arroz Caldo, with ginger (which I think is good in aiding digestion); this dish is served with either green papaya or sayote, and your choice of greens. There are probably a hundred versions of this recipe depending on the region, but in our home in Manila, I grew up having this with chili leaves, together with the fresh blood of the slaughtered chicken mixed in with glutinous rice simmered altogether in the chicken broth. Here in the US, I just put what is available, like malunggay leaves and spinach.

With mom at that time of more frequent bouts of diarrhea which worsened with loss of appetite, she just had it as is without the usual rice as a complete Filipino style meal. 

She was fond of hot and warm, or room temperature drinks, but during that time, she had developed an affinity with iced cold drinks or ice chips. 

I also bought juices, like orange, pineapple, and lemonade. Further, she likes the taste of ginger ale, and the sparkly feeling it gives to the throat. These help pushed some solid food on her sensitive tongue, which according to her, it seemed to give off the sensation of wanting to throw up every time a food brushed on it.

For her low potassium, one magical fruit that was so effective in her experience was the plantains, or probably the Asian version is what we call saging na saba in the Philippines. I know that bananas are rich in potassium, but its kin, plantains, has done a marvelous job in picking up her potassium levels. This was recommended by her nurse practitioner, and we can’t be more than thankful enough that she didn’t have to take potassium supplements, potentially adding to the list of her prescriptions.

I also suggested her to have lemon mint candies (Ricola sugar free lemon mint drops) on hand as necessary at least to rinse the tongue of the taste sensation of nausea or post vomiting. 

After some time, the body had adjusted with the TOT, from having 3-5x of loose stools (which caused 1 time hospitalization), it was down to 1-2x, then to 1x of just soft-firm stools currently. When her body reached homeostasis (like it always does), we agreed not to put rules or be too careful on what she can eat. 

Skin issues like diarrhea-associated dermatitis, nasal, mouth, nail and finger sores,, seborrheic scalp, and generalized extreme skin dryness—

She developed redness, skin irritation, and eventually breakdown in the buttocks, and inner thighs due to the frequent loose stools.

Initially, she used a combination of Vitamin A and D ointment and zinc oxide, and applied it liberally on the affected areas. We also tried Manuka Honey MGO 573 (we patch test first on least reddened area) which did a wonderful job in healing the skin faster. Thus she used the same in her oral sore in the corners of her mouth and sides of her nose (we patch test first on the least affected areas of her face)

When she’s on TOT again, she developed a rash with mild weeping around her some of her fingernails, and one toenail. Her nurse practitioner prescribed an OTC hydrocortisone for 5 days.

It helped decrease the inflammation but not totally. Then I found a nail balm online. Aside from effectively working on the rashes, it also grew new nails of the affected parts, I was amazed too!

Her skin got tremendously dry, especially on the face. La Roche-Posay Cicaplast Balm gave her skin a new life, that it appeared dewy-healthy looking. On some drier stubborn patches, she tried the La Roche-Posay Triple Moisturizing Cream which worked wonders and kept her face hydrated and moisturized. As for her cleanser, she switched to MooGoo Ultra Gentle Cleanser with Ceramides from using baby body wash.

Recently, she developed what I think is seborrheic dermatitis just on the area of the surgical scar of her scalp. She said she was not washing that area thoroughly because she fears that the “stitches would open up.” I provided her information that it has been several months and it has healed well. So it might be that she is not cleaning that area enough that may brought up the build up of dust, oil, and hair products that irritated the skin. 

She was seen by a dermatologist and suggested to incrementally remove the thick layer with hydrogen peroxide. We are applying the solution in phases, and let it come off naturally. Right now, she’s using the MooGoo Milk Shampoo, and so far no issues or reactions. I noticed that her hair has nice plump these days. 

For sun protection, I bought Solbari’s Ultra Wide Brim Sun Hat UPF 50 for her and myself. This provides excellent coverage of the front, side and even the back part of the head. And the customer service was exceptional! I cannot recommend enough. For her hands, she’s using these cotton gloves to prevent frictions against her nails especially when going out. 

For generalized weakness and low mood–

I invite her to come with me every morning, to be out in the sun. Before, she was not fond of going out because she says she’s “not in the mood.” When someone is just cooped up in the room, and no sight of sunlight, it may contribute to the low mood, thus opting again to stay in; it’s a loop. Surprisingly, she’s into dancing under the morning sun these days, and I am all for it!

Her feedback these days, “I feel normal again! I feel like myself”

The feelings are the only thing that matters really! 

When I asked that question to myself, my mind went blank.

There was nothing coming up. Because if every single thing here in this universe that we get to experience is divine perfection, what therefore is left to do, left to be created?

In the analytical mind, then there is none.

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I remember once I read a book on creativity and the author said along the lines of "Limitation or constraint is the mother of creativity."

If God, the unified energy, a higher intelligence, universal consciousness who/which is everything and nothing at the same time, the divine perfection, the wholeness itself, it must've not created everything or anything for that matter because it is the everything. It does need nothing. This god was not limited nor constrained at all, however was able to give rise to all of existence beyond our imagination.

So probably, this God, this unified energy, higher intelligence, universal consciousness (etc) just wanted to play, express, experience itself in all levels, shapes and forms, and just create for the sake of creation, intentionless; or for no fucking reason at all.

It doesn't make sense to the limited human minds. Because for us each action must have a reason, intention, or motivation. However, paradoxically it "makes sense", because it is God after all, which unbounded and infinite- incomprehensible to human reason.

If we are created in the image and likeness of God, thus there is a piece of this God in us, there is a piece of divine perfection when we were incarnated in this meat suit- full of imperfections navigating this material world, then, can we also create from a place of wholeness and not just from (and/or) rather than from a place this hole-ness we are so used to; creating from our pain, suffering, misfortune, lack, misery, not-yet-there-but-has-potential situation, tragedy, and all that problem-solving stuff?

If we can, what and how does it look like?

What kind of food we then buy from the market?

What kind of stories we can read or watch?

What kind of paintings, sculpture, music we get to see and listen?

What kind of rest we get to experience?

What kind of relationships we immerse ourselves into?

What kind of livelihood we get to choose and explore?

What kind of community do we get to live in?

What kind of life we can create and truly live for our ourselves?

If there's God in us or there's our God-self, if the divine perfection exists in all of creation, in every single thing in this universe, and every moment of this life is divinely orchestrated and taken care of, what then does it asks of us?

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My mom and I planned to go to IKEA in Brooklyn today. I thought of not going initially because it was a little gloomy. The 'gloomy' part was the overthinking brain, but good thing I chose to follow my curiosity.

IKEA in Brooklyn is something that is also accessible by public transportation but needs a little patience and some extra leg work, but today it's all worth it.

It's ferry service is back, and free on weekends! As we docked on the land, from about 30 minutes of ferry ride, we were already starving to death. And so if you're in IKEA, in my opinion it's no brainer to get their traditional Swedish meatball plate. We each got the 8-piece set which includes aside from the meatballs were mashed potato, cranberry gravy, and surprisingly tasteful green peas from what my tongue was expecting from it price point.

