Back to the old house

 Uling, my dog, died in 2005. I was heartbroken and needed an outlet, so I started writing on my first platform, Blogger. I played around with other sites but always came back to this ancient but reliable platform. It's simple and clean, just what I needed as someone who only wanted a place to type my feelings away.

I don't own a computer back then. Before I go to bed, I would write my thoughts on a notebook and visit a computer shop the next day to post it on my blog. Eventually I familiarized myself with blogging and different niches, and from 2006 to 2009, I was at my peak blogger era. I learned how to get paid by writing reviews of everything- from cheap headphones to local landscaping company. I would grin at my parents who insisted I needed a “real job”. I would cash my checks and blow it all on silly things like action figures and stationeries. I managed to save away a little, which to my twenty-something self meant that I was the definition of an adult. Yes, it was fun. But despite getting monetized, I somehow forgot why I started blogging in the first place.

2010 comes and I got a full-time job. I got work clothes, desk work, and health benefits, the kind of perks my mother had been preaching to me since college. And honestly, I felt like a real adult. Like I was finally becoming a good citizen to my country. I had by that time stopped blogging almost entirely. Work and commute left me so little time I barely slept at home, let alone write. Until one day I just deleted the whole thing. All those reviews, off-topic essays I spent hours writing gone with the click of a button. Did I regret it? Yes. But at that time I was certain that that era of my life has ended and that it's time to embrace a new one.

And then COVID happened. I was trapped in a one-bedroom apartment and couldn't go home to be with my family. Although I communicate with them daily, it didn't stop me from having breakdowns. That's when I decided I should start a new blog. But lockdown scrambled my brain so much that writing felt like torture, so I dropped it almost as fast as I started with only a single entry. A year later, I quit my job and moved back to the province, leaving the city noise behind me for crowing roosters and a spotty cellphone signal. Since then, I've been slowly finding my way back to blogging.

I am now forty years old. I don’t know if I can still write regularly and keep this blog going. But for now, I’ll try, because I miss having a place for my thoughts to exist. And somehow, writing still feels like home to me.

Aircon

 

Sa tanghaling tirik ang araw ay galit,

Pawis ko’y natulo na parang munting batis.
Bintana’y bukas ngunit hangin ay wala,
Mapapamura ka na lang talaga,
Aircon na lamang yata ang aking pag-asa.

(Muni-muni sa loob ng banyo. Letse, ang init sa Pilipinas.)

Apparently, I used to write multiple times a day

I found my old journals last night. It was unintentional. I was cleaning a shelf and opened boxes I had ignored for years, when I stumbled across a couple of my old journal notebooks with loose pages. Some of them still had dates written carefully on the first page. Others were covered in stickers. One of them even had names of people I randomly met or no longer talk to.

Since it's almost midnight, I told myself I would read only a few entries. But instead, I spent hours sitting on the floor turning page after page. I was completely absorbed in a version of myself I had almost forgotten.

I laughed and laughed as I read my entries. I never realized I wrote cringey things back then, mostly about how much I hated doing the laundry and about my favorite TV drama. I wrote mostly about my crushes, mentioning how I am falling in love with them in multiple entries. Heck, teenagers really write about predictable things. But what surprised me wasn't the content. It was my consistency. I wrote regularly back then, like multiple times a day. I filled entire notebooks without thinking twice.

But damn, now I struggle to finish even two pages. 

At some point over the years, writing became harder for me, even though life itself became fuller. I have more experiences now, more stories and complicated emotions, and more understanding of the world. By all reason, I should have more to write about. But I often find myself staring at blank pages with nothing to say. Or worse, too much to say all at once.

Maybe writing was easier when I was younger because I had not yet learned how to hold back.

Back then, I wrote everything down without shame. I wrote unapologetically every minor disappointment, every single interaction with someone I admire, and every fleeting thought I had. I was never worried whether my writing sounded intelligent or meaningful. The act itself was enough. The younger me thinks writing wasn't a performance. But now I edit myself before I even begin.

I think adulthood does that to people. You become more aware of how you sound. You become more careful, and your thoughts compete with responsibilities, distractions, plus the constant pressure to stay functional. There is less silence now. Less boredom, less time spent sitting alone with your own mind long enough to hear what it is trying to say. Reading my old journals made me realize how attentive I used to be to my own life. I noticed things back then. I wrote about ordinary afternoons, the weather, conversations with my siblings, songs playing in the background, and even wrote about the feeling of walking towards the bus stop after school. Nothing was too small to document. But I stopped paying that kind of attention and convinced myself that ordinary moments no longer deserved to be remembered.

Lately, my life feels less documented. It's been more than a month since my last journal entry, and days blur together quickly now. Sometimes I wonder how many memories I have already lost simply because I never wrote them down. Maybe that is why finding these old journals of mine affected me so much. They felt like proof that there was once a version of me who moved through life more slowly.

