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On Moving Away From Home
Banderitas hung and flapped from electrical wires at the poblacion – or in Santa Maria speak, bayan - fresh from this year's fiesta. Sunday is specially hectic in this part of Bulacan, with families and couples taking advantage of thrifty Sunday-exclusive sidewalk goods. “Suki!”, the vendors would beckon as if every face was familiar, waving colorful merchandise bared from plastic wrappers.
The air in our subdivision, located 30 minutes to an hour from bayan, is not quite as frenzied. Locals here live in 45-square meter rowhouse-style homes attached wall to wall and painted in the same colors that make them indistinguishable from one another. Our neighborhood spans three subdivisions, ours being the farthest from the main road.
Days prove to be quiet and uneventful, punctuated by the barking of dogs when a courier or water delivery man stops by. Most of the men work in offices in Manila on weekdays, while the women tend to the children, not to be seen except when they are bathing their babies in the golden rays of the early morning sun or at sundown when they would congregate for small talk.
There are only a couple of stores within a three-kilometer radius that are open until 1 am. The rest close at 9 to 10 pm. If you required food in the wee hours, you'd have to take a P30 tricycle ride to the nearest 7-11. There were times we paid P400 to make an emergency trip to bayan that should cost P80 at most. Tricycles are also rare after 9 pm. Buses to Manila stop serving the route at 10 pm.
Waltermart and Mi, both compact, two story, and located eight kilometers away, are the only “malls” we have, and they have limited selections, mostly local. If I need specialty items like a camera battery, reef-friendly sunscreen, heat pads – once, even a can of blueberries – I'd have to travel all the way to Marilao, Pampanga, or Quezon City to get them. When visiting, my sister often complains that there's no food stall here within walking distance post-normal store hours. She's wrong. There is nothing here within walking distance - at least by Manileña standards.
Everything where Lia and I live is the opposite of where I grew up in Malate. It's inconvenient, dead-silent, and distinctly provincial – characteristics that I once resented. Not the neighborhood necessarily, but the entire decision of moving away from familiarity. From somewhere I didn't want to leave at the onset.
***
A dark, middle-aged hawker smiled at me, flashing jewelry made from old coins. “Suki, singkwenta lang,” he coaxed, the few short strands on his scalp swaying back and forth in the wind. His demeanor reminded me of curious mothers in my hometown in Manila, women who saw me from my first wails until I left at 25 for a friend's house in Makati, clothes haphazardly stuffed in boxes and tote bags.
In hometowns, conversations with neighbors, especially the older ones, turn into somewhat of a book reading experience, only backwards, with them leafing through each phase of your life.
“Your mother said you were...”
“You know when you were five...”
“You seem to be putting on weight. You were skinny before.”
“I remember when you were just 10...”
“You and that girl, whatshername, were bestfriends, weren't you?”
My mother considered herself an "open book" and that extended to the offspring she bore. She routinely shared insider information, even those that we, children, weren't comfortable discussing with neighbors.
In Malate, everybody knew everyone. They could dissect your history. Drive a scalpel into scar tissue and reopen wounds again and again.
Every hello extended to 30 minutes. If you're lucky they would, out of politeness, take out the ugly parts. But some also liked to pick on your wounds to flaunt a false sense of concern. I hurried these talks, so I can retreat to my room, smoke cigarettes, and play Tori Amos' From The Choirgirl Hotel on loop. The days bobbed swiftly when I was alone. They were long and uneasy when I was outside.
Ironically, when I was offered marriage, I felt conflicted about taking my boxes permanently outside of the city. The first few years were quite difficult. I knew nothing about Bulacan, from roads to friendly acquaintances, to local slang. At times, doubt would peek into my door, my mind wandering to a wooden bungalow on the beach, a log cabin in a dense forest, a small hut in a yolk-colored meadow. Anywhere but here.
But 10 years on, here I am, still a resident of Santa Maria. Somewhere between defiance and getting the hang of it, living here became the preferred normal. Movement became crucial to stillness. If I wanted to grow and see wider and further into the horizon, I have to plant my feet somewhere else and live life on my terms.
