Zoe is a Filipina transplant in Singapore. Money is very tight given that Singapore is expensive for families not on expat package. I could understand why her parents don’t want to leave them behind in the Philippines and chose to live an almost hand-to-mouth existence in Singapore. I may have done the same because I cannot be parted from my children; but the difference is that I have a choice and I chose to stay here and live comfortably. Zoe’s father doesn’t. There is not enough employment options for Zoe’s parents in the Philippines as wages remain depressed while cost of living continues to jump.
Zoe impressed many when she replied to the trolls by posting a follow-up video in which she tearily explains her humble background and talks about privilege.
She told ST via e-mail that her family moved to Singapore from the Philippines in 2010. While she declined to say more about her parents, ST understands that her father works as a mechanical engineer.
So when her father gave her an SGD 80 Charles & Keith handbag, she was so happy that she uploaded on Tiktok that finally has her first luxury bag.
“My family didn’t have a lot. We couldn’t buy things as simple as bread from BreadTalk… when we moved to Singapore… Your comment spoke volumes on how ignorant you seem because of your wealth,” said the eldest of four siblings, who is being home-schooled.
The Singaporeans bashed her so much. The luxury brand-obsessed Singaporeans belittled an immigrant because her definition of luxury doesn’t match their own. My colleague told me that they shop so much because there is nothing else to do. In the end, they just throw out stuff with their price tags still attached because they no longer have room for more shopping. She felt Singapore produces so much waste because of this obsession with shopping.
They do not understand the kind of privilege they have and that only a fraction of the world’s population enjoy that kind of privilege. They live in a bubble.
Luxury is relative.
There was a time that C&K was a luxury to me as well and all I could do was just look longingly at the window displays in Rustans as I walked the length of Ayala Ave going to the MRT station wearing my beaten up black loafers from SM department store (Parisian) and blouse and skirt from Surplus Shop. I had to choose the cheapest toiletries and meals to make ends meet because I was just a year off from college and was just earning minimum wage. I had to share a dorm room with four other girls. My worldly possessions were my electric fan, my clothes, and my analog cellphone that I bought second-hand from my brother. I had to be judicious with sending SMS because at that time one SMS costs one peso and I only had PHP 300 budget for airtime load a month. Books and magazines were also luxuries to me. The only way I can indulge myself was to go to Booksale and buy PHP 10 to PHP 30-paperbacks or PHP 100-back issues of Vogue.
So for Zoe, it was a big deal to be given a Charles & Keith bag because her parents could barely afford it. People just 🤦♀️ love to hurt others.
Meanwhile, my quest to make nice bookmarks is not yet through.
Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com This one was just an excuse to use my new Holbein watercolors. It doesn’t have to be pretty and correct. Art and photo by CallMeCreation.comTrying my hand at children’s book illustration. It’s a book mark so it doesn’t have to be correct or pretty. Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com This one was an experiment. I just washed the entire paper and let the color bleed. My big mistake was lining it with a marker. Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com
I need to go to a museum. I’m losing my spark again. 😑
Let me start off by saying I needed a drink to write this down because this entails eviscerating myself.
I had a long chat over Messenger this afternoon with my friend (friendship dating back when we were 9-10 years old), about family (I know her entire family and their quirks and the generational issues) and how far we have come from where we were 2 years ago. It would be her supposed wedding anniversary tomorrow while it would be my 2nd year as a dumpee.
She told me about how her ex-husband just trashed all the things she has done for him, how she supported him when he had nothing, how she lifted him up because she loved him. However, he said he is happier without her. His insecurities led him to cheating and choosing women who would make him look good because he is superior over them vs my friend who is an overachiever.
I told her, unfortunately, the value you put in all of the things you gave him is not the same value for him–if he valued it at all. That’s how the world works, especially with narcissists, and with her ex-husband, he thought that what she did for him was an obligation and/or he was entitled to it, therefore, has zero value at all.
I told my friend, it’s just like when we adopted this niece (from a cousin) and she lived with us throughout her college life. We treated her like a sister, like a daughter. Then now she talks shit about us, especially on social media. We don’t know what we did to her to earn her hatred but at least she could have just shut up, in deference to how we treated her, right? My older sister said, apparently the value we gave to how we offered her a home and how we made an effort to make her an immediate family to us was zero for her. There are just people who are like that. I’m still hurting over that but what can I do, right?
