Mina Deocareza

Fellowship around the fire

Thick, billowing smoke alarmed the passersby on the alley between Coco Grande and Silliman University’s Davao Cottage that Sunday afternoon. One of them, a woman in her 40s, was visibly upset as the smoke engulfed her, likely leaving a scent of something burned on her clothes that looked so pristine. I think she was on her way to church.

I was looking out of the cottage’s chain-link fence at the time, and our eyes met eventually. Awkward. It then occurred to me that the woman might do something drastic like call the authorities. This idea frightened me, so I started walking away from the fence and turned to my co-fellows. I said we should probably do something about the smoke. I was not even sure whether what we were doing—grilling pork belly at the back of the cottage, our home for the duration of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop—was allowed. And considering the material the cottage was made of, plus the age of the structure itself, it was not hard for me to understand that our choice of cooking method posed serious threats.

“Aren’t we getting in trouble because of this?” I asked them.

No one seemed to hear me. But that wasn’t surprising. Amid the frenzy, we were also belting out Britney Spears songs—another obsession our group shared.

Still concerned about the situation, I looked out of the cottage’s fence once more, this time to get a better view of the Coco Grande guests hanging out on the hotel’s veranda. Unlike the passersby who immediately showed disapproval in their faces upon seeing the smoke, however, they did not seem bothered at all. Perhaps they were already drunk, or maybe they were just too happy to care.

There was no way for me to verify either of my suspicions, but their unbotheredness somehow assured me that everything would be just fine. And before I knew it, I was already busy helping my co-fellows with the grilling, completely rid of all the worries I used to have about the smoke emanating from our makeshift grill. Then all I could think of was feasting on those strips of charred meat with my newfound family.

*

I have always been drawn to the smell of burned meat and the sight of smoke rising from the grill. I know this fondness of mine goes beyond what science dictates. In fact, whenever I try to find out where it all began, I get a flashback of the celebrations our family had at our compound in Antipolo.

Grilled liempo was always a staple at these gatherings, particularly those held on New Year’s Eve, as my grandmother believed eating chicken at the start of another year could usher in back luck. This, according to her, is because of the chicken’s habit known as “isang kahig, isang tuka” (one scratch, one peck), a phrase often used to describe a person who gets barely enough to get by.

Our family’s version of grilled liempo is different from the ones usually served in restaurants and eateries around Metro Manila. It is seasoned only with lots of rock salt and looks rather pale in comparison to the ketchup-stained iterations sold by these establishments. I once asked an aunt about it, and she said it’s simply how people grill liempo in Eastern Samar. I have not been able to verify this, especially since I have not been to our province for more than two decades. And while I found it a little too plain to my liking when I was a kid, I now appreciate it. It is simple and straightforward, and it works like a charm with limited ingredients and low effort, as long as one is working with fresh meat.

My grandfather, who worked as a cook for a high-end Korean restaurant, drank a lot during gatherings, and he usually wanted this version of grilled pork belly for pulutan. No wonder he and his pals, my uncles, and other male relatives normally started grilling pork belly early into the day, in preparation for the drinking session that could last until the next morning. Sometimes, they would even begin passing booze around the open flame.

Grilled meat was not just for the drinkers, though, as it was also customary for them to share some with those who didn’t consume alcohol. This is why my grandfather always kept a separate plate by his side and on it piled strips and strips of perfectly grilled liempo until its contents were close to spilling. He would then call someone to take the plateful of meat to the main house, where hungry non-drinkers would usually wait for blessings in the form of ulam.

There were also times when non-drinkers would simply wait around the open flame, waiting for the plate of meat to be ready. I loved doing this because, apart from watching how the grilling happened, I was also fond of eavesdropping on the drinkers’ conversations. They usually gossiped about people in our sitio or our clan, and I found it so entertaining. This is probably why, to this day, I still love eating barbecued meat with a side of chismis.

*

Money became scarce after my grandfather’s retirement, and everyone else became busy with either work or school. With not a lot of cash to burn and leave credits to spend on special occasions, our family began to settle for smaller, simpler celebrations. Drinking sessions were no longer as grand as before, either, as some of the resident drinkers, as they were called, were now getting older and had been warned by their doctors against consuming too much alcohol and fatty food.

Gatherings grew even quieter after one of my uncles died of a heart attack. It seemed people were finally seeing the link between eating habits and mortality. Even New Year’s celebrations became a little too quiet than I’d been used to—no more merriments around the fire; just humble meals shared in front of the television.

This did not mean I simply forgot how fun it was to eat charred meat while having a great chat with other people, however. In fact, it was quite the opposite. As I embraced adulthood and began the search for my rightful place in the world, I also started to look for more circles around the fire that I could be part of.

The university was a perfect venue for this new quest of mine. It helped a lot, too, that I somehow ended up in UP Diliman, where I felt freer to become whoever I wanted to be. On the campus, I met people I’d also consider family, and of course, we all spent a considerable amount of time sharing food, including grilled meat.

One of my favorite eateries on the campus was the old Beach House Canteen behind the Main Library, which always reminded me of home as an undergrad. The sight of its staff members grilling batch after batch of pork barbecue on sticks underneath a huge tree while patrons patiently waited for their food reminded me of how busy people could get at home when preparing for another grand celebration. The smell it produced took me back to those gatherings, too. Then it made me realize that while the people I was about to share meals with at that canteen—usually friends in the writing program I was enrolled in—were technically not related to me by blood, they were family nonetheless. And I was right. To this day, many of those individuals remain and play important parts in my life.

I felt the same level of attachment to other places serving grilled meat on and around the campus: Mang Larry’s Isawan, where a good friend brought me once to try not only their isaw but also their pork BBQ; Maong’s in Krus na Ligas, from which my writer friends and I ordered pulutan while drinking at Sarah’s; and Grill Queen along Maginhawa Street, where the same friends and I liked having proper meals before drinking our worries away.

When I moved to Galas in Quezon City before the eventual death of a four-year relationship in 2018, it was also around an open flame that I was able to find a sense of belongingness. Although I knew someone in the area, I still felt somewhat like an outsider since it was a place where people practically grew up with each other. But as soon as I began frequenting the carinderias and the panaderias there, I became more familiar with these individuals. I started to form not only a transactional bond with them but also a sense of community.

Yet, I felt I was in the right place when I became a regular at the roadside ihawan right across the panaderia. I think it was because it required customers to literally gather around the fire while waiting for their food to get ready. The thing with this kind of setup is that it makes it a lot easier for people to connect.

