OEUVRE

It was five in the afternoon, and I was preparing for a night out with my best friend.

I invited her to be my plus-one at a TV series launch party. Normally, I wouldn’t stay out late for events like this, but there was something in the air that told me I should go. The fact that guests were allowed to bring a companion made the decision even easier. At least I wouldn’t have to force conversations with acquaintances.

I arrived at my best friend’s flat wearing a black asymmetrical long-sleeved top paired with a black mini skirt that made my legs look longer than they are. For a pop of color, I slipped on orange block heels.

While waiting for her to finish getting dressed, I scrolled through Instagram stories until I landed on yours. It was a group photo at a Michelin-listed restaurant somewhere in Southeast Asia. I remembered loving the food when I visited years ago, so I replied.

“I loved that place!”

“Me too! Have you been recently?” you replied two hours later.

“Years ago! But I remember enjoying the food.”

“Took us less than an hour to secure a table, but it was so worth it.”

Then I left the conversation. I can do small talk very well.

On our way to dinner, another notification from you popped up. This time, it had nothing to do with our earlier exchange—or maybe it did. Like most of our conversations, it circled back to food.

A huge part of my job involves visiting restaurants and writing about them. I assumed you knew that, which was probably why you reached out again. You asked for recommendations around the metro, and I was reminded of how, a year earlier, you had also asked me where to eat for a celebration that meant a lot to you.

"I’m lucky to have you, you know?" you said after our conversation wandered from meat and onions to the strange reality of living in the age of social media.

“I know very well that I can trust you with this kind of stuff,” you added.

“You can trust me with a lot of stuff.”

That was all it took. The switch flipped, and the banter only the two of us seemed to understand came alive.

I didn’t know it then, but if I had known what I know now, I would have ended the conversation right there.

I couldn't understand where your audacity was coming from.

Eleven years after we called it quits, after I completely removed you from my narrative, you kept finding your way back to me in sly little ways—sliding into my DMs, calling at ungodly hours, sending photos, even pestering me on dating apps.

What do you want from me?

We're not friends. And, for the lack of a better term, you're nothing to me.

I acknowledge that hate is a strong word, but let me tell you this: I didn't regret our time together. I didn't regret who we were when we were young. But the person you became after we said our goodbyes—and even in the last few days of our relationship—I loathed him. I hated him.

What makes you think that after all these years, you have the right to pester me?

Eleven years.

Eleven years I kept quiet. I kept it between myself and the people closest to me how you ruined me, how I built the highest walls after tearing them down just so you could hold my heart.

Eleven years. It's been eleven years, but why can't you leave me alone?

Do I need to remind you how fucked up you were? How I didn't do anything to sabotage the relationship you so carelessly tossed away?

Here’s a refresher.

I had a lot of growing up to do when we called it quits more than a decade ago.

We were so young, yet we weren't as naïve as most people our age. We were both smart in different ways, tickled each other's brains like we were meant to do it at exactly the right time.

I was deeply and utterly in love with you, but that didn't stop me from shutting the door when you ruined our relationship. When you shamelessly cheated on me—not once, not twice, but God knows how many times.

So, imagine my surprise when, after all these years, you kept coming back as though none of it ever happened.

I wouldn't be able to pinpoint the exact moment you fell out of love with me, or when you decided I wasn't enough. I wouldn't know.

But I do know exactly when I decided to leave. Did you remember the night it happened? Because I knew it like it was yesterday.

It was almost past nine in the evening when we found ourselves sitting across each other at a pizza joint in Manila. We were both tired and got an entire pie to ourselves, each with a serving of lasagna.

I asked you to get me a hot sauce, and you happily obliged – or so I thought. I playfully took your phone for some photos, and it was then that I knew that you were fucking around.

Notifications popped up one after another. Different women. Different conversations. Then one particular name that made my heart sink.

“I knew it,” I thought to myself. “I fucking knew it.”

“Since when are you fooling me?” I asked when you came back with the hot sauce.

“Since when?” I repeated.

Without a word, you began to cry. I did too. You didn’t, or maybe couldn’t, answer me at all. I should be ashamed to be doing this in a public place, but I was young. How would I know any better?

After what felt like forever, I managed to calm myself down. Even after my heart had been shattered, I gave you another chance to explain yourself. I was eighteen. Loving someone that deeply doesn't make you crazy. It makes you believe they'll still choose you.