Just the same with her ex-husband and just the same with my ex.
I remember right after J threw me off the balcony exactly two years ago from tomorrow, I had an interview with a company owner in Thailand he introduced to me. I think we set the interview in early January. That said, my interviewee enjoyed our conversation so much that we had two interview sessions. I took the opportunity to promote J as a good advisor that he should hire. He got so much boost from me—me being stupid, thinking that it was my last act of love towards somebody who I eventually discovered was screwing me over for a very long time, even from the beginning.
What a fool I was.
I thought I had forgiven him. Apparently no.
Because I dreamed about him this morning, but this time, in my dream I was in a quandary about how to kick him out of my house. We just got off the car and he was going ahead of me in some conference we were both supposed to attend. I whispered to a friend that I “still couldn’t do it, you know kicking him out,” but I know I had too because he was already treating me badly and was sucking out my light. The dream ended there.
So my dream was like an allegory of my anger that I still harbor and couldn’t still let go of. I haven’t forgiven him. I don’t want to label this as hate because I don’t want him to have that kind of power over me…because the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. Oh I wish to God that I’m already indifferent but I recognize that it is a long process and it’s not easy.
If I were a horrible, vindictive human being, I could have destroyed him because we move in a world where a good reputation is the most important thing, especially if you’re after contracts and high quality networks. This is very much true if you don’t have much of a track record compared to others in the same space. But I just said to myself, I won’t stoop to that level and just let the universe do its thing. Karma comes back biting your ass, I believe.
Besides, he has already destroyed himself within my network by his own doing, dallying with that ex-reporter girl. He underestimated my network, how far my arms can reach, what my ears can hear. He can no longer use my network even if I chose to be quiet because that’s the most dignified thing to do. I just let the universe do its thing.
I was used and I realize now that was from the very beginning. I took it hook, line, and sinker. I believed what I wanted to believe and ignored the red flags. He used baits like “Will you give me a home?” schtick so that I would give him everything that I had, believing he really wanted to be with me. I accepted him for what he was and when he was at his lowest, I tried to give him the world, with all that I had. I supported him with everything—moral, financial, professional…
I recognize and experience that relationships sour and breakups happen. But what I found unacceptable to me were the deceit and the lies. The way he treated me especially in the end. And what makes this healing difficult is that I am trying to live my life quietly but things still come unraveling to me even until February-March this year, about 14-15 months after the breakup. Like, what the fuck?! What did I do to deserve this?! He just kept throwing all these curve balls on purpose. Typical narc.
All I did was to love unconditionally, but loved the wrong person. Very wrong person. Now I don’t have anything left to give to anybody and I don’t think I have the energy and love left. I realized that love is not infinite.
So healing is not linear. You go take one step forward, two steps back many times in the course of this wretched stage. At the same time you are forced to “adult”. If I were still a theater actress now, I know I would be able to bring more depth and gravity to the characters I will play because I finally know now how it is to die and come back from the dead. Well, for me that’s how the past two years felt like. I died and come back from the dead several times.
Through this past two years, I learned how invaluable professional therapy is. Not just the woo woo group therapy (those New Agey things). You know, grief messes you up and chemically, your body changes and it short-circuits you. As my doctor said, it’s trauma and left unaddressed, the short-circuiting continues. Long Covid didn’t help either. Depression and anxiety are not trivial. It’s not a sign of being weak and/or lack of faith in God. Some people are predisposed to it due to heredity, environment, and/or it’s just how they tick. I realized that I’m an empath and I absorb the slings and arrows of everything and everyone around me–that’s why I have the double whammy. Artists (even not good artists like me) are prone to such things—the twin evil named depression and anxiety. That’s where we get our mojo. That’s why I could draw better when I was down and out. I could write the most heartfelt piece when I hurt. We draw our power from our gut and as a consequence we expose our innards only to get bruised more.