One evening, while waiting for my dinner—two sticks of pork BBQ, one hotdog, and one tenga ng baboy—I overheard a conversation between two other customers about a TV series they were following. Also fond of the same show, I looked at them and smiled. They smiled back at me, and that was it. We did not say a word to one another, but it was so clear to me that at the time, they understood what I was thinking.

When traveling, I also tend to look for smoke coming from a grill. I think of it as a smoke signal, as though telling me that somewhere in that area, I can find my people. While visiting Cebu with my husband and some of our friends in 2022, for example, I felt at home at Sugbo Mercado in IT Park, where the sight of smoke rising from stalls offering sinugba gave me a sense of comfort despite the language barrier. And although I was expecting something different with the way meat was being grilled in that part of the country, I also got the assurance that something about it would be familiar for sure. For some reason, this sense of familiarity made it easier for me to feel a certain attachment to the place.

*

I was scared when I arrived at Davao Cottage days before the grill party. The idea of living under the same roof with strangers in the next two weeks did not seem appealing at all, especially after a global pandemic that had conditioned people to become a little too comfortable with their own worlds. I wasn’t even sure if I was ready to socialize with too many individuals in the next few days, so definitely, this setup seemed like a lot.

Luckily, I warmed up to them rather quickly. On our first night, over seven bottles of Red Horse Mucho, I already got a sense of how kind everyone was. Even when disagreeing, people remained respectful toward each other.

Still, I held back. Inside my head, I made up explanations for why they’d kept their cool: Maybe they were just being tolerant to avoid conflict, maybe they did not really mean it, and maybe things would be different the next day.

But that afternoon we shared around the open flame, grilling liempo under the most bizarre circumstances and exchanging stories and trading secrets, I felt I truly belonged.

Now, whenever I look back to that writers workshop, what comes to mind first aren’t the sessions in which we discussed each other’s works. Instead, it is that very same afternoon. I remember the smell of the charcoal burning and the sound of it as it crackled in the unforgiving fire. I remember how the meat hissed as it touched the grill for the first time, as well as how our laughter boomed through the cottage as we took a pair of tweezers from the first-aid kit because we needed something to pick up the meat with. I remember how we joked about being dugyot for making such a decision, especially because we did not even bother to sterilize the instrument.

I remember how the pork smelled on the grill, and how it reminded me of home. I remember singing to “Baby One More Time” while waiting for the meat to cook and how amazed and touched we all were as one of our co-fellows began preparing ensaladang pako and salted eggs with tomatoes using the ingredients he bought from Valencia that morning.

I remember how smoky it got inside the cottage that I started to worry about getting reprimanded by the workshop organizers. I remember how I almost froze as I looked out of the cottage’s fence, particularly when I was greeted by the furrowing brows of the woman who looked so bothered by the smoke. I remember becoming even more paranoid about the situation and how I lost care, anyway, eventually realizing that apart from the passersby, no one cared. Besides, my co-fellows were just happy. They were still talking, laughing, and looking forward to finally eating some grilled pork.

As soon as I stopped worrying, I began to fully enjoy the moment. Even my doubts about the people I was with went away—like smoke curling upward and disappearing into the sky.

An earlier version of this essay was published in Degustación: A Taste of Poetry & Prose, a 2024 zine released by the fellows of the 61st Silliman University National Writers Workshop.

Sep 26, 2024
From delulu to trululu

Magandang umaga sa lahat—sa mga bisita natin ngayon, sa mga guro, magulang, at siyempre, sa mga completer!

Nakarating na tayo sa exciting part! Congrats sa inyong lahat!

Sa mga magulang, kulminasyon ito ng pagsisikap para mabigyan ng magandang buhay ang mga anak. Sa mga guro, pagwawakas ito ng kabanata kasama ang mga estudyanteng ginabayan sa loob ng ilang taon. Sa mga mag-aaral, pagtatapos ito ng isang bahagi ng buhay at pagsisimula ng isa pa.

Marami sa mga completer natin ngayon, tutuloy sa senior high school. Ang ilan, sa kung ano mang dahilan, sasabak diretso sa kung tawagin ay real world. At siyempre, mayroon din mga tutuloy sa pag-aaral habang kumakayod. Sa anumang kategorya ka nabibilang, isa lang ang hiling ko para iyo: Ang magkaroon ka ng buhay na kasiya-siya o fulfilling.

Sa tingin ko, makakatulong sa pagkamit mo nito ang pagsiguro na nasa tama kang kuwento. Gaano man kaganda sa paningin ng iba ang mga nangyayari sa buhay mo, kung ikaw mismo ay hindi kumbinsido na nasa tama kang istorya, malamang, hindi ka masyadong masisiyahan.

Pero paano mo nga ba masisigurong nasa tamang kuwento ka? Mayroon akong ilang tips na puwede niyong sundan.

1. Take charge of your own story

Maging paladesisyon ka. Isipin mo, wala ka sa isang fictional narrative. True story ito, at hindi ka lang basta main character. Ikaw din ang writer. Kaya huwag kang maging extra sa sarili mong kuwento.

Natutunan ko iyan noong second year college ako’t nagipit nang husto ang pamilya namin. Imbes maghintay na bumuti ang sitwasyon, nagdesisyon akong magtrabaho. Sakto, 18 years old na ako noon. Na-hire ako bilang isang part-time academic tutor. Di nagtagal, pinasok ko na rin ang iba pang raket. Sulat-sulat, edit-edit, tutor-tutor para may pantustos sa pag-aaral at pang-araw-araw na pangangailangan, lalo na’t hindi pa libre noon sa UP. Hanggang sa di ko na lang namalayan, nasa finish line na ako. Pinagpatuloy ko lang ang ganoong mindset. Kapag may gusto ako, pinaghihirapan ko. Pinapangatawanan ko ang gusto kong daloy ng kuwento ko.

2. Take what you need, leave what you don’t

Habang isinusulat mo kuwento mo, makakarinig ka ng opinyon ng iba tungkol sa kung ano ang dapat mong gawin. Di ito maiiwasan dahil kahit sa mga literary work, uso ang pagbibigay ng feedback, solicited man o hindi. Pero kahit sa workshop pa iyan, malinaw na bilang may-akda, ikaw pa rin ang masusunod sa huli.

Ganoon din sa buhay. Kahit anong sabihin ng iba, ikaw at ikaw pa rin ang masusunod—kung anong landas ang gusto mong tahakin, kung sa anong paraan, at kung anong standard ng success ang susundin mo.

