My love affair with coffee — a drink that hurts as much as it heals

There’s this tweet by @aubreybell that makes me feel so shamefully seen. It goes: “Oh boy, ever spill a little bit of your coffee and realize the thread you are hanging on by is actually quite thin?”

It might seem like an exaggeration to some, but I know how caffeine masks my daily anxieties with its bittersweet taste and temporary calm. These days, I turn to my daily cup of coffee to help me appreciate times of stillness and solitude.

Looking back, you can say my love for the drink wasn’t truly there right away. I survived my college years without drinking too much coffee—but having been able to try its different types in all its different barista blends, I have truly come to appreciate its existence. 

My cravings (and the dependence that slowly came after) started during the funemployment era, the short break between graduation and adulting that gave me a lot of extra time to hang out at cafes with my friends. I also learned to indulge myself to a cup whenever I wanted to spend some time alone.

Which brings us to now: The point where I’ve become caffeine dependent yet still in denial about it.

We’re now living at a time when everything doesn’t feel real anymore and it’s getting more and more difficult to find anything to be positive about. My anxieties began to race and multiply over the course of these unprecedented and uncertain times. It came to a point where my friends told me to stop drinking coffee altogether as this may increase my already heightened anxiety attacks.

Of course, I rejected their goodwilled suggestion right away. I then came up with a compromise: Lessen my daily coffee intake to only one cup a day—and it worked! It helped me calm down for a few days until I realized I started losing my concentration and motivation for my afternoon tasks. Why? I couldn’t stop thinking about how I missed my afternoon coffee, and how great it would be to stir some up and chug it down… EVERY. SECOND. I. GET.

My mind and body were so used to my usual caffeine schedule: One in the morning to jumpstart my system and kick all the gears in place; and a second one come the afternoon to help me power through the rest of the day.

Unfortunately not having my caffeine fix just added to my anxiety.

I still tried to keep my cool and my one-cup-of-coffee discipline lasted for a week. I adjusted and felt better over time. But I had to go back to my second-coffee habits just so I could avoid having headaches.

I didn’t realize early on that this was a symptom of caffeine withdrawal, because I didn’t know just how dependent I’ve become to caffeine. It was a part of my daily routine, an acquired taste and habit over the years—seems normal enough, right? Not until I started missing my usual 8 AM fix, and my body’s automatic reaction to it was nausea and unbearable headaches.

There are some days when I’d run out of coffee, thinking it’ll be fine and I can survive another day without it. It’s on those days that my heavy reliance on coffee really reveals itself—I feel unwell, my head throbs in pain, and I don’t feel like my usual self. It’s on these days that I learn to acknowledge the dependent relationship I’ve developed with coffee.

Coffee is a drink that hurts and heals.

I’ve accepted that too much of anything isn’t healthy, and it’s never good news when you can’t function right because of a cultivated (coffee) dependence. Coffee hurts when you can’t be fully yourself without it and its absence brings you a string of headaches.

But I’m also the type to focus on the positive. Coffee heals because it helps me stay sane. It takes me back to fond memories with my friends—it’s usually got me thinking how these times would be more fun if I wasn’t going through it alone.

It used to be my motivation to go to work too! I’d always tell myself: “It’s okay. When you get to the HQ, you can have iced coffee and enjoy breakfast with your friends before work starts.” You can say my love for coffee connects to the love I have for the relationships I cherish and take care of.

My friends and I always turned to it as a good excuse (and added motivation) to meet up whenever we wanted to catch up on life. I guess when you’re out on a coffee date with friends, it’s all about having a good time and you create wonderful moments together.

But since that’s discouraged for now, I’ve learned to be okay enjoying coffee by myself seven days a week. Just dissociating with the world for a few moments, and somehow trying to stay hopeful with every sip. I’ve noticed that when you’re alone with coffee, you have no choice but to sit in silence and let your mind wander. You allow yourself a few minutes to dream wide awake.

In my experience, those moments can take another turn and allow you more time to think about how easily things can go wrong. But when the caffeine takes effect, you can always snap yourself back to reality and find more reasons to look forward to your days. When the anxieties persist and you feel like you’ve been having a bad day… think again—maybe you just weren’t able to get your coffee on time.

I’m still learning more about my dependent relationship with coffee and I’m trying to work on getting it into a healthier form, one drink at a time.

