An Update: 10/9

Back during my interview days (which wasn’t that long ago), I had always boasted about my impeccable skill of committing to something consistently. But when it comes to my own personal goals, nothing really seems to stick.

I like to make lists. It helps me see the big picture of my work, yet at the same time gives me the opportunity to tackle it piece by piece. This technique worked very well in school, but not as much on my own. The thing is, I find myself constantly treading the line between giving myself an exact structure of what I want to do, yet leaving enough space so I don’t feel boxed in. I like to make schedules, but I also don’t like to be told exactly what to do (in this case, it’s me that’s bossing me around).

Maybe this kind of explains why I didn’t follow my previous spiel about consistent posting. I made myself a schedule, and stubbornly disobeyed it. I know. It’s a mess.

So. As a way of a comeback, I would like to present a list of updates of what has been happening the past month.

1. I got a job. This explains a lot, maybe. But also, it’s taking a lot from me just to not stop mid-walk down the street with the realization of how much change has happened in just a few short months – from going to school the first half of the year to moving to a different county and having a day-to-day routine like nothing happened. It’s weird. I try everyday not to freak out. But, the job is good. I am now in the nonprofit world, which is an entirely different alien of a planet. I’m happy that I finally got in. It is the idealistic college graduate’s dream. It’s also a chance to really explore whether I want to be in this world or not – a great opportunity for the young me.

2. I’ve been going to the cinema a lot. I love films, and I do want to write some film reviews, but I have absolutely no idea how. I still feel “film criticism” is some cheeky high-brow BS club I have no qualification to get in to. Two weeks ago, my little brother and I watched Kubo and the Two Strings, the latest Laika production. I’ve been following their films since the dawn of time (one of my favorite movies is Coraline). Needless to say, they never disappoint. Another one that we’ve watched is Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, the latest Tim Burton film. I have a lot of feelings for both the book and the movie. Mostly it’s annoyance.

3. I discovered John Mulaney last weekend, and watched both The Comeback Kid and New in Town on Netflix over and over. He’s just the kind of funny that I’m into – not overwhelmingly expressive and with just the right amount memorable impressions. He’s my favorite stand-up at the moment.

4. I haven’t been writing or doing anything creative lately which sucks, but I’m hoping to do more this October as I start adjusting to this new routine. I’m excited to go to this huge art supplies store that I found and make awesome stuff.

5. I have officially entered the world of the American culture known as the Small Talk. And it’s maddeningly excruciating. I have a lot to say about this. As an outsider I find it unnecessary, dull and a bit fake but mostly it just makes me feel very anxious. I’ll probably write more about this.

So that’s it. My life has been rather calm on the outside, which I’m very thankful for, considering my everyday inner turmoils. I want to post here every week at the least. (That’s not a promise so don’t think I’m bossing you around, self.) But I think October will be great. One: it’s my favorite month of the year because duh, Halloween. And two, it’s Fall. My first Fall. I’m excited.

On Moving Back In

I’ve never experienced living in a dorm back in university, but when my family decided to move to the US the end of my junior year, I was lucky enough to have the means to go back home – alone – and finish my last two semesters.

In a way, 2015 was the year when everything had changed. It was the first time freedom felt absolute and somewhat normal, not just this fragile and fleeting concept during nights of sneaking out and getting past curfew. Combining the first-time-feeling of independence, being a legal adult and a college senior, there were definitely more than a handful of moments worth a lifetime of remembering.

Yet it was a weird time as well, because in a way that year felt like one big limbo of ambivalence: being an adult and being responsible for your own shit but, then again, not really. I suppose that’s how most twentysomethings feel nowadays.

In the span of a year, I’ve grown used to the ebb and flow of identity accustomed to being young. Longing for the power to do and choose whatever we want, yet loathing that absolute freedom as well. The confusion and the fear is constant, but to us is always welcome. The self-torture of youth.

So when I moved back in after school, that equilibrium – the precarious balance of fear, responsibility, confusion, etc. – completely changed. But surprisingly, it wasn’t all for the worse.

So after a lot of pondering, I’ve come up with a list on the ups and downs of moving back in.