Narcotics Anonymous

I went to an NA meeting. Hindi ko na matandaan kung paano, pero naalala kong may Zoom link na nag-alangan pa akong i-click. Sinubukan kong pumasok kahit may pag-aalangan; baka mag-gatecrash ako sa isang importanteng meeting, o baka mapasukan ko ang meeting ng mga alters. Pero sige, go. Bahala na kung i-kickout nila ako. Wala namang pumansin sa akin. Siguro kasi dahil halos 100 ang mga participants, lahat ay mga taga Amerika. Ako lang yata yung hindi taga doon. Pero walang kumwestyon sa akin. Tuloy-tuloy na nagsasalita ang facilitator, doon ko nalaman na NA meeting pala ito. Narcotics Anonymous.

Anong gagawin ko dito? Naisip ko ‘hala baka tawagin ako to share’ eh di naman ako drug addict. Buti at ang tinatawag lang yung mga nagtataas ng kamay at nung binasa ko yung chat, nakalagay naman na ‘open to all’ yung meeting. Kaya hindi na din ako umalis, nakinig na lang ako sa mga kuwento nila. Ang napansin ko, karamihan sa mga nag-share na drug-free na ay mga kababaihan; yung iba sa kanila 4 na taon nang sober, yung ibang mas matatanda ay dekada na. Karamihan naman sa mga nag-share na addict pa rin at struggling ay mga kalalakihan. Tumatak sakin yung isang nag-share na lalaking estudyante. Umiiyak siya nung nagkukwento siya. Mga dalawang buwan na din siyang hindi gumagamit pero nate-tempt ulit siyang tumikim dahil sa pressure ng buhay estudyante. Binigay din niya ang contact niya dahil may mga iba sa room na gusto siyang tulungan. 5 minutes lang ang time allotment ng bawat isa. Bigla tuloy akong nagkainteres na mag-share ng saloobin ko, gusto kong mag-raise ng kamay kaso naalala ko sumasawsaw lang pala ako.

Pero nakakatuwa din at nakapakinig ako sa ganung meeting. Hindi lang naman sharing yung ginawa nila, may poetry reading pa silang ganap at may pa-mini games din. May participant pa mula sa isang county jail. Nung magsisimula na yung mini game, nag-exit na ako. Pero next time kung may pagkakataon ulit na makapag-gatecrash sa isang NA or AA meeting, bakit hindi. Di ba?

I am too broke to attend a wedding

Ella, a very dear friend of mine is getting married. I’m one of the few people who witnessed and stood by her through both the happiest and darkest parts of her life. I was there when she had to run to the hospital after her former partner made her a punching bag. I was there during the confusing in-between of a situationship with someone we worked with. And I was there when she met Philip, the man she would eventually marry and someone who slowly became my friend too. Philip is a kind person, with a positive outlook and a clear sense of where he wants to go in life. Those were the things that made Ella fall in love with him.

That was ten years ago. Since then, life has moved in different directions. We changed jobs, chased different careers, and our circles grew bigger. But somehow, we always found our way back to each other, even just once a year over drinks, over stories, over laughter that felt familiar no matter how much time had passed.

And now, she’s getting married and it feels right. It feels like something she has long deserved. I am so proud of her, of them, of the life they are building together.

Fast forward to January 2026, Ella finally sent us the wedding invitation along with the RSVP in our group chat. Everyone was excited, with conversations about the dress code, hotel bookings, and all that jazz. The wedding will be held in the province, far from the city, and far from where I live (I live in the north while most of my friends live south). But that’s okay. That should be okay, right?

But the truth is, I’ve been struggling financially for years and at some point, reality became impossible to ignore. I can’t afford the trip. I can’t afford a dress. I can’t afford a place to stay. I spent weeks going back and forth in my mind, trying to find a way, any way, to make it work. Because this is not just any event. This is my friend’s wedding, one of the very few people I keep close to my heart. And I want to be there. But I’m just not in a position to spend money on something I simply can’t afford.

And so after three days I finally declined the RSVP. I sent her a message telling her I couldn’t come and that I am happy and proud of her, that I love them both. I didn’t explain why. Pride told me to keep things to yourself, even when the truth is simple. I know Ella and Phil will understand. At least, I hope Ella will.

UPDATE: Ella has seen it, but hasn’t replied yet. I imagine she’s busy, caught up in all the details that come with building a wedding and a future. The group chat is still alive. Everyone is still excited. And me? I am cheering for her quietly, from a distance.

Happy birthday, Papa.

Happy birthday, Papa. I love you so much. I’ve always said I’m your carbon copy, the ultimate Papa’s girl.