J may not understand what I went through and would think that I had just been melodramatic if he only knew (so that’s why it was really better for me to be scarce and disappear), but that again boils down to how differently we valued the relationship and one another. To him, I was just a tool and a means for him to reach his goals, one step at a time; for me, he was my world—at that time. So again, he would never understand.
So in summary, the past two years had been a long difficult process. It was walking through fire barefoot. It was like having an odontectomy but local anesthesia does not work (and yes, this literally happens to me). It was like battling with a Balrog in the depths of Moria, dying and coming back as a white Maiar, bleached by pain and death.
But bouncing back as a more powerful wizard.
I have found my inner strength and a new-found love for myself. I had found my voice again.
I may not be shiny and effervescent like those big-boobed women who go bar-hopping and post their night life on social media to prove that they have attractive, “meaningful” lives. I am also not a high-powered woman executive that command thousands of people with a snap of her fingers.
I am just me.
I can be charming if I wanted to be. I am intelligent and there are no dull conversations with me, if I wanted to. But most importantly, I can offer a warm home with lots of love and care, where someone can belong and grow roots. Because anywhere with me is home—that’s the best I can give to anyone.
And J just doesn’t appreciate that. He is the wrong person.
Soon, I would just wake up and say, “Who was he again?” That’s the best indication of indifference I hope to achieve.
I finally installed our parol outside. The fairy lights had been there since last year and I won’t take it down even when we move out. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
I was just too busy to do the usual Christmas decorating to cheer ourselves up—well, it’s mostly to cheer me up. The kids don’t care. This is the third Christmas that we haven’t set up a tree because…cats. 🐈
I’m still looking for the Christmas lights that I usually string around the balustrades. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
This is the last Christmas that we will be spending here in this apartment. My neighbor, the quietest neighbor I have who lives next to my unit, will be leaving sooner than us. She will be pulling out their stuff on Saturday. Her daughter will be going abroad to work while she will be moving into her sister’s house in Kamias. They stayed here for 19 years. She said she would have stayed longer (because she liked the location) if it were not for my crusty landlady’s mismanagement of the units. Her apartment (D) is full of termites. She often complained to our landlady about the disrepair of her unit but the latter doesn’t listen. Meanwhile, I don’t take shit for an answer that’s why I get things done. I use my own resources to fix things and bill her later. Oftentimes, I just don’t bother billing her because she will just complain that I’m a very expensive renter. Yada, yada, yada. 🤬 That’s why until now the roof at my cooking area still leaks.
Some people shouldn’t be landlords.
Still waiting for Lazada to deliver my 3x3m waterfall fairylights. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
My mom said the next family that will get this unit will be lucky because I improved the bathroom (and it is pretty, my mom said) and will be leaving a lot of better fixtures like the higher end faucets, a big bathroom exhaust fan, and the custom wooden counter in the cooking/laundry area. And I kept refreshing the white paint and the closet paint. The only damage I have to fix is the bedroom door knob that I destroyed when the cats were locked inside my room.
This has been home for four years now—five when we leave next year. It sheltered us during the most tumultuous time in our lives. It has broken me as well. I will be leaving the bad jujus behind when I shove the last piece of my stuff into the moving truck in May. I will have a sort of fresh start as I won’t have the bad memories that I still carry in this apartment.
Speaking of Christmas and bad memories, I usually look forward to this season because it meant two-week breaks and I can read a lot of books during my off-time. But since 2020, December also reminded me of the toughest moment in my life. And I was still dealing with shit until February this year. Good thing I was still under therapy at that time so I was able to bounce back faster than I did in August. December 2020 was just trash and all the expletives that you can throw at it.
Thank God for art. I may not be good at it but it has kept me sane.
Inking. I’ll ink first before coloring, which is the opposite of what I normally do. I think I’ll use a jaune tone on the church walls. Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com
So December is something I look forward to because of the long break and it’s also something that I dread because some bad taste in my mouth remains. I still get triggered. But it will be all right. I have many things to occupy me so I won’t be living in my head again.
Aside from improving my sketching skills, I am also busy with my house.
Photo sent by my contractor.
My contractor said this small cabinet is not the kitchen cabinet but this is something that will go under my TV. 🤔
Hopefully, I will be busy with my new house for an entire year so I won’t have room in my life to brood.