✺ Photos by Sof Saldana
 ——

SOF SALDAÑA IS AN ETERNAL FANGIRL FOR A BETTER TOMORROW. SHE LOVES TO RECEIVE LETTERS OVER GIFTS, OBVIOUSLY PREFERS COFFEE THAN ANY OTHER DRINK, AND SHE ENJOYS TAKING PHOTOS WITH HER FILM CAM. SOF IS 1/2 OF TWO GIRLS UNDER THE SUN—A BLOG ON SELF CARE SHE CURRENTLY RUNS WITH HER BEST FRIEND, NOELLE. READ ABOUT HER MANILA COFFEE PICKS HERE.

The thing about being ‘perfect’

Is it wrong to be a perfectionist? That’s basically me asking myself after I spent about an hour trying to write the perfect headline for this essay.

I’ve been called a perfectionist plenty of times. Often as a joke made by my family and peers. It never really bothered me growing up, since I never saw it as a problem—what’s wrong with striving for excellence and wanting to do things well, right?

I actually saw it as something commendable, because it’s what made me become the passionate go-getter that I am today.

Looking back, I just always saw people who thought differently as “not up to standards” or plain “lazy.” But over the past two years, I realized that’s not necessarily the case—I mean, who gets to decide what the right standards are for our own lives anyway?

I’ve always considered myself as someone who’s very passionate by nature—may it be about work, social issues, my close relationships, and my hobbies.

I think it started when I was around 9 years old when I took interest in dancing. I did ballet, jazz, hip hop, cheer dancing, and a bit of folk dance from my early childhood up to my teens—and those who may have known me back then would remember that I took dance pretty seriously. I even dreamt of becoming a professional dancer for a time (Spoiler alert: It didn’t happen).

So how did it exactly turn me into a perfectionist? For those who may not know, there are plenty of elements about dance that have to do with precision; such as timing the movements with the right beat of the music, hitting the correct form of each step, making sure to be in sync with your co-dancers, standing on the right mark of your blocking… you get the picture.

All of these aspects I somehow carried with me outside of the dance floor, which up until recently, I saw as a good thing considering that it pushed me to always do my best and “leave everything on the dance floor” aka leaving nothing to feel regretful about.

What I didn’t realize was its effect on me, this process and mindset became an unhealthy development of perfectionism.

People often confuse perfectionism as something to do with “wanting to be perfect” or “needing to do something perfectly” all the time, but it actually goes deeper than that.

According to the Centre for Clinical Interventions’ module on Perfectionism, this is defined by three key areas:

1. The relentless drive for extremely high standards (for yourself and/or others);

2. Judging your self-worth based largely on your ability to strive for and achieve such unrelenting standards, and;

3. Experiencing negative consequences of setting such demanding standards, yet continuing to go for them despite the huge cost.

Now, to be fair, there are ways that perfectionism can be helpful to a person, but for us to completely understand being one, we also have to recognize that there are unhealthy and negative aspects to it as well.

I’ve personally experienced all three mentioned up there in various points in my life. However, I only realized now at the age of 26 that something needed to change. What triggered it was several experiences that made me see how my perfectionist behaviors were already hurting the people closest to me. 

At that point, I became frustrated because I thought that I was just being misunderstood—as a perfectionist, you never go into a situation with the intention of antagonizing people. In fact, you push yourself and others to do better because you want things to be the best they can be. 

But with that in mind, you have to ask yourself, is pushing yourself and those around you to achieve your self-imposed and extremely high standards worth it? Is it worth the pressure, the effort, the exhaustion, and the emotional roller-coaster that you go through in the process?

A friend of mine actually gave me good advice about a year ago that I still think about to this day. She told me: “Don’t be too hard on yourself when you don’t meet your own standards.”

This was probably one of the best reminders I got from anyone.

I realized that in order for me to let go of some of my perfectionist behaviors, I needed to forgive myself for feeling guilty whenever I missed the mark, and to stop finding someone or something to blame whenever things don’t go according to plan.

I’m grateful to have a great group of people behind me who showed me how to be more understanding and kinder to myself—which in turn, taught me how to be kinder and less judgmental of others.

To this day, I still consider myself a perfectionist, but now I wear that label with a bit more care, as I continue working on myself to become a kinder person, one day at a time.


