Lupang Hinirang in unison

https://youtu.be/_TZAiluBw5A

Hearing this many people sing the national anthem in unison made my skin crawl. A lot of my friends and even my sister said that being there was surreal, something that you would only experience in extraordinary times.

That’s why when they said (social media is abuzz) that the next grand rally will be in Makati, along Ayala Avenue on 30 April, I told my sister we should book a room in Manila Peninsula for two nights to have a good view and at the same time my mom can also experience this.

I was asking my friend from my old TV network if the Makati venue and date is confirmed (he’s covering all campaign sorties/rallies of Leni nationwide), he said we can only know a week before the event because this is only arranged by the volunteers.

So let’s see if I can book with free cancellation, just in case they change.

UPDATE: It’s Paseo de Roxas, Makati


Today was so hot that my Twin A bought me an ice cream cone ❤️ while I was working this noon.

Selecta ice cream. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

And it’s still March. It would be a lot hotter in the coming weeks. I’m already melting.

I don’t know how I spent the rest of my day but the time flew fast and I didn’t even do much. I just edited one story and for the life of me I could not figure out what else I did. Mostly admin tasks that really eat up my Mondays.

I just cooked egg drop soup with mishua and leeks for K and sent it with the Himeji Castle Gardens gate sketch tonight. He said he gets bloated with certain foods after his surgery but he can slowly take in rice in the form of rice porridge.

Tomorrow I think I’ll do bulalo since I bought beef shanks. I will make a clean soup out of this and lots and lots of veggies. I’ll cook it for 4 hrs on high or 8 hrs on low on the slow cooker.


The board under my desk’s drawer became loose so I had to repair it. I had to take out a lot of stuff and among the found stuff lurking in there were plastic pictures of Spirited Away and My Neighbor Totoro I bought from Donguri Republic in Taipei in 2016. It’s only now that I was able to frame it after hoarding frames from Ikea yesterday.

Chihiro no Sen. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
My Neighbor Totoro. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

It took me 6 years to have this framed and see it up. 😂 At least it would be there to lift my spirits when I am having a basura day.

I created a sanctuary here. When the world throws shit at you, you can retreat to your sanctuary and be surrounded by things that you love. That is the essence of home. Home is a place where your heart can rest, soothe your ruffled feathers, and feel protected. This is the first real home I had since I left my hometown. I never felt safe and really comfortable in all the houses that I lived when I got married. I never considered those houses mine because I never had a say in those houses. This apartment was truly a sanctuary for me, even if it’s just a rental. I created this home with my own hands.


I found my Sony Walkman mp3 player and I got to hear my playlist that had so much history for me on my Edifier speaker. 8 GB worth of songs. At this moment I’m listening to Porter Robinson‘s Shelter and before that was Yoko Kanno x Aoi Teshima’s Because. These songs brought me back to the a time and space I thought things were just right. When I was happy.

These songs also tugged at my heartstrings when I was broken.

When we transfer to our new home, I will have the freedom to play music as loud as I want. I don’t have to deal with neighbors. Especially when I play Soundgarden 😄


It’s that time of the month that I have to deal with finances. This is the amount of receipts that I have to tally and check where my money went.

Too many receipts. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

I don’t throw away receipts quickly because I need to check them and record them on my daily diary to track spending. I have an Excel file of my monthly budget and I have to adhere to it. That’s how I get to have room for spending for frivolous things because I have earmarked xx amount for “fun money”. Sometimes I go overboard (like this month) but I have enough wiggle room as not to destroy my monthly spending.

When I was growing up, I often saw my mom hunched over the tocador (Spanish – dressing table) with a calculator and a little notebook, balancing the household budget. She’s very careful with money, which I think I and my older sister inherited. Whatever I spent for the month, it has to come from somewhere i had budgeted. This is the reason why I have many bank accounts—I treat them like my wallets where I distribute my income, including investments.