“Can you promise to end all of these and stop cheating altogether?”

When I asked you this, I didn’t know what response I was going for, or what I was setting myself up for. But the best thing that you gave me on one of the worst nights of my life is clarity. I have to applaud you for your honesty when you said you couldn’t stop doing it.

Perhaps I should thank you for making the decision so easy. Perhaps I should thank you for forcing me to grow up at eighteen. You spared me from repeating the same mistake with men like you.

It was young love at its finest, and perhaps that's why it hurt so much. When you're eighteen, you're full of hope. Full of dreams. Full of love. I'm not going to sit here and pretend I was a perfect partner. I wasn't. But I did nothing to deserve what you did to me. No one deserves to be cheated on and lied to. If you had simply told me you were unhappy, I would have respected your honesty. Instead, you chose betrayal.

Over the years, I made peace with that. I accepted that you'll always have your own version of the story, one that softens the edges of what happened and makes it easier to live with yourself. That's your burden to carry, not mine. It has never mattered to me whether other people know the truth. It's enough that we do.

When people ask why we broke up, I give them the short version: you cheated. Two words. Simple enough. But the truth is that some wounds stay in the body long after they've left the mind. I moved on years ago, yet my body remembers the pain like muscle memory. Every time I hear about someone being cheated on, I stiffen. I tremble.

It was the day before Valentine’s when we went to the southern part of Metro Manila. I was ecstatic. Not because it was a date—it wasn’t—but because it felt like one, even just for a while.

We came with a third person who had an agenda at our destination, but we managed to have some time alone, just the two of us.

The weather was cool, so when you asked me what I wanted for lunch, you immediately said yes to ramen. It was supposed to be just a friendly lunch, two people accompanying a friend to an errand. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t wish there was more to this, to us, than my one-sided admiration.

While waiting for our bowls, the waiter served us water — one in a glass and another in a mug. I think he didn’t understand that I had asked for just a room temperature water. We hadn’t reconnected long enough for you to know that I prefer my water this way: not hot, not with ice, just room temperature.

The server had already left before I could ask for another glass.

“It’s fine. I’ll just drink it,” I thought to myself.

You saw the dilemma written all over my face, and without saying a word, you poured some ice into my mug and waited for it to melt before handing it back to me.

In that moment, my heart melted too. I didn’t say anything, but I felt everything.

Maybe that was also when it became clearer: I wanted more moments like this with you. But just like water, hot and ice are different things entirely. I look at you with warmth, yet your heart stays cold when it comes to me.

The rest of the day didn’t matter as much. We spent it with your friends—an impulsive invite—but I didn’t mind.

As long as I was with you, that was enough. You sat beside me, and I told myself, “This is enough.”

Just sitting next to you, I could already imagine a different world: a version of us that felt easy, bright, and certain. I stayed there for a while, in that version of reality, even if I knew it was far from the truth.

Perhaps I knew it all along. I knew that you would never look at me the same way.

After all, I had already told you how I felt. It was the first time I had ever confessed something like that to someone. It was also the first time I was rejected. And yet, you kept me around.

Why did you keep me around?

You drove my car on the way back to the city, with me sitting in the front beside you while our friend stayed in the back. “Fool for You” by Snoh Aalegra played softly, echoing everything I couldn’t say out loud.

Later that night, you asked if you could play a song. Of course, I said yes. Truthfully, whatever you asked of me that night, I wouldn’t have had it in me to refuse.

“There is this song I want you to hear,” you said.

I nodded.

You played “Just the Two of Us” by Grover Washington Jr. I already knew the song, but I let you have that moment; I let you think you were introducing it to me for the first time. I stayed quiet for the remainder of the drive.

“We can make it if we try, just the two of us.”

All the late-night conversations, the funny memes, bonding over Ghibli films and Hamilton, random topics, and a phone call.

I thought, “We can make it if we try,” but you didn’t even try. Not even for a second.

But you, this, us, this is the kind of almost that stays with me, and it was the hardest part.

My first stint as a writer was with a high society magazine, a biannual print glossy where long-form features were the standard—and nothing less. I enjoyed doing profiles and in-depth stories because it was exactly what I imagined myself doing when I was still dreaming of becoming a storyteller.