However, the problem with writers is that we think too much. We have this propensity to perform mental acrobatics because that’s what we do for a living. I know several writers who live in their caves/writing dens (like me) and rarely come out.
Here is June, my favorite Youtube cook (and resident cook at Delish). She uploaded this video of her grief a year after her mom died. This is the first time I visited her personal channel after watching a new episode of Budget Eats and learned that she and her partner and occasional food taster, Aaron, had broken up). I saw in this video how raw grief could be and how universal it was to receive messages from our loved ones in our dreams.
I sent this to my friend, B, and told her that she may find this helpful or cathartic and she doesn’t have to watch it soon. She can watch it next year. She said, she appreciates how I keep her in my thoughts.
Anyway, June talked about her scary and confusing dream about an emperor penguin attacking her, trying to protect her young from her. She dreamed about the terrifying emperor penguin around the same time her mom died.
One Sunday in July 2005, I woke up from a dream, crying. My father was in the hospital and dying. He died in front of my eyes. But I knew my dad was just downstairs in his room, but I was panicking still. I called my mom who was on a business trip in Iloilo and was also visiting my uncle—my father’s brother–and his family. I told her to come home immediately as I dreamed about dad dying. I told my sisters and my brother. I can’t remember if it was my mom or my sister who told me that we already knew he’s going to go sooner or later since only 30% of his heart muscles were functioning after his heart attack in 2000 and that the doctors only gave him a year to live and yet here he was, five years on, still fighting. No need to fret, they said.
I couldn’t get it out of my head. I left for Quezon City later that day because I had classes on Monday (grad school in UP Diliman). But before that, my dad cooked me breakfast and told me to take my medicine as I was coughing and may have an asthma attack later. I didn’t heed him. I just said I will come back Tuesday.
I was still unsettled.
I did not come back Tuesday. I told myself I will come home Thursday.
On Wednesday morning, I woke up, said goodbye to my partner (with whom I was secretly part living with on-and-off at that time) and went back to bed. I had a weird sensation of seeing myself giving my partner a hug—-this uncomfortable feeling of being watched from above.
After lingering a bit on the bed, I marched to the other room where my office was and watched the Korean drama Attic Cat on my computer as a way of procrastinating before tackling an editing job I must finish (I was a part-time editor for an English-language editing service in Hong Kong).
My brother called me on my phone. He was crying. He found my father dead on his bed; he wet his bed in his sleep.
I called up my older sister who was at work. She fell on her seat and started crying. I called up my mom, who was having breakfast with my uncle and the rest of the family. She started wailing. I told her, I told you to come home…my dream was a warning…
My brother and another uncle (who was also a professor in our university) immediately brought my dad to the funeral home. They were told that my brother may have found my dad 30 mins – 1 hr after he died since rigor mortis hasn’t really set in yet when they were fixing my dad. Or something to that effect, I couldn’t remember anymore.
My brother often had breakfast with my dad; he would drop by our house after his first class. Without fail that day, my dad cooked breakfast for my brother. However, the screen door was locked that morning when my brother knocked on the screen door. He knew my dad was inside but was not responding. He knew something was wrong. He started breaking the screen door to unlock it, used his key to open the heavy wooden front door, and saw my dad peacefully sleeping. One leg was propped up, as his usual position. But he was already cold.
A neighbor told me that she saw my dad early that morning going to church for the first mass of the day, at 5:30 am (or 6 am?). It was surprising because he normally didn’t go to church because he didn’t want people to see him sick. That’s how proud he was—he didn’t want people see him weak.
While we were waiting for my father’s body to arrive (not in the next 12 hours or so), I checked my dad’s room. He had worn his favorite red and white striped shirt that he had hung behind the bedroom door. He had in his pants’ back pocket my mom’s, my sisters’, and my handkerchiefs. I cried so hard. I think he knew he was dying that day.
A day before, he had one of his best friends visit him and they had a very long and fruitful conversation in our porch. At one point, he told his friend (which he told us) that he was ready to go as he has already settled what he needed to settle with his children…meaning he has sort of finally had some relationship with us. His only regret in life was he wasn’t able to give us material comfort because he was too proud and so fixed in his ways and refused to go with the system to become rich, he said.