As I was devouring like a hungry lioness each piece of the meatballs, I glanced a few times on the Manhattan skyline on my left.

As soon as I finished my plate, I stared at the skyline more intently. I followed the lines of the top of each skyscrapers from left to right, and vice versa. I have seen this skyline probably more than a thousand times before, and here I am again. Same structure maybe there were few differences like the One World observatory wasn't there until 2014. But other than that, it has been the Manhattan skyline for the longest time. I realized, I am looking at the same thing, but right now at this point in my life, I have a different experience of it.

I was in awe for a moment, when that came into my awareness.

Before the skyline was a piece of tourist spot that I have to capture, then it became as symbolic aspiration at one point as I am walking and breathing, and trying to make ife here in New York City as an immigrant. And aspiration somehow transmuted into pressure as I live as 'New Yorker" so to speak. But in that moment after my late lunch at IKEA, for me it was just as is, a skyline- a set of tall buildings next to each other against the blue sky with some clouds that is definitely wonderful to look at.

I wrote something recently, ('My New York Run Has Come to An End'). I believe when I wrote that piece, there was still that tiny fragment of energy wanting to run away because I dislike it. However, in that moment, not that I changed my mind and did not want to exit the game I have been playing in New York City (but if eventually I decided to stick around, I am surprised that I am okay with it too!); it's just that a clarity came and it looked like that I want to play a new game for fun.

And I am totally up for it!

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In the movies, when a character is highlighted because other characters noticed that she was suddenly different than her "usual self"; they would often asked, "is there any particular reason that you seemed to be smiling today?"

And she answers, "nothing really."

But for the most part, as an audience, we know there is.

She had a phone call earlier.

She saw something a while ago.

She received something from last night.

But here I am, I feel different today. I can say lighter, not necessarily happy, but definitely I feel good.

And my mind contains nothing.

There was no reason.

I am astonished that it was a reasonless feel-good feeling.

I was about to sleep one night after coming home late from work when my uncle awkwardly broke into my room and asked me to get up and help my mother, who was in the bathroom.

When something similar happens in the past, especially when my mom was newly diagnosed with cancer, it means health concerns come up now and then. It puts the brakes on my tracks and makes my heart skip a little because my mind directly goes to “what could be wrong again this time?”

I knocked on the bathroom door, just next to my room, and found my mother half naked. She threw up and messed on her clothes. She then asked me to get her new clothes. As I was making my way to her room, my mind started to scan the information. It began analyzing (This is the nurse in me—making differentials. Albeit more often than not, it is crossing to the other side beyond facts and reason—which is adding some unnecessary stories and frills).

She popped out of the bathroom, clad in house clothes (a duster) over a summer tee for the first time after wearing baggy and insulated clothes during winter and spring.

My hero has gone old…

The white tee clung tightly to her shoulders, which were sticking out noticeably. And the shorter sleeves highlighted her sagging arms, not just because the muscles had shrunk immensely, but it appeared that the cancer and the treatment had sucked all there was to it.

The once sprinter of New York City’s streets and subways, moving seamlessly and swiftly between people and construction work, with a work bag and a grocery bag in tow, is now using a cane and literally taking one step at a time, with a 5-minute rest in between half flights of stairs, or transferring between train cars, or walking several blocks.

Living in a fast-paced city like New York, I didn't notice that she had grown old. When you are right in the middle of a highly capitalist system like the US, you are forced to focus more on the job or jobs for the next month’s rent, the week’s groceries, and hardly look at each other to see beyond.

But when a crisis hits, and life unfolds as it’s meant to— (that doesn’t really care about your plans, preferences, or feelings)— then you stop, look, and eventually listen. With all ears and all your attention, all of it.

Right now, I am trying to absorb that I am in the time of my life in which my mind is stuck in my 30s— where I can go and do whatever I put my mind to, where anxiety does not exist in my vocabulary- but now in my 40s, my body can feel that life is adding years to it, and so is my mother at a much greater rate.

I have never thought that this day would eventually come, but here it is… here I am, here it is.

On second thought, now that I look back, I think it was better that way, that I didn’t catastrophize and overthink this moment too much. Maybe it helped that I was in an era of my life when I was doing the things I was passionate about, and it coincided with a time when the world was still mostly interacting with life around them rather than with the World Wide Web reduced to a screen on their palms. And so then it just felt like I had just woken up, and my mother had gone old, no transition, no in betweens. Or probably there was— like when she intermittently complained of knee pain, then after a few sessions of therapy, she was back to her “baseline”, able to take stairs. Or that she tripped in the bathtub, but it was a mild one; then she’s back to her “normal.” Or that she would rant about being so exhausted after going to three grocery stores during the day, and then, after a few hours of rest, she would jump back to the kitchen and cook.

Over the last five to six years, I failed to notice that her body has continually set new norms and baselines.

Whenever I come home from work or after running some errands, and look at my mom closely, I point out to her the things she needs to be doing— like reapplying the moisturizer I bought more frequently, or supplementing her meals with drinking Ensure if she has these bouts of appetite loss, or that now is the time that she should wear all her nice and beautiful clothes that are just collecting dust in the closet.

I wonder if I am suggesting that with her in mind, or if it's me who is uncomfortable with how she looks now…

Maybe, just maybe, it’s the latter.

I was not ready. And I think nobody really is when life throws some curveballs.

At the dawn of this journey, when being with an aging parent suddenly transitioned into caring for an ill aging parent, I was taken aback. I wasn’t ready for that huge blow. But I am surprised that from that moment to this, I am okay.

Not that there weren’t any sadness, loneliness, anger, grief, and resentment. And certainly it wasn’t purely happiness, laughter, forgiveness, bliss, excitement, joy, wonder, and bittersweetness either, not at all.

But I guess it was the lovely blend of these things that made it okay. At the back of my mind, as a human being, I wished it would have been more than okay. But it’s just the mind talking, always aiming, always reaching for something more and better than what is.

But since I thought that I would be worse, that I wouldn’t be able to handle it, this okayness right now that I never thought possible is a miracle to me.

Heroes Die Young

Probably a lot of the heroes we get to know and study in the history of the world died in their prime; or, if some did pass in old age, they were behind the curtains or out of the spotlight, and we didn’t get to witness how life was slowly taking them away. And so what’s imprinted in our minds are images of these vibrant men and women of our histories, projecting a sense of courage, passion, and vitality.

Now my hero, my mother, is aging before my eyes. It’s here, unfolding.

Unlike the newborns who seemed to grow so fast, in the case of our (aging) parents, it’s taking its time. The life force inside is intelligent, like that, because the mind (and ego), with all the personality, identity, and everything it has built over the years here on earth, will definitely find it challenging to accept both to the person who is aging and the surrounding loved ones witnessing it.

In my mind, she is still the sprinter and walking GPS of New York City. Just now, with pepper gray hair, some wasting here and there, and a cane— literally taking one step at a time, walking the chaotic and hustling streets of New York, as it has always been.