When I moved to a TV network to join the online team, I had to learn—and unlearn—everything from my almost four-year stint in print. I had to kill my darlings, speed up my writing process, and stay on top of trends every single day.

I adjusted well within my first six months, but I wouldn’t say I was at my best during that time. Three years later, though, I can say I’ve grown into my voice and developed a stronger sense of authority in my writing.

My work is my baby—it will always be attached to my name. But what I’m most proud of is learning how to slowly create distance between my craft and my personal life. That’s not easy, especially when you’re writing about experiences and lifestyles that often overlap with your own. But I did it.

This year is becoming more about me—my personal life, my hobbies, my interests—before my job. And I consider that a huge milestone.

I used to think success in my field meant having countless bylines and standing by stories I’m proud to author. But as I turn 30 later this year, success means something very different.

I spent Valentine’s Day binge-watching Museum of Innocence on Netflix though it wasn’t exactly the plan.

Had it not been that time of the month, I would have gone to yoga, grabbed matcha after, and caught the last screening of Wuthering Heights. But whatever happened — or didn’t — I would have spent the day by my lonesome anyway.

It’s been four years since I last spent this cliché “Hearts Day” with a man. We went to a good-enough Spanish restaurant because he thought the paella would impress me. Looking back, it did. But I was more impressed by how he ironed the day out perfectly — planned, but still spontaneous enough to say yes when I asked if we could get a nightcap at my then go-to cocktail bar. That was a good day.

The next two Valentine’s Days were in Hong Kong: first in the city, then in Cheung Chau. Between 2023 and 2025, I honestly can’t remember what I did back in 2024 for this annual occasion. But I always make it a point to shower myself with love on this day, never mind how cliché it sounds.

For 2026’s edition, I wasn’t feeling well, so I stayed home and made the most of it by binging something worthwhile. That’s how I ended up watching Museum of Innocence.

I have not read the book, nor have I heard of the physical museum located in Istanbul, but I was suddenly drawn to the story of the series and the idea of the house of trinkets. It made me want to go and visit it for myself.

It’s never really been an issue whether I spend Valentine’s Day alone or with someone. All I know is that I make the extra effort to show myself love. Every year, I do it a little better than the last.

It was enough.

It has seen the best and worst of me and how I matured over the years. Looking back, I wish I had written more, so I have many more thoughts to reflect on. But everything here will do. I trust my old self.

I spent most of last night and today just reading, feeling, and tearing up over everything I've gone through in the past two decades, which I've shared in this small corner of the internet. I'm so proud of myself for being brave enough to share my thoughts out loud. I wish I could stay exactly the same in this regard.

The start of 2026 is giving me the not-so-sudden urge to finally do more of my writing that is out of the scope of my career.

I told a friend earlier this month that I couldn't be a journalist forever, but I can always be a writer, and an author, too.

Many things have changed about me since transitioning from being a hopeful writer straight out of college to now, when I am living my dream and carving out my name as a lifestyle journalist. If I told my 10-year-old self that we had made it here, she wouldn’t have believed me easily. However, I am here, living my dream, and still dreaming big.

The point of my return to this space is to make it clear that I am on a quest to write a memoir. I have written bits and pieces of my life over the years, and 2026 is giving me the urge to finally bring it to fruition.

Writing this is honestly making me so emotional. I have grown so much. I am the person I envisioned becoming, and I remain open to continued growth, evolution, and change.

Here’s to the last year of your 20s, Hermes. Let’s make it count.

I’ll admit, when I first met her as a child, I wanted nothing to do with her or any of them, really. I was content with the life I had with my mom and her side of the family.

But as I grew older, I became more open to the idea. If I’m being honest, I had always wanted a sister. I had always wanted to be an “ate.”

So when we spent time together on a random Saturday in June, my heart felt at peace. She’s grown into exactly the kind of person I had hoped she’d be—beautiful, decent, and incredibly smart. Hearing her say that she looks up to me and finds me interesting was one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.

I’ve lost weight and gained some back in this same body. I’ve been strong, I’ve struggled. But I have learned, still learning, to honor every version of me.

Grateful to move freely without any pain, to continuously learn about who I am in every flow, to meet both inspiring teachers and students in and out of mat, and to generously give this body love and kindness, flaws and all.

Happy International Day of Yoga. May we all find a practice that brings us home to ourselves.