Mahalaga ang mga ito, lalo na iyong huli. Sa panahon kasi ngayon, madali tayong mabudol ng social media. Kaka-scroll natin at kakasilip sa kung paano mabuhay ang iba, minsan ang dali nating mapaniwala na dapat ganoon din ang buhay natin. Unhealthy ito dahil may iba’t iba naman tayong gusto sa buhay. Iba-iba rin ang mga privelege na mayroon tayo, pati na rin abilidad.

Noong bata pa ako, akala ko, may isang depinisyon lang ng tagumpay. Kaya noong magtapos ako bilang veledictorian noong high school, ramdam ko ang pressure. Dapat maging successful ako. Pero habang tumatanda, naisip kong hindi ko pala trip ang mga bagay na tipikal na iniuugnay sa tagumpay. Puwedeng iba pala ang meaning nito depende sa tao.

Ngayon, ito para sa akin ang tagumpay: Pagkakaroon ng buhay kung saan hindi ako nasi-stress kung may kakainin pa o kung may panggastos sa ibang pangangailangan. Pagtira sa isang lugar kung saan naroon ang lahat ng kailangan ko. Pagkakaroon ng kakayahayang maghanapbuhay sa paraang gusto ko—sa kaso ko, pagsusulat. Pagkakaroon ng sapat na oras na gawin ang iba ko pang gusto—paglikha, pagbabasa libro, pagtunganga habang nagkakape para magmuni-muni, at pagkakaroon ng quality time kasama ang asawa ko, ang dalawa naming pusa, iba pang kapamilya, at mga kaibigan. Sa madaling sabi, tagumpay na para sa akin ang pagkakaroon ng de-kalidad na buhay na hindi ko kinaiinisan paggising ko sa umaga. Di perpekto, pero hindi ko gustong takbuhan kahit may mga aberya minsan.

Marami pa akong ibang ambisyon. Bilang tao, hindi naman din talaga tayo natatapos mangarap. At siyempre, tagumpay ding maituturing ang pagkamit sa mga iyon. Pero kung ano ang mayroon ako ngayon, masasabi kong kuntento ako.

Sana, mahanap mo rin kung anuman ang makakapagbigay sa iyo ng ganitong pakiramdam. Kaya sana, huwag mong hayaang ibang tao ang magdikta sa iyo ng kung ano dapat ang maging batayan mo ng tagumpay. Kaya kapag may naririnig kang opinyon ng iba, kunin mo lang ang kung ano sa tingin mo ang makakatulong sa iyo. Ang hindi, iwanan mo.

3. If you’re happy and you know it, don’t be afraid to start over

Hindi totoo na kung nasaan ka ngayon ay di ka na puwedeng umalis. Gawa-gawa lang iyan ng illuminati. Sa karera man o sa personal na relasyon, hindi kailangang magpaka-martir.

Gets ko, hindi lahat ng tao at di puwedeng sa lahat ng oras, puwedeng mag-walkout ka na lang basta. Lalo na kung may mga taong umaasa sa iyo. Pero sige, ganito na lang: Kung hindi man kaya ngayon, edi sa susunod na pagkakataon. Ang mahalaga, hindi mo nakakalimutan kung ano yung sa tingin mo ay deserve mo. Isa pa, magandang simula na rin iyong alam mo na may iba ka pang gusto. Huwag mong bitawan ang kagustuhan mong iyan dahil iyan ang sasagip sa iyo kapag tingin mo ay susuko ka na.

Ilang beses na rin akong naligaw sa maling kuwento. Buti na lang, kahit medyo natagalan, natauhan pa rin ako’t nagkaroon ng lakas ng loob na umalis at magsimula ulit—bad breakups, resignation sa kumpanya na matagal nang pinapasukan, pati pag-drop out sa master’s program kahit thesis na lang ang kulang dahil iba ang gusto kong gawin. Grabe ang kaba ko as mga oras na iyon, pero hindi naman ako makakarating sa kung nasaan ako ngayon kung hindi ko nilakasan ang loob ko.

Kaya huwag kang magpadala sa pressure ng lipunan tungkol sa mga imaginary guidelines at deadlines na naglilimita sa tao, lalo na kapag babae ka. Respect your pace. At, hangga’t maaari, doon ka sa gusto mo. Mas madaling maging magaling sa isang bagay na gusto mong gawin.

4. Focus on characters that value to the narrative

Sa kuwento mo, may karapatan kang magdesisyon kung sinu-sino lang ang bibigyan mo ng oras at atensiyon. Malaya ka ring huwag bigyan ng airtime sa ang mga taong toxic na walang ibang ginawa kundi iparamdam sa iyo na hindi ka sapat, o kaya iyong mga marites na mas marunong pa sa iyo kahit walang ambag.

Na-bully ako noong high school. Akala ko noon, normal lang iyon kaya kailangan kong magtiis o maghintay na lang hanggang mawala ang inis nila sa akin. Pero pagdating ko sa kolehiyo, nakakilala ako ng mga tao na tanggap ako at kayang sakyan ang mga trip ko. Doon, nagdesisyon akong sila ang mas bigyan ng oras, lalo na’t pakiramdam ko, mas makakatulong sila sa personal growth ko. Hindi naman ako nagkamali, dahil malaki talaga ang naitulong nila sa akin para mas mapayaman ko kung ano ang mayroon ako. At hanggang ngayon, bahagi sila ng support system ko.

Applicable din ito sa mga kaibigan at pamilya. Gaano mo man sila kamahal, kung hindi sila nakakabuti sa iyo, baka kailangang dumistansiya ka muna. Baka ito na rin ang magbibigay sa iyo ng sapat na espasyo para maisulat mo ang istorya na gusto mo.

5. Be comfortable with roadblocks and loose ends

Di madaling maging kabataan ngayon. Ang daming problema sa lipunan at mundo. Mahirap din talaga ang buhay. Ang mahal ng lahat. Kaya kung mahirapan ka man kahit grabe na ang kayod mo, isipin mo, hindi ka nag-iisa. Hindi ka failure. Mahirap talaga kapag sistema ang problema.

Pero di rin ibig sabihin nito, susuko ka na. Magpatuloy ka pa rin habang nananatiling mulat at may pakialam sa lipunang ginagalawan mo. Para hindi ka masyadong mapagod, kailangan maging komportable ka sa ideya na hindi laging aayon sa plano ang mga bagay. Kumbaga sa pagsusulat, kailangan mong tanggapin na minsan may mga roadblock at loose end.

Kahit sa kuwento ng buhay ko, may mga bagay pa rin na hindi ko pa napi-figure out. May mga oras pa rin na pakiramdam ko, hindi ko alam ang ginagawa ko. Pero laban pa rin! Wala namang perpektong manuscript. Kahit iyong mga published na, minsan, may flaws pa rin.