I’m teaching my children self-control and they are somewhat successful with it. They hold off spending the money they received from aunts/uncles (they just received advanced birthday money from their paternal aunt and uncle) when they are saving for something bigger, like the rollerblades that Twin I wants. For the little things they want like milktea via Food Panda/Grab or stationery from Shopee, they use their chore money (money they earned for doing chores). At least they know the value of the money they’re spending. When they pick up an item from the grocery store or mall, they equate it to how many hours they will spending on doing chores just buying that thing. That’s time value.

You got to start them young. That’s how my mom taught me while I was growing up.

Art therapy working

As I said yesterday, I will pick myself up today. Art has helped me channel my anger into something more productive. I chose a difficult subject so I can concentrate on it and in the end it was all worth it.

I sketched in between editing stories. It took me almost an hour to finish the pencil sketch because there were so many adjustments. I was debating whether I do a wet-in-wet or layering. I decided on layering so it took me several hours to finish this because I needed each layer to be dry before I do darker coloring.

Making slow progress. Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com

I really have to master wet-in-wet to produce a smoother color gradation. In the meantime, wet-in-dry layering would suffice.

I’m happy with the results. Art and photo by CallMeCreation.com

I’m excited with what I can do when I have the Kuretake Gansai Tambi. 🥰

I took it easy today, edited only a couple of stories and did not exert effort to write my own (I’ll do that next week). So I played with my cats more.

Kimchi trying to be cute. Photo by CallMeCreation.com
She continued to beg for some petting. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

I haven’t attempted drawing my cats. If I do draw my cats, I’ll make them into cartoons 😄

Meanwhile, my new 10-year passport arrived and I’m stuck with that ugly passport photo for a decade. The good thing is I can now fly to Singapore once I get the go signal from my bosses. Our company is already implementing return-to-office (RTO) in phases so it would take a while before I can fly to our different offices. Except for HK as its government (or Beijing for that matter) is still having delusions that they can keep up with the zero-Covid policy. My colleague in Shanghai was complaining to me that he had to cut short work yesterday to shop for supplies because they’re going to have another lockdown and mass testing.

In a related development, I had been looped in the entire communication thread of another platform in our company and it seems like I have another reporter placed under my wing. He was the one who I had helped with raising funds for his daughter’s hospitalization and burial. So today I gave him two assignments to pursue and gave him the agencies he needs to talk to, the questions, the angles to pursue. It seems like I need to co-write that story with him.

I have to attend a lot of conferences and meet people so I can be in the loop when it comes to the topics published by that platform since I will be straddling two titles now.


So my plan to go to National Art Museum and Intramuros is thwarted as the girls will be spending the weekend with their dad. I think I’ll just take advantage of their absence by staying home, catch up on some sleep, and finish pending tasks like the curtain panels that I should be finishing but had just been stewing on my other table for 10,000 years. My girls asked me why do I keep on beautifying the apartment when we’re moving soon anyway? I said as long as we’re here, I want my environment to be pretty and enjoyable. I mean, I’ve been through hell and back (and back). Might as well make myself happy now and not wait until when we’re in our new home. I planted morning glory seeds and now they have grown and soon the plants will be creeping on the trellis and the courtyard will be filled with flowers. I have no idea what the colors will be. It doesn’t matter; I will leave them here when we move.

Photo from Almanac.com

We live in the NOW, not for the tomorrow, not for yesterday. So might as well make myself happy now even if it means I would be dismantling everything soon when we move. I have exactly 12 months to enjoy what I have created here.

I should remind myself that I do not live in the yesterday as well, that he already belongs in the past and he should no longer hurt me. But I can’t help it that at times I get angry that he gave me so much hell.

I hope I no longer experience basura days and I no longer get triggered. I will no longer talk about him with friends. I don’t know if I could avoid this with my shrink though.

I’ll just cook for my friend K tomorrow. It makes me happy that somebody else is happy with my cooking. Love in a pot.