✺ Words by Alex Castillo, art by Geli Luna inspired by Orla Gartland’s single “Overthinking”
 ——

ALEX CASTILLO IS A TWENTY-SOMETHING PROFESSIONAL STORYTELLER, CURRENTLY PRACTICING AS A STRATEGIC COMMUNICATOR IN PUBLIC RELATIONS AND ADVERTISING. SHE’S ALSO AN ENFP, A KDRAMA ADVOCATE, A LOVER OF ALL THINGS DISNEY, AND A HUGE FAN OF PIZZA AND SUSHI. WANT MORE OF HER REAL TALK? FOLLOW HER ON @IM_ALEXCASTILLO.

I quit my job in the middle of a pandemic — here’s what I tell myself to not feel guilty about it

There’s always a corner on the internet or a family member in your very own household proving toxic positivity exists, often seen in different versions and in varying degrees.

Lately, it’s been the same words on repeat: Be thankful you have work (even though you’re being paid less and required to be online more). Don’t count your hours (as if the work-life balance wasn’t already a problem pre-WFH setup).

By the time we’ve reached the fifth month of quarantine, I was exhausted. Work never seemed to end and there was this constant pressure to finish things on time despite the limited hours and resources.

Don’t get me wrong, I liked my job and the company I worked for. I was part of an incredible team that doubled as my trusty support system on days we have to pull off all-nighters and enjoy rare carefree weekends. I also know that I’ve been lucky to be employed by what others considered as their dream company.

But I just had this nagging feeling of wanting to escape and to disassociate from all my responsibilities. I did this by dedicating my time to a string of personal projects that allowed me to take on a different approach when it came to branding and writing. I found myself wishing these “projects” were what I was doing full time instead, and that became another turning point for 2020.

I was mostly distracted by the workload ahead of me, but when we were asked to take a month-long break, that’s when everything hit me all at once. I was nearing my work anniversary and that led me to question how far I’ve come. Did I improve in the past year? Does writing about beauty come more naturally to me now? Is anything I do even worth the time, sleepless nights, anxiety and effort? Do I feel good at the end of a work day?

The answers came frighteningly quick: No. 

The Impostor Syndrome has decided to make my head its home. I then knew I was lacking in the role I was trying to fulfill. As much as I constantly tried to work outside of my job description, the main and most crucial part of what I needed done just wasn’t getting to the standard that I felt the company required of me, and that I largely expected from myself.

After a month of reflection, I already knew the next step. After all, resigning from a job has become a calculated move for me now (practically because I know how freelancing can become a dead beat). I’ve already gotten used to all these career moves by now. It’s just one of those millennial things—good byes came with ease because rarely do we allow ourselves to stay rooted in one place for too long. I’m part of a generation whose main goal is to pack in more experiences, titles, projects into our profiles.

Okay, let me get more real. I am aware I can’t continue writing this essay without first recognizing the privilege that I hold—one that allows me to scale career options, treat community service as a side project while the world faces so much uncertainty. I don’t have to worry about having mouths to feed, except when cravings hit and I have to get something for everyone, just because solo orders when we’re all working from home is plain rude.

Part of my list of realizations was this: Focus your loyalty to the vision you have of yourself, even if the things you want change along the way. 

Constantly ask yourself where you plan to be headed was my second takeaway. I’m a person that often just goes with the flow, but I always take a pause to reevaluate where I’m at—how much have I grown from this role? Is the bulk of my work still something that excites me? Where am I lacking in my craft? What do I miss doing?

Being a copywriter for a year really allowed that distinction between what I personally liked from the things I enjoyed doing professionally. This is also the role where I felt my most creative, not only because the people are so visually-inspired and design-oriented, but because being in this company challenged my own standard and gave more insight on what creativity can actually be. It gave me that urge and longing to create things exclusively for myself, things I can freely call my own.

Copywriting also made me miss my own voice, saying things I want to without anyone policing if it’s weird or “brandish.”

Apart from that, I’ve also (finally) accepted that the things I always thought came natural to me are and can be qualified as strengths I can hone and play around with. Things like connecting pieces seamlessly, developing visual branding and producing content segments are always a fun challenge—but ones I like to formulate concepts and strategies for. These are new things to consider for my next job, I suppose.