Downs:

1. Obviously, there’s a little less freedom.

Living with my parents there is, of course, a certain structure to be followed. A certain set of rules. Gone are the days of staying up till 3am and waking up at noon; of going out at 9pm and not coming back – albeit rather hammered – until midnight.

I’m the middle child, but since my brother’s enlistment to the military, I’ve gone on taking the role of the eldest. That means having the responsibility for my younger brother while also maintaining several duties around the house, which leaves very little room for the carefree.

It all just comes down to having to behave a certain way. Whereas before, living by myself, I can choose not to be a human during those bad days. Now there’s a little less freedom in that. At home, I have to be a sister and a daughter first.

2. No more alone time.

I’ve always cherished the mornings and nights alone in my room, reading my book or just gazing out the night sky. I love hanging out with friends but the feeling of finally getting home to unwind and recharge is incomparable. Moving back, there’s just less room to think and be by myself. I share a room with my little brother, so in times when I have the opportunity to go to the library or walk alone outside is deeply vital for my own introverted wellbeing.

3. Being treated like a kid (again).

There’s no escaping it. No matter how much we change, no matter how we see ourselves n years from now, the people around us – especially our families – will always see us as one thing above all others. My childhood friend will always see me as that tiny brat who fell on the swing, and my parents will always treat me as a kid – telling me how to cross the street and teaching me ways how to navigate the city (as if they’ve forgotten that I grew up in one of the most notorious cities in Asia).

The same thing goes for the other way around, which is unfortunate for me because my kid-self just isn’t prepared for at-home phone interviews while my mom holds my hand and silently cheers me on in the background.

Ups:

1. THE FOOD. Period.

Nothing on God’s-given Earth will ever compare to Mom’s cooking. Especially when what you’re comparing it with are cold pizzas, noodle soup, and stale crackers. Food was the first thing I sacrificed in my tight budget and, truthfully, what I was most enthusiastic about moving back. The first time my mom made me my favorite meal after getting back, I teared up. Now days of staring at the ceiling trying to coax an empty stomach will only become a distant memory. I’m always grateful that I’m surrounded with delicious food filling me up every day.

2. Becoming a little less lonely.

No matter how much I value my time of solitude, it can sometimes be a little too isolating. And very, very lonely. Alcohol played a significant part in easing that, actually. There certainly were days last year when I would just sit at home, curled up in a blanket and be sad all day, not admitting to myself that I was lonely. I would call my parents or my brother but those calls would not get picked up because the time difference was just way too hard to maneuver around.

I remember days becoming significantly gloomier leading up to my big move, and being alone in that feeling of fear and change was the hardest part. Moving back with my family and becoming a part of that collective experience of adjusting to a wholly different life was such a great comfort. Moving to a different country is lonely in a lot of ways, but with my family, it somehow becomes a little less.

3. A significant decline in responsibility.

I never realized how much effort it took to function as a normal human being until I lived alone. From cleaning my whole room, my bathroom, going to the groceries, the bank, the shoe repair shop, choosing my own food, to paying the bills – the list just never seemed to stop. My life became an endless string of to-do lists.

But now all I had to focus on was finding a job, which was soul-crushing in itself. The rest of the anxiety-driving responsibilities weren’t just up to me anymore, something I’m very thankful for.

 

There are ups and downs to moving back home. It doesn’t necessarily mean an exile out of adulthood, because that’s just not how it works. Understanding that life is going to throw us all kinds of crap, and learning how to cope with and grow from them, that’s when we become adults. Despite it all, I love living with my family. I’ve missed them so much in the past year.

Sure, at home we’re all somewhat treated like kids, and we have to be a certain someone in front of our parents. But isn’t it just the same when we’re living alone? We continuously, from the moment we wake up, have to put up this front of strength showing that we have all our shit together (when in reality we do not). Isn’t it a relief to just go home, hug your mom/dad, cry your heart out, and admit to yourself that you’re scared?

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:photo credit:

Dear August [2016]

Dear August,

As your days began to trickle away, I became more and more scared to say goodbye. You have been the cliff of my year. The months leading up to you were the hardest – I have tripped, fallen down, forced myself to get back up again and kept climbing. Some days it didn’t feel like it made any sense.