Am I in denial? Maybe. But I continue to serve what is needed in every moment. That’s the very least I can do. Will I be able to move past this? I don’t know. Will I be okay? I don’t know. I guess I don’t know is a good place to start. The beginning of the path, where sometime somewhere, I will come to know.

Her (our) body knows how to grow old, give it grace, and the rest will take care of itself.

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To my hero, Mama,

May God and the gods I secretly know trample upon the fears in your heart…

May you rediscover how to live your life with courage and passion just as you have always been…

Don’t hold back anymore; this, right in this moment, is where everything happens…

Including the miracle we have witnessed since day one…

You are doing okay.

Just live as beautifully as you can.

All is well.

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I was just sick last month with a cold, and two months later, here I am sick again. The sad and weird thing is that I have to do a mental note and say to myself, “Nico, please allow yourself to be sick.” WTH?!

The reason is that I observed that my mind and body are still in constant motion internally— having the urge to produce even at a limited capacity (like finishing the book I need to finish, writing for the blog, even for just one paragraph, updating my financial spreadsheet since it’s the end of the month). Because there’s this watchdog I made up, making sure to check all the boxes I myself came up with.

Is there any other way to live in this American Modernism, specifically the New York type of speed? Or am I left with the option to actually leave this place and way of life urgently?

Is it possible to overtake these larger societal, economic, cultural, and political systems I am relying on with just my innate intelligent system taking care of it, and expecting to regulate itself with these mountains to climb or fields to till? I feel it’s like going against this ravaging river, or is it a suicide to even do that?

Or do I end up going with the (destructive) flow of the river until it finally subsides, and find myself thrown in a place it chose for me in that moment? Is this man-made way of living (or not?) even capable of slowing down? Or since it’s man-made, therefore isn’t its nature to be greedy and wanting more?

Man is more than the sum of his parts…

The moment I woke up on Friday morning feeling unwell, the first thing that came to my mind was, “I hope I can get well in two days or less, because I have work next week. It will be such a waste to spend my days off in bed…”

Every fiber of my being, and even working now only as a part-time (both a deliberate decision and circumstantial, coincidentally), if you cut me up, you can find mostly “work” and not too far is “finances”, italicized, in bold, not to forget underscored. It once crossed my mind that maybe if I am passionate about the job that I have, I don’t mind going. But looking at the people on the subway early in the morning on their way to their jobs, you can sense they are looking forward to clocking out and calling it a day. Passion has left their being, and all that remains are dead eyes that read as J-O-B or something within the capitalistic system, such as consumerist culture. Because the bills are lining up behind, or because what is, is not good enough. It has to be more, it has to be better, it has to be higher, it has to be longer, or it has to be the maximum, the highest, the best…

If the effect of this American modernism invades every part of me, will that “more than the sum of me” be affected, too? Or is that more-than-the-sum-of-me (soul, wisdom, consciousness?) remains untouched and can redirect me to what really matters?

Then I heard myself.

It is one of those moments when you actually listen to yourself. Not with your mind, but something way past it. Because I know when I don’t— I can feel my body protesting, getting mad, and burning up inside that the poison of betraying oneself is finally making its way deep down the bones. My language of wanting to magically get better in two days or less, where my mind processed and understood, but my body surely didn’t. That Friday, for example, my body naturally wanted to lie down on the bed after a day of a mild fever, plus a cough and cold. But something was pulling it.

My body is a machine running at an average of 100 miles per hour daily, then stops abruptly. The pressure and energy that remained from that operating system did not disappear as soon as the machine stopped. That amount of energy needs to be displaced. And energy, by its nature and design, is to be released or transformed by any means. But now the machine is broken. I tell you, that energy doesn’t care; it will always find a way to flow, to move. With that scale of energy trapped in that drained machine (which happens to be our bodies), you can expect to hear and feel weird, scary sounds and sensations, as if it will explode.

It was my mind.

It was the force that pulled my body from trying to rest and go into a deep slumber. It instructs my body to rest; I can hear it literally giving an order through a silent monologue between my ears while lying in bed. Ironically, in my world right now, it keeps it awake— wanting to consume and produce more— to scroll one more time for fun, to read one more page for another good idea, to watch one more episode, to write one more paragraph, to check the bank account one more time, to make a to-do list, all the while giving a command to rest?! How ugly, cruel, and horrendous can that be?

What has my mind become in this modern-day US I live in?

Every night, during these sick days, there was a civil war going on the moment I lay down to hit the sack. My body wants to be switched off, but it can’t, or a more accurate picture— sleep mode, but still downloading, applications still running…

I feel like it’s the body that carries more of the more-than-the-sum-of-me than the mind. The body is always communicating with us. But since it conveys the messages through feelings and sensations, and it’s not much of a help that modernism has trained us to use our analytical mind ninety-nine percent of the time, to a point of overthinking and overanalyzing, the message gets trapped. But I am certain it will find a way to get through, bypassing the critical mind, and will manifest in this three-dimensional reality that we are living in, in the form of insights, those aha moments, miracles, serendipity, or magic.

When has eating been about counting calories or having rules?

If there is one thing I am grateful for in doomscrolling, it is that I learned how others live their lives. That the French are unapologetic in eating their regular butter (not the low salt, low fat version) in the morning, or that in Spain, they closed their shops for siesta a little after noon, or that in some convenience stores in Japan, they can carry a premium quality pre-packed food and hot meals that are beautifully bundled and served in store.

Two weeks ago, I had to buy lunch outside because the fridge at my assigned facility wasn’t working, and my food spoiled. I ordered whitefish salad in a toasted bagel at a nearby deli. The attendant scooped the salad, which appeared to me to be good for three people, and he shoved everything in that BIG of a bagel. I almost puked when I saw my blown-up sandwich. Instead of enjoying my lunch outside of work, I ate just to fill my empty stomach from a 9-hour fast since my breakfast in the morning. I filled swiftly as I could. That’s what happens when you’re coming from a stressful fast, not your choosing, and you are thinking about the work that needs to be done after your lunch. I’m shoving an ugly-looking bagel into my mouth, just to get my break out of the way and for me to keep moving through my day.

I came from a Philippine household where mealtimes are special, whether in ordinary or celebratory days — (1) food is home-cooked, or something grabbed from the OG classic places the family has been getting food from for years, or new and upcoming that family or friends vet, (2) shared at the table with endless conversations with laughters that reaches your bones and travel beyond the doors, and (3) eating to nourish and for pleasure, together.

Right now, eating is just a task I need to check off because I have to. Even if I am not hungry, because “it’s lunch time”, I would still put food in my mouth, and it’s not a good feeling. “I need to eat because after lunch, I need to round the floors, so I would need some fuel to do that, or else I may end up having a headache because of hunger...” etc., My mind follows a programmed routine or scans the possible scenarios, thus coming up with an action based on a habit or a future that only existed in my mind.