There’s this graphic Sarita Walsh recently made which was inspired by stuff you can read off of vintage psychology books. It talks about the types of relationships—mainly dependent, independent and interdependent. Although it talked about couples, I saw its centralized message of dependency as a progression of my relationship with my career instead.

I want to go through all three. There was this phase of dependence, where I strapped my identity with what I did as a professional. This was the time I worked as an editorial assistant and lifestyle journalist straight from college, and the lines between what I liked doing and what I did for a living merged conveniently. 

That stint was followed by two years of freelancing, where I realized just how unhealthy it was to not know who you are or feel like whatever you do doesn’t amount to anything when you’re not working. I’ve now made it a constant exercise to ask myself who I am outside of my job, and while I don’t have a straight answer yet, I feel it’s now easier to tell the difference. I attach my self-worth less to my level of productivity.

And then there’s independence, a stage where I think I’m coming from. It was good that I had finally learned to easily detach myself from my work, without ever losing that excitement of being able to accomplish the most important things for the day or being proud of the projects and products we come out with after some dedicated months.

But writing for a brand took away the privilege of being able to use my own voice and getting credit for what I did. There were no bylines here that tend to give me a free card to be more subjective, to say things the way I want to. While I wanted to deliver with the best of my abilities (I’m often inclined to pursue things with the level of standard I have set myself), everyday was a reminder that it wasn’t about me, what I thought or what I liked—that I wasn’t acting on my own vision, but instead I have these mental notes of branding guidelines someone else had set.

The last type of relationship is where I want to be—interdependence. I want to be in the middle ground where the personal and professional are both meaningful experiences in their own right. Separately and together, these should be aspects of my life that give me a sense of purpose of equal weight and importance. One should be able to elevate the other. While work and life should still have that distinction, it has to have its own semblance of dependence, feeling incomplete without the other.

I know what you’ve just read has been a mix of unsolicited advice, and you’re probably wondering, is it best to stay put, to take a step forward, or to move at a slower pace? 

I don’t have the answer myself, and I’m finally done getting frustrated over this lack of decisiveness. But I do know one should always to take a moment so you can yourself ask where exactly do you want to be.


✺ Art by Sarita Walsh

How Instagram’s algorithm taught me how to bake

It all started with a harmless photo of a freshly baked sourdough loaf that a friend posted. He said it was “good with butter.” Cool, I thought. I tapped the photo to like it and then scrolled past. 

A few days later, a different friend posted a photo, this time, of their sourdough starter. Two photos were all I needed to ask: What even is a sourdough?

So, I did what would soon change my life: I searched for “sourdough” on Instagram.

I fed the algorithm.   

Just like that, my explore feed was immediately filled with photos and videos of sourdough starters, sourdough art, sourdough selfies—sourdough everything! The dog photos have turned into crumb shots. Yoga videos were now bread scoring slow motion shots. My Instagram ads were no longer coming from retail brands, they were now from online flour stores.

And what am I to do? The algorithm has obviously decided what my fate would be!

I took an old pasta sauce jar and tried to grow my own starter. Following tips from Instagram posts and comments, my starter was soon doubling, and then tripling in size. It took seven days of daily feeding. That was easy!

And since my starter was fairly easy to grow, I also expected my first sourdough loaf to be just as straightforward. I mean, I’ve already seen 251 Instagram videos of different sourdough shaping techniques! It can’t be that hard, right? Never mind that my only experience with bread was making banana bread.

To no one’s surprise, my first sourdough loaf was a disaster. It had zero rise and it was rock hard when it cooled that I couldn’t even slice it! It was painful having to throw my loaf in the trash knowing that I spent so much time on it but there was absolutely no way any living creature (that’s not a pest) could consume that.

I tried again. 

With zero expectations this time, I decided to reduce the dough’s hydration. I had no idea what “hydration” was at the time but apparently, according to one baking influencer, reducing the water content should make the dough more manageable.

It rose beautifully. It didn’t have an ear (the crunchy flap that forms and peels back while the loaf is baking) but it was edible. Like, avocado toast edible! Whaaaat. The best part? It also looked pretty enough for Instagram!

This euphoria (also known as temporary overconfidence) of getting something right was what got me to start an actual baking checklist. From croissants to sourdough cinnamon rolls, I wanted to try baking them all!