Appreciation

One of my favorite songs to sing in the past 14 months has been “Burnout” by Ebe Dancel but the version I’ve been singing is the one by Ben&Ben and Clara Benin. In appreciation of the artist/songwriter, I sent him a message, just to let him know that his work is important. I also happened to be the sister of one of his high school friends and we went to the same high school. He also struggled with depression after the breakdown of his marriage…so sometimes it helps if we send some kind of appreciation to the artists that we like since it gives them affirmation that what they’re doing makes sense even if the world doesn’t. It’s like when I receive Twitter direct messages from my readers, saying I was spot on with my last story or the stories coming from Southeast Asia are good, while I personally struggle keeping it together. Kind words are salve to a wounded soul.

Today I was in the mood to be a little extra so I made bacon-wrapped enoki mushrooms with the leftover homemade “Swedish” meatballs (the Ikea version recipe I found online) for brunch. The girls were happy.

We didn’t go out today so we can rest and I can attend to my container garden that has been partly destroyed by the torrential rain earlier this week. I replaced the ones that drowned and trimmed the damaged foliage. Despite the damage, some blooms made me smile. For several months I struggled to make the mini roses bloom again. Which they did today.

And against all odds, some flowers survived the rain. Gives me some kind of assurance that I will somehow bloom again, too.

Just more tender loving care (constant watering, trimming, and fertilizing and re-potting) is needed and they will bloom again. Like I needed to attend to my needs and paid attention to myself (self-care), I will bloom again. It may take a long time but I just need to be patient. Once established, a torrential rain will not wash me out that easily.

This is Mochi (whom our neighbors call Whitey). He has healed really well after his neutering and he will soon receive his rabies and 4-in-1 vaccines c/o my neighbor. He loves the bed that we made for him just outside our door. He no longer bothers our cats by the window.

Mochi. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

Once he has been vaccinated, the girls and I will attempt to give him a bath. Our cats hate baths.


Stories of two women scorned

I was chatting with the mother of the epileptic child who just died last month (my colleague’s ex-wife/scorned wife) and she was asking me about the annulment procedures and how much it costs. I told her better prepare half a million pesos because it’s that costly. I told her I am writing the check for the acceptance fee of my lawyer and I need to raise the other funds for the billable hours of my lawyer when hearings start. She got discouraged but then she said she will not file now since the father of her child is still grieving…too torn because he is being eaten up guilt and regret. I said she still has time to save up for the annulment.

Let’s call her N. She said her scoundrel of a husband (my colleague) had been having sex with this young journo in Sogo motels while she is in the hospital taking care of their child after every epilepsy episode. Just thinking about it makes her blood boil, she said. She said this husband was always absent and didn’t give time to their daughter when she was still alive and now he’s paying the price. He lost so many moments he could have been with their daughter but now she’s gone, he can’t bring back the lost time. It was her brother who assisted her every hospitalization of her daughter. She said she wants to be happy and find someone who will respect her and love her that’s why she’s making the separation legal.

I told her that’s the best move than we can make for ourselves. We shouldn’t just be accepting loose change for affection. That’s the problem with me (and her); we just accepted the bare minimum, thinking it was normal that it should be us who should be giving more into the relationship. “The next time,” I told N, “if I should choose to have a next time, the next person should treat me as if I was the best thing that happened to him. That I am precious to him. That he will appreciate me and love me and not treat me like a human appliance, as you termed it.”

J’s thank you doesn’t mean anything—it’s more of a move to soothe his conscience than pure gratitude—considering how he treated me like a rag and how he cheated on me while I supported him in all aspects. As N termed it, I was a human appliance and an ATM. Imagine, the slut moved into his condo unit a few days after he broke up with me. I could have learned about it a year ago given that I am well connected with real estate companies, especially this particular developer. Plus Jo worked at this company. But I chose not to because I wanted a clean cut. It is only now I learned all about this shit. Now everything fell into place for me—everything was premeditated. What he said about he wasn’t even thinking of breaking up with me that night of Dec 17, 2020–it was a lie. He was just waiting for the right time that I give up so that the break up will not be on his conscience. The reason why he was so angry at me for possibly dropping by unannounced was because he may be found out. If he really was thankful for everything I did for him, he should have treated me more kindly when we were together. I wonder if that’s the kind of treatment of women he had seen growing up.