I miss the days when I take my time to eat, not because it was recommended by a scientist or a health coach I found on social media, or it prevents chronic diseases from developing, but because that is our nature.

I miss the days when I could eat what I wanted, and as I grow older, I still eat not with restriction but with wisdom. Not because eating in moderation is a rule I have to remember every single day, but because I trust that my body knows it all too well. And eating the “right” kind of food comes or will come naturally to me.

Where to go from here?

There were a handful more aside from my job and eating. Those are just two that I noticed the most recently. Thinking about it now, as I am writing this, those are nothing special or something like a fork in the road where a turn can dramatically change the course of your life. It’s the daily, moment-to-moment encounter with life that, and as you grow older, you realize that these are the things that matter more than ever before.

I know that my New York run has ended, it’s time to go, but not yet.

When I was younger, I was the type of person who dared to give up things I worked hard for, for something I knew in my soul that I wanted.

The not-yet part didn’t bother me as much compared to when I was in the Philippines, where we are used to waiting, just like the farmer patiently waiting for the harvest season.

But now, being here in a highly capitalist country like the US, especially living here in New York City, one of the megacities in the world for the last eight years or so, waiting is not in the language. It’s something next to impossible.

I don’t know if the girl-who-dared still lives inside of me, maybe she is. But the American modernism and highly individualist culture are highly entrenched, so I would need to do an MLK or a Jose Rizal to rise above this way of living (or not). The thought excites me, as a person who is (was?) at one point, passionate and romantic, but right now, I am exhausted, totally!

Where should I go from here is a question I keep asking myself every time I wake up in the morning.

I can daydream all day about a future and a way of life I want for myself, but I am here, right now.

Recently, I listed on a piece of paper the things I am currently doing. I can say it’s a mix of living a life right here and now, and things that I think would propel me to the future I want for myself. I was overwhelmed to see that there were quite a lot on that list. I think it’s a list borne out of a system I am living in this season of my life— to do more, to be more.

I just finished watching the Korean series, Dr. Romantic. It ran for three seasons, 16 episodes each. I am drawn to its main protagonist, Master Kim, who has a romantic view of his profession as a doctor and medicine itself. In the series, you would wonder why a triple board-certified surgeon like him is working in a remote countryside hospital. As you follow the story, it may appear that circumstances during his heydays were not in his favor; therefore, “forced” him to be an outcast. But later in the finale season, in one of the most endearing scenes, where he was seen as rarely vulnerable, he admitted to Nurse Oh,

To be honest, I holed up at Doldam Hospital because I am sick and tired of the way of the world…”

But even then, even when he was sick and tired of how things are, he kept pushing through because, as he taught his pupil resident doctors, “Don’t give up on the question of why you live and what you live for because when you do, that’s the end of romance.”

In a capitalist and highly individualistic society like the US, can romance thrive?

The first time Cuba, the country, ran through my consciousness was when I watched the film ‘Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights’ in 2004. I was in college, taking up Nursing, but dreaming of becoming a writer or a performing artist, whether in movies or theater. (And honorable mentions were this fantasy that I was a cool girl who plays the electric guitar, or someone who dances like butter, melts, and grooves in the right directions.)

And so I was into these dance-themed movies in the late 90s and 2000s, including the ‘Dirty Dancing’ movie franchise.

Havana Nights is my second-favorite in the movie franchise.

Three things that appealed to me in that movie were: the setting— Cuba in the 1950s, the local (Cuban) style dancing (a lot of hip swaying, free, intuitive, rhythmic body movements, intimate interactions between partners), and the romantic encounter in a country foreign to one or both leads.

Since then, Cuba has been on my radar to visit someday.

Travel - A Chance To Be Another Version of You?

I am currently watching the Korean series ‘Encounter’, which Netflix recommended. With Netflix, most of the time it’s a hit or miss, but I’d always go with the feelings I’m having while watching at least the first episode.

But hey, it was Cuba, and two foreigners in this chance encounter overseas? I am definitely seated!

When you are visiting another place, especially on a solo trip, there’s this subtle nudge that manifests naturally as if you are being summoned to become another version of yourself.

Without the familiar environment, people, and circumstances, the habitual mind and body you carry with you during travel break their hold, and you will find yourself feeling (sometimes this will come about in retrospect) different or being someone else.

I used to travel alone a lot, in the provinces, in far-flung areas of the Philippines. Stripped away from familiarity, comfort, and conveniences, I get to be another version of myself that’s freer. Or are there really versions of us to begin with? The better version or the best version, you choose. Or is it that I was unmasked by travel (without me doing the heavy lifting, thanks to travel!) to reveal who I am in that moment?

I prefer the latter, plain and simple.

The Chance Encounter - A Moment For Romance

Two different people having a chance encounter likely have different motivations, as one or both of them stepping into a new place for me is a fertile ground for a bit of chaos (yes!), and magic.

I see chaos in this setting as the process, a reaction that is happening in your graduated cylinder when you pour in all the chemicals. And at the end, pouf! The magic happens.

Without your familiar environment, you don’t see the chaos and the conflict that arise here and there as interruptions. Still, rather than part of your journey, and most likely your response to that is almost always “it’s okay.”

Jin Hyuk, after almost being hit by a taxi carrying So Hyun in Cuba, ended up breaking his 28-year-old camera as a result of the accident. But he just settled and said, “It’s okay.”

It’s not the type of “It’s okay” response where you’re actually screaming the opposite inside. (Like when your boss asks you to stay for one more hour because of some hiccup, for example, by default you say yes, when what you really mean to say is Hell no!”) It’s the kind of okay that means “I was inconvenienced, yes, but I am in travel too, so carry on.”

The cosmos is then saying, “Oh, then maybe let’s continue from here, and see what can be made out of this…”

The heart cracks open.

And love finds its way from you and to you. “I had only learned love through books. ‘Ahh, this is what love feels like…’” - KJH

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I bought and wore this almost-100 % wool coat this spring!

Ihad a headache just staying in my room when the 80s hit New York City last week. My room doesn’t know the middle ground; I think it has something to do with the insulation or how it is laid out in our apartment unit. It gets extremely toasty and stuffy when it’s warm/hot and terribly cold that your hands must stay hidden under sheets or your butt, because it’s so uncomfortable even to type on your phone.

My room has two big windows that let light in, especially in the morning and during the golden hour.

When a fellow Filipino interviewed me for my very first job in New York, I remember him saying, “I like my seasons here. I am enjoying it.” Maybe it was his way of helping me assimilate into this totally new culture and living conditions.

But after nearly a decade of living here in New York, I still can’t get used to the four seasons. It’s a pain coming from a girl who lived on the Philippine islands, a country in Southeast Asia near the equator, where I only knew drought and super typhoons for the last thirty or so years of my life.

And so, as a non-New York native from the tropics, I could be the last person to be considered an expert on what to wear, especially in the in-between seasons. Still, since that is my struggle, I have built, iterated, and experimented on what works or not.