When I was little, I would cry every time you leave for Baguio to work. I always needed to see you leave. Even if it was very early in the morning, no matter what day it was, I would make sure I’m awake just to watch you get on the bus. Sometimes, you don’t say that you’re about to leave, but there are signs. You’d start folding your clothes and put them in your duffel bag. By then, I knew you were leaving, so I wouldn’t sleep at all so I could wake up the moment you step out of the house. Even when Lola scolded me, I didn’t care.

Because if I didn’t see you leave, I would feel awful. My whole week would be terrible. I would cry and cry.

Papa, someone else inherited that habit of mine—your eldest grandchild, my nephew. Every time his mother leaves, he would always wake up and cry. He doesn’t want her to go. But when there’s nothing he can do, he makes sure he sees his mom walk out of the house and get on the bus.

I always smile when I see him like that. Then I would tell him the story, that I was just like him when I was a child.

22-15-20-1

Since I was a child, I never won games or raffles. Unlike my mom and my sibling, who often brought home prizes, I always went home with nothing after parties. That’s why I was so happy yesterday when I won four times at our class reunion raffle. The first, I won in a game, then won again in the raffle—second, third, and fourth prizes. Of course, I was happy. In my whole existence, this was the first time I ever got lucky in these kinds of games. But I didn’t just win prizes; I also got to see my old classmates. It was really heartwarming to see them again after decades.

So much has changed, and our batch has come a long way. Some of them already have children who have graduated, while others have firstborns who are still in kindergarten. Some have given up on having children and instead focused on making money (mentioning our classmate who sponsored an 18,000-peso lechon and reserved the entire resort). It was fun to look back on our foolishness and innocence when we were young.

In a way, the reunion lifted my spirits. I had doubts about going because I didn’t have much money and only contributed 1,000 pesos. Still, I really wanted to see them, so I made sure to be there whatever happens. And seeing them again and seeing what we’ve all become, I felt genuinely happy. I wish everyone the best and more blessings for our batch. Of course, I wish we’ll have another reunion in the future.

Good riddance

 

Is there an age or year of your life you would re-live?

Ever since I turned forty, I find myself reminiscing about the past more often. From time to time, little memories of my childhood would invade my thoughts and make me smile. Maybe it’s a subtle coincidence, because grade school my classmates are planning a reunion this coming December, something I might not be able to attend since I’ll be flying to Malaysia again soon.

But if I could re-live any year of my life, I’d go back to my grade school days, when I was around seven to eleven years old. Those were the years when life felt endlessly full. Full of laughter, little adventures, and the kind of joy that didn’t need a reason. Life was simple. The world was small, yet it felt so big, and every kid like me couldn’t wait to be an adult. Every day seemed to hold something worth remembering.

Back in the 90s, my friends and I would visit each other’s houses after class. We’d hunt for spiders hiding up the ceiling, behind old flowerpots or under tree branches, proudly showing off our “finds” like trophies. We’d keep them in match boxes and bring them to school the next day and letting them fight against each other. Other times we’d play paper games, like Hangaroo-style word games, or even Battleship. Once in a while, we’d have silly “beef” with the other class, accusing them of different things. It was childish of course, but that’s what made it beautiful.

But my favorite memories were always the ones I shared with my siblings. One summer afternoon, we built what we proudly called “the greatest barbecue grill”. Inspired by a barbecue grill we saw on HSN, we made our own out of an old Marie Biscuit tin can stuffed with dried leaves and twigs. Then we snuck into the fridge when no one was looking and stole a slice of meat just to test it out. It never really cooked properly and actually tasted like those dried leaves. But we felt like geniuses. On other days, we’d play basketball until mosquitoes start to bite us or ride the bicycle our father had built from junk parts. It wobbled and squeaked, but to us, it was freedom on two wheels.

Those years were full of innocence and imagination. We didn’t need much to be happy. Just a little sunlight, some space to run around, and each other. Growing up has its own joys, but I often miss how easy it was to live back then. And so if I could re-live that time, I would slow down and pay more attention. I’d savor the smell of textbooks and the laughter of my friends, the taste of those terrible “barbecue” experiments, the feeling of excitement as I rode that rickety bike. I would definitely hold on to those moments longer.

Because somewhere along the way, life got louder and more complicated. And sometimes, I wish I could go back to that time, not to escape the present, but to remember the version of myself who found happiness in the simplest things.

A memory with my Lola (part 1)

I grew up under my grandmother’s care. From the day I was born, it was Lola Flor who slept beside me every night, because both my parents were working. She became my mother in every sense of the word, and our relatives used to joke that I was her youngest child. When I started going to school, it was my Lola Flor who took care of everything for me. Every morning, she would walk me to school, wait for me until dismissal, then we would go home to eat lunch and take a nap together. But one afternoon in kindergarten, we didn’t take our nap, and I ended up doing something terrible.

