About Last Night pt.2

About Last Night is a 3 part writing series inspired by No Filter’s About Last Night, which was also inspired by Rashomon, where 5 kids recall the previous night’s party in varying (tipsy) perspectives.

For my take, I try to recall the same night spent by my 5 (also probably tipsy or hungover) 20something selves. I enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy it too.

part 2 of 3

22. “I don’t have an IG”

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“I don’t have an IG” I say, and suddenly people’s focus shift from their screens to me, eyes bat in disbelief. I mean what I said. I meant that I was being humble at it, too.

I’m good at being ordinary, in fact, I aspire to be great at being average. And IG is no place for that. Also, saying such sounds hipster-ly cool.

But hey, I had a LiveJournal account. I was blogging before blogging was cool.  How old was I then, 12?

That’s enough cool for me to compare how people don’t exactly share as openly anymore, no longer as personal. Ten years ago, I read about people’s lives from around the world—a girl’s musings on missing her train in London, a narrative of one’s break up, and me typing away my Harry Potter craze phase. The internet was a safe space for an introverted me back then.

We were all just sincere stories; now we’ve become algorithms. Put in relevant data, like a few posts, and suddenly, the internet seems to know me more than my mom ever would.

The internet has become a reverse show; what used to be us feeding information to the internet, the internet now tells us what we are or what we can/should be. Simply do a google search for a product and you’ll be seeing ads or articles of it for the next few weeks.

Maybe the reason why people don’t share as openly anymore is that they’re trying to preserve themselves.

“I don’t have an IG” simply meant I don’t need more spaces, people and numbers to tell me what I do not know about my self, nor let grids and filters determine what I’ll eventually become.


23. How did I get here?

A quick search in Zomato, an Uber ride and a fumbling excuse to chug in a bottle of booze. 

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But really, how did I get here? One minute I was hopping off the school bus in a rush to catch up on cartoons, now I’m paying for fast food with my earned cash; and it’s thirty-minutes past midnight, and my parents only texted me to say goodnight, no sermons or whatsoever.

They have finally coined a term for what we feel–adulting. The paying the bills, choosing a career path and the fighting gravity at 6 am.

It was my generation who created that all-encompassing term for all things grown-up. That’s us millennials. We’re so good at trying to make things sound cool, trendy, and well, millennial. They call us trophy kids for wanting to be recognized for doing the bare minimum.

We hide behind “only 90s kids know” think pieces, shying away from the fact that it’s the modern version of our parents annoying “back in the days” lectures. We taught everyone how it is to chill and yet we have no chill. We’re lazy, entitled, we spit on nine-to-fives and we’d rather starve and work on our passions than doing soul-less work.

My generation is not perfect, but we continuously fight to make the world a better place when all we have were dust from wars and loose change from the great depression. We are re-building democracy, love and humanity. And yet, they’re only pinpointing us out for killing the real-estate industry, for selfies and for shedding unnecessary light on issues we can be #woke about.

We don’t just want to live in this world, we want to work our part in it, too. This is how I believe we’ve coined the words #adulting #woke are coined and to encompass us as a generation.

We ask ourselves every day, and we doubt everything over and over because that is how we get to our pivotal truths, to our great somewheres. And of course, we tell the world about it [in 140 characters more or less] Wherever there or here is, I’m just glad I’m not the only one to ask:

How did I get here again?


End of pt. 2

Read About Last Night part one here

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About Last Night pt.1

About Last Night is a 3 part writing series inspired by No Filter’s About Last Night, which was also inspired by Rashomon, where 5 kids recall the previous night’s party in varying (tipsy) perspectives.

For my take, I try to recall the same night spent by my 5 (also probably tipsy or hungover) 20something selves. I enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy it too.

20 years old

I barely use my only given name.

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I can’t remember much about last night like how I can’t remember when people started calling me by my nickname [Kai] instead of Erika. It’s as if people thrust it to me, or was it I who gave my self the identity. Is Erika that different from Kai? I can’t exactly remember anymore. Much like non-sober nights, there are just some things you have no choice but to live with.

I don’t really have to make a fuss about it, right? It’s not like assuming one’s identity should be a big deal for someone who barely knows who she is.