The time I spent on my own, away from Malate, added a layer of bravado. Out here, nobody here knows about me, about my life more than I allow them to. I enjoy as much peace as I want inside the house, typing away and making new memories with Lia. We leave for bike rides and hikes and return without unwarranted questions hounding us. We carve our own rules according to what fits our dynamics. There's infinite space for everything: work, silence, thoughts, new possibilities, walks, the sight of Rizal's mountains, a bright full moon without annoying wires obstructing its perfect shape.
Moving away from home is like writing a book. You leaf through new pages forwards, not backwards, placing new characters inside them and assigning whether they play minor or major parts. You leave the old wounds in previous pages where they belong and create space for new ones - crying, loving, laughing, and drinking in lessons that fortify your spirit. You start afresh and forge a new past; a future away from the only life you've known. It's scary. But also beautiful. Empowering. Liberating.
Moving out of Manila may be impractical, but goddamn, did it give new meaning to my life. In movement, I learned that familiarity is precious, but the growing that occurs after goodbyes is priceless.
The air in our subdivision, located 30 minutes to an hour from bayan, is not quite as frenzied. Locals here live in 45-square meter rowhouse-style homes attached wall to wall and painted in the same colors that make them indistinguishable from one another. Our neighborhood spans three subdivisions, ours being the farthest from the main road.
Days prove to be quiet and uneventful, punctuated by the barking of dogs when a courier or water delivery man stops by. Most of the men work in offices in Manila on weekdays, while the women tend to the children, not to be seen except when they are bathing their babies in the golden rays of the early morning sun or at sundown when they would congregate for small talk.
There are only a couple of stores within a three-kilometer radius that are open until 1 am. The rest close at 9 to 10 pm. If you required food in the wee hours, you'd have to take a P30 tricycle ride to the nearest 7-11. There were times we paid P400 to make an emergency trip to bayan that should cost P80 at most. Tricycles are also rare after 9 pm. Buses to Manila stop serving the route at 10 pm.
Waltermart and Mi, both compact, two story, and located eight kilometers away, are the only “malls” we have, and they have limited selections, mostly local. If I need specialty items like a camera battery, reef-friendly sunscreen, heat pads – once, even a can of blueberries – I'd have to travel all the way to Marilao, Pampanga, or Quezon City to get them. When visiting, my sister often complains that there's no food stall here within walking distance post-normal store hours. She's wrong. There is nothing here within walking distance - at least by Manileña standards.
Everything where Lia and I live is the opposite of where I grew up in Malate. It's inconvenient, dead-silent, and distinctly provincial – characteristics that I once resented. Not the neighborhood necessarily, but the entire decision of moving away from familiarity. From somewhere I didn't want to leave at the onset.
***
A dark, middle-aged hawker smiled at me, flashing jewelry made from old coins. “Suki, singkwenta lang,” he coaxed, the few short strands on his scalp swaying back and forth in the wind. His demeanor reminded me of curious mothers in my hometown in Manila, women who saw me from my first wails until I left at 25 for a friend's house in Makati, clothes haphazardly stuffed in boxes and tote bags.
In hometowns, conversations with neighbors, especially the older ones, turn into somewhat of a book reading experience, only backwards, with them leafing through each phase of your life.
“Your mother said you were...”
“You know when you were five...”
“You seem to be putting on weight. You were skinny before.”
“I remember when you were just 10...”
“You and that girl, whatshername, were bestfriends, weren't you?”
My mother considered herself an "open book" and that extended to the offspring she bore. She routinely shared insider information, even those that we, children, weren't comfortable discussing with neighbors.
In Malate, everybody knew everyone. They could dissect your history. Drive a scalpel into scar tissue and reopen wounds again and again.
Every hello extended to 30 minutes. If you're lucky they would, out of politeness, take out the ugly parts. But some also liked to pick on your wounds to flaunt a false sense of concern. I hurried these talks, so I can retreat to my room, smoke cigarettes, and play Tori Amos' From The Choirgirl Hotel on loop. The days bobbed swiftly when I was alone. They were long and uneasy when I was outside.