It must have been around two or three in the afternoon. Lola Flor stayed awake because she was winnowing rice, while I was playing with a marble. I couldn’t remember where I got that marble or who gave it to me. I was squatting on the ground, rolling it back and forth, while behind me, she was busy with her rice. I think that was the first time in my life that I ever had an intrusive thought.

I stared at the marble for a long time and wondered what would happen if I threw it at her. So I stood up, faced her while she was still focused on cleaning the grains, and then I threw it. The marble hit the left lens of her glasses. It cracked.

I just stood there, frozen, while she hurriedly took off her glasses. It was only then that it sank in. What if a shard of glass got into her eye? What if my Lola went blind because of me? I didn’t cry, but fear spread through me. Lola didn’t get angry, and thank God, her eyes were safe. Although she had to use her spare pair of glasses tucked away somewhere.

I can’t remember what happened after that. I don’t recall being scolded. I don’t know what became of that marble. We still ate dinner that night as if nothing had happened. I still spent the evening cutting bits of paper for my crafts. And when I fell asleep on the sofa, Lola Flor still carried me to bed.

We had joy, we had fun

Back in high school, I was one of the few students in our batch who had a cellphone, but I couldn’t really relate to the others. They all had Nokia 5110, while I owned a Trium Astral. I used to watch them gather around, composing ringtones together. Still, I was considered one of the “cool kids” simply because I had a phone. Sometimes I’d bring my yellow Gameboy Color to school so me and my classmates could play Zelda or Furby. That made me look even cooler in my class, even if I didn’t have a Nokia.

During our third-year summer break, I joined the CAT training. Every day for a month, we’d go to school early for exercises and drills. By senior year, I had become a platoon leader with the rank of Captain. It felt amazing to be seen by other students everyday commanding and leading drill sessions, looking sharp during rifle practice. That was another “cool kid” point for me.

One time, during our Speech class, our teacher told us to prepare an English song to sing in the next session. The following day, one of my classmates brought a guitar, and when it was my turn, I borrowed it and sang “What’s Forever For?” My female classmates were amazed. There were only two of us who sang with instruments: me and the guitar owner.

That earned me another “cool kid” point.

Now, I’m no longer that “cool kid.” I’m forty years old, struggling and surviving day by day. But whenever I look back, I can’t help but smile. I remember those moments when my friends and I would sneak out during Intramurals to rent BMX bikes at the PICC and roam around the grounds for as long as we wanted. I remember the time I went to a classmate’s house to watch the first Resident Evil movie on a pirated VCD. And my very first taste of gin… High school really was the best phase for most students, wasn’t it? Truly core memory-worthy.

And even though I’ve long outgrown being a “cool kid,” these days I aspire to be a cool auntie to my niblings.

What would you talk about if someone were actually listening to you?

Honestly, I grew up not telling or sharing stories about my life with others. That’s because I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I was raised well; my grandmother and parents took good care of me. But I didn’t grow up in an environment where I was encouraged to share or open up about my feelings. So, I’ve carried this with me until now.

I didn’t have any real friends in elementary or high school. Sure, I had people to hang out with, but I saw them as just ordinary friends or acquaintances. There was no deep understanding between us that would allow us to share our thoughts and feelings with each other. Even now, when I have what I can consider my circle of friends, I still find it hard to open up to them. I don’t even know why. I guess I’m just not used to it.

If someone were truly listening to me right now, I would tell them that I am sad. I’m sad because I feel like i have no direction in life. That I’m almost forty years old and still have nothing to be proud of. That I’m sad because even though I want to break free from this situation, it feels like I’m stuck here. That I’m sad because I still don’t know what I really want in life.

My family and friends think I’m okay. They think that I have a decent job, that I’m happy even though I’m single, that I’m content even if I don’t go out of the house often… but that’s not true. When I’m alone, I’m always worried. I stay up until the early hours of the morning because I don’t want to feel the anxiety hit me once I lie down and start thinking about my personal issues. I spend my time watching random videos to distract myself from my worries. I let my imagination wander until I get tired and fall asleep. At least, that way, I don’t have to think anymore.

Sometimes I think about just disappearing. That I wish I hadn’t been born, so there would be one less person feeling this way.

So, if there’s someone who genuinely wants to listen to me, I hope they won’t get tired of it. I hope they won’t judge me and say, “You’re just sad” or “You’re just lazy.” I hope they won’t interrupt me while I’m sharing. I’m not asking them for advice or anything. I just really want someone to listen.

Note: I wrote this a year ago. I am now forty, and everything is still the same. The only difference is now, I don’t think about disappearing. I try to live every day, find things to be happy and stay positive. That’s a good thing, right?

Hinggil sa taho

Taho ang pambansang agahan namin ng mga kaibigan ko nung nagko-call center pa kami. Pagpatak ng alas singko ng umaga, diretso agad kami sa labas ng gate sa may Jupiter St. at nakaabang na dun si kuyang magtataho. Madalas nakakadalawang malaking baso ako ng taho, at minsan kahit pag-uwi ko at nakakasalubong ako ng magtataho ay nakakabili’t nakakakain pa. Awa naman ni Lord ay di naman sumasakit ang tiyan ko.