What I only have now is everyone and everything else to telling me what I shouldn’t be — that I shouldn’t be pregnant, that I shouldn’t be out beyond x hour, that I shouldn’t reply to a guy’s text immediately, that I should not use more than a 12pt font on my thesis papers.

I’m still just a 20 year old, I guess I’m still not supposed to know who I am. All I should really care about is school, my friends and my curfew. The only direction I should be concerned about is the one where Zayn Malik is.

It’s all okay because I’m still not a twenty-something, I’m just twenty and the only thing I should just feel is to ready my self for the mistakes I haven’t made yet.

Last night was the first of them, because it led me to all this, this introspection.

Kai, I’ve decided to be what people call us to be because Kai sounds cooler. And because that sounds like a mistake two. [fun intended]


21 and havin’ fun

I’m finally a bachelor’s degree holder, now what.32843106_10156167094011136_2059400886735601664_n.jpg

Where do you see your self in five years?
“In Disneyland,” I said.

That wasn’t the first job interview of my life, but it was the first post-grad interview and I felt like I had to give my most honest response.

Welcome to the real world, where the first thing I had to do is nudge my dream jobs at the back because there’s not a lot in store for an A.B degree when you have a family to support.

I’m also supposed to worry about setting a stable career, a love life, a travel-fund and getting my government IDs altogether. And oh yeah, I’m supposed to love myself, too.

And while I’m at it, I have to have fun. Or at least make it look like I’m enjoying what little of youth has to offer.

Which is why I’m here. Sure, I can try to pretend that I like music played so loud that I can barely hear my friends, or that I don’t mind the smell of secondhand smoke and unintentionally rubbing my skin with strangers in a bar. I deserve this, which is probably why it’s worth spending my real-world salary on something that I’m most probably going to vomit later. Oh, what fun.

I got the job, by the way.
We can definitely drink to that.

Here’s to honesty. Cheers!


An Emotional Review of Never Not Love You

For one, you don’t have to be a JaDine fan to appreciate the movie.Screen-Shot-2018-04-02-at-2.19.53-PM

Here we meet Gio (James Reid), the privileged creative who can afford an ego to not chase paychecks in order to live; and Joanne (Nadine Lustre) the young advertising professional who lives to prove her self in the big city, and to support her self and her family.

Ah, yes. The carefree entitled jerk and the goal-oriented barrio lass, complete opposites with nothing in common but love. It sounds like your stereotypical love story, because it is.

What makes the film a masterpiece is because it follows a very simple plot. So simple that it’s too real. The kind of real that it’s less poetic, less instagrammable, or in this case, uncinematic. It’s a narrative of the in-betweens; on relationships more than romance, more on life than love.

It was, as they say, the anti-rom-com.

The movie uses simple everyday language; no fancy one-liners, no magical first-time encounters, no crying in the rain or breathtaking love scenes. So, if you’re looking for a dose of feel-good kilig, the movie may disappoint you.

“Sinusundo mo ako sa boarding house ko. Hinahatid mo ako sa work. Tapos kapag nag-oovertime ako, sinusundo mo pa rin ako dito sa office. Nanliligaw ka ba?” – Joanne

Overall, it’s a story of self-awareness, happiness, and coming of age wrapped in neon lights and the universal kind of love.

Never not a love story.

Like in every relationship, the beginning was all happy parts. The getting to know you’s, drives around the city, little escapades, until suddenly, life gets in the way of love.

At the end of all recklessness, Joanne and Gio are both still just a bunch of 25 year-olds finding their way into the world. And for the younger years of their story, they figured how love and life can be difficult as it is and they both chose to not to face it alone.

Wala akong pakialam basta we fucking stay together.”
“Marry me. I don’t have a ring, but marry me. Please.” – Gio

As their lives and relationship progressed, they’ve come to unfold inconvenient truths. That real love is flawed, and it can go through a lot of challenges, changes and sacrifice. That it makes you question your choices more often than not.

Masaya ako kapag nakikita kita, pero kapag mag-isa lang ako, love, narerealize ko kasi na hindi na ako masaya, eh. -Joanne

And how the presence of all these inconveniences does not mean the absence of love, rather it reveals the everyday meaning of it. That love, in the end, is a responsibility, a choice, and most of all, it’s for those who are capable of it. That if they allow your selves to be capable of love despite all, love finds its way.