6. Root for your own character

Napansin mo ba, uso sa ating mga Pinoy na kapag may pumuri sa iyo, di mo dapat i-claim? Kapag sinabihan kang magaling, isasagot mo, “Di naman!”

Ganito ako noon. Pero, habang tumatanda, natutunan ko na kapag may pumuri sa gawa ko, ang mas dapat ko palang sabihin ay, “Salamat!” Anong gagawin ko kung talagang pinaghirapan ko naman talaga ang output ko kaya maganda? Sasabihin kong hindi para lang masabing humble?

Dahil sa ganitong mindset, naging mas magaling akong cheerleader ng sarili ko. Lagi kong ina-assess kung kumusta ang gawa ko, at kung sure akong pinagpaguran ko iyon at maganda ang kinalabasan, ike-claim ko talaga. At dahil alam kong ginalingan ko, kahit walang ibang makapansin, at least, malinaw sa sarili ko na deserve ko ang magandang outcome.

Alam ko, minsan, iniisip ng iba, ang delulu ko. Pero sa dami ng nega sa mundo, pati ba naman ako, magiging hater ng sarili ko? Oo, di maiwasan na maging kritikal sa sarili kung minsan. Kailangan din naman iyon. Pero, malaking bagay talaga na alam ko kung kailan magbubuhat ng bangko. At sa totoo lang, sa mga pagkakataong pakiramdam ko ay walang ibang naniniwala sa akin, okey pa rin ako dahil kakampi ko ang sarili ko.

Sana ikaw din. Root for yourself. Maniwala ka sa kakayahan mo, keber kahit isipin ng iba na feelingera ka. Dahil bukod sa pagiging mabuti at patas sa kapwa, mahalaga ring maging mabuti at patas ka sa sarili mo na main character sa kuwentong nililikha mo.

Maganda pa rin ang daigdig. I-romanticize mo ang buhay paminsan-minsan. Celebrate your wins, big or small. Huwag mong pigilan ang sarili mo na sumaya. Dahil ang taong masaya at kuntento, mas may kakayahang maging mabuting anak, kapatid, kapareha sa buhay, kaibigan, kapwa, at produktibong mamamayan.

Kung fulfilled ka dahil alam mong nasa tamang kuwento ka, mas may energy kang mag-ambag ng kabutihan sa lipunan at mundo. Mas kaya mong ipaglaban ang mga adbokasiya na malapit sa puso mo. So, may your delulu come trululu!

Maraming salamat sa pakikinig at isang mainit pagbati muli sa lahat!

Ibinahagi ko ang talumpating ito bilang panauhing pandangal sa Ika-9 na Palatuntunan ng Pag-Angat ng Antas sa San Isidro National High School, Antipolo City, na ginanap noong Mayo 30, 2024.

May 31, 2024
Watch me eat my feelings

Food is so close to my heart that almost every memory tucked away inside my head is anchored to a particular dish or food item. When I look back to a memorable meal, what I mostly recall is the way it made me feel as I was devouring it.

I also remember people by the food I associate them with, like what we ate the last time we spent together. Moreover, I believe that one of the best ways to show someone how much you care about them is by making sure they are fed.

Obviously, I am very emotional when it comes to food. I think this has to do with some mental health stuff.

When deciding what to eat, for example, I usually go for whatever feels the most comforting at the moment. I can be at a fancy buffet and still crave a bowl of instant ramen just because it reminds me of when the same cheap noodle soup kept me warm on a cold, lonely night.

Sometimes, I choose junk food despite being aware of how badly my body would react to it simply because I’m feeling nostalgic and want to reminisce about an earlier time when the only problem I had was I couldn’t convince my mother to let me buy my favorite chips.

At this point, I think it’s already clear how fascinated I am by the intersections and overlaps between food, emotions, and memories. And yes, you got it right; I wish to talk about these things—and more—in my newsletter called “Eating My Feelings,” which can be viewed for free at minaeats.substack.com.

I am in no way promoting unhealthy eating habits. In fact, I have been trying so hard to change my ways. It’s just that I know transforming one’s relationship with food isn’t something that can be easily done overnight. It is so much more complicated than that. But maybe, talking about these complexities can somehow contribute to my healing that could, in turn, help me change for the better.

Who knows? Perhaps, in the course of posting updates here, I can truly make some progress. That would be a great outcome for me.

Finally, I hope that you can get something from this, too. I hope you join me on this journey.

Jun 16, 2023
Our cats are better than yours

I don’t know about you, but where I am from, people take bragging about their children very seriously. No wonder, when I was young, I sometimes thought that if I would ever become a parent someday, I’d definitely be the most annoying one who simply wouldn’t shut up about her amazing kids.

But since I don’t have human babies and don’t plan on having any, I’ll brag about our cats instead. They are so cute and adorable, after all. I mean, have you seen them?

The first one’s Dubu, who got her name from Dahyun of Twice. If you are not familiar with the singer, her skin is so fair that other Twice members and fans sometimes call her Dubu, which means “tofu” in Korean.

Dubu arrived in March 2022, about a month before our wedding. She was barely 3 months old then. And while I grew up with lots of cats, I was still very nervous about her arrival. I knew taking in a pet meant making a lifetime commitment, plus having one in a condo would be a challenge. For one, I had to submit certain requirements and pay a non-refundable fee just so our building admin would allow me to bring an animal in. I also had to take note of a lot of rules.

I was also a bit concerned about finances. Although I was confident Tim and I could always provide for a pet, I was also aware that we may still have to make certain sacrifices to be able to give them the best care possible—especially in this economy.

Despite all my worries, however, things went smoothly. It was also a huge plus that Dubu was so kind and easy to deal with even as a kitten. She was already litter-trained when we got her, and she didn’t have any poop accidents. It was so easy to feed her, too, so there was no drama in that department at all. And she was a healthy kitty, something Tim and I were really thankful for.

We were also very lucky that we found a good vet to help us take care of her. They told us about all the tests that had to be done as well as the vaccinations our baby had to get as soon as possible.

More than a month after Dubu arrived, we realized we were actually doing great as fur parents. And so we asked ourselves: Why don’t we get another cat?

We did, and this time, we chose a 4-month-old male kitty. We named him Kimchi because he’s orange. It also made a lot of sense since, his and Dubu’s name, when combined, would be Dubu Kimchi, a Korean dish.

We were already more confident fur parents at this point that we knew what to do as soon as we got him, from having him screened by the vet to setting up his nook at home and preparing everything he would ever need.

However, we were still worried that the two cats may not get along at all. Cats have always been known for being territorial creatures, so we knew there was this possibility that they would hate each other forever.