I remember him telling me this, that he was being bought by one company he was fighting with because it was polluting a fishing community in Pangasinan (He was a faculty of the School of Environmental Science at that time). He said he could have taken the money and gave us a more comfortable life. But he didn’t.
So during my dad’s memorial, I told everyone and my dad, that it was ok if we weren’t rich. That we didn’t get to travel the world. That we were always short on cash when we were growing up. He shouldn’t feel guilty and regret some of his choices in life. I told everyone and my dad that he taught me–us—that integrity, dignity, and keeping our name clean are more important than any financial gain. It is the best lesson and gift that he could give us children. The lessons like fighting for your rights and fighting for people with lesser voice are worth more than gold. Living an upright life and not sponging on anybody is vital because DIGNITY is something other people couldn’t take away from you.
Every time I commit driving booboos, I remember my dad. I knew he would wring my neck. He always reminded me to check my tires (and pressure), radiator water, and engine oil before going on a long drive. I always remember him whenever I do those.
When I let my mom read my speech before the graduating students of my undergrad college, my mom told me, I am my father’s daughter. She sent my speech to my dad’s friends.
I know he is with me with my fight against our water concessionaire. My guts, pigheadedness, sense of justice, and the gumption came from him.
No, we do not get over the death of our loved ones. Even though they have hurt us at times. We just learn how to live with their absence. The grief does not go away. Your body just wraps around the grief and you grow around it.
Pseudoangiomatous Stromal Hyperplasia (PASH). That’s what my cousin had, not cysts. She has been recovering at home for four days now after her surgery. She had them removed because one of them had been growing and it started to hurt. She just removed her binders but it still hurt, she said.
I think at some point I got it when I was in college or right after college. It was quite a scare because my gynecologist had to refer me to an oncologist just to be sure but her initial findings told me these were lesions caused by hormones. I no longer remember what tests I had because I ejected them from my memory since it was quite a tense episode. The oncologist concurred that the lumps were lesions and were likely to disappear with my menstrual cycle—as my gynecologist had initially told me.
I never had a normal cycle and until now my hormones are often off. I have PCOS and it was already a miracle that I even got pregnant. Ah well, I had to go through hormone therapy just to have my girls. I always tell them that they were chosen because I had to work with my doctor to have them—my way of telling them that I already wanted them even before they came. (So girls, if you are already reading this because I’m already in the great beyond, know the difficulties I had gone through just to have you).
“Women with PCOS are twice as likely as women without the condition to deliver their baby prematurely. They’re also at greater risk for miscarriage, high blood pressure, and gestational diabetes (19).”
There you go. Having twins raises the probability of premature birth, but having PCOS almost made it a certainty. I bled twice while I was pregnant and I had to work from home eventually at 5 mos because my doctor said I will lose the twins if I didn’t stop traveling. I had to take a pill to keep the girls and stop bleeding. She even told me to not climb the stairs. But what can I do? My ex-husband was cruel; he didn’t want to help with the chores to the point we had a fight and he threatened to leave the house. We didn’t have a maid at that time and imagine this: I was heavily pregnant and I was still mopping the floor. I decided to go home to my mom and spend the last trimester with her so I will be well fed (and didn’t have to order fastfood because I was too tired to cook), I didn’t have to clean, and I would be nearer the hospital and my OB.
Anyway, fast-forward, even if my sex life had been a desert after having the girls and after J lost interest in me 6 mos before we broke up, I still had to take birth control pills because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have my period for six months or more. That happened when I was in high school and college and that time when I finally had my period after several months without having any, my body was racked with pain that I had to be confined to my bed. I bled like a pig while I was curled up and cried myself to sleep because 500mg of mefanemic acid sometimes couldn’t relieve the pain. After getting pregnant and giving birth, my dysmenorrhea became tolerable but hormonal changes are still wild that’s why I always felt sick (my headaches were enough to crack my skull) during my periods.
That’s why I have high tolerance for pain. All my life I had been in pain physically and emotionally.
Another reason why I couldn’t lose weight is because of insulin resistance due to PCOS. It doesn’t help that diabetes runs in the family.