I love you. Don’t give up on me yet. We can still fix this.” – Gio

Reality(?) Check.

Another thing to admire about the plain and simple plot is that it’s very much in touch with reality, all the more it becomes more valuable as it makes it downright relatable.

I can relate with Joanne when it comes to trying live a life for her self, family and the love of her life. And Gio’s need for individual happiness and fulfillment (don’t we, all).

I basically [secretly] cried on three specific scenes; when Gio’s friend lectured him about Joanne’s sacrifice, when Gio and Joanne had this conversation in bed prior about their major decisions, and their make or break argument in London. From someone who’s been in that exact situation, still there and trying to make it through there, it was painful to see how the story may unfold.

It makes your root for their love and it makes you want to root for them individually without having to take sides. And that I guess is story-telling and characterization done so right.

It wasn’t that well-written. Like said, the plot was flat-out simple. And it was brave of it to do so. It was brilliantly portrayed and executed–cinematography and acting-wise. If this was a playful take on Nadine’s viral 2017 statement on living in together with James, they did a good jab at it. (yes, jab)

The silences of the characters speak more than the actual script. It shows us the inner conflicts each character has to go through, the classic weighing of the brain and heart was portrayed so well in silence without its cheesiness. The pauses provided us spaces to also create our own reflections of the situation. And it takes powerful actors to be able to do so, and they effectively did.

As for the ending, as hurried as it may be, you just don’t get to drive around in Manila so smoothly like that. Whatever becomes of them at the end of the tunnel (they literally went through a tunnel), what’s important is they became better persons in the end because of the relationship, even if they may or may not end together. And I guess that’s how love should ideally be, real love that is.

In all the ways I turned 25

Some women fear the fire, some women simply become it.

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I turned 25 this year. The last few hours of my early 20s were spent covered in my Disney sheets, in my cartoon-poster-filled room. I didn’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to this inbetween-age as I purposely wore a red blouse on my birthday. I turned 25 on the 20th of August, and when I blew my candles. But also..

I turned 25 when I heard the words “when can you start” 3hours after an online interview I prayed so hard for. At the same time, I turned 25 when I cried in front of my old boss because I never really wanted to leave the place that has grown so much in me, but it felt like I needed to do some growing up of my own, too.

I turned 25 when more and more people of my age group are getting married and are having children purely by choice.

I turned 25 when I got a one-way ticket to chase my dreams. When I fought off the tears hugging my parents as my flight was announced and I was carrying 25kg worth of baggage (emotions excluded). I turned 25 when the plane landed in the city everyone warned me about. And eventually it felt like home somehow.

I turned 25 when I finally saw my name and works on print. And it’s funny how I needed to achieve such only to realize a byline is not what makes me a writer.

I turned 25 when I began to embrace what the stars tell me I am. I am born under the fire sign. A Leo–the mightiest and proudest of all zodiacs; Also, if you google my name it also actually means “the ruler of all.” I can’t help but think as to how it might mean I’m destined for something great. Like powerful, YAAAS KWEEEN kind of great. Although I may not obviously embody it, I guess having those altogether should mean something.

I turned 25 knowing that living the dream is also about keeping the dream alive.

I turned 25 when I bought my first tube of lipstick. Just three days before I wrote this to be exact. Ant it felt like the most mature thing.

I turned 25 when I realized not everything that happens to me is not always about me. That some people hurt you because they are what they are, and that the universe plays tricks on you simply because you are a part in it. And so, I turned 25 when I told my heart to stop investing too much in things I could not control.

I turned 25 when I’ve been wearing more dresses than pants on a regular basis. But I will always be a closed-shoes kind of girl.

I turned 25 when I decided to speak up about my worth (career-wise) I turned 25 when I realized working on my passions isn’t the route for me (at least not yet) and so I gave up the comforts of writing in exchange for a work that’s more demanding, people-facing, and everything I’m barely qualified for–all because I wanted to challenge my self.

I turned 25 when I checked off more than a few things from my 13year-old self’s bucket list. Or when I fulfilled the hopes of this post.