From owning a lot of pairs of varying degrees of thermal underclothes, buying several outerwear jackets (I was thinking then that I should have one jacket for each bracket of temperature), including purchasing a heat-tech pair of pants that ended up being donated, to shrinking my closet to what is essential, and at the same time beautiful.

This list is for the see-saw weather (like how are things now as of this writing in New York City) and for those who are cold-intolerant like me—

When I first came here, some twenty years ago, I was thrilled to see that my mother had a lot of thermal undergarments like long johns, leggings, and long, thick socks. So I tried to put on just a one-piece under my denim pants while the weather was in the 20s to 30s, and I was freezing to death. I didn’t enjoy touring the city on my very first ever New York winter. The reason? She has an abundance of things, however, of such terrible quality! I remember one time, my legs looked like a German sausage for fitting into 3 long johns plus thick socks under my denim jeans, lol.

Let me put it out there that layering is still the magic key. But now I learned (the hard way!) that layering the right kind of fabric makes a lot of difference.

The Trifecta to live by for this article:

Understanding the body

Layering with an understanding of the fabric

and Beauty

Understanding our bodies

Our bodies have an innate temperature-regulating system. In other words, it doesn’t need an instruction from you for it to adjust its internal temperature depending on the need to maintain its balance.

Cold receptors are far more numerous than heat receptors and are just located underneath the epidermis, while the heat receptors lie deeper in the dermis.

We can say that we are way too sensitive to cold rather than heat, looking at anatomy and physiology alone.

The most sensitive parts to cold temperatures are the head and face, the neck, the lower back, and the extremities, like hands, wrists, and feet.

On the other hand, heat dissipation from the body is affected by its water content and sweating. Sweating is the body’s cooling mechanism. It is generated through sweat glands, and the majority of them are found on the face, cheeks, feet, hands, armpit, and groin area.

Layering with an understanding of the fabric

I became curious about fabrics just recently. Though exposure to kinds of fabric is not novel to me, as my grandmother was a seamstress and my mother was an industrial engineer who worked in the textile industry. As a kid, I saw a lot of textile scraps of different types all over our home in Manila. And when my mother shops for our clothes, I observe that she usually looks for the label where the materials and care instructions are listed.

But since that realization dawned on me about why I stopped using and living with beauty, including beautiful things, the transformation, or more like coming home, was as easy as cold turkey.

One thing I can say is invest in clothes made of natural fibers. Because, since obviously they come from nature, they do have the inherent sophisticated capacities, like our bodies. It includes breathability/comfort, temperature regulation, and natural anti-bacterial properties.

My rule of thumb is that, like when I am to buy a non-whole food (those that come in packages like boxed cartons, plastic bags, canned, or bottled, e.g., bread, milk, tomato sauce)—

the fewer the ingredients, the better

have an idea of what the ingredient is, doesn’t need a tight Google search

and can pronounce the stuff listed on the label

For clothes, right now I am investing in just one kind of natural fiber in a piece of cloth. That’s my thing lately. Or a combination of two natural fibers. If there were an added semi-synthetic or synthetic material, I would say my allowance is below 5%, and it’s there for a particular purpose, like for comfort/function (e.g., to be more lightweight, quick drying) and durability/performance, especially for outerwear. But of course, this is not something carved in stone. Feel free to experiment based on your needs. In my experiments lately, natural fibers have my vote!

Major Plant-based natural fibers—

Cotton

Hemp

Linen

Piña (from pineapple fiber)

They are known for breathability and a lightweight feel. These garments are worn close to the skin, can be used as everyday clothing, and are good as base layers for transition periods like late spring to summer, and summer to early fall.

Major Animal-based natural fibers—

Wool

Cashmere

Silk

They are known for their natural insulation, which provides warmth while remaining breathable. These garments can be used as base layers during in-between seasons (spring/summer, fall/winter) and especially in the winter.

And The Most Important of ALL— Beauty

Seasons themselves are beautiful, and it felt natural to match this with the things that I do or use.

Before, I just grabbed my fleece-lined sweatpants and hoodie and put on my down jacket on a chilly spring day to run some errands, like picking up some groceries. One, I was too lazy to dress up, and I was thinking, it’s just an errand, not something like I’m going to a brunch with friends in a cozy restaurant in BK. But I know I want to dress up, I want to put on some tinted lip balm and wear my favorite block-heel black leather boots (I love the sound it makes against the floor when walking).

For me, the laziness was not natural, but the feeling of being beautiful is.

As they say, it’s not really bad weather, you just don’t wear the right kind of clothes.

I thought it would be effortful to dress, especially in this season of multi-polar we have in New York City, but ever since, I have placed greater value on beauty than ever before; it was just fun and felt so good!

Here is my personal take on living with four seasons in a single season, while applying what I wrote above—

My Essential Three:

Scarf - type depends on the temperature bracket, but these days, I just bring the lightweight ones, as it does the job even if the temperature drops a little.

Socks, or footwear that covers the ankles and/or toes, if you’re not in for closed shoes)

Button-down shirt/cardigan - for really chilly days, I bring a wool one; for warmer days, a cotton cardigan will do, because it gets cold in the subway or if you’re in a building/establishment.

The Yet Chilly to Actually Chilly Days

This is where I really layer. I opt for cotton as the base layer and build from there.

For top:

Base layer - I opt for a cotton shirt. I have this from Uniqlo.

Middle layer - my reliable wool cardigan, I have a brown one from Muji. But I have been eyeing this bright red color.

(Just under the outerwear) - If it really feels wintry, I’ll have the super lightweight and thin puffers

Outerwear - I’ll have my wool coat/blazer— this is kind of similar to what I have. Or how about this linen coat? I am still on a hunt for a trench coat, but I like this one so far, or another thicker down jacket, and a scarf.

For bottoms:

I usually wear cotton shorts under my denim jeans if it’s really chilly

Footwear:

loafers, sneakers, or my leather Mary Janes (without socks on)

Accessories:

I want to try the softness of this cashmere beanie. Right now, this is my partner to have some wool warmth on my head.

The Yet Toasty to Actually Toasty Days

I still have on-hand layers in this type of days as I commute and use the subway, where it can get cold a lot of the time.

For top:

Base layer - Cotton shirt, dresses— I have something similar wrap around dress from Banana Republic

Outer layer - this classic cotton button-down shirt or this relaxed cardigan over my base layer, or sometimes it’s just in my bag, and a silk/cotton scarf

For bottoms:

Denim pants, shorts/skirts

Footwear:

sneakers, this strappy sandal looks very comfy and chic, great for some Central Park strolling or a picnic

Accessories:

This baseball cap was something I saw on a passenger while in the subway, and I find it cute and youthful.

The Chilly plus Toasty in a day

For these types of days, I bring/wear my essential three plus accessories:

roomy light canvas bag - to house my extra layers if the weather gets warm later in the day

Lightweight Umbrella - I have this foldable umbrella from Muji. It’s super lightweight and reliable even for heavy rain showers.

paper/fabric fan or compact hand-held rechargeable fan - I still prefer the paper/fabric fan, but here’s what my nieces (a toddler and infant) are using right now.