Hence, I must continue with my workouts even if my body doesn’t want to cooperate.
The 1.5 min planking caused my heart rate to spike.
Bought new moisture-wicking shirts for my walks/indoor workouts. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
When we were in Tiendesitas yesterday, we stopped by Decathlon to buy myself a new pair of dumb bells and moisture-wicking shirts. To motivate me to continue with my workouts. I can’t stop now—once I have diabetes, my days are numbered.
Matabungkay, Batangas.Photo by Matabungkay Beach Hotel.
OK, that’s taken care of. Booked for three days and let’s see if the girls can still attend class online. If not, then so be it. A day’s absence will not hurt. We’ll make the most of this beach trip to Lian, Batangas.
I used to frequent this part of the province as a child. The last time I had been here was when we had an exercise for our Bio 150 and I couldn’t remember what we were doing then. I think it was about biodiversity or something. There was a secluded area of this coast where underwater life was still unspoiled. When my mom was still teaching Bio 150, I used to tag along when I was a kid because I really loved the sea.
While I was doing a loop in UP academic oval this evening, I decided that I probably won’t stay in Anilao for a week. I may just end up holed up here at home or I visit the construction site.
A little sacrifice won’t hurt. By 2023, I would have more financial and physical freedom to travel more frequently as the girls will be nearer extended family who can check on them daily.
If I get to have my ADB conference approved in January, then I will be able to save on airfare for my holiday by extending my stay there. I just need to work my ass off and produce 16 stories again.
If Covid didn’t happen, I would have traveled to Incheon with J in May 2020 (I told him I can bring him as my guest) so he can network with all the big guys there. In Yokohama, I was able to talk to top execs of the big Japanese trading houses like Itochou, Marubeni, Mitsui and was able to get an exclusive story from the president of Hitachi. My Japanese colleagues’ jaws dropped because they said they normally don’t have access to such high profile people, much more have a chat/interview with them. I had been treated to dinner by an executive of JTI. I had chitchats with top bankers in Asia since we sat next to each other during meals.
At the receptions (sponsored by government of Yokohama [dinner 1], ADB [dinner 2] and Japanese government [dinner 3]), I was able to establish ties with some Japanese sources. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to maintain the connections because I became too busy. Nurturing connections like these take a lot of time and effort.
I expect the top execs of the chaebols would be there in Incheon, as well as medium and small enterprises in Korea and some Asian conglomerates. A lot of solid connections for him there since his sector is now one of the top priorities of ADB’s private sector arm.
Well, it’s not meant to be. 🙃 It was good Incheon 2020 meeting didn’t push through because that #$@#$%^&* would still have cheated on me anyway.
Imagine that, he wouldn’t have to pay for his airfare (we would have used my miles) and hotel (my work) and I was able to pull some strings so I could cover the Incheon meeting (even though we have a Seoul bureau) so he can have access to all these. That’s how supportive I was of him.
Ah well I was stupid.
I’m not going to be that stupid again.
Today I grilled some ribs because…why not? Since I am limiting our restaurant jaunts for a bit, I will just splurge on home cooked meals.
Chef’s kiss 👌😘 Photo by CallMeCreation.com
After that late lunch, I went vegetable and fruit shopping because my body is craving for veggies. I need to limit my red meat consumption and carbs if I want to get in shape for my November conferences. I need to fit into an evening dress. 🥴
Shopping at Enrique’s in UP. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
I left the car near that area and did my brisk walking to make just one loop.
Wohoo! I missed this. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
Only 200 kcal burned. *sigh* It was already getting dark and I needed to bring the car to Cainta to have the final buffing and polishing.
Need to lose weight and get back in shape.
I am taking advantage of this nicer weather. I hope it won’t rain heavily this coming week.
It looks like it’s going to be clear for the rest of the week (*keeping my fingers crossed* 🤞). It breaks my heart to see this clear satellite view. This would have been the perfect weather to go to Palawan or even Anilao but I can’t go. 😥
Ah well, I’ll just bring my bike to my hometown this weekend when I meet my contractor and then I will go to that secluded place my high school friends posted on IG where they grilled food on their camping stove while waiting for the sun to set over the swamp. ❤