I turned 25 when I was more thankful for the things that didn’t go my way.

Turning 25 finally felt like I no longer need to explain my self, yet here I am writing a blog post about it. 25 is when I’m at peace with my age and my self, perfectly in the inbetween.

Turning 25 felt calm. The only thing I’m unsure of if it’s the kind of calm before the storm, or after. Or that maybe I’m the storm.

Things I Miss

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Being without a smartphone. Truth be told, I only had a smart phone in 2015. I can’t say I became more unproductive or all the nega things we associate tech with. All I can say is that there was more sincerity in me and other people back then.

The after-school-slash-school paper duty walks in the heart of Colon at 10pm. And can I just say, those walks felt more safer for me than anywhere else on those times of night.

Chelsea Football team back when Terry, Lampard, and Drogba were still in the same side. Just because.

That swing at my grandparent’s house. It was my childhood’s official clubhouse with my cousins. Eventually, it became a shelter to my friends’ what-nots back in college, where conversations swung back and forth ’til the sun came up–still in our uniforms, in the middle of a school week.

The thrill of a notification after being offline for days, or weeks. The feeling of only getting to listen to your favorite song by happenstance on the radio, or MTV.

Saturday morning cartoons.

My mama’s snoring in the living room after a hard day’s work. My papa’s footsteps, even if he’s still outside–a house away. My sister’s complaints whenever I ask her annoying favors, and she does it anyway.

Reading thru the blog posts of these writers.

Writing for events. The Christmas tree lighting ceremonies this time of the year. All the PR folders and papers to which I loved collecting.

Creating notebooks. Specifically when I just made and gave them away because I liked to.

Us. Us is just not us when we’re not unsure, crazy and careless.

When responsibilities now were once just dreams. And coffee was more of a luxury than a necessity.

This. This space right here. The blog I left in hopes to start new. I’m a different person now since I last left a trail of thought here. Not necessarily better, just different.

I Need To Talk About Fleur Delacour

Fleur Delacour came to us as an icy unimpressed by everything foreign student. No-nonsense, unfiltered with no regard for celebrity status. She can say no without saying a word. She was fierce and grace topped with a blue pretty Beauxbatons hat.

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Fleur is my wand-character for a reason, fyi

She then returned to our books as a verified part-veela who struggles with ‘er eenglish, who falls inlove a red haired pony-tailed guy with a rockstar-esque career. True, Bill and Fleur were the stereotypical gross couple–too perfect for each other and too all-over each other. But together they were the right mix of glamour and adventure.

In a whim, Fleur instantly became a shadow, a joke in the background, a phlegm; it was easy to side with Ginny, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley’s dislike for her.

For one, Fleur embodies the struggles of pretty girls. It might sound mundane and first-worldly, but we seem to give Fleur a lesser credit when she fought just as bravely as the others did. What’s not to love about a woman who stands up for her self and is confident about who she is? We admire Hermione for her wits and Ginny for her cool-girl persona but it seems difficult to admire Fleur because above all that, she’s exceptionally pretty.

We thought it was a pivotal moment for her when she snatched the ointment from Mrs Weasley saying:

“you thought i would not weesh to marry him? Or per’aps you ‘oped? said Fleur, her nostrils flaring. “What do I care how ‘e looks? I am good looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show that my husband is brave! And I shall do zat!”

After this scene, the future in-laws wept and hugged each other. And Fleur became a solid character, un-scatched and un-phlegmed. She won us with her fierce devotion.

But she was admirable before that, only more admirable after. She was a courageous witch who put family first, who was a Beauxbatons champ for a reason incase we forgot. Fleur is a very capable witch not only of magic but in heart, too. She forgave Molly and others for disliking her. She treated the Weasleys like family,  she loves Bill and she takes him fang-earrings, scars and all.

Fleur could easily have chosen to escape the war and return to her homeland, but she stayed. She stayed and made home to where Bill’s family is, and opened it for Harry and others as well–without limit or question. She was loyal and brave enough to volunteer as one of the 7 Potters and to fight alongside her friends in the battle of Hogwarts. She was an unsung hero.

