Three months ago, I emptied my room. I got rid of a TV cart that doesn’t hold a TV, a study table filled with clutter, an office chair with a pile of used clothes that aren’t “dirty enough,” two printers, and a corkboard. All these stuff I had hanging around in my room did not serve me a greater purpose. All they did was take up a lot of space. And so, one day, I decided to move them all out.
Or so I thought this was the reason. The real reason I emptied my room was I had put off letting go of someone for so long.
Letting go of things was a diversion. It was an easier task. Letting go of stuff didn’t mean having to deal with the fear of being alone or the thought of seeing this one person hold someone else’s hand. I didn’t have to look at them, breathe deeply, and muster the courage to potentially break someone’s heart. I didn’t have to watch them stop their tears from falling.
Letting go of things simply meant moving them to another room and finding a better spot for them, and I had wished letting go of people were that easy—simply pushing pieces of furniture to another room then wiping off the dust from the floor I’ve left uncleaned for months because what used to be there covered it up completely, so I joyfully pretended that my room was clean.
But then after the room is empty, I stood by the door, satisfied with the results. I’ve got everything I needed in that room. I didn’t need all those stuff, but I needed the space. So, at the end of the day, I had all the space to dance around to my favorite song.
I never understood why most of the children I know dream of going to Disneyland… until I was 20 years old. It was my mother’s graduation gift—a trip to Hong Kong Disneyland. What better way is there to celebrate four excruciating years of college than to visit the happiest place on Earth?
I remember standing still in the middle of the entrance, unsure if it was real. Letting the joy and the colors sink in, I walked slowly through the wide, wide, wide walkway.
And then I realized we left our tickets at our hotel. We had traveled for 45 minutes via an overpriced private van from our hotel to Hong Kong Disneyland. Going back to the hotel meant we’d have to ride the train and spend more money, not to mention that it’d be time-consuming and tiring. At this point, we were standing at the ticketing station, wondering what else we could do other than going back for our tickets.
I know, I know. I’m crazy. I’m weird. And I’m serious.
School is just… comfortable. It’s the only thing I know how to work my way through. Teachers are always there to guide me and to tell me what to do. I know what will happen today and the next day and maybe the whole week. On weekends, my friends and I would either gather in someone’s apartment for a movie marathon or drink and dance to the same, horribly-mixed songs.
And then the cycle continues.
Attend my classes. Go back to the dorm. Lie down. Eat dinner with friends. Go back to the dorm. Finish homework. Sleep (optional).
Unlike the “real world,” school has a routine. Unpredictability can only be reduced to mere tests in most cases. There are plans and timetables. It’s organized and, oftentimes, well-thought-out.
The “real world” adults love warning graduates about is the complete opposite. It’s… It’s hell, really. Whatever plans I had were all taken down. That’s all. That’s why I’m sitting here writing about wanting to go back to school.
Anyway, here’s a post about my college bag.
I went to college with the goal of turning into this ‘girly’ girl, so I brought some of my mom’s handbags with me. I thought that maybe it would be an achievable first step. Of course, it wasn’t reasonable. Carrying notebooks and books inside a leather handbag isn’t really smart. I knew that bag wasn’t meant to last.
“Summer Capital of the Philippines” that’s probably the only thing I’m sure of about Baguio City. It’s cold. It’s filled with pine trees. Tourists go there for some cool air.
I had clueless expectations before reaching Baguio City. I thought I had to wear pants for the entire duration of my trip because of how cold it would be. Turns out, it’s only that cold in the evening. Our hotel room didn’t even need air conditioning units. The whole city is one huge air conditioning unit on its own. But only in the evenings.
I also thought it’d be a chill place, like how most areas in the mountains are. I was wrong again. There was traffic, like real traffic. This took me a lot of time to sink in because I had a little bit of a dissociation on my part. Gone is the image of Bagiuo in my head as a place for retreats. It’s a city… with traffic.
The popularity of indoor plants has grown on social media. They’re practically everywhere. It’s a new millennial aesthetic. Add some cute succulents on your photo and it’ll be like those shelves on Pinterest. Why is everyone suddenly into indoor plants? Is it only because they look good after choosing the right filter?
I have a theory… because I got a few of them recently.
Here’s a little bit of a back story
I graduated from college four months ago, and I still haven’t found a job. I’ve applied to tons and tons of companies but no one seems to be hiring me. I have freelance work that landed me in starting this blog. Even so, that’s not a consistent source of income.
What they don’t tell you in schools is that most of the time, things don’t turn out the way you planned them to. As the writer, Ian Casocot, wrote on Facebook, “Graduation is a heartbreak nobody tells you about.”
I thought I’d find a job right away, especially with my above average grades. I thought I’d prove people wrong about writing. Is it too much to believe that there’s money in writing in the Philippines?
This failure to reach high expectations caused me too much disappointment. I never thought having this many existential drifts is possible.
I’m positive that things will come back to normal eventually. Hence, the indoor plants. Doesn’t it sound so far-fetched? I can explain.
Four years ago, I started talking to a guy I kinda liked more than I should have. I was sixteen and I didn’t know how to handle the butterflies in my stomach (as people would say). It was the first time I waited for texts and stayed up late to hold a conversation for a person I felt something “special” with. Of course, I was fun and I never stopped blushing until the texts stopped coming and I fell asleep waiting for my phone to ring.
I remember staring at the ceiling still desperately clenching on to my phone. Nothing arrived. I reached for my journal—a red college notebook perfect for the precocious emotions I was going through.
I revisited the article I submitted to CandyMag four years ago. It’s a bit pretentious, but it pretty much sums up my experience of a teenage heartbreak.
Touring Macau in 9 hours is completely possible! Especially with the free shuttle rides to practically every tourist attraction. Hotels, casinos, and shopping, Macau has them made more artfully and luxuriously than you could ever imagine. To help you, I have listed six places to help you get started on your trip to “Asia’s Las Vegas.”