Thankfully, they got so close after just about a week. I honestly don’t know how it happened, but they just became besties. But I think their ages helped a lot. They were born less than two weeks apart, so they were pretty much the same age when we introduced them to one another. The same level of energy and playfulness, I guess. And maybe we just got so lucky.

I also liked the fact that they complemented one another in terms of their personalities. I noticed right away that Dubu was curious and clever and would always take the lead, while Kimchi was more passive and sometimes even dumb (one orange brain cell, yes). He also liked to follow Dubu, the leader of the duo, so maybe they really made a perfect pair from the very beginning.

Now, they are inseparable, and we cannot ask for more.

Dubu and Kimchi both turned 1 last month, which means they are adult cats now. And while I sometimes get emotional upon realizing how fast these two babies grow, I also feel so happy that I get to witness them transform into even more amazing cats each day.

In fact, I think they are the best. And given how cuter they become as days go by, I know no other cats in the world would ever rival them. No one would ever come close.

So don’t even try. Your cats are a no-match.

Mar 1, 2023
My type of clutter

More than five years ago, I learned about minimalism.

It all began when I chanced upon a documentary on Netflix about the beauty of owning less. Just a few minutes into it, I already realized how burdened I had been by all my material possessions, especially the hundreds (or maybe even close to a thousand) of books I’d been desperately holding on to.

Because my willpower was strong and I was craving some kind of a do-over, I managed to drastically lessen my possessions in just a matter of months. I threw away things I was no longer using, sold and donated a huge portion of my book collection, and got rid of clothes I had no plans of wearing again.

At the same time, I started a tradition of purging, during which I’d simply ask myself whether certain things inside my home still sparked joy or not anymore. Anything deemed unnecessary would be let go of.

Things went on so smoothly that I was able to welcome 2019 with only a few possessions.

It continued to the point that Tim and I needed only one van to transport all our things when we moved into a new apartment in early 2020.

But then the pandemic struck. Probably bored with the lockdowns, I suddenly became interested in a lot of things, including fountain pens.

At first, I thought one would be enough. However, just a few weeks after getting my very first fountain pen, a matte charcoal Lamy Safari with a fine nib, I caught myself looking at other fountain pens to buy. And the rest is history.

I also realized that such pens required special notebooks, so I had to get new ones, too. At some point, I heard of the Traveler’s Notebook (TN). It didn’t take long before I got one for myself.

Before I knew it, I was already looking at photos of TN spreads on Pinterest. They all looked amazing and I thought I should make my notes and journal pages look great as well. How? Well, by using stickers and washi tapes.

I already had some washi samples at home back then. A few months prior, I volunteered to buy washi tape rolls and a nice washi tape organizer for my partner’s friend. They were having an exchange gift in their college org and the person whose name he had randomly picked turned out to be a huge washi tape fan. Since I had just gotten into online shopping at the time and was very excited to explore Shopee further, I thought scouring the platform for the best washi tape deals would be fun.

However, I made a huge mistake at some point and ordered some washi tape samples instead of getting full rolls. Unfortunately, I could no longer cancel my order, so I just decided to keep them for myself. They had nice designs, anyway; using them on my notebooks would not hurt at all. Little did I know, I’d also fall into the washi tape rabbit hole in a few months.

My newfound love for washi tapes rekindled another passion I never thought would emerge again: my love for stickers.

I had a wild stationery and sticker collection as a kid. Although we were always struggling financially, my father, who at the time was living with his second family and holding a high-paying job in a bank, spoiled me with school and art supplies, and stationery sets. He also let me buy a lot of sticker flakes and sheets. I can’t remember how I lost interest in my collection, but it just happened. I guess I just became so busy with school and extra co-curricular activities, particularly those involving our school paper, that it slowly lost its magic on me. Or, perhaps, I just became more dependent on computers and fell in love with the simplicity of plain notebooks and pads.

Now I can’t believe I am crazy for stickers again. There are even moments when I feel like an elementary kid again, marveling at all the sticker designs available at the stationery store. The only difference now is that I’m already a grownup with a regular source of income and a stable Internet connection that allows me to order whatever I want with just a click. In other words, I can easily turn all my sticker fantasies into reality now, and, considering all the stickers I now have in my collection, I can tell that I’m on the right track.

All these things are making me happy, especially now that I’ve been stuck at home and mostly bored with the repetitiveness of everything. It is also nice to be excited about things that are new to me as well as those that I used to love as a kid. However, I also acknowledge the fact that what I am doing is against the very thing I started embracing just a few years ago. In fact, I’m pretty sure my wannabe-minimalist self from over five years ago would cringe upon the sight of all the fountain pens, notebooks, washi tape rolls, and sticker sets I’ve managed to accumulate these past few months.

At the same time, I won’t deny that though the things I’m so crazy about right now are against what I used to believe in, they actually help keep my sanity intact. They keep me away from the computer, too, which is a good thing because the first lockdown really kept me glued to the screen almost 24/7. And, most importantly, they remind me that no matter how shitty we may feel about ourselves and our current circumstances, we are still capable of creating something beautiful—even just in the form of journal pages that are decorated and written on.

So I guess, for now, I’ll just go with the flow and be a little kinder to myself. The things I’m currently fond of—or obsessed with—may be considered clutter, but they are my type of clutter. And they continue to spark joy in me amid these trying times.

May 18, 2022
The day I stopped living dangerously

My family loves to eat so much that its members think of food allergies as gentle reminders instead of ultimatums. No wonder, when everyone learned about my shellfish allergy when I was 5, they told me not to worry because I would eventually “develop immunity” by still eating a little bit of all the food the doctor had told me to avoid.

I was an obedient child, and I didn’t know any better, so I just did as I was told. Besides, it seemed like the most logical thing to do. Back then, I was still living in my grandparents’ Baclaran home, where food was always abundant and almost everyone knew how to prepare elaborate meals.

On Sundays, for instance, my grandfather, who used to work as a head cook for a high-end Korean restaurant in Makati, would prepare dishes that usually included shellfish. He would buy fresh crabs and prawns from the nearby wet and dry market and come up with tasty dishes like ginataang alimasag na may labong and garlic butter shrimp.

Judging simply from how my family members’ eyes would light up soon as they smelled the scent wafting from our kitchen, I could already tell it would be such a shame to pass up on Lolo’s cooking. And so, at lunchtime, I’d eat to my heart’s content.

Normally, I would start feeling itchiness on my lips shortly after a meal. There were even times when some bumps and rashes would appear on my skin, particularly on the folds behind my elbows and knees. Whenever something like this would take place, I’d simply apply some Chinese ointment to the affected areas and, before I knew it, the itching would stop then my skin would be smooth again.