Bill sees and loves her for who she is, too. I’d like to believe he sees the core of steel in Fleur hiding beneath the fairy-princess exterior. And as a couple, they function together as a unit. And it takes a love as magical as Bill and Fleur’s to blossom amidst war, to bring light in times of tragedy, a love that lights hope and a beautiful distraction with little development on its own.

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Bill and Fleur–a soul and a love that resides largely in the background of others, but what they both have is extraordinary.

Date a girl prompts

Don’t you just miss the early days of Thought Catalog and Tumblr where articles were written as if it were diaries unintentionally gone public. Little by little, these early entries became templates of inspiration til well, TC became what it is now. One of the enjoyable ones to read was the “Date the Girl” posts, although I always felt like each one gets so mundane.  Anyway, in case you felt like making excuses for your self- to write or to be dated, here are prompts that someone is bound to write:

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Date a girl who wears contact lenses
because the only thing that’s not perfect about her is her vision. besides, four-eyed girls can’t get all the fun, right?

Date a girl who has not traveled yet, ever.
Be the someone who opens her world to a better one. Hold her hand as you board the plane, she may not show it, but she’s terrified. Let her know that there’s no place like home and that she is your home.

Date a girl who does not own a smartphone
If you’re lucky enough to come across this rare creature, you’ll find more meaning in conversations across dinner tables. Time with her will leave no digital trace, and this is why she makes it more memorable as much as she could.

Date the girl you’ve purposely ghosted before
because you’re an asshole.

Date a girl who proudly admits that she’s not part of the bandwagon
past all those moments when you just want to watch GoT and be like everyone else without being called out, she’s just the girl who’s just possessive enough because she knows no one cares about things deeply more than she does. Because she knows it requires more than just posts and hashtags to show your dedication.

Date a girl who pays on the first date
There’s a lot more to lose than your ego if you lose her.

Date a girl who has a creative curated IG feed
because it took a lot of trials and errors for her ’til she found the one thing that works for her; she’s consistent and she’s never letting go. 

Date a girl who loves uncomplicated ice cream flavors
like a good ol‘ plain chocolate, vanilla, mango, ube or strawberry ice cream. Because in a world that demands a bit of everything, she finds joy and contentment in simplicity.

Date a girl who’s in post-graduate school
she only needs three things: coffee, simple messages throughout the day and extra trendy highlighters. 

Date a girl who owned a PlayStation one
see her eyes sparkle in awe as she talks about Crash and Coco of Crash Bandicoot or Spyro the Dragon like they were her best friends. Talk about the games you played to and it will feel like you’ve known each other since you were eight.

Date a girl who does not know how to swim
Drown her with your love instead.

Date a girl who has a religious skin care routine
she’s the girl that’s completely unaware that her personality is enough to keep her glowing.  you’ll learn to take care of your self too in the process

Date a girl who commutes
she’s smart on the streets..and she rocks the sheets — cause commute life is just exhausting.

Date a girl who eats rice with spaghetti
A girl who is not without Rice has good taste and is her own person. Be someone who finds no need to pretend to be someone else with her. Take a giant leap of faith on this girl — or an extra cup of rice.

Date the girl with a winged eyeliner
she may not have those VS wings, but she will leave your heart soarin’. and these one-liners are sure to match with her on-fleek eyeliner.

Date the girl with an uncommon college degree
unlike her degree – she does not need to explain her self and to get validation from your or anyone. she’s feisty, mysterious and always uncertain but her uncertainties are not enough to stop her from celebrating her life.

Date the girl with the same height as you
 There’s absolutely no reason to think highly of her (resulting in unrealistic expectations), or to look down on her – no one should ever be treated that way. Instead, you’re equal in all ways – and that’s what relationships are about.

Date the girl who believes in astrology
The internet has blessed you with all the guides, much more helpful than the stars do. You can never go wrong..unless the mercury is in retrograde.

Date a girl who orders the same thing at Jollibee EVERY.TIME.
Don’t confuse this with her being too stiff, she also lives to experience things. But when it comes to the things she has set her heart to, she’s loyal to it AF.

Date the girl who’s into Spanish telenovelas
She’s a breather in this world of K-dramas and American SitCom fangirls, this girl is not afraid to take passion to its emotional and visual context — and unapologetic about it. She loves the drama of countrysides and horseback rides..she gives giddy an extra up. 