I learned how much of a pain in the ass making croissants are and how it’s probably better for me to just fork over a couple bucks at a local bakery instead of slaving over two days just for me to inhale it all in half a day. Meanwhile, even though making coffee buns involves 73 steps, the recipe is reliable, it doesn’t take forever and a day to make, and gives you these absolutely soft and buttery, fluffy buns. The best part? No bakery in my city sells them.

But if there’s one thing I’m in a love-hate relationship with, it’s got to be sourdough. Remember when I got it right the second time? I thought that meant I’ve “mastered” it. And what a revelation it has been. Many weekends later, I’m still here trying to figure out why my loaf didn’t rise as much, why my scoring failed, or why it just looked like a sad, burnt piece of round blob. 

For reasons I’m still trying to understand, despite its never ending set of challenges, I keep wanting to make sourdough loaves. At this point, I don’t know if it’s pride or just genuine joy from making them. Either way it’s become one of my favorite things to make. Maybe baking is making me crazy but there’s something about the long process of preparing your dough and then getting that sweet reward of a beautiful (or horrifying) loaf at the end of all of it.

But anyway, my plan was to take it slow and bake one new thing each weekend. But then I started seeing something become extremely popular in Manila… No, not the face shields—the ube cheese pandesal trend happened.

Variations of the ube pandesal were on my feed every single day: ube cheese pandesal, ube leche flan pandesal, ube macapuno pandesal. What can you not put inside an ube pandesal? I couldn’t just sit and look at them!

While I was lucky enough to find a local ube jam seller in North Carolina, it turns out finding ube jam was the least of my ube pandesal problems. It still took me three long weekends of failure after failure before I ended up with a presentable ube pandesal.

Once I had my first successful ube pandesal though, I decided a new challenge was in order. Why not make my life 10 times harder and send these baked goods to friends? Receiving baked goods in the mail sounded like a much needed break from this terrible year.

That was almost eight weeks ago.

I have since sent a variety of pastries and bread to friends all over the US. And before you think this is a baking success story, please know that to this day, if there’s one thing I’m consistent at doing, it’s having baking fails every single weekend. 

Thanks to Instagram, I’ve been on this uncontrollable cycle of baking for the last four months. So if you’ll excuse me... I still have to refresh my feed to check for new baking inspo I can try and “nail.”


✺ Words and photos by Peanut Dela Cruz ——

AN ABSOLUTE N00B AT BAKING, PEANUT HAD ZERO EXPERIENCE MAKING ANYTHING THAT INVOLVED THE OVEN SIX MONTHS AGO. THESE DAYS, THANKS TO THIS QUARANTINE LIFE, YOU CAN FIND HER ON INSTAGRAM PLAYING YET ANOTHER WEEKEND GAME OF: DID I BOTCH THIS BREAD OR NOT? CATCH HER BAKING ADVENTURES ON @SKUSHNO!

Celebrating a birthday amidst a pandemic

Recently, I’ve been finding myself reliving a high school memory fondly. In one of my English classes, part of our impromptu speeches was the question: “If you could stay one age forever, what would it be?”

I believe I answered 25. The 15-year-old me assumed I would have gained proper independence, wisdom, and maturity by then. Big kudos to my younger self for her optimism and confidence.

My actual 25th birthday marked the official start of my efforts to move to Australia. It was the last birthday I spent with my mom and little brother in person, as they both flew to Brisbane a week after to join my dad. Before the year ended, I was lucky enough to get a job with a company that would sponsor my move to Sydney. I then started the painfully long process of securing a visa and spent more bittersweet moments with my friends and relatives. Then, finally, moved to a new country two months into 2019.

For my 26th birthday, I decided to go snowboarding. It’s an activity thrilling enough to distract me from the fact that I was away from all my favorite people. I booked my entire weekend off to hit the slopes at Snowy Mountains. It was a fun weekend, full of new experiences. At that point, I honestly thought of making snowboarding a hobby and going more frequently throughout the next winter. I finally felt like I was adjusting to the idea that Australia was my new home.

Then 2020 happened. It was nothing but a whirlwind of events. The pandemic and government restrictions threw the thought of celebrating my birthday in the snow and all other travel plans I had queued in the trash. Going to a PREP concert with friends? Cancelled. Touring New Zealand for all their Lord Of The Rings attractions? Cancelled.