This coming week, based on the weather app, are true spring temperatures. But of course, as we say in Filipino, ‘weather weather lang’ - meaning there’s no guarantee, as it changes all freaking time!

There’s no good and bad weather; what remains is the person who knows how to dance with it.

I had arrived for the nth time and finally moved to New York City at a time when I no longer wanted to be here. The wanting and yearning have long passed.

And here I am, living in the city for almost a decade now, which was once a daydream.

How am I living?

I Had The Right Love At The Wrong Time…

I was nineteen going twenty when I first set foot on American soil. The smell that welcomed us upon disembarking from the plane was a familiar scent as we landed at John F. Kennedy International Airport in the spring of 2004. That scent has always been in my memory.

For my whole life, members of the family have gone back and forth overseas, and that closely-acquainted scent was wrapped in the balikbayan boxes that came with them. These boxes contained the love and sacrifice of the people who left their homeland in the guise of food, clothing, shoes, watches, soap, perfumes, and the like.

More than two decades ago, it was my first time seeing America, and New York at that! The city I’d only seen in the movies and series, which was peddled as somewhere romantic and dreamy, was then in front of my eyes, and I was breathing its air. “Finally, at last”, I muttered to myself.

The honeymoon stage of me and New York City was tied with my being a tourist, a transient traveler. I have been just a visitor for the next ten years since my first arrival. As a tourist, I naturally looked for the beautiful things, especially the ones I saw in films, and recreated them in my mind with me as the main character. That short-term high kept me coming back. It was addictive to some extent. Now, in retrospect, I think that it was one of the (minor) reasons why I kept postponing settling here.

But eventually I did.

I moved when I was about 30 years old. Still young, nearing prime, however, that woman version of me has experienced a season of her life, albeit short, a path of her own choosing, and not her mother’s. Thus, in the process, her own truth revealed itself as a human being, as a woman, and most importantly, who she really is, and not as someone in relation to a person or a thing. That was, I believe, a fundamental part of why I am in this “right love at the wrong time” kind of situation with New York City.

An End of A Season

The years in between have been full of “I want to go back! Please let me go home!” But I have already risked a lot, and sort of built something here… (whatever that means; and I built with the exception of being alive), “what then should I do?”

I was a coward for letting it hang for a couple of years, just complaining in my bed at night, crying endlessly, but then waking up at 5 AM the next day, ready (or not) to work. It was a state where it was (still) “not too bad, maybe I could stick around, maybe there is a chance.” Maybe New York will become a place I look forward to seeing, just like how it had always been before coming here.

And the pandemic happened.

But it was not COVID, despite my working as a bedside nurse at the time, that became the turning point. It was because of that one night,— a freak accident changed the course of my life in the next few years that followed.

Debilitating anxiety and panic had plagued my system, which I never in the world thought I would be experiencing.

The accident did not crack open my head, but a crisis certainly lets our own wisdom break through, shutting off all the unnecessary noise, and focusing on what is essential and our truth right in that moment.

For me, it was that my New York run had come to an end. And it happened a long time ago.

I knew that. But when you are stubborn, Bathala, the gods, and the universe will make a way for you to decide, or a lot of the time, in my experience, it has been decided for me. The life force in action pulls you to participate in this dynamic universe, so your stay here will be a worthwhile one.

If you know what or where you're headed, the how doesn’t matter that much. But to this day, I still overthink about this, but not as much. I can tell you, the heavy lifting will be done for you.

The Funny Thing and Paying Homage

Heavy Lifting strikes just in time. When you reach the age of forty as a woman, life starts because you eventually listen to it. (I can hear my spirit talking like this— “Oh god! Finally, she’s listening!”) The intuition and wisdom within unravel like never before. It will definitely tell you what to do that comes from a place of knowing beyond the analytical mind. Second-guessing yourself does not exist in that realm.

Relocating here was a choice I was influenced by, but leaving New York is mine.

Now I am set to move to another place.

On paper, I am giving myself a couple of years. But I trust the magic of the life force in and beyond myself that it will be taken care of, because I am ready.

Here’s the caveat, though: whenever I walk the streets of New York recently, I see the romance, the magic, and the dreamy city I had seen in films I watched as a teen and experienced as a tourist more than two decades ago.

I see its beauty one more time.

The city that made the 19-year-old me feel that I could be who I wanted to be.

That vibrant and full-of-life energy of New York City in the spring of 2004 had fueled the kind of dreams I can dream, and one of them is the possibility of being a writer.

Now, I am seeing once more the charm of its more than a century-old subway system, and not so much of its inefficiency and filth as a commuter.

I look past the feeling of overwhelm and see the vibrancy of the diverse sea of people pooling on the streets of New York one more time.

I get to look up after such a long while, gaze at the city’s skyline, and be inspired and sit in awe once again, rather than being alienated and scared about what’s up and ahead.

The city that made the 19-year-old me feel that I could be who I wanted to be.

That vibrant and full-of-life energy of New York City in the spring of 2004 had fueled the kind of dreams I can dream, and one of them is the possibility of being a writer.

Now, I am seeing once more the charm of its more than a century-old subway system, and not so much of its inefficiency and filth as a commuter.

I look past the feeling of overwhelm and see the vibrancy of the diverse sea of people pooling on the streets of New York one more time.

I get to look up after such a long while, gaze at the city’s skyline, and be inspired and sit in awe once again, rather than being alienated and scared about what’s up and ahead.

This came as a surprise to me now that leaving New York is a done deal, but it definitely carries me through with the burden of going to my job.

Does that mean I will not leave the city? No.

This chapter has ended, but I will revisit this place, the moments I spent with it, from time to time.

But, I would like to pay homage to this city, which I fell in love with once. NYC has taught me to embrace my idiosyncrasies and hate it at the same time.

When I left the Philippines almost 10 years ago, I was not able to bid a proper, albeit temporary farewell. I felt that my other foot was still there, while I was preoccupied with the busyness of making a life here in New York.

I was in a state of shock after spending overtime (yet again) at work. It was like my spirit had left my body, and whatever residual energy I had was just enough for me to go home. I was able to walk and “know” which way to go, and which subway to take, because my brain was running on autopilot.

Exhaustion to describe it for me is an understatement; burnout may be closer. Yesterday, I wasn’t that tired physically because somehow, I learned to stay in the clear in situations that demand analytical thinking. It was more spiritual; my spirit is in the infirmary.

We are always feeling our thinking.

This is one of the things I understood and stayed with me when I went deep dive into the Three Principles. And since like clouds, thought passes, feelings are the same. They are temporary and fleeting energy in motion that transforms once we think of a different thing.

When I sat down in the subway, I told myself, “Please, don’t forget this feeling.”

Most of the time, we wanted to only feel good or to break away from unwanted feelings as fast as we could. But I realized that it’s these experiences we try to get rid of are the ones that carry us to the dreams we want to pursue and the kind of life we want to live.