Graduating in June, the reality had begun to settle in: I had to get a job. And so July had been the month of resume writing, applying, self-doubt, and realizing I wasn’t really qualified for anything. I found that I hated talking and writing about myself, the self-promotion and sell-yourself BS of it all. There were so many rules in the professional world I couldn’t understand, but knew I had to live with.

July was the darkest time. It was the month of stumbling blindly in the darkness, not really knowing what the hell I was doing. And the worst part was that no one seems to be responding, when days felt like a huge jumble of mush, reaching out to things and getting absolutely nowhere.

But you, August, you were the month of hope. In my heart I knew that things were going to start happening the moment the clock ticked midnight. The despair that came with all of it though, I didn’t really expect.

Things that I’ve been hoping yet fearing for, for months even before graduating, had finally started to happen. I went in to my first interview, and got rejected two days later. First interview, first rejection. The firsts will always be the worst ones, I guess. I probably could’ve done better during that whole thing but I was so sleep deprived from the stress of finally getting my very first interview that I didn’t really have much of a choice. The rejection came altogether as both a struggle and a relief. The fact of the matter is, it just utterly sucks knowing you’ve invested so much time in something only to have to start all over again. Yet it was also a relief, because I got through it. I got through my first rejection, and that’s something to be proud of.

The next interview felt like a joke. I think it was one of those entry level marketing job scams, with insane claims like “less than a year to move up in the executive level!” I still went with it though, wanting to know exactly how they work but also knowing I’m wasting my time on what clearly was a commission-based sales job shrouded in ludicrous offers. It felt awful knowing that only companies like this will respond to and actually hire me. At one point I considered taking it, just because I was so sick of the soul crushing system that is job hunting.

But I’m glad I said no because on my third chance, I got an offer. On a job I actually knew I would like.

So here comes the cliff metaphor.

Every college senior both craves and dreads graduation. We don’t want to stay in school forever, yet we don’t want to have the hardships and realities of adult life thrown at us as well. So when the day finally comes, we are forced to deal with our issues of self-doubt, self-worth, self-loathing, and all that comes inside us, while at the same time face the reality of an identity suddenly stripped away.

This was the fear I’ve had since Day One of my final semester, and I had to deal with all of those things for a while – climbing and climbing this slope only to slip back down again.

But now I have reached the cliff. The end of a path I knew I would eventually take. What’s in front of me now is the new path. The sea of the unknown, in which I have no idea where the waves will take me. Standing there on the edge, the only question is: do I jump?

This is why I’m scared, August. You were a difficult yet triumphant month. The month I conquered all my built-up fears. The month I actually won. And I didn’t want to let that win go. I didn’t want to face new uncertainties, new obstacles and dark places just yet.

But I have to, because that’s just how life goes. Right?

So I did it. I said yes, and signed up for my first job.

I jumped.

Thank you for being an amazing month, August. I’m scared yet looking forward to what September will bring.

Love,

K

 

P.S. The picture above is the view from the Space Needle; I hope you guys like it. I didn’t have the chance to go hiking and go to an actual cliff, but this is an awesome alternative. Post is also a bit late as well, but I’m trying to make a concrete schedule for this blog so…I think you’ll be hearing a lot more from me this September (I hope)!

My day at Elliott Bay Book Company

It was one of those things I knew I wanted to do the minute I landed here in Seattle. That is, to find my next great bookstore. Living in Manila, my favorite bookstore had always been my refuge – a place I could run to when everything would get a bit overwhelming, a place to forget all of that and just surround myself in books.

I knew I had to find a safe space here, a familiar place, in this otherwise unfamiliar world. What is better and more familiar than books?

And find it I did.

Before Elliott Bay, I was scurrying through Barnes and Noble’s and Half Price Books’ trying to get that familiar feeling of awe, that sense of wonder you get going in a book shop the first time. But somehow, everything about those stores felt just a little bit…rigid. Transactional. Nothing felt real or personal to any of it.