The last week of October '23 really challenged my outlook in life and how I want to live in the days to come. I was full of regrets, full of guilt. Admittedly, I wasn't the best person you'll come across who knows all the right things to say or do. I was never that… until I had an epiphany that I wanted to be.

I'm 26, turning 27 in less than two months. Is it too late now to be the person I wanted to become?

Most people would say it will never be too late, but as a mere human, I couldn't help but feel like I wasted so many years trying to become someone I'm not meant to be, someone I thought I was meant to be.

Less than two months into this year, and I want to make things right. My vision is not crystal clear as of this point, but I know now what path I'd like to take, and it's nowhere near similar to what I thought of in my early 20s.

I was wrong all along.

If yes, then why is your ghost still lurking in my life? 

With your sly actions, why do you still keep tabs on me? 

You've let people think and believe you're happy with the choices you’ve made and where you are right now, but why can't you leave me alone? 

The thing is, I've been told that love should never be hard to find. I've been (or probably still am) a victim of the cliche saying, "If it's meant for you, it will come," but until when should I wait? Is it a blessing or a curse? No one knows for sure.

I'm not one to shy away from pursuing something or someone I love. I've always loved that about myself — always going after what I want until I get to call it mine. But as I grow older, I realized how it also made me very cautious of people and things that are worth my energy. Is it a blessing or a curse? No one knows for sure.

Cheung Chau Island, Hong Kong

I miss hiking, so our trip to the Mini Great Wall excited me the most. But the scenic trail I expected turned out to be more than what I hoped for; the Cheung Chau island proved to be more than just its attractions with its vibrant community, the neighborhood shops, and the abundant seafood.

It would be an understatement to say that 2022 has been one hell of a ride for me. For a moment, I saw myself completely lost in my routine, work, and personal matters. Everything I'd worked so hard for when I had too much time for introspection all got lost in adjustment when the world opened up again for the outside.

New normal back to old normal, I suppose, but in 2022, nothing was ever the same way again. Of course, we could now go back to what life was like back then, but I was a completely different person. A better one, as I'd like to believe.

I went back to meeting new people, experiencing new things, enjoying the old norms, and overall, living and basking in the joy of life once again.

I won't say 2022 was a completely joyful year. It had its fair share of sorrows and down lows, but mine's highlight was definitely venturing out entirely to online media. As a print lover and a magazine writer as my first-ever exposure to media, working for digital was nothing short of a challenge for me. But I did it. In fact, I slayed the heck out of it.

I have so much yet to learn on the new paths I have undertaken, but I'm entering 2023, beaming with pride that I know I'm on the right track.

When it comes to matters of the heart, I couldn't count how many times I've got my heart overjoyed and heartbroken this year. I didn't enter any commitment since my last relationship, which ended in early 2021, but I didn't regret it staying that way throughout 2022. It just made me more confident that I'm way more than ready for who's meant for me when the time comes.

As I write this, my eyes get teary-eyed. We really couldn't have it all in this life, but boy, I got lucky, so fucking lucky, for this year on my book.

After weeks of non-stop events, work, and side hustles, my body finally gave me a signal to rest this time.

I spent the last weekend in Boracay. And while it was more of a "workation" for me, I was still invigorated by the calmness of the sea and fresh air. So, it surprised me that some viral infection symptoms started to manifest come Monday morning when I went back home.

At first, I thought it was just a usual allergy when I had some rashes on my face and chest. But when I had some blood tests done, I fainted. The last time this happened to me was when I did a hot yoga class on an empty stomach. Then, it happened again. While extracting some blood on an empty stomach wasn't normally an issue for me, I'm starting to think it is now. I guess I have to bid IF goodbye.

I fainted for 30 seconds and it was the worst ever. I didn't know what happened. I thought I only fell asleep. I guess the body doesn't really lie—it knows when you need to rest, it knows when you have to pause.

I feel so disappointed with some of the people close to my heart lately.

Am I too strong, which gave them the signal not to think twice about how I would feel with their actions? Or am I just having a rage of hormones that caused me to be so emotional?

Either way, I feel deeply hurt.

I’m the type to check up on my close friends before doing something I know would bother them or make them feel uncomfortable. But, unfortunately, I guess I can’t say the same about them.

We really can’t control how people act around us, but I’m making sure my reactions toward my triggers are sound and well thought out.