Ironically, when I was offered marriage, I felt conflicted about taking my boxes permanently outside of the city. The first few years were quite difficult. I knew nothing about Bulacan, from roads to friendly acquaintances, to local slang. At times, doubt would peek into my door, my mind wandering to a wooden bungalow on the beach, a log cabin in a dense forest, a small hut in a yolk-colored meadow. Anywhere but here.
But 10 years on, here I am, still a resident of Santa Maria. Somewhere between defiance and getting the hang of it, living here became the preferred normal. Movement became crucial to stillness. If I wanted to grow and see wider and further into the horizon, I have to plant my feet somewhere else and live life on my terms.
The time I spent on my own, away from Malate, added a layer of bravado. Out here, nobody here knows about me, about my life more than I allow them to. I enjoy as much peace as I want inside the house, typing away and making new memories with Lia. We leave for bike rides and hikes and return without unwarranted questions hounding us. We carve our own rules according to what fits our dynamics. There's infinite space for everything: work, silence, thoughts, new possibilities, walks, the sight of Rizal's mountains, a bright full moon without annoying wires obstructing its perfect shape.
Moving away from home is like writing a book. You leaf through new pages forwards, not backwards, placing new characters inside them and assigning whether they play minor or major parts. You leave the old wounds in previous pages where they belong and create space for new ones - crying, loving, laughing, and drinking in lessons that fortify your spirit. You start afresh and forge a new past; a future away from the only life you've known. It's scary. But also beautiful. Empowering. Liberating.
Moving out of Manila may be impractical, but goddamn, did it give new meaning to my life. In movement, I learned that familiarity is precious, but the growing that occurs after goodbyes is priceless.
Letter #19: I was not really okay
Hello, Lia.
We promised each other we would
always tell the truth, so I thought I’d share with you something I’ve kept for
months from everyone but four people in the world: I was not really okay
all this time.
I laughed and I was highly functional, but the bearings have been far from aligned for quite some time. My mind is fatigued, my heart gaping. I have this
nasty, dull feeling that's been scraping away the joy and light inside me. It’s called “the ugly
side effect of attempting to achieve long-lasting stability”.
Stability thrives on monotony and consistency. It’s boring, drab, and dominated by tedious work – at least at the onset. And for the longest time, I purposely refrained from taking on any endeavor that required such rigorous structure and restriction in freedom or movement. You see, I don't do well in that kind of environment.
Stability thrives on monotony and consistency. It’s boring, drab, and dominated by tedious work – at least at the onset. And for the longest time, I purposely refrained from taking on any endeavor that required such rigorous structure and restriction in freedom or movement. You see, I don't do well in that kind of environment.
I have not had the time to deal with and process this feeling properly. By the
end of 2019, while everyone was cozy at home or elsewhere - reminiscing the
year, curating their best trips, and gathering thoughts for a final year-end
essay - I was in front of my laptop, madly working like I have every day for the past four months.
And last Christmas? Same. While you were at your lolo and
lola’s, I worked until 4 am on the 26th. Between Christmas and New Year, I
would wake up at ungodly hours to cater to urgent requests, sometimes finishing and going to bed at 7 am. Work ranged from 18 to 21 hours daily – weekends included. In my eagerness to prevent
the prospect of losing all work again – as what happened in the first half of
2019 – and secure a more promising life for you, I accepted more work than I
can handle. I never said no or set boundaries.
I set a goal for December. I called it #RoadToSixFigures.
And we did it, Lia. We made it happen. Yet often I found myself asking, “At
what expense?”
It’s been so long since I've had straight days of sleeping
a good five hours that each one was basically the same: a ghost. Days arrived
and fleeted unnoticed. I wake up not knowing what day it is – or the point of
waking up anymore. Deadlines occupy about 90 percent of my day. I haven’t done
any form of creative writing for quite some time that our blog, our home online, may
even be considered dead now. Travel, along with good rest and conversations with others, became few and far
in between.