Essentially, they are one and the same.

The very same night you want to get over with is the very thing that transforms into the day.

Back in the Philippines, I was big on keeping my shoes cleaned and polished. Nanay (my grandmother) wouldn’t let me wear dirty school shoes or wrinkled uniforms. That was just unthinkable. Even if my things are years and years old, they look new and chic because they are neat and clean.

I first came to the US when I was 19, in 2004. The first thing my mother told me was that “hindi ka dapat mag-alala dito, kung ano ang suot mo, ano ang hitsura mo dahil walang pakialam ang mga tao dito.” (You need not worry about how you look, what you wear; people here don’t really care.)

And true enough, in the subway, I saw a bunch of people with unpressed clothes, literally just jumped out of bed, and were ready to work. Or backpacks that were peeling off, and sneakers that definitely need some tender loving care.

When you are part of this bigger system, I think it is inevitable, to some extent, to adapt to the kind of lifestyle it manufactures as a byproduct of the intersection that makes the system run—such as economics, politics, sociocultural, and a lot more.

However, I also think that sooner or later, there will come a time when the internal wisdom will always break through. It will reveal the values you truly hold, which evolve with each season of your life you’re into.

As for me, after stopping to use and live with beautiful things, I am now being called upon by the goddess of beauty, and I take notice of the beauty around me again.

Starting from where I am, it’s cleaning my shoe collection. First stop: sneakers.

Here I will share the method I used in sprucing up my white trainers.

What You Will Need:

Warm water

Measuring cup

Clean towel

Basin/clean container

Dishwashing gloves (I used our old/worn-out, but it’s up to you if you want to grab a new pair)

Mask (optional) for the strong smell of the mixture.

Baking Soda (any brand, but this is what we have at home)

Vinegar (I have this brand of distilled white vinegar)

Clorox Whitening Bleach (this is what I found in our neighborhood grocery)

Hydrogen Peroxide (check your medicine, first-aid cabinet)

Miss Mouth’s Messy Eater Stain Treater (optional)

Nylon Brush

Spray bottle

THIS WAS HOW my sneakers looked. I bought this more than two years ago, and probably washed it, or actually, I only wiped it twice. I did not have time to sit and tidy it properly, so I found it difficult to remove stubborn stains.

But using this method, and with patience, you will be surprised by the result of how it will turn out. I am certain that you will be excited to wear your sneakers again and take care of them better moving forward.

Remove the shoelaces and set them aside.

Using the (dry) nylon brush, brush off excess dirt from the canvas sneakers.

Wear your dishwashing gloves to prepare the solution.Fill the basin with at least 4 cups of warm water, and mix 1 Tbsp of vinegar, 1 Tbsp of baking soda, and 1 Tbsp of Clorox Whitening Bleach. Stir to mix it thoroughly.

Working on one shoe at a time, dip the nylon brush in the solution, and gently scrub the canvas in circular motion. This really makes a difference in cleaning the shoe rather than the back-and-forth motion. Apply the solution until the entire shoe has been treated.

Put the hydrogen peroxide (and) Miss Mouth’s Messy Eater Stain Treater (this is optional; if using, the ratio is 3/4:1/4) in a spray bottle for easy use.Wait for 1-2 minutes, then spray the hydrogen peroxide (or the 2-part solution) on all treated areas.

Using the nylon brush, rinse the first shoe completely and remove the baking soda residue on the canvas. Then rinse the second shoe.

If there are stubborn stains, scrub them thoroughly with the nylon brush. Then spray with hydrogen peroxide (or the 2-part solution) before rinsing.

Dry the shoes preferably in open air under the sun. Or you can put it by your window.

Soak the shoelaces for 5 minutes in the vinegar, baking soda, water, and bleach solution before rinsing them thoroughly. You can lay them flat or hang them dry.

If there is baking soda residue after overnight, just wet or dip the nylon brush with water, and brush off the residue.

THIS IS HOW my white sneakers look after 3 days of drying.

It is such a happy thing to see my white sneakers coming back to life after giving it its much-needed tender loving care.

And since it’s in a much better condition right now, it naturally redesigns how I tend to it moving forward (same with my other possessions), without me having to lift a finger or forcing myself to do these things.

ONE OF THE many things that I stumbled upon in my life that I enjoyed so much was being a fangirl. And when I do, I fangirl hard!

It belonged to my youth, that shining and blinding era of my life. Fangirling during this time made it even more exciting and memorable. Because the highly animated hormones in the body were coupled with a gaze that only looks for fun, interesting, and, of course, romance, without guilt and overthinking. Such as when nostalgia hits these days, it brings a familiar sense of rich, deep comfort and warmth.

The Songbird Landed In Our Home

IT WAS IN the year 2000, I was sixteen, turning seventeen, about to graduate high school, and Windows personal computers were slowly being welcomed in the households of middle-class families. Ours was secondhand, uprooted from my mom’s office if I remember it correctly.

ISP Bonanza was the prepaid scratch-off card we used to connect to the World Wide Web with a dial-up internet. I was naturally gifted with how a computer works, something I understand intuitively without reading a manual. With no Google search to teach me how to download a picture, I did, and made it my wallpaper.

Asia’s Songbird, Regine Velasquez, has landed in our home.

My regret as a fan was that I wasn’t able to watch, in my opinion, one of the best live concerts the Philippines has ever staged, R2K The Concert, with her standing as the creative and stage director.

But I made sure I bought the R2K album with any leftover school allowance I saved each week. Wiping the compact disc before popping it in the player, her voice echoed in our living room whenever I cleaned the house, or just hanging out with a much-needed break after a week’s worth of classes.

It didn’t stop with R2K; I even bought a CD rack to house my personal collection of all her studio albums (OPM and covers), including the OSTs of all her movies. I know the “B-side” tracks of these CDs, the lesser-known songs by public like the back of my hand.

Some of my personal favorites are:

The Long and Winding Road (cover)

Music and Me (cover)

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (cover)

Giliw (original)

Suntok sa Buwan (original)

Kaligayahan (original)

Sabihin Mo Lang (original)

My Heart Still Wishes For You (original)

Bukas Sana (original)

Tanging Mahal (original)

Sana Nga (original)

Sana’y Laging Ganito (original)

True Romance (original)

Love Me Again (original)

These are the songs I keep coming back to, not just as a listener, but also as a trying singer in my own right. I have attempted my versions of these songs, in my own bedroom, a lot of the time in the shower, and sometimes even on the streets walking by myself.

For me, her renditions may sound simple most of the time, less of the fancy runs and riffs (okay… there’s the belting), but she understood the song, not intellectually, not even by the lyrics, but something even beyond that. Such as that if I happen to not understand English as a language, for example, but when she sings Love Me Again, I can feel that she’s begging for something for one last time….