Hindi ko talaga gusto ang taho. Naalala ko nung highschool kahit anong pilit ng tropa kong pakainin ng taho ay sinusuka to talaga siya. Kahit tokwa ayaw na ayaw ko, kasi parang ngumunguya ako ng basang papel. Pero noong lumuwas ako para magtrabaho kinailangan ko siyang kainin. Dahil may mga panahong wala akong pera. At taho, at tokwa ang mura.

Ngayon, gustong-gusto ko na sila. Paborito ko na sila.

Pero sa ngayon ay madalang na lang akong makakain ng taho. Dahil dito sa aming lugar sa probinsiya hindi araw-araw ay may maririnig kang “tahoooooo!” sa kalsada. Kaya naman kaninang may dumaang magtataho, dali-dali akong lumalabas para bumili. Kahit bente pesos ang isang baso niya ay ayos na rin. Choosy pa ba ako.

When your blog goes on retirement

When I started blogging, I only had the goal of pouring my grief over my dead cat. Blogging used to be a way to explore interests, a personal online journal of some sorts (unlike today, blogging is either dead or used for marketing business). Over time, I begin to like blogging- writing and sharing thoughts that comes to my mind, even my own hobbies and interests.

Blogger used to be the best platform for beginners like me because it’s easy to navigate. And during peak blogging years I have opened and read so many blogs that offer their insights and their hobbies. You can just log in to your account, write, publish, and that’s it. But of course, a blogger also gets busy with life, with new ventures, family and other personal matters. So, what happens when bloggers decide to stop writing and the updates stop coming?

In my case, I deleted my first blog. Nowadays I still see some archived screenshots of it. Others decide to archive their works by letting it live online until whenever (or until Google decides to shut down Blogger). Just like Susan Scott and Loretta Chase’s Two Nerdy History Girls blog. It’s one of the blogs I’ve been checking out and reading since it opened late 2000s. Through their posts, I discovered and read some of the novels they’ve recommended.

Rhonda Hetzel’s Down To Earth blog also went into retirement a few months ago. I used to read her posts about her home and garden, and her insights to simple and frugal living. Another blog I used to follow, How About Orange decided to archive the blog 11 years ago. I first discovered this blog when I was searching online for patterned wallpapers. The owner, Jessica Jones is a designer shares her works, and I was drawn to it (also because orange is my favorite color). She offers tutorials and lovely printables which are still online.

With today’s era of business-centric and AI generated articles and posts, it’s still nice to see bloggers genuinely writing and sharing what they love online. And I’m even more thankful to these bloggers I mentioned, because unlike me, they decide to keep their blogs online for people to read and become sources. Well, to be fair, my old blog isn’t really ‘educational’, so best to have it off the internet.

I feel like I don’t belong to anyone’s memories (a.k.a Geloy Concepcion’s words that resonate with me as the ‘background friend’)

I feel like I don’t belong in anyone’s memories.

I’m such a bland person. So generic, just someone on the sides during get-togethers. A filler when someone’s needed. The last option when there’s really no one else. I don’t even know why I see myself this way.

I feel like I don’t contribute anything to the things happening around me. When I’m at gatherings with people whom I consider friends, I try to join in, start conversations, laugh with them. But eventually, I end up in the background again, just smiling and nodding along to their stories. And even though I remember a lot of memories with my friends during those moments, sometimes I wonder… do they remember anything about me? Do I matter to them at all?

Sometimes I blame myself, because I’ve always been like this. I wish that even just once; I could’ve stood out a bit. Maybe then they’d remember me. But maybe they will, in a way. “Oh, that one who’s always smiling, the one who just nods, always in the back, that person…” At least they’ll remember me, right? Better than nothing. Hahaha, what an annoying thought.

Anyway, I don’t want to self-pity. Sometimes I just wonder what I really am in the eyes of the people around me.

Short Review: Libing Isa

 

Who should one fear? The deceased, the living, or us?

This question caught my attention when I first saw it online a few weeks ago. It was a teaser for a new book by an artist whose work I was already familiar with because I frequently see it on Twitter. I pre-ordered a book right away and promptly forgot about it as I went about my day. And even though it arrived yesterday afternoon, I didn't get a chance to unbox and read it until before bed.

Libing Isa is the debut book by Filipino author and illustrator Malayo Pa ang Umaga (MPAU), published by Anino Comics. It is composed of 11 stories about death, fears, and other macabre things that make us not want to sleep at night. The author claims that his fascination with the number eleven is what inspired the book's title. In his words:

"Para sa akin, kakaiba ang labing-isa (eleven) dahil nag-iiwan ito ng "hindi kumpletong" impresyon. Hindi pa buo kasi hindi pa isang dosena. Hindi pa hatinggabi, pero malapit na. Patapos na ang taon, pero parang hindi pa. Muntik na o kaunti na lang. Kulang pa. Papunta pa lang."

