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  • 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.

  • 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.

    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

  • Our hero is dead, and so is our love

    I didn’t become a fan of Anthony Bourdain until you came into my life. It was you who introduced me to the joys of cable TV, after all.

    It was 2014. We had only been dating for a couple of months but moved in together, anyway. It just happened, and before we knew it, we were already sharing meals in the studio apartment owned by your family and watching the same shows on TV.

    Before that, my idea of television was limited to the shows produced and aired by mainstream networks. While I was not too fond of these programs, I developed a sense of familiarity with them. I was well aware of how convoluted a teleserye plot could be, especially when ratings were high and the producers felt the need to stretch the storyline just to make more money.

    No wonder, lifestyle shows on cable TV seemed like a blessing from the heavens to me. I was especially amazed by Anthony Bourdain’s “Parts Unknown.” I admired how great of a storyteller he was and how his features defied formats usually employed by other television personalities. I also liked how he respected different cultures and how humble he was each time he had to interact with people from the places he was visiting.

    One of the episodes I could not forget about was that one on Glasgow. It was, to me, as truthful as truthful could get. Instead of going for the usual cheap tricks other hosts usually resorted to, he chose to present the place as honestly as possible: He showed how dark and bland the place seemed and why, for many, this wasn’t considered a viable tourist destination at all. But of course, he also told about the beauty he found in it — all those lovely little things that made it unique. And yes, it had a lot to do with food.

    You were so glad to welcome me into the fandom as I grew fonder and fonder of him. Then, eventually, you told me about “Kitchen Confidential,” something you had read and learned a lot from. It was, according to you, what taught you about why one should not order fish at any restaurant on a Monday. It was also where you learned how blasphemous ordering a well-done steak was. These revelations intrigued me, so I read the book as well. And I devoured it.

    It easily became our bible. All of a sudden, our decisions on what to eat and where were influenced by the bits of knowledge we’d picked up from the book. There were even times when you’d call me out for my “boring” and “too safe” food choices. Shame on me, you would say, before reminding me that I, too, would have to explore and strive to become an educated eater to uphold the teachings of Bourdain, our hero.

    It was fun, I must admit. It even changed me for the better. From the overly picky eater that I used to be, I finally started trying new things out. I no longer asked for a well-done steak. I stopped myself from fancying dishes whose meat swam in too much sauce, knowing how chefs typically used those rich liquids to conceal flaws. I also tried to suppress my seemingly endless fascination with fried chicken, especially when eating out. Chicken meat was all about playing safe, as you often said, making a reference, of course, to the book. In other words, it was a boring choice. Something I should avoid, yes.

    With all the bits of new wisdom inside my head, I also became more open to trying out different cuisines. I graduated from being the pasta girl and braved Korean restaurants in Malate, finally able to appreciate the beauty of unlimited side dishes. I also became a bit more daring to try other dishes at Japanese restaurants and broke up with karaage, which had been my go-to order.

    I even agreed to go to a Greek restaurant in Makati once. Although its pretentious atmosphere irked me upon entering the establishment, I soldiered on. I bravely asked for the menu, threw quick yet sensible questions about dishes at the server, and ordered what I thought we’d enjoy. As soon as the food landed on our table, we looked into each other’s eyes, as though we were sending one another an important message telepathically: “Mission successful!”

    Our cooking habits changed, too. Since we were eager to prove how much we were learning, we started buying spices and ensured each of them was used with the right type of meat or in the correct dishes. We also tried, as much as we could, to buy ingredients from nearby wet and dry markets instead of the big supermarkets close to where we were living.

    We also became more appreciative of the people behind the meals we consumed. Now aware of the preparation process as well as the struggles usually faced by the people involved in the food industry, we waited for our orders more patiently, said “thank you” to the servers more often, and gave bigger tips.

    Like many other things, food kept us close and made our relationship stronger. Our shared commitment to educating ourselves on food and the different processes involving it gave us something to hold on to and nourish, besides our feelings.

    However, it came to a point when our shared enthusiasm for food could no longer save us. Perhaps, we simply grew apart. When not trying out interesting dishes or conjuring meals together, we were nothing but two different people with different sets of values and priorities.

    Remember the last food trip we had together? It happened in Manila’s Chinatown on your birthday in 2017. We ate Indonesian Tauhu at Quik Snack along Carvajal Street and wolfed down a platter of Kuchay at Dong Bei. Then we shared half an order of Sincerity’s iconic fried chicken.

    It seemed like a perfect day, except I had already been full of doubts about our relationship deep inside. You had been cold for the past few weeks, and I was getting tired of having to initiate most of our conversations and plan our dates. It was as if you were no longer interested in me and whatever we had. I don’t know if it was because I had chosen to move out of your place, or if you were simply no longer excited to spend time with me. In fact, earlier that day, I had to force you to meet up with me for us to do something together on your special day. You said you didn’t have work that day, it was your birthday, yet you’d rather stay at home and prepare for a company dinner you weren’t even required to attend.

    Your coldness and lack of interest persisted even during the holidays. And then, one day, I just woke up and realized that I no longer cared much about you. Maybe I just got used to not having you around. Or, maybe, I just got tired. Maybe I just realized that enough was enough, that I should devote my time and energy to other things instead of chasing after you. And so I decided to call it quits. I insisted, even if you objected, even if you promised me you’d do better. I was simply done.

    I will remember our love in the same way that I will remember Bourdain’s life, or what I know of it: It was good while it lasted.

    I know that to this day, many people still believe that what we had was too great to be thrown away—just like that. I am sure they remain convinced that it could have not ended if only we had enough courage and drive to fight for it a little bit harder. But what do they know? Our relationship may have seemed ideal from a distance, but they aren’t aware of what we had to go through and how difficult things were for us, especially in the last months we spent together. They may have seen our relationship ideal from a distance, but they aren’t aware of what we had to go through and how difficult things were for us, especially in the last months we spent together.

    In the same way, some people probably still have no idea what Bourdain had to go through while trying to live his life and what really pushed him to the edge, until he could no longer take it. And while they can live their lives wondering about the things they could have done differently in order to save him, one thing will remain unchanged: It is too late now. He’s dead.

    And like him, our love is, too.

    I wrote this essay in June 2018, a few days after Anthony Bourdain’s passing and five months after the death of a four-year relationship.