Before I Knew What Romance Is Like, I Had A Glimpse Through Her Films

THAT MONTAGE OF Cristina and Vince played by Regine Velasquez and Aga Muhlach, respectively, in Baguio City had me smiling while watching their movie Pangako Ikaw Lang inside a movie house. Sana Nga was playing in the background, sung by her no less. Her soft, delicate, and romantic interpretation of the song took me into a lightness of being, yet my heart was full. And if someone had come along in my life right then, I’d have felt ready to share this fullness with that person.

I was muttering to myself, “Oh, so this is what it feels like…”

My regret as a fan was that I wasn’t able to watch, in my opinion, one of the best live concerts the Philippines has ever staged, R2K The Concert, with her standing as the creative and stage director.

But I made sure I bought the R2K album with any leftover school allowance I saved each week. Wiping the compact disc before popping it in the player, her voice echoed in our living room whenever I cleaned the house, or just hanging out with a much-needed break after a week’s worth of classes.

It didn’t stop with R2K; I even bought a CD rack to house my personal collection of all her studio albums (OPM and covers), including the OSTs of all her movies. I know the “B-side” tracks of these CDs, the lesser-known songs by public like the back of my hand.

Some of my personal favorites are:

The Long and Winding Road (cover)

Music and Me (cover)

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (cover)

Giliw (original)

Suntok sa Buwan (original)

Kaligayahan (original)

Sabihin Mo Lang (original)

My Heart Still Wishes For You (original)

Bukas Sana (original)

Tanging Mahal (original)

Sana Nga (original)

Sana’y Laging Ganito (original)

True Romance (original)

Love Me Again (original)

These are the songs I keep coming back to, not just as a listener, but also as a trying singer in my own right. I have attempted my versions of these songs, in my own bedroom, a lot of the time in the shower, and sometimes even on the streets walking by myself.

For me, her renditions may sound simple most of the time, less of the fancy runs and riffs (okay… there’s the belting), but she understood the song, not intellectually, not even by the lyrics, but something even beyond that. Such as that if I happen to not understand English as a language, for example, but when she sings Love Me Again, I can feel that she’s begging for something for one last time….

Before I Knew What Romance Is Like, I Had A Glimpse Through Her Films

THAT MONTAGE OF Cristina and Vince played by Regine Velasquez and Aga Muhlach, respectively, in Baguio City had me smiling while watching their movie Pangako Ikaw Lang inside a movie house. Sana Nga was playing in the background, sung by her no less. Her soft, delicate, and romantic interpretation of the song took me into a lightness of being, yet my heart was full. And if someone had come along in my life right then, I’d have felt ready to share this fullness with that person.

I was muttering to myself, “Oh, so this is what it feels like…”

My regret as a fan was that I wasn’t able to watch, in my opinion, one of the best live concerts the Philippines has ever staged, R2K The Concert, with her standing as the creative and stage director.

But I made sure I bought the R2K album with any leftover school allowance I saved each week. Wiping the compact disc before popping it in the player, her voice echoed in our living room whenever I cleaned the house, or just hanging out with a much-needed break after a week’s worth of classes.

It didn’t stop with R2K; I even bought a CD rack to house my personal collection of all her studio albums (OPM and covers), including the OSTs of all her movies. I know the “B-side” tracks of these CDs, the lesser-known songs by public like the back of my hand.

Some of my personal favorites are:

The Long and Winding Road (cover)

Music and Me (cover)

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (cover)

Giliw (original)

Suntok sa Buwan (original)

Kaligayahan (original)

Sabihin Mo Lang (original)

My Heart Still Wishes For You (original)

Bukas Sana (original)

Tanging Mahal (original)

Sana Nga (original)

Sana’y Laging Ganito (original)

True Romance (original)

Love Me Again (original)

These are the songs I keep coming back to, not just as a listener, but also as a trying singer in my own right. I have attempted my versions of these songs, in my own bedroom, a lot of the time in the shower, and sometimes even on the streets walking by myself.

For me, her renditions may sound simple most of the time, less of the fancy runs and riffs (okay… there’s the belting), but she understood the song, not intellectually, not even by the lyrics, but something even beyond that. Such as that if I happen to not understand English as a language, for example, but when she sings Love Me Again, I can feel that she’s begging for something for one last time….

Before I Knew What Romance Is Like, I Had A Glimpse Through Her Films

THAT MONTAGE OF Cristina and Vince played by Regine Velasquez and Aga Muhlach, respectively, in Baguio City had me smiling while watching their movie Pangako Ikaw Lang inside a movie house. Sana Nga was playing in the background, sung by her no less. Her soft, delicate, and romantic interpretation of the song took me into a lightness of being, yet my heart was full. And if someone had come along in my life right then, I’d have felt ready to share this fullness with that person.

I was muttering to myself, “Oh, so this is what it feels like…”

She was singer first before an actor, and so in all the characters she played, I can still see more of Regine, than who she was playing; which for me did the magic on the big screen. I can see that it was “Regine” who’s being all charming and giddy while in character opposite her male leads.

In these stories, I saw myself trying something I’ve never done before like Sam in Wanted: Perfect Mother, or giving up on big things for one great love like Francine in Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw, or standing up for what I think is right like Anya in Dahil May Isang Ikaw, or loosening up oneself when the right one comes like Katherine in Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon, or pursuing love even in unsettling circumstances like Alex in Pangarap Ko’y Ibigin Ka.

I was spoiled as a fangirl that Regine dominated concerts, movies, and even prints, (she was a favorite covergirl during her prime) which some of my favorite things as an introvert.

However in 2010, I stopped following her journey. Or should I say I decided to stay as a mere spectator, far far away from where she’s at, from being too close for so long.

The Songbird Announces Her Retirement

I HAVEN’T REALLY updated the songs I listen to these days. And hers are the ones I come back to once in a while.

Recently, I found myself devouring on repeat her cover of the OPM classic, Ikaw Ang Lahat Sa Akin, particularly her live version during a concert with Martin Nievera in 2003 at the Araneta Coliseum.

And Youtube popped in a video recommendation— Regine Velasquez announces her retirement.

It’s seldom that I watch interviews of hers in the last 15 years or so. Seeing this conversation, she’s still Regine— the humble, unassuming Philippine music icon that she is, but she’s also different. Sometimes she was trailing off what to say, or holding back, and sometimes second-guessing her answers. I sensed that the confidence she used to have, now has some cracks. Certainly it comes with age too as I experience it myself. Nevertheless, as I was watching her, I am still blinded by her presence. She is still that artist who doesn’t know she is. But it just shows, by the extent of whether it is love, pain, or hope that a person experiences even in solitude when s/he listens to her sing.

A career spanning of four decades, she celebrates it with a “last big solo” concert by the end of this year.

I shared with my mother that I missed being a fangirl. It brought joy to my youth, to my life, and the nostalgia of it was one of the things that carried me through when I had those seasons of the dark night of the soul.

I guess it’s a call to be a fangirl one more time, and relive that time of my life with still for me the voice to beat— the enchanting Songbird one last time.

Regine may leave from me as my adored singer, but her songs and my memories as a fangirl of hers will stay with me for as long as forever.

Even at the height of your anxiety and panic