So I told N I’m so done with men, especially Asian men. There’s something in the way they were raised by their Asian moms that made them so self-centered. She agreed since her ex (my colleague) is such an asshole and he was raised by a supermom who catered to him head to foot. Even J himself told me that his mom (who eventually became a solo parent) had a hard time with him, with his expensive tastes (i.e. his demands for cheeses and exotic food).

My journey has been so exhausting. So I told N that it was good that she’s still open to having another relationship after her scumbag of a husband. While me, I think I’m so done with it.


This other story is about my childhood friend who is now a lawyer in Singapore (who talked to me on FB messenger while on a cruise yesterday). She is paddling in three rivers–three different men, including her soon-to-be ex-husband. Long story short, she is looking for affection and running after them/looking for affirmation because she is a co-dependent like me. She grew up in a co-dependent household with her mom being the rag (co-dependent) and her dad the abusive husband (dependent). Anyway, she is justifying her actions because of her co-dependency issues. I told her she is just making herself more miserable and making her co-dependency syndrome an excuse. And exacting revenge on the woman her other guy is seeing will only fire up her anger and not give her peace.

“You are more than this. You are above this. Please, stop digging yourself into deeper shit. Heal yourself first because this will be a never-ending cycle,” I told her. “You are so messed up!”

I told her that I am also aware of my co-dependency issues but instead of using this as an excuse to fuel my desperation, I used this as a weapon against myself.

“I had desperately wanted to talk to him (J), I desperately wanted to be with him. I was already dying inside, but no, I chose not to act on it. I did not chase. I stopped all communication because all I had was my dignity. Imagine if I acted on my desperation for love, I would have been more humiliated and crushed today learning that he had been cheating on me despite giving him the world,” I was shouting and crying at the same time when I told this to my childhood friend. “It was my self-respect that saved me. Give yourself some self-respect. You are more than this person who is desperate for affection and seeking it in the wrong places/persons. Please, lift yourself out of this mess,” I cried.

This need for love, trying to fill the void by chasing affection from other people, can be cured by giving yourself the love, respect, and appreciation you deserve. You need to fill up the void yourself before you can find real love because you will discover your true worth, I told her. And you will now have a gauge for the next person, to know if he is enough, if his love is worthy of you. It’s hard, I know. It was an uphill climb for me. It has been 14 months but now I am slowly realizing that self-love is the best treatment I can give myself. “Please love yourself first. Appreciate yourself first. You are not a rag,” I said.

It’s true. I had been healing myself by giving myself the love that I had given J. I’m not there yet (as the unconditional love I gave him is still beyond my comprehension), but getting there…

I told her: Go up the ship’s deck. Watch the sunset. Put on make-up and dress up. Have nice cocktail on your hand while you lounge on the deck. Treat yourself. Pamper yourself. Love yourself. Put all your energies on yourself instead of exacting revenge on some woman or on R. Or trying to bait H. Or letting M dangle. Believe me you’ll be happier in the end.”

I told her I could have exacted revenge on J, I could have messed him up and told the Bureau of Immigration stuff so he could be blocked from renewing his tourist visa. I could have messed his business/es. I could have destroyed him among the rest of Philippine media and corporations but I chose not to. I could have stalked and made a mess with all his women (I could have researched and do some sleuthing because I’m an investigative journo by training) but I chose peace. I took the high road. I chose to heal. I’ll just leave it to God. As my colleague-friend said, expend your energies on more productive pursuits instead of wasting it on a worthless person.

I thank all the women friends who have supported me and empowered me. I’m in a much better place right now. I’m still messed up, still going through therapy, still hurting but I am slowly healing.

That’s why I’m helping these two women in my stories above. I’m paying it forward.