("For me, the number eleven is strange because it leaves an "incomplete" impression. It's incomplete because there aren't a dozen of them yet. It's not yet midnight, but it's getting close. It's almost the end of the year, but it doesn't seem like it yet. Almost or barely. Not enough, but getting there.")

Of course, I have my favorites out of the 11 short stories.

Right off the bat, the first short story, Makakalimutin si Tin (Forgetful Tin), sent chills down my spine. It starts with an illustration of Tin running and describes how she often forgets some of her things at school. Tin is always excited to go home, completely forgetting even her best friend. But why is Tin always in a hurry to go home?

Si Maning at ang Diwata ng Kangkungan (Maning and the Water Spinach Field Fairy) is about a young boy's friendship with a lady living beneath the vast water spinach field and his impending discovery of how the lady ended up underwater.

Ang Kasaysayan ng Bigas (The History of Rice) narrates how our favorite Filipino staple food is made, from planting to harvesting, milling, and selling, and how a little girl's father contributes to this rigorous process.

Mabangong Pagdating (A Fragrant Arrival) is a story about a boy's first day (and night) in the province. It is similar to Shake, Rattle, and Roll's Aswang but with a different plot.

Along with the stories, the book is beautifully illustrated throughout by MPAU. His style of art is quite similar to that of Filipino-American illustrator Bong Redila, but MPAU's works are more often dark and eerie. Perhaps this is a result of his ominous subject and the use of bold strokes. Nevertheless, they are as fascinating as his words. The cover is equally impressive as well.

Overall, Libing Isa is an absolute page-turner and a keeper. It reminds me of the literary folios we used to publish back in my university days. It is original and well-written. It's undoubtedly an excellent addition to the genre.

Libing Isa is available for sale at Adarna House. 

When you didn't land the job you wanted

Earlier today, I received an e-mail informing me that my application for a popular graphic design platform is no longer being considered. Although I am currently enjoying my "jobless era", the company offered this part-time position that suits my skills, and so I decided to give it a try. 

Of course, getting rejected can be frustrating, especially when it's from a company you admire the most and aspire to work with. I've applied to many companies before and got rejected so many times. But hey, it's not the end of the world. You can use rejection to your advantage, bounce back and maybe even land an even better position than the one you initially applied for. Remember these simple tips as they may help you in the future.

There are better options out there. Take rejection as an opportunity to explore other opportunities. Remember: there are plenty of companies looking for people with your skills. Review your applications, make some tweaks, and apply again. Even if you don't get the position, there's a chance you'll be contacted by the company about other roles that may be available in the future. You never know what might happen until you try.

Invest in Yourself. It's not always easy getting rejected after putting in so much work. The best way to get back on track is by investing in yourself. There are many different ways you can do this, such as going on job interviews or networking with people that have the same interests as you. If you have been rejected from a job interview, don't forget to ask questions about what could be done better next time. Then make adjustments accordingly and try again!

Take care of yourself mentally. It's okay to feel disappointed about getting rejected. As soon as you can, take the time to get out of your head and do something nice for yourself. This will help you put the rejection into perspective, and give you an opportunity to work on your mental strength. It might also be helpful to think about what went wrong during the interview or job hunt to avoid making those same mistakes in the future.

Don't give up. The first time you apply for a job, you're usually less experienced, so it's more likely that you won't be the best candidate. Instead of taking rejection personally, try and see it as an opportunity to learn. Read up on how to interview better next time, or reread the job description to see where you went wrong with your application this time. You might not get the job now, but perseverance and patience will pay off in the future!

The point is, when you get rejected, take time to breathe and reflect and assess. Then get back up and start over again. The perfect job for us is out there waiting. It may or may not reveal itself, so it's up to us to explore and look out for them.

So you want to be the cool aunt

 

So you want to be the cool aunt. That’s cool. Being an aunt myself can be fun and rewarding. But being a cool aunt can sometimes feel stressful. I have to walk a tightrope between being funny, calm, sensible, and responsible. I certainly hope they can come to me, but I also want to give them the best advice—the kind of good advice my aunt gave me.

Being a cool aunt is like being a part-time parent — you can only give back when you’re tired of parenting. I like to think of it as an exercise in parenting myself. I’ve been close to my twin nephews since birth, and sometimes I (like their parents) have a hard time seeing them grow. But I would love to be their go-to resource, no matter the situation, and I love that their parents trust me to guide them in the right direction.