Sleep became an unattainable obsession. I know it sounds
silly to be this dramatic about sleep, but you gotta believe it: Happiness is
also directly proportional to quality sleep.
Like clockwork, flu or cough and colds pester me every two
weeks. I
am often anxious and prone to self-doubt. Whenever I receive a Facebook message or an SMS, my chest would pound. My first thought would always be, “What did I f*ck up again? How many hours of sleep will I have to finish it?” There have been quite a number of times I was close to breaking down. The
last time I was this constantly agitated and stressed was when I worked in
a call center. That was in 2006.
I pictured stability to be quite different from what we have now. Now I am too occupied with work to feel and experience things. Worse, I am too occupied to have time for you. There have been a couple of times – and I am not proud of this – that I served you dinner at 10 pm, so I can appease clients. Once you told me, “Sana di ka na lang naging editor. Kasi dati naglalaro at nagwa-walk tayo ‘ pag hapon. Ngayon palagi ka na lang busy.” It left a f*cking gash because I do all this hustling for you and your future, and you end up being a casualty.
As it is, it seems what I do is not enough. I am
not enough. I don’t mean just work.
I mean all relationships and friendships that I tried to fit in my life, loving with all my
best intentions, only to have the loving and my intentions backfire.
***
After months of being cooped up at home, you asked me to pinkie swear that we'll spend time off before school resumes. So, yesterday we hiked a couple of spots in DRT and San Miguel,
then waited until sundown in your favorite river. As we watched the current create beautiful, tiny waves and the yellows dimmed to violets, the bearings
were silently realigning themselves. My heart was still and at peace. To be in
the water and in the mountains with you is to be alive once again.
A lot of times, mothers are given all the credit for their hard work. What is oft-unseen are the little people inspiring and
pushing them to create the best work possible. If you’ve got a kid, you have an
army. I am grateful to have an army like you, Lia.
Being your usual appreciative self, on the bus home you said, “Mama, thank you for all that you do for me.”
"Welcome," I replied. In retrospect, I should be the one thanking you. Despite all that I lack and all of my motherly
inadequacies, you forgive and love me all the same. You inspire me to create and pursue everything with my breath, spirit, and thoughts.
Kahlil Gibran wrote, “Work is love made visible”. Although
my ambition has taken me far from being the best version of myself, it led me to knowing
the extent of what I can do for love. I
don’t regret the sleeplessness nights, tears, anxiety, and excessive labor
because I tread them in the service of dreams and motherhood. In the
service of you.
Thank you for reminding me that it's a privilege to be responsible for another human being and that to do a better job at it, one has to take care of herself too. Thank
you for being the ledge that stands between me and giving up. Thank you for
being the machinery that keeps all bearings running and aligned.
I hope and will try to
become a more balanced mother this year, so I can show you - as you’ve shown me
- that the sun is not some lofty celestial body we reach for, but one that
shines beside us in our darkest days.
With all my love this year and all years moving forward,
Mama
Getting Cultural in Yogyakarta
Words and images by Nikki Ferriols
On planning a visit to Indonesia, the first destination that comes to mind is always Bali. Its beaches and coastal town vibe mixed with the island's distinct history has attracted tourists around the globe for decades. But Bali is just one in Indonesia's 17,000+ islands. Dig a little deeper into the country's attractions and you might just surprise yourself.
One city that seems to be creeping up the radar among visitors is the city of Yogyakarta. Yogyakarta, sometimes referred to as Jogja (also, how it is pronounced), is the last monarch-ruled city in Indonesia. It is located on the island of Java and is accessible via flights from either Jakarta or Bali. Dubbed as the cultural hub of Java, the city is a blend of youthful modern energy that brings traditional culture to the forefront.
Sometimes deemed as a gateway to other sites around the Javanese island, the city itself has much to offer. Take a trip back in time and visit historical monuments and delve deeper into their culture by participating in decades old activities.