I was ready to settle for my birthday’s plan B, which meant flying to Brisbane to visit my family. I still had to postpone my trip due to the second outbreak spreading from Melbourne. Long-term goal planning has never been my forte and I guess by the way things are progressing, it never will be.

It’s already the day before my birthday and I still haven’t decided what to do. I had half a mind to skip celebrations this year altogether and write it off as another 2020 casualty. Personally, I was happy to just visit my favorite, and usual tourist choice, Bondi Beach. Find a spot on the sand—properly distanced from other people—and watch the sunset, preferably with a beer in hand.

I suddenly found myself recalling what I missed from the pre-lockdown period and what I enjoyed doing since and planned my weekend according to that. I set out for a quick trip to Bondi Beach on the morning of August 22nd, attempting to walk 8 kilometers to my newly found favorite spot to chill: The Gap. I managed to walk almost halfway there until my knees resisted any further movements. I put my mask on again and felt for my hand sanitizer in my bag in preparation for taking the bus that would take me to my destination.

Reaching home that day, I realized as I came out of months in lockdown that I miss some social interactions. I definitely did not want to be seen as irresponsible nor likened to Debold Sinas, the Philippine National Police Chief officer who had a big birthday blowout while the entire country was in lockdown.

So I made the government-required reservation for the recommended number of people at a bar with arcades (considering those that don’t drink) in a less busy area of another favorite suburb, Newtown. Before the night ended, I was genuinely surprised by the good amount of people that RSVP-ed “yes” and finally, after a while, looked forward to the simple celebrations we had ahead of us. 

That same night, we got to celebrate three birthdays and do one sendoff, because we have to make the most out of our outdoor ventures and get-togethers as much as we can now.

On the 23rd, I woke up to warm messages and greetings from loved ones—aka the best way to start the day. Then I was surprised by friends who decided to take me to Luna Park, a small yet iconic amusement park in northern Sydney. Thinking of the number of people falling in line and forgetting about social distancing had be worrying the second we stepped into the park grounds.

Luckily, the staff was attentive and made sure that rules were followed while still being their usual friendly, approachable selves. The short, two-and-a-half hour experience was literally a roller coaster of emotions—I was ecstatic to be going on rides again, afraid for my life when the rides didn’t seem safe enough (or when people came into close proximity) and was immediately relieved to finally be on flat ground again where I can social distance. I got disappointed when I failed to win a prize after several chances at booths, and really thankful for all the staff members cleaning each ride and attraction after every wave of people coming in.

Looking back, I only have fond memories of amusement parks. Like the time I welcomed my teenage years by taking one family member with me at a time to ride Enchanted Kingdom’s Space Shuttle at least five times, back-to-back. I hope my love for amusement parks is something I never outgrow.

To cap off my birthday, I had all my drinks paid for by other people—a big contrast to the Filipino tradition of the celebrant cashing out and treating everyone else. What touched me most was the bar owner, giving me a glass on the house for taking 10 paying people into his place. This is not an unusual feat but considering how slow the business became since the pandemic, he was thankful for a good night. I absolutely long for the days Enmore theater would hold concerts again and Newtown would be back to its vibrant self, bustling with live music scenes, full bars, and restaurants at every corner.

It was a tiring weekend. I don’t remember the last time I was out for two consecutive days, visiting new places and meeting people. I don’t think I will be doing this again in the near future since cases are still popping up from community transmission. I recognize the majority’s effort of considering people’s safety but I personally feel this is something we should learn as a whole, as our safety depends on how considerate we are of each other. 

If I were to meet my 15-year-old self, I would tell her that she was right to believe 25 was a good age to be immortalized in, even if each year after that is just as worth celebrating as the last.

✺ Photos by Janice Concepcion

Taking time to slow down and check in on myself

I was watching one of Sal Biadora’s videos a few weeks ago, and in it he talked about how we’re often so focused on external experiences, events, ideas, opinions that we forget to look within. We rarely check in with ourselves and have many reasons and excuses as to why that is—we’re too busy, we’re perfectly fine so we don’t need to, we don’t know how to. Often we’re just afraid to look inside ourselves because we’re scared of the questions and answers we might find. I’ve spent the last few months doing just this— self-reflecting, re-evaluating, and realigning. 