I want to be the cool aunt that my niece or nephew can talk to about anything. In an ideal world, being an aunt would be easy. But it’s not always that simple. You want to be the best aunt your niece or nephew could ask for, but maybe you don’t have kids of your own or your relationship with their parents isn’t the best. The good news is that even if you don’t have little ones at home, you can still be a kick-ass aunt by following these tips.

Help with homework. It’s your nephew’s birthday tomorrow and he needs help with his homework. What do you do? First, take a deep breath and try not to panic: It’s only homework! 

1) Find out what he needs help with. 
2) Listen carefully as he explains his assignment. 
3) Ask him if he knows how to do it, or has any ideas of his own. 
4) Explain how you would do it if you were him.

Take them out for ice cream. The best way you can show your niblings that they are important to you is by spending time with them. While not all kids want to go out for ice cream, it is a great way for them to get a little treat and spend time with their favorite auntie. I also recommend that, when you take your nieces or nephews out for ice cream, you ask them about their day and what they’re up to.

Play video games with them. One of the things my brothers used to do with our aunt is play video games together. It gave me a very happy and memorable childhood growing up and I can definitely vouch for this tip. It’s a good way for us all to have some quality time together, but it can also provide an opportunity for them to learn some new skills. If they’re playing on their own consoles, I might jump into a game with them so we can play cooperatively or compete against each other.

Never ever pressure them. Don’t forget that they’re still kids. Not adults. Don’t try to turn them into your friends, and avoid pressuring them into doing things you want them to do but not what they want. Be a good listener and offer advice when asked for it! You can’t force your niece or nephew, or anyone else for that matter, to live their lives exactly as you would like. Putting them under pressure doesn’t make you a cool aunt. Not cool.

Now that you know how to really make your niece or nephew feel special, it’s time for you to get out there and show them! Make sure you send us pictures when they’re all grown up — we can’t wait to see what you’ve accomplished!

I am living the single life

“When are you going to get married?” is the question I always get from my relatives. It was uncomfortable at first, especially when you hear it every single time you attend family gatherings. But as time goes, I got used to it and would smirk or joke about it whenever they ask.

Being single is always stereotyped as living a lonely life. Being married and having kids is usually considered a happy one. This is also our society’s standard- men and women should get married, start a family, and lead a happy, healthy, and fruitful life. But, some go against this standard. I know some folks, people from my workplace who dream of having kids while remaining single. Some are single parents, raising their children while rejecting the possibility of getting a partner. Most of these single parents are women. They think that having a partner is a headache and that they should focus their energy on raising and loving their kids. Lastly, some people chose not to be in a relationship, like me.

People would assume that I’ve been in a horrible relationship in the past and that I don’t want to have another one. This assumption is wrong and this is not always the case. I can relate my single life to my living alone. I started living alone after my partner and I broke up. We are both fine and remain friends up until today. And as I mentioned in my previous post, it’s hard. It’s hard when you’re with your friends, and they talk about their boyfriends and girlfriends and you don’t have one. It’s hard when your uncles and aunts press you about getting married and having kids. That’s the part that I don’t like.

Looking back as someone in her 30s, being single is not bad at all. It is fulfilling. The first thing that I loved the most is the solitude and its rewards. It gives me time to be creative without having someone distract me. It keeps me refreshed and energized. Most of all, it gives me time to think, reflect, and re-evaluate my life choices. In essence, you have plenty of time for yourself. When you get married and have kids, your focus would shift to your family and how to take care of them. It will give you little time for yourself. You’ll only have the time once your kids have grown up and had their own families. But how old do you think you’d be when that time comes? People say that you become more integrated with society when you’re married. This is not true. How can you meet other people and integrate into society, when you devote the majority of your time to your family? When you are single, you have the time to embrace and interact with other people, whether it’s for pleasure or network/business-related.

Now, living a single life may not be for anyone. I have some friends whom I’ve talked to before, and although they have little regrets about marrying early, they are happy with their current life with their spouses and kids. Of course, I am happy for them. I can feel their happiness whenever they talk about how their babies are starting to walk and how they learned their first words. I also know people from work who prefer being single because of economic concerns, saying spending money for their survival is already hard, what more if they have a family. I understand these views because we have our own definitions of happiness. At the moment, I am enjoying the single life and its rewards; it has made me more relaxed, collected, and open to different perspectives. I am intending to keep my lifestyle this way, although who knows what would happen in the future, right?

Evaluating your own writing skill is key

How do you evaluate your writing? Some may think of it as a hard task, especially without the help of their colleagues. But when you are in the process of writing, you are already undergoing self-assessment. Whether you are a pro or a newbie writer, it’s important that we assess ourselves and how we write to identify and reflect on our strengths and weaknesses. We must critique and acknowledge our works as they help improve our skills.