Date a girl who breathes
…unless you’re into necromancy and stuff.


ps: this list has nothing to do with what I am. Although yes, spaghetti goes with rice!

Standard Book of Spells, post-grad

Basically my Hogwarts graduation speech

Not much is told about the Hogwarts graduation, of how the ceremony consisted of leaving the castle riding the enchanted boats – exactly the ones that took us into Hogwarts for the first time in our first years. And the huge wave of nostalgia that just hits you, like you were struck with the an  unforgivable curse.

I remember my first train ride. I remember packing my things after my first O.W.L exams because I was pretty sure I’d get a ‘Troll’ on every magic-related test. (or worse, Expelled)

I remember the long breaks on our NEWT years. I remember spending most of my existence in the Ravenclaw common room, with its midnight blue carpets and ceiling donned with the night stars. I remember not ever wanting to get our because a.) calling it Home was an understatement and b.) because I’m afraid of never being able to answer the eagle’s questions by the door.

I remember how my first question took me almost an hour to wait for someone to answer it for me, ‘What caused the inter-country apparition to be banned?’. I remember how the eagle on the door ignored my answer ‘because they need to have a passport’ (that was so muggleborn of me!). I was *this* close to googling it, and then I remembered how muggle devices go haywire inside the castle. I remember how the Ravenclaw prefect saved me. The answer was extreme flinching, by the way.

I remember faking a prediction on Divination class like I faked my illness on the day we had to practice on slugs during Transfiguration. I just can’t with slugs. I remember staying up ’til midnight on Wednesdays because Wednesday nights mean Astronomy classes and I just couldn’t get enough of the Universe – magical or no.

I remember having to polish the candelabra on the great hall as part of my detention because I was consistently late on my first period (which was almost always Defense Against the Dark Arts). I never had the chance to discover the escape routes of the detention chamber which I would’ve gladly shared.

And I also remember gaining house points because I was outstanding in Muggle Art (an extra-curricular activity) by simply creating caricatures of witches and wizards (something of which muggles artists can always do better at). I say Muggle art because Art in Hogwarts’ context consisted of magical tools and paint.

I remember how it made me double proud as it was the year we won the house cup as well. I remember the night we celebrated every house victory, of how our common room stank of butterbeers and of how we woke up on the common room floors the next day. I couldn’t count the number of times someone slipped on the staircases to the dormitories because they transformed into slides quite a lot that night (this happens when an opposite sex tries to enter the opposite sex’s dorm rooms, fyi).

I remember the screams we cheered on every quidditch match, I remember how they grew louder when there was an inter-school game. Though I’m positively convinced they were mostly fan-girl screams for the Durmstrang guys. I remember how I only had eyes for the Gryffindor prefect during our 5th year (hi, Remil!).

And I remember how Hogsmeade trips break me financially, but I’m glad I always had a friend to share Honeydukes expenses and goods with (Hi, Jatin!); and emotionally by seeing that Gryffindor prefect in Madame Puddifoot’s with a girl too cute an accent. I remember buying socks to send them to my dad, I didn’t know they screamed when they get too smelly. Imagine the heart attack it gave my mum and dad.

I remember making new friends over Tomen and scrolls: Kaitlin the Slytherin girl, Charmaine Inah who reads too much she must be a Ravenclaw, Raisa who gave us Zonko’s treats (I should really check if they’re safe), Ashley the proud Hufflepuff, Cherie and Patrice both over-achieving prefects – of which I never really knew their houses..and a lot more whose faces I only knew.

I remember how meeting up with the lot on Diagon Alley at Forlean and Fortescue’s became a routine before we head to our respective houses as the term starts. I remember the familiar faces with the same fascination I have with Scribbulus – the wizard writing implements shop, and I remember always having to pick secondhand wardrobes – and I’m not even complaining.

I couldn’t thank Hogwarts enough for making me the person I am today, although I never really excelled in its craft and I never figured out Arithmancy. I was almost always cramming spells over breakfast til my 7th year and I never really got used to ghosts floating through walls, like I will never get used to leave the place that has been more than home.