Badassery

Repairing Twin I’s wobbly computer table with Ate C holding the table steady. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

Today I did some minor carpentry jobs, mainly building Ikea furniture and repairing old study/computer desks of the kids. After a few hours, I was able to corral their overflowing stuff in neat drawers and gave a new lease on life to old furniture.

Some people (like J) just don’t appreciate domestic goddess and newsroom badassery rolled into one person. One day someone will.


Today is the 36th anniversary of first EDSA People Power revolution that ousted dictator Ferdinand Marcos and his family from power and the country. It’s surprising that we are still allowed to commemorate this day given that how this Duterte administration panders to the Marcoses.

In 2011, while I was heavily pregnant with the girls, I fired up my my laptop and started writing. This essay is still very much true today. (I can’t remember if I had this published by my news outfit in 2012-2014).

Photo from Rappler.com

25 YEARS AND COUNTING

I remember the radio blaring for 24 hours day after day. I could smell fear in the air. I was just six-going-seven at that time but I knew something earth-shaking was happening. My mother was glued to the only radio we had in the house then while my father was missing. I didn’t know where he was at that time but I just had an inkling that he was somewhere dangerous. That must have explained my mother’s anxiety at that time.

TV then was no good. A few days ago I watched on our mala-cabinet TV a bunch of people walking out of a hall. A big, big hall.

I had nightmares of those nights when Radyo Veritas invaded my sleep. There were so many voices. They were praying the rosary over and over.

Some weeks before that, my cousin Ina and I had a fight. She ran around their house shouting “Marcos! Marcos! Marcos pa rin!” I countered with “Marcos, imperyalista, diktador, tuta!”  Typical response from a daughter of two tibak parents. I didn’t know what that exactly meant—but I knew it was bad. I thought it was worse than saying putanginamo. Marcos was a bad man. My cousin said she liked Marcos because she liked the color red. Marcos’ party colors then were blue and red, if I remember it correctly. I liked yellow because it was cheerful to look at. I held up my hand that formed the letter “L” over my head. A fight broke out and tears and snot were all over the place.

My sister K, a year younger than I am, was caught in the middle of two opposing forces that were tearing each other’s hair. She could not take my side because she just loved Imelda. Whenever the Madame is on the TV screen, K would come rushing in front of it and gaze at her. She loved the pomp, the glamour, and the beauty that this woman exuded. She admitted to me that even today she is still fascinated with the woman. Who wouldn’t be? Imelda is so out of touch with reality that you wonder where in the world did she get the idea that she had to be constantly beautiful to help the poor Filipinos feel good about themselves. Then there’s this thing about Apple computers transforming into pacman…Oh just watch Ramona Diaz’s docu film Imelda. But I have to admit that she is indeed handsome and charming. I couldn’t take my eyes off her when I saw her some years ago at Shangri-La mall, flanked by two body guards. Then I saw her in Congress while I was covering a budget hearing. The woman glided past us. No, she didn’t walk. She glided. Like a queen. So regal. So Imeldific.

A self-proclaimed queen that brought the country to its knees. Like Marie-Antoinette.

My family had been collecting copies of Malaya, Mr & Ms. and the occasional Time magazines at our backyard. We had no other periodico at that time. My father said everything else was a big fat lie. I didn’t understand it then. But it was there, at our backyard, where my romance with newspapers started.

Nerves were frayed that fateful February. We didn’t know where my father was exactly at that time. There was no way of contacting us. There was talk of tanks, soldiers, and guns. Is he dead? Is he alive? What is happening? Those were the things that ran through my head. 

Then one day people came running out of their houses and spilled out in to the street. There was joyous chanting. K said there was a motorcade of some sort but she chose to stay at home that time. She was sulking. She was still rooting for the Madame. It’s funny how Imelda could mesmerize a five-year old kid.