Just like any performance evaluation, you must have guide questions that you can use to score your skills. Prof. Mary Warner from San Jose State University has published a comprehensive questionnaire on assessing one’s writing skills. It’s taken from the book ‘A Community of Writers: A Workshop Course in Writing’ by Peter Elbow and Pat Belanoff, and it’s divided into 6 categories: attitudes toward writing, generating, revising, feedback, collaboration, and awareness and control of the writing process. While you may think that this is catered to students and that some of these categories may not apply, they’re an important set of questions. Plus, according to the site, one will benefit from the questionnaire if they’re all filled out three times, that way one will be able to see what changes are taking place.

Although I’ve been writing since my elementary days, I do not consider myself a professional. I’m 100% amateur, although I may have a bit more experience than others. For most of my time at school, I wrote news and short stories. When I left school, I did creative writing and wrote more short stories and fiction. And recently, I’ve been involved with advocacy writing for the organization I work for, writing press statements and sometimes propaganda speeches. I had no formal writing or journalism education; only workshop/training sessions from pro writers. Ever since I was young, I’ve always dreamed of becoming a novelist or a short story writer. I remember moments in my 3rd-grade years when I always ask my grandmother how to translate a specific word into English and then get back to my notebook to continue with what I’m writing. It’s funny because I’ve been trying hard to write in English since 3rd grade. But honestly, I can’t even write any short stories nowadays. Is it because my interest or genre of writing is slowly beginning to change? Or is it because of this thing they call ‘writer’s block?’ Anyway, I will try to post about this later.

Self-assessment is a great method as it nurtures one’s writing skills thru reflection and analysis. It may include a wide range of practices and lots of questions to answer, but all are essential to foster the growth of an aspiring writer in terms of skill and ability to take on future writing tasks. You must assess yourself from time to time; set a specific date and time of the month when you can perform a self-assessment. It’s also important to keep track of the questions you’ve answered. That way, you can compare and check what areas are improving and what needs to be improved further. As I am writing this blog post, I am currently writing a short story that I never went on to finish. Hopefully, with my little motivation, I can finally finish it by the end of this month. Wish me luck.

Decluttering is hard but satisfying. I'll tell you why.

Decluttering can be a headache. It takes time and careful planning to discard the things we own, especially ones that hold value to us. And once you’re done, the next challenge is maintaining the orderliness of your home.

My desire to declutter and organize my apartment started 3 years ago but I only did it last month. Not that I was too lazy (but I admit it’s one of the factors), but I didn’t have enough time to do it. Since I work in rural communities, I am always out of town. Fieldwork usually takes a few days to a week, and when I get home, I’d take a rest so I can work again the next day. I also work during weekends. I usually have rest during weekdays but most of the time it only takes a day and I’d spend it doing paper works. When Coronavirus came, I had to stay and work at home like most workers in our country. The first 6 months were awful. I craved the internet like an addict as I was without any electronics to connect with my friends. When I started reading books, I realized that I need to reflect and re-evaluate my life. It was also the right time to declutter my home.

I didn’t have any particular plan when I started decluttering. My only goal is to reduce my things, from my wardrobe to dishware. I’ve read other articles that decluttering shouldn’t be in a rush as it can lead to feelings of regret after. Other experts suggest putting items in a box if you’re unsure whether to throw them out, then check if you still need them after a few months. I never did any of those. Like Kristin Marr mentioned in her article, be ruthless. If you haven’t used something in a while, discard it. I had a lot of plates and mugs stored inside my cupboard, most were gifts from previous coworkers. But in reality, I only use a bowl for my food. To free up space, I discarded most of the tableware and some of my cooking pots. Together with the plates, I sent them to donation collectors. I did the same with my wardrobe. After organizing, I now have 25 shirts, 2 sweaters, and 2 pairs of jeans and the rest went to donation. I still plan to reduce my clothes. I gave some of my shirts to a friend two weeks ago.

The documents took me a while before I completely discarded them. Most of them contained my personal information so I need to dispose of the papers. I don’t have a shredder in my house and cutting every single piece of paper would be time-consuming. So I enlisted the help of my bucket and water. I filled the bucket with water and soaked it in the papers overnight. The next day, I began to tear them like I’m making paper clay. After draining the water, I dried them outdoors and that’s it. My information was erased and the paper was discarded. As for the footwear, I put my old but good sneakers and sent them to donation.

It’s been a month, and I don’t regret what I did with my stuff, especially those shirts that I used to adore. I still love them, but I love the look of my closet more. My closet is much cleaner and organized, and the feeling you get when looking at it is so joyful. This is also the same as my cupboard. I now have enough space to store other things. Of course, this is not the same for everyone. The strategy I did worked well, but may not be for others. I also recommend doing research or reading some blogs about decluttering and organizing. In one of her articles, Elizabeth Larkin also suggested organizing a yard sale for your stuff.

Going through decluttering made me realize that I don’t need many material things. We may get souvenirs from events, but isn’t it that the moments from those events are much more memorable?