I continued consuming shellfish in the years that came. In fact, my list of favorite food included a lot of dishes that had crustaceans in them: my uncle Leo’s prawn tempura, my aunt Irma’s binagoongang baboy, and my grandmother’s sinigang na hipon. Of course, I still loved my grandfather’s ginataang alimasag and garlic butter shrimp.

Even when I began living in my mother’s home, where food was always scarce, my love for shellfish didn’t die. Whenever we could afford it, we would cook binagoongang baboy and make it so salty so we could stretch it for days. We also added alamang to almost every ginataan dish that mainly involved vegetables, ranging from langka to puso ng saging.

I got even bolder when I was in college. It was as if my shellfish allergy did not exist at all. When a close friend invited me to her birthday celebration in a private resort in Bay, Laguna, I simply indulged and had as many grilled crabs as I wanted. When I look back to that weekend now, all I can think of is how I laboriously took the grilled crabs apart and scraped off all the meat I could get from every crab I could get my hands on.

Back then, I was already aware of how fatal allergic reactions could be. But for some reason, I just went on and indulged in crab meat. I didn’t stop, even when I started feeling itchiness around my lips and on the folds of my skin. To be fair, things had not gotten any worse than that, which somehow assured me things would always be fine.

I did something similar when I traveled to Bacolod for work in 2015. One night, my colleague and I had a late meal at Diotay’s Eatery, which had been recommended to us by a cab driver. Instead of playing things safe and thinking about how difficult it would be to access health services in an unfamiliar place in the event of an emergency, I gave in to my desire and wolfed down half a kilo of garlic butter shrimp.

My brevity didn’t last that long, however. Several months later, my body finally decided to betray me. After downing a serving of binagoongang baboy from one of the eateries near the condo I was living in, bumps began appearing on my skin.

At first, there were only a few of them, and they were all so tiny and thin. But eventually, larger and thicker ones appeared until they all covered my entire body. They were all so itchy, too, which kept me from sleeping that night.

I went to see a doctor the following day, and one of the first things she told me was, “You’re lucky, you can still breathe properly.”

I suddenly had a flashback of those countless characters I’d seen in TV shows and movies die after accidentally ingesting some pastry or cookie that had nuts in them. It was then that I finally accepted that the whole immunity thing was a lie. I’d just been lucky all along, and I didn’t know when my luck would finally run dry.

“Should I take more risks?” I quietly asked myself while waiting for the doctor to hand me the prescription.

I didn’t even have to think about it; I already knew the answer.

Mar 31, 2022
On inn and hotel rooms

Sometimes I turn on the television in our bedroom while waiting to fall asleep, switching from one channel to another, and eventually settling for some news program. But I don’t pay attention to the reports at all. I just like having them in the background because they remind me of the nights I spent in hotel rooms back when people could still travel without having to worry about the deadly virus.

*

I’ve always been in love with inn and hotel rooms. There is just something charming about their unfamiliarity, especially if they are located in a city or province I don’t know much about. I like the fact that they perfectly symbolize transience, too, like a brief affair you know you have to enjoy because it will be over soon.

*

Staying in hotels and inns is one of the things I miss the most about traveling. In fact, one of my favorite parts of every trip is when I check into my room, unpack my stuff, take a shower, and enjoy a brief rest. It’s a time when I get a feel of the place I’m in and start to make more concrete plans for the days to come, and it’s usually filled with anticipation as I am left wondering what the rest of the trip has in store for me.

*

There were times in the past when I’d rent a room in a nearby city for a night or two just so I could sleep in a place that wasn’t my own. I liked doing it on days I had to work on something important like papers for grad school and literary pieces. And once I was done with whatever task I came there for, I’d simply lay down and watch whatever show I could find on TV, usually lifestyle shows on TLC or Filipino movies on Cinema One. Then I would take a break by having coffee, whether by briefly going out or having some delivered to wherever I was staying.

*

I once tried celebrating Christmas in a small hotel room in my country’s financial district all by myself, and I must say it was a magical experience. I had booked the room before the holidays and ordered a special Christmas basket containing pastries and a bottle of cold brew then had it delivered to the hotel on my check-in day, which was a day before Christmas. When the special day finally arrived, I just remained in the room, eating cookies, drinking coffee, and listening to The Carpenters. I sat on a comfy bed positioned right beside the window, through which I could see the city’s impressive skyline. I was at peace.

*

Perhaps one of the things I also like about staying in hotels and inns is the sense of anonymity it gives me, not that I need to hide from anyone. It’s just that, when I am in a hotel or inn, I can briefly pretend I am someone else. I can deviate from my routines. I can mess with my schedule. Plus, I’m in a place where no one knows me, except, of course, the personnel at the front desk, who usually checks guests’ IDs. Regardless of that, though, I know I’m just a mere customer to them.

*

In in and hotel rooms, I am not forced to make my bed. Someone else can do that for me. And though I try my best not to leave a lot of mess during checkout, I am also comforted by the fact that no one’s going to pressure me to tidy up.

*

I like scaring myself in unfamiliar places, and of course, I sometimes do it in inn and hotel rooms. I ask myself, “Did somebody die here?” I also think of some stories I heard and films I watched about haunted places. In the end, I sleep with the lights on.

*

I used to live in an inn. Well, technically, it was a boarding house that eventually became an inn. Its owner used to operate an inn in a separate building located on a nearby street. I don’t know what happened, but I just came home one night and one of the staff members told me the two ventures were merging and the inn would also be in the same building where the boarding house was. Staying there was fun.

*

I think motel rooms have their own charm, too. Sure, they are associated with sleazy stuff and they are usually super sketchy, but I think there is also something fascinating with them. I already tried staying in motel rooms by myself. Several times. Maybe I was just bored during those times.

*

Some of my favorite shows are about temporary accommodations: “Hyori’s Bed and Breakfast,” “Korean Hostel in Spain,” and “Youn’s Stay.” I really enjoyed them mainly due to the stories of the guests and their interactions with the hosts. Watching them made me feel as though I were traveling, too, which was perfect, because I saw them all at the height of the pandemic.

Jan 18, 2022
Ice cream at alaala

Pinagbawalan ako ng doktor na magkape sa kasagsagan ng lockdown noong nakaraang taon. Lumala kasi ang hyperacidity ko. At dahil hindi puwedeng magkape, ice cream ang napagdiskitahan ko, lalo na’t may convenience store sa baba ng condo kung saan kami nangungupahan.