Taman Sari
Learn more about Indonesian monarchy by making your way to Taman Sari Water Castle. A short distance from the Kraton or Royal Palace, the monument functioned as a defense fortress, religious site, and resting place when it was first built in the 17th century. Today, some of the castle's buildings have either been demolished or used as housing by locals, but some remain in tact and stand as monuments of Indonesia's royal history. Around and inside the compound, a town called Cyber Village can be explored. Known for their colorfully painted houses, the town is an Instagram hit where you just have to snap a photo or two.
A walk through the pools, village, and down a staircase will lead you to Sumur Gumuling, mosque used for Muslim cleansing rituals years ago. Its architecture is composed of five staircases to symbolize the five pilars of Islam: profession of faith, praying fives time a day daily, alms giving, fasting during Ramadan, and the pilgrimage to Mecca.
Taman Sari Water Castle, Wisata Taman Sari Jalan Tamanan, Patehan, Kecamatan Kraton, Kota Yogyakarta, Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta 55133, Indonesia
Borobudur
Connect with your spirituality by visiting Borobudur Temple. Built in the 9th century, the monument is considered the largest Buddhist temple in the world, consisting of nine stacked platforms and topped by a central dome. The structure is decorated with 504 Buddha statues and 2,672 bas relief panels that depict the teachings of Buddhism. Across the storeys of Borobudur are 72 stupas and one mother stupa at the very top. Its role in history and Buddhism is widely revered, considered as a shrine to learn more about the religion and a place of pilgrimage.
Situated right outside of Yogyakarta in the town of Magelang, Borobudur Temple can be reached either by bus or car. It only takes around 1-2 hours to get there. If you’d much rather spend more time in town, there are a few hotels and homestays around the area.
For a more enlightening experience, book a sunrise or sunset tour. Climb the 100 steps to the top and take in the view of the mountains as the sky's colors gradually change. Before heading back down, don't forget to circle the mother stupa clockwise three times. In Buddhist belief, if you do this, your wishes will be granted.
Borobudur Temple Compound, Jl. Badrawati, Kw. Candi Borobudur, Borobudur, Kec. Borobudur, Magelang, Jawa Tengah, Indonesia
Batik Making
The Javanese batik is a decorated piece of cloth made using the processes of waxing and dying and is revered as a national treasure in Indonesia. There are three types of batik, differentiated by the process in which they are made: printing, stamping, and handwritten. The handwritten batik is regarded as the most meticulous, time consuming, and expensive of all.
After a design is placed on the fabric, melted wax is drawn over the design. Once dry, a batik undergoes several stages of dying and/or painting until it becomes a colorful piece of work. These steps may be repeated several times and, depending on the design, can even take months to finish.
Visit Batik Plentong to see firsthand how this artwork is made. Once you've learned the basics, try your hand at making your own handwritten batik piece to bring back home.
Batik Plentong, Tirtodipuran St No.48, Mantrijeron, Yogyakarta City, Special Region of Yogyakarta 55143, Indonesia
Silversmithing Workshop
Years ago, the town of Kotagede established itself as the home of Yogyakarta's silversmiths. Until today, the neighborhood is speckled with silver craft stores. Take time to visit at least one to learn more about their products.
At HS Silver, one can get a firsthand experience as to how their silver pieces are made. Take a quick tour around their workshop, meet the silversmiths, and witness how their most famous product, filigree jewellery, is crafted. In this method, wire is bent and coiled to produce elaborately designed artworks that are nothing short of elegant.
After the tour, participate in a workshop and you can get to take home your very own filigree piece. It might take a while to complete, but it will all be worth it.
HS Silver, Jl. Mondorakan No.1, Prenggan, Kec. Kotagede, Kota Yogyakarta, Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta 55172, Indonesia
Unwind at an Angkringan
As the sun sets, you'll notice mats being set up outside stalls along the sidewalks. These are roadside establishments known as angkringans, ready to welcome customers. An angkringan is essentially a cart or stall that sells food and drinks and exchanges tables and chairs for mats.