It was only later I realized that my missing father was there somewhere with the thousands of Filipinos hand-in-hand facing down tanks and the nozzles of guns. It was only later that I realized that the Marcos-imperyalista-diktador-tuta had been rescued by the US government and whisked away to Hawaii.

Magkaisa. Kapit-bisig.

Everything had changed that day.

Well not so much.

The promise of change did not happen. Same oligarchs ruling their fiefdoms all over the country. Same poverty. Same patronage politics. We’re still the laggard of Asia.

I had been to the bukid, to Mendiola—everywhere—hoping change would soon come. As a young professional in November 2000, I had marched and slept on the streets of Mendiola with students to oust a corrupt president. I stormed EDSA after seeing that odious Tessie Oreta dancing in the background during the envelope opening brouhahaha in Senate in hopes of continuing the spirit of the first People Power. Hoping that this time true change may happen. It is the new generation’s responsibility of keeping the fire in the torch alive.

But change did not come.

I know I shouldn’t be hard on us. Change doesn’t happen overnight. Rome was not built in one day. But knowing that we are back to where we were before is tearing me apart. It pains me that people had become apathetic or ambivalent. We grew weary of People Power. Of EDSA. We had let a woman rob us right before our eyes. We had let her minions run free and plunder our country. We had let them desecrate the meaning of People Power.

You voted for a president because of a legacy he carries on his shoulders. That is indicative that Filipinos are still chasing that dream, that thing that has been eluding us for 25 years.

Change.

How could we have change when only the surface has been wiped out and replaced with cosmetically enhanced actors whose footprints have already graced the same stage they had been dancing on for years?

I wanted to tell our friends in the Middle East about the cautionary tale that is the Philippines. But I don’t want to be a party pooper. Let them have this euphoria, even for a moment.

How could I not feel this way when I know children somewhere in the mountains of Zambales could not go to school because of they do not have teachers? How could I not be jaded when students had to walk a whole day just to come to school? How could I not cry when I know people rushed to the provincial hospital of Samar had to buy their own cotton and their own syringe if they wanted to be treated without contracting other diseases? Or better yet they would rather risk the 2.5-hour travel to Tacloban in order for them to get decent medical attention. How could I not feel helpless when somebody dies everyday fighting the system, fighting for his right as a free citizen of this country, fighting to live?

I remember my boss telling me that maintaining news independence is an everyday struggle. You pick small battles and try to bring that to the table, day after day after day after day… You cannot stop. There is no room to be weary. The same goes for freedom and change. You have to fight for it everyday.

But I am a Filipino. I am resilient. I am patient. I have in my hands the power to change the world.

Because I am a Filipino.


I’m too emotionally exhausted at this hour to type what my friend (since elementary) have talked about. She’s the one who transferred to Singapore and is in a fucked up situation. She called me up while she’s on a cruise and told me how messed up she is. I didn’t mince words and told her, yeah, I forgot to tell you that the last time we talked.

Maybe when I can’t sleep tonight I’ll try to process and write this down.

Building, fixing

Twin A painting in the background while I build this shoe cabinet. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

I’ve always built stuff if I have a manual for it. I didn’t have to rely on any man for manual labor if I can help it. Maybe at the back of my mind I knew I would be living alone in the foreseeable future? I don’t know. I’ve always been self-reliant.

And I built one of the drawers for the girls but I need to return it tomorrow since it had a faulty hole for one of their proprietary screws.

After I return this tomorrow morning at Ikea, I will just work in some coffee shop in BGC and meet with our Manila reporter since she has a presscon tomorrow at Shangri-la Fort. Face-to-face meetings are coming back, methinks.

Thus ends my working in isolation. I would have to dress up again. Yey. I kinda miss that.


As I was saying, I try building or learning to build by myself because I can’t rely on other people doing things for me. If it’s way over my head, then I will gladly pay for it like plumbing and electrical jobs. But I if I can learn it, I will always try to do it myself.