Isang araw, habang nag-aayos ng mga naipong lagayan ng ice cream, naalala ko si Nanay. Siya ang lola kong kumupkop sa akin noong naghiwalay ang mga magulang ko’t naging abala sa kani-kanilang mga buhay at bagong pamilya. Miss na miss ko na siya. Kaya lang, mahirap basta-bastang umuwi sa Antipolo dahil sa banta ng Covid-19.

Sa puntong iyon, naging mas malinaw sa akin kung gaano kalupit ang pandemya na patuloy na nagnanakaw sa atin ng oras na puwede pa sanang igugol sa piling ng mga mahal sa buhay na alam naman nating hindi laging nasa mundong ibabaw.

Dahil walang mapagbuhusan ng matinding emosyon sa mga oras na iyon, naisipan kong magsulat na lang ng isang sanaysay. Pinamagatan ko itong “Unti-Unting Pagkalusaw,” at napasama ito sa pinakabagong literary anthology ng Philippine Collegian na pinamagatang Points of Contact.

Puwede na itong mabasa nang libre.

Philippine Collegian Points of Contact by Caro Kan

Oct 31, 2021
A letter to Steve of ‘Blues Clues’

Dear Steve,

I no longer remember the last time I watched a “Blue’s Clues” episode with you in it, but I’m sure I was still in elementary at that time, thin, sickly, and often worried about whether there would be food on the table the following day.

I still hated myself a lot back then, mostly because of how I looked. When I was younger, I’d often question the god I used to believe in and their decision to give me brown skin and curly hair. Why not make me fair-skinned? Why not give me straight, silky hair? My crush would have liked me that way.

Although I was not apologetic for being smart and for always being the top student in our class, I still felt bad. Other students, particularly boys, never really liked me because they thought I was too intelligent for them.

When I watched your video on the 25th anniversary of “Blue’s Clues,” I couldn’t hold my tears, especially when you said, “And then look at you, and look at all you have done, and all you have accomplished in all that time. And it’s just, it’s just so amazing, right?” It dawned on me how amazing I am for making it this far despite having to deal with a lot of shit.

I’ve come a long way, indeed. I no longer worry about food and I have already learned to love myself and how I look. Most importantly, I now understand how foolish it is to dumb oneself down just to become more appealing to boys. Most importantly, I now enjoy a lot of things I only dreamed of when I was younger.

So about that time Steve went off to college… #BluesClues25 pic.twitter.com/O8NOM2eRjy
— Nick Jr. (@nickjr) September 7, 2021

I know I often downplay my achievements as an adult, thinking they don’t really mean a lot, but it hadn’t really occurred to me how dismissive I have been of my own victories until I watched your video. Apparently, I just had to be reminded of how far I’ve come from that poor girl to the strong woman I am now.

So, thank you for that, Steve. And, thanks for telling us what really happened. Finally, there’s closure.

It’s funny because it was only when I watched your viral video that I learned why you had left the show. I even had to look up your school bus scene on YouTube to fully understand what you meant when you talked about your final “Blue’s Clues” appearance.

We didn’t have cable at home. I only had to rely on free TV to watch “Blue’s Clues” episodes and, I think, they were even late by a couple of years. I was also busy with a lot of extra co-curricular activities as a kid, so no wonder I missed that particular episode when it aired. And then one time I just found out that there was a new host and his name was Joe. I was shocked.

My classmates in the public elementary school I was attending were equally surprised. Many of them were also wondering where you had gone. In fact, some went as far as theorizing you might have died.

What’s even funnier is the fact that I didn’t really bother to look you up when I finally had access to the Internet. I just accepted things as they were and moved on.

Well, maybe that’s just how life is. You grow up and become so busy with a lot of things. You get drowned in your worries and all the responsibilities you suddenly have until you forget about the child you used to be. Things continue that way until, one day, you just wake up to some news about the host of the show you loved as a kid talking about why we suddenly disappeared. Before you know it, you are reminded of who you used to be. Then you realize that although things aren’t perfect now, you’ve done a great job anyway. You have accomplished so many things despite the odds.

For what it’s worth, you’ve done a great job, too, Steve. Your departure from the show may have made a lot of people sad, but it’s fine. I’m just really glad to know that you’ve been able to do many things you were only dreaming of back then. Your sacrifice has paid off.

And, of course, I’m happy we’re still friends.

All the best,

Mina

Sep 8, 2021
In the Church of Muji

I’ve been a believer in Muji products for a few years now, but I won’t say that my devotion to this brand is comparable to the kind one would have for a god. Despite this, however, a recent visit to a newly renovated Muji store in my city made me think about church.

It’s been so long since I attended a religious service, and I haven’t prayed in years. Whenever someone asks me about religion, I simply tell them I’m Roman Catholic on paper but don’t actually practice anything. I’d rather focus on trying to be a good person—or someone who treats everyone fairly at the very least.

If my younger self could hear this, she’d probably cringe. Or, perhaps, she would even call me names. That’s because the younger me was so obsessed with the idea of finding the perfect religion that she was willing to hop from one church to another and try different ways of worshipping a god and following a set of beliefs in hopes of being saved from whatever it was she needed saving.

Almost Mormon

It all began when two Mormon missionaries knocked on the gate of our apartment in Antipolo sometime in 2003. When Mama came out of our home and talked to them, they asked her if she’d already accepted Jesus in her life. For some reason, she decided to let them in. Before we knew it, we were already attending bible study sessions in their church.

The whole bible study thing fascinated me. It was something we hadn’t done in our Catholic household. I also liked the fact that we were making new friends and learning how to pray together as a family. Somehow, all those changes gave me something to look forward to. And things suddenly felt so reassuring despite the hardships our family had to regularly deal with, particularly finances.

We were close to converting, but there was a problem: They wouldn’t allow Mama and my stepfather to become members of their church because they weren’t legally married. And they couldn’t just tie the knot as Mama was still married to my biological father.

It saddened me since I had already set my mind that we’d continue our journey as a family. But according to Mama, I didn’t really have to wait for them. I could simply get converted and continue going to that church if I wanted to. I said no. I realized that if the church could not accept my parents because of their circumstances, maybe it wasn’t the right fit for me.

Skeptically Catholic

It took me four years to regain interest in any sort of organized religion. A classmate of mine was an active member of the Legion of Mary at that time and she invited me to attend one of their sessions. I ended up liking it.

What I really appreciated about the meeting the most was how it gave me a deeper understanding of some things I had only been hearing about. I learned about the relevance of confession and communion, which I knew many Catholics would routinely practice despite not knowing what they were really about. I also learned how to properly prepare for a mass and participate in other church activities I hadn’t even heard of growing up.