I spent this summer in my parents’ home in Chicago. What was supposed to be a two-week visit turned into more than a month-long stay. This six-week visit to my hometown turned out to be one of the most life changing trips I’ve ever had. I developed a more meaningful relationship with my parents, got to hangout with my brother, made new friends, and got a dream job. 

It was about three weeks into my trip that I decided to take a mental break from everything in my life: work, social media, personal projects. I was feeling slightly burnt out from life in general and I felt like I needed to hit pause. I messaged a few friends to let them know that I wouldn’t be online and will be unavailable for a few days. I committed to not doing anything work-related, not checking social media, and overall just limiting any screen-based entertainment and activities during this period. 

On the first day, I woke up around 8 in the morning, filled in my Five-Minute Journal, stretched for 20 minutes, made my usual iced coffee, and sat in my backyard listening to music and sipping my drink. After that, my brother and I decided to bake macarons which my stepdad had been requesting since I arrived at home.

I copied a recipe for chocolate macarons onto a piece of paper. Some might say this was a waste of paper or I could’ve just used my phone to get the recipe, but again, I wanted to avoid looking at my phone as much as possible. Also it was a chance to use my handwriting which I think many of us don’t do anymore since we type everything these days. I remember spending literally an hour trying to sift almond flour with a tiny hand sieve—the only sifting tool I could find at home. Anyone who knows me well enough is aware that I’m not the most patient person, but I used that hour to clear out any mental clutter, and ultimately practice my patience.

I spent the rest of the days enjoying my morning coffee outside on the grass, listening to music, playing with tarot cards, sketching, baking, hanging out with my neighbors and playing and babysitting my brother and his friend Kennedy (I still have multiple bruises on my legs from being ganged up on by the kids during sword fighting). 

During the evenings, I spent time reflecting on the day and how I felt. My goal for this mental break was also to reflect on my life, and make any redirections that I needed to make. I asked myself the hard questions I’d been avoiding, made difficult decisions that I know will help me in the long run, and made new plans for my life. I was never one to “check in with myself” in the past. I’m so grateful that I did though because I’ve learned and realized so much about who I am and what I truly want out of life—I want to be 100 percent myself, I wanna be in a career path that I’m passionate about where I’m able to use my talents, I wanna help and make an impact on people’s lives somehow, and I wanna be completely in love with my life and do everything at 100 percent.

Since taking this time to introspect, I’ve felt free, happy, peaceful, and like I’m on the right path. Also, the week after my little break, I received a job offer from a company I’ve wanted to work with since the beginning of the year. 

The world has slowed down, and we’ve all been spending more time inside, on our own, alone with our thoughts and feelings. I’ve been speaking to so many friends who feel burnt out with their jobs, unsure of their romantic relationships, or generally just unsatisfied and uncertain of what to do next in life. I’ve advised them all the same thing—take a few days to reflect. How are you, really? Are you where you want to be in life? If not, where or what do you want to be doing instead? Do you feel like you’re on the right path? Are you truly happy?

This sounds extremely cheesy but I wanna share the light and clarity I’ve found through self-reflection and slowing down. ✺ Art by Christine Enriquez

Memories made at the Chocolate Kiss Cafe make me feel like I’m in a romcom montage

When I think about my undergrad years in the University of the Philippines, my mind doesn’t drift to the typical everyday campus memories composed of org life, jeepney rides, food trips, and the beautiful scenery.

College life wasn’t boring at all. But if you ask me the highlight of the six years I spent in university, it had to be her—the classes I shared with her, the classes I cut with her, the in-between moments that we just spent together.

How can it not be the highlight? All those six years in college make the most of our now 9-year relationship. We’ve spent over a third of our lives being together. When I think of UP, I think of her. When I think of us, I always go back to the in-betweens spent at The Chocolate Kiss Cafe.

In defense of small talk

An introvert’s unpopular opinion: Small talk is (and in a lot of ways) essential and enjoyable

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Small talk is a test of character.

For most people out there, it is considered a grueling social interaction that easily activates one’s fight-or-flight instinct. Its formulaic conversation origins have been tagged as unimportant discussions and demeaning to what others consider as displays of intellectual depth.

Then there are those who brand themselves as intellectuals, continuously mumbling about preferring to weigh in more on their acquired knowledge of philosophy, politics, or whatever they can think of as an intimidating subject (or worse, any topic they believe is cool just because it’s off the mainstream).

We know these types of people, and, at some point we fell under this category too.