Like fixing computers. I learned how to set up a home network, from laying cables to setting up modem and routers/repeaters. Later on, I am the one being called back home to set up my mom’s internet connection and fix her laggy laptop (clean it, reinstall the OS, or add RAM, which I did the last time). My sister-in-law (my brother’s wife) calls me Ms. Butingting (tinker) because I was always tinkering with something, even if I end up destroying the one I am tinkering with. That’s how I learned. Now I can add RAM or swap an HDD to an SSD. I learned how to install or reinstall operating systems. So far I haven’t bricked some motherboard because of an attempted BIOS update (because I haven’t; too scared because an internet connection hiccup may ruin it). I learned how to dual boot my computers (Windows/Linux) and worked around UEFI setups. I learned Linux by myself.

Simple home repairs I can deal with. Workarounds and manual labor are ok with me; I don’t have to act like a damsel in distress, unlike some stupid female out there who acts like she’s dying if no guy can help her. I have little patience for women who knew nothing but open their legs and have something between them. Use your brain, girl! When it comes to car repairs, I had to learn how to deal with them. Even when I had a husband, I never relied on him to do my car repairs for me. Besides, he won’t do it for me anyway.

There’s some kind of freedom knowing how to do things on your own. I don’t have to rely on any man to do things for me. I can figure it out on my own. If can’t physically do it, then I hire somebody to do it. No big deal. I can’t be like my mom when my father died; she was so lost when it comes to home repairs and dealing with tradespeople. She was kinda helpless…she always said it was my dad who had to deal with leaky faucets and broken doors.

That’s why when I was on my own, the first thing I bought for my apartment were home improvement tools. Now I’m completing my power tools as I am about to order my jigsaw tool. Circular cutters occupy too much space.

One day I will have a shed in my garden that can be my workshop. Like this girl:

Sorry, can’t help myself

More saturated colors for on-the-go sketchers. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

I didn’t wait to order this online. I just bought it off the shelf. I found that the 18-color tray was too big to put into my shrinking bag (my bag has shrunk since the pandemic began) so I bought this pocket watercolor tray. Because I’m serious about starting my urban sketching hobby. It’s art therapy. Now all I need is a waterbrush pen and I’m all set. I already started sketching while we were waiting to be seated at Ramen Nagi at SM Mall of Asia in Pasay.

The couple infront of us in the queue while we waited to be seated at Ramen Nagi. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

The girls and I went to SM Mall of Asia because we needed to buy drawers because their tables are already collapsing due to the weight of their stuff inside their tables’ drawers. In the first place those tables were cheap as they are MDF and are not built to last. I didn’t invest in hardwood tables because I knew they would outgrow those. I just needed them to stay upright until we move next year. By then I would have had ordered a custom-made study/computer table together with their loft beds. So the remedy is to buy the drawers that they could use under their loft beds when we finally have our flat.

Ikea! Photo by CallMeCreation.com

And we ended up in Ikea. I also bought a shoe cabinet and lots of frames. Twin A asked for the bunny watercolor painting to be framed. I don’t know where she will hang it but, ok. Ikea frames are cheap anyway.

Can’t also help myself buying fake plants and other home stuff. I need to surround myself with things that make me happy. Things that remind me that life is not always that bad. Real and fake flowers are some of those.

Cheap happiness. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

Vase = PHP 60 each, Ikea. Fake carnation = PHP 30 per piece, Ikea. Bouquet of peach flowers = PHP 90 (Shopee). I’ll just find a strategic place I can put them so the cats won’t knock them over. My cats had once destroyed my oven toaster because they were goofing around.

Speaking of cats, Kimchi was again dressed up by my children.

She ran away to hide in my room and basically commandeered my table the entire day until we went out.

Cute. Photo by CallMeCreation.com

I’m already doing fine. I’m peaceful now. I am surrounded by the things I love. Life has become more placid now that I was able to process the events earlier this month and now I can move forward. I’ll try to work outside now to hop off my usual routine and I’ll see if this will improve my disposition. I can’t always hide from the world. And if I run into him with his girlfriend, so be it.