I learned about the saints, too, who they were, and what each of them was for. I took inspiration from what they had done during their short stay on Earth and began to hope that someday I would also make a difference in the world in my own ways.

Most importantly, I went to church almost every day and heard the mass every Sunday, even on days when we were short on cash. Sometimes I would have to borrow money from friends just to afford the trike ride to the city proper, where the cathedral was, and that was just fine with me. That was just how devoted I was.

However, as I continued to learn more about Roman Catholicism, more questions formed inside my head. I started questioning rituals and how they sometimes seemed to matter more than people’s intentions. It just got to a point when I simply thought I should maybe take a break and explore.

Incompletely INC

I once dated someone who was a member of Iglesia ni Cristo. Right from the start, though, I knew it was wrong. INC members should only date people from the same church, so our relationship was essentially built upon sin.

But according to some INC friends, my case wasn’t that unique at all. Some members simply didn’t follow the rules, and, if I’d really end up with the guy, I could just work my way to being a member.

I wasn’t thrilled with the idea. However, since I thought my thing with that guy was somehow serious, I realized I should not completely dismiss it. And, in preparation, I should start familiarizing myself with what he believed in. I was in love, or so I thought.

Yet, the guy wasn’t—at all. A few months into our relationship, my mother caught him cheating on me with someone who turned out to be a churchmate of his. Not long after, I learned that the girl was the “ex” he had told me about, and, surprise, they hadn’t really broken up. So, technically, I was the third party in their relationship. An unwilling third party.

I broke up with the guy immediately. But even then, some of their churchmates who learned about my brief romance with him began to attack me online and harassed me via SMS. They called me names and told me, countless times, about my blunder. As if the guy wasn’t the real problem in the situation.

Naturally, I stopped attending INC’s events. The way some of its members treated me was just unacceptable. Just because I was an outsider, they attacked me without even knowing the real story. I wonder if they’d treat me the same if I were one of them.

I know their behavior wasn’t representative of how everyone in the church was, but at that time, I was just turned off.

Foolishly provident

Sometime around 2010, I was approached by a good-looking guy while chilling at UP Diliman’s Sunken Garden. I no longer remember how exactly our initial conversation went, but I’m sure he asked me how I was and in turn, I told him I had been feeling so down and defenseless. It was true. I was indeed faced with a lot of problems and since I was so young and had no means to get out of the shit I was in, things were extra harder for me.

He then told me something that hit me: “Maybe you just need to revisit His Word, which will serve as your ammunition.”

We had a lengthy discussion on faith afterward and I was impressed by how smart the guy was. He was also very patient in answering all my questions. And since I wanted to learn more, I accepted his invitation to a bible study session, which eventually happened again, and again, until he asked me to meet his other churchmates and then attend services and other events at their church, dubbed Providence, along Katipunan Avenue.

I was hesitant at first, especially how strange I found things in their church were. Their services ran for hours, and members were encouraged to minimize bodily movements while attending them. It was so intense. They also had a lot of beliefs that were rather shocking to me. For instance, they called themselves “brides of God” and they were so obsessed with how they looked, especially during services.

Despite my doubts, however, I continued going to that church. Besides, everyone was so nice, especially the Korean members. For the first time, I felt that I was with a community that accepted me for who I was. Everyone was so generous, too, which I appreciated at that time because I was a struggling university student. I even got “baptized,” whatever that means. And I started training for the music ministry.

Just when things were becoming better and more exciting for me, I learned a vital piece of information about the church and why its members were discouraged to look it up online: It was one of the most notorious cults in Asia, and its leader, “self-proclaimed Messiah” Jeong Myeong Seok, had been charged with multiple counts of rape. All of a sudden, the whole “bride of God” thing made sense. But not in a good way.

I stopped attending the church immediately.

Not so victorious

I was so desperate to find the right church for me that even a cult couldn’t put an end to my quest. Or maybe that was just me being stubborn.

A few months after I stopped going to the shady church, I began attending services at Victory. I felt so safe there. Plus, everyone seemed so nice. I also appreciated how thorough our discussions were on the bible.

However, I easily lost interest in it after someone from our small group called me out for not being able to attend our sessions regularly. And when I told her I just didn’t have a lot of time because I had to work most days, she told me to stop worrying because God would always provide.

I knew she meant well, but I guess she just didn’t realize how privileged she was in comparison to me. When you’re poor, you cannot just wait for God to provide.

It was at this point that I got tired. I also became busier with my studies because I was closer to graduating. On top of it all, I had to earn more so I could support not only myself but also my family. And so, I stopped thinking about any kind of organized religion. Time to be the captain of my soul.

Around that time, I began to realize what truly mattered: how I’d treat people around me.

Blissfully agnostic

Now I don’t even know if there’s really a god, and that’s okay.

I remember, someone once asked me: “What if, when you die, you find out that there’s actually a god and that god wouldn’t allow you to heaven because you did not follow their teachings?”

Here’s how I answered the question: “If there’s a god, then that god would probably know that I did my best to treat everyone in this world fairly and show kindness whenever possible. And if that god thinks believing in his existence would be more important than actually doing good things, then fine, I’d gladly accept his decision to deny me entry to heaven or whatever that would be called. It just means that god is an insecure god.”

Yet, I won’t deny that from time to time, I still miss the feeling of being in a church. I miss that inexplicable sense of clarity I used to have whenever I’d enter a place of worship, especially if there was a service going on. Everything would just seem so light and bright and the singers’ voices, as well as the sound of instruments accompanying them, would sound so good and comforting, as though they were cleansing my soul and getting rid of every sin and burden I had in me until I was light enough to float in the air and dance with the clouds. Yes, I still long for that feeling sometimes.

But since I no longer go to church, I can only make do with what’s available: that feeling I sometimes get when confronted by beauty, like when I travel to a coastal town and I stand on the beach while looking at the horizon and hearing the relaxing sound of the waves crashing gently against the shore. Or when I look over a cliff and see the mountains from afar slowly being blanketed by a sea of clouds.

Perhaps, it can even be as simple as being greeted by the nice interiors of a store while a calming track plays in the background, like when I visited the newly renovated Muji store at Shangri-la Plaza. While marveling at the beauty of how simple everything in it was and appreciating every beat of “Jos Sä Olet Minun Hellunani” playing in the background, I was reminded of the times I had entered a place of worship, feeling safe and calm.

Muji will never be able to save my soul as capitalism is another evil to fight, but, at that moment, there was clarity. I was so at peace that I was almost convinced I could find salvation on the shelves of that shop.

It might be foolish, but it was good enough for me.

Jul 11, 2021