Knowing my thoughts, you’re probably thinking I’m taking all of these just a little too seriously. But the thing is, all of us have our own special places. Be it an arcade, the movies, or just our own bedrooms, we all have our own version of a place that gives us that feeling of complete freedom, a place where we could just strip down all those masks we wear to face the everyday and just be ourselves. My place was the bookstore. I said goodbye to my old home, and now it’s time to find a new one.

The moment I stepped through those doors I knew that this was it. Elliot Bay was filled to the brim with books I didn’t even know existed. They have tables everywhere, so people can read whatever they fancy. Most of all, they have notes every few or so books on every shelf, short messages written by the staff. I just thought that was the coolest thing ever.

Unsurprisingly, I spent the remainder of the afternoon finding the perfect book (or books) to commemorate my first ever visit. That was a bit of a stretch for my family who doesn’t really fancy books. They didn’t complain, though. The store was too beautiful that it also made them want to look around.

I suppose it’s needless to say that I’ll be coming back here again. They host a lot of author events and book clubs as well, which is just perfect.

For my new place in the city, I couldn’t ask for more.

 

demons | a poem

demons

 

when you think

they’d say no

 

it’s  y e s .

 

you feel

a sense of hope

 

when you think

you did your best

when you think

you tried your very

hardest

and you smile

all the way home

 

but the answer

 

w a s  n o

 

how are you supposed

to feel

then?

 

you keep asking yourself

what went wrong

you keep telling yourself

that you’re special

all on your own

and it wasn’t

your fault

 

but

 

as the sun fell

and the silence began

and the demons

start to open their eyes

start to crawl out the walls

start to show their faces

start to sneer at you

telling you

you are

nothing

 

how are you supposed

to believe yourself then? 

—

 

Photo credit

Homesick.

For the past few months, everything had passed by in a blur.

From graduating university last June, saying goodbye to long-time friends, packing up to move to another country, to desperately looking for jobs the minute I landed, it seemed like my life had been constantly shifting from one thing to another without me even having any time to process it long enough. Like I’m just floating through the motions, seeing everything happen from above, without really feeling anything.

I just got through my very first job interview yesterday, and it felt like all those anxiety-ridden nights full of doubts and regret, and that nerve-wracking feeling when you’re trying your hardest to always put your best foot forward, had paid off. I got through it. And somehow that accomplishment is all that matters to me. Now all that’s involved is waiting. Waiting to hear the answer that will either lead me to a new chapter in my life, or to start over again, and keep trying.

Right now is the waiting and the rest. A nice long rest after all that stress and hard work.

But I’m now realizing that this interlude has its own consequences, and now asking myself if all that stress I’ve put myself through – the incessant nitpicking  in order to create the perfect resume, googling all the phrases that makes the perfect cover letter, the endless research to ace that interview (not to mention the sleepless nights) – had it all just been a distraction – something I have to do to no end – to keep myself from thinking the thoughts, to bury that real feeling deep inside me?

Because the minute I stepped out of that building the very first thought that entered my mind was, “What now?” You know that feeling when the day is finally over, and now is the time to finally sleep, but you couldn’t, because now, finally, that you’re alone, the thoughts come flooding in because there’s no more anything to keep you from thinking them? That’s how I feel.

I woke up this morning thinking of the friends I left behind, how their lives are going without me getting to see it, thinking how everything would’ve been different had I stayed.

I think of Manila, with its ugly skyline, dirty streets, and eternal traffic but knowing that it will always have heart despite its flaws, how I will always find my place in it no matter what, how I will always know how to navigate those dirty streets with my own two feet…that’s what I miss the most. The feeling of warmth and how no matter how much it or I change, it will always always be home.

Or maybe what I’m feeling right now is missing the familiar because it’s comfortable, and I’m scared of the cold and the new. I’m scared that if I get rejected, all the pain and the self-doubt and the feeling of being a nobody will be there again. And if I get accepted, it’s the feeling of knowing absolutely nothing I’m afraid about. The feeling of that re-start, trying desperately to find your place in a whole different world, falling and falling and getting back up again. But falling is never a good feeling.

Maybe I’m homesick, or maybe I’m scared. Maybe it’s both. I don’t know.