Munch on satay (grilled meat) aplenty and wash it all down with a plethora of Indonesian beverages. Don't miss a chance to drink Kopi Joss, a Jogja classic of black coffee dunked with a burning piece of coal. Watch the coffee sizzle and listen to that 'ssss' sound, which is said to be the onomatopoeia that gave the drink's name. The coal adds a dark, smokey taste and is believed by locals to neutralize the coffee's acidity. Angkringans are found all over Yogyakarta and is enjoyed by everyone in the city. So kick back, relax, and do as the locals do.
Shop at Malioboro
Before heading home, don't forget to pass by Malioboro Street so you can bring home pieces of Yogyakarta with you. The major shopping street of the city, the area is populated with stalls that sell batik, clothing, leather goods, food, and many more. If you kmp
9 Awesome Things to Do in Coron
 |
| Image by jahcordova |
Most Filipinos and tourists light up at the mention of
Coron. After all, this limestone-studded island is the most beautiful place in the
Philippines, and boasts of seven lakes. It is home to some of the loveliest
white sand beaches in the world with clear blue waters.
You are making a big mistake if you still haven’t placed
Coron in your bucket list. It looks like a smaller and quieter version of El
Nido. This sleepy fishing town is fast becoming a tourist magnet, and most
travelers prefer to book
Jetstar air tickets for their flights to Coron.
Coron and its natural wonders simply defy logic and force
you to question if you are truly in paradise or if it;s a dream. Get ready
for nonstop adventures that take you to hidden lagoons, underwater mountains,
and otherworldly reefs! So, go ahead and book cheapest flights to Coron and plan a wonderful trip to paradise.
Here are some to the top things to do and enjoy while in
Coron.
- Admire sunset at Lualhati Park. Make your way to Lualhati Park for an amazing sunset experience. Do not miss this chance as it is indeed one of the most exhilarating experiences you can have in Coron. Do not forget to bring your camera!
- Enjoy Coron Bay. Coron Bay is made of a breathtaking mix of tall limestone cliffs. It boasts multiple shipwrecks and natural reefs. This is what makes it a perfect spot for divers and snorkelers. Just locate the best spots for diving and swimming to enjoy the bay.
- Visit Kingfisher Park for natural life. Get ready to investigate tons of natural life, and countless species of birds in the mangroves of Kingfisher. The flora and fauna species found here are endemic to Palawan, which means you can only see them here. Take a local tour guide with you to get a closer look at the wildlife.
- Explore Twin Lagoon. Do not miss the opportunity to see Twin Lagoon during your island hopping tours. You are sure to get blown away by the towering cliffs surroundingyou and the abundance of fish below. You can swim in the two lagoons during low tide.
- Dive in Barracuda Lake. Get a chance to see mysterious underwater rock formations by diving in the famous Barracuda Lake. This is indeed an incredible dive spot where you can dive deep down to see those underwater rocks.
- Soak in Maquinit Hotspring. Maquinit Hotspring is one of the few saltwater hot springs in the world. Sitting in those natural hot waters amid a mangrove forest is a soothing experience. As the pools produce therapeutic waters, the experience leaves you feeling relaxed.
- Wreck diving in Sangat and Lusong. Wreck diving destinations are very popular in Palawan. In Sangat and Lusong Islands, you can spot submarine chasers and a number of ships and gunboats that sank during World War II. As those ships are well-scattered, you get a different experience every time you dive in a different spot.
- Experience Coral Garden. Dive in Coral Garden at depths of 40 meters or more.What Coral Garden offers you is a crystal-clear dive and the chance to see the protected reefs. It is home to rich biodiversity. Note that this activity is meant only for the experienced divers, but for non-divers, you can snorkel and still have a good glimpse of the corals.
- Stay in Sanctuaria Treehouse – If you want a unique experience in Coron, why not stay in a treehouse? Well, all you need to do is head towards the Sanctuaria Treehouse and away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Enjoy the sweeping view over the mangroves, and spend some laid-back time in your treehouse.
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