I remember hugging everyone (regardless of house) on that fine graduation day; of fifth helpings of treacle tart and having our moving pictures taken. I remember how we raised and lit up our wands with respective house colors and threw our caps in the air as we sang the Hogwarts hymn on that final day.

I remember the castle fading into view, I remember refusing to take one last look behind as I got out the enchanted boat.

Because I was pretty sure I’d only to see and old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying ‘DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE.’ Because it makes me remember how only those who have not received their Hogwarts letter can see what I refused to see.

 

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And of course, the obligatory grad photo.
“Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus”

 

Shoutout to Jatin, my fellow Ravenclaw, for insipring me this idea to write. Here’s to trying to open the chamber of secrets assuming that Parseltongue was said in our native language.

Writing on Writing pt. 2

When people ask me what I do, I hesitate to answer. I write stuff, I respond; when the proper answer would’ve been, I’m a writer.

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How I went from writing stuff to finally admitting (with pride) that I’m actually a writer had to involve the following truths:

Losing the artistic attachment:

Writers have feelings – even more than what an average person has. I get that, that what we write are pieces to our selves — it’s our craft.

But at some point you would have to accept that what you put out is not always what you want it to be.

The detachment to artistic integrity is not absolute; save some for your self. But you should also be able to write anything should the need arise. All the best writers do.

It’s a long and painful journey to separate the idea that what you do is not always about you. Not everything you work on is a masterpiece. But that shouldn’t mean you love your work or exert effort any less.

Love it while it’s in your hands then let it go.

It does not have anything to do with a by line.
or a job position, or an award or your work on paper.

If you have those, then that’s great.

How your work is presented to the world does not determine your credibility or pride as a writer. Just because the print has been around longer shouldn’t mean digital folks get lesser claims to the writer fame.

The validation feels good, there’s no denying to that. But claim it with the hopes to empower yourself to write more and to inspire others.

It’s okay to write about the most superficial things.
Or even care about them. or even about the things you don’t care about.

That doesn’t make you any dumber or lesser of the person you are. There should be no shame in it.

I love writing for brands and to chameleon behind different voices.

Some for click bait and mostly for money these enterprises make from the words I write; some for making famous people even more famous. It’s fun and mind opening. I get to live different lives, influence decision, and talk about things beyond me that other people are actually passionate about.

When you do get to care about something so deeply (or not even care at all) but are able to put it into words, that’s a writer right there.

There’s no such thing as dull writing jobs.

I worry about my self, that perhaps I get lesser credit for my craft, that I should be writing more soul and voice. Not labels on the back of shampoos or the tips on how to be the next *name of celebrity.*

But I don’t mind that at all. It allows me to practice, to find new ways to say something being said a hundred times already. And it takes a certain skill to find creativity in constriction.

You are not a failure for writing the most mundane things, you fail only when you do stop writing.

Write without so much of a goal or the concept of failure. Write what is needed at the moment and build from there. Simply write because you want to. Whether you take writing as a career or a side gig, write because no one can do it the way you can and because no one can see things the way you do and be able to write it down.

Write for an audience, whether you have 5 followers or 5k fans – it does not matter.

What matters is you keep. getting. better.

Write in such ways that if you were to publish your laundry list, they’d read that too. Now that’s a goal.

I Stopped Defending.

As quoted from one of my favorite writers, Chelsea Fagan: Writers get asked a lot of questions on why they do their jobs. Nobody asks a janitor, why do you clean toilets?

And that being said means what we have is something that’s meaningful and valuable. Something that’s not going to be automated — ever. Take pride in that.

#PublishingMillions is not a myth, but it’s not that real too.
You shouldn’t write for the money, although it doesn’t hurt to hope. 

I am thankful (and lucky) that my words have brought numbers to my bank account even in the tiniest digits. Although to be honest, it worries me too.

Yes, the work can be rewarding. But it can be such a struggle to. And sometimes you have to separate the work that brings numbers to your bank account and the work that makes your heart happy, or your self brand happy. And that can be difficult, and luck can be such a factor.

But what I would worry more about is about me doing open heart surgery and make money from that because that is something I’m not good or confident at.

I do not regret pursuing the writing career path contrary to what I wrote previously.
I only regret not writing more often.

Believe You Are a Writer.

Call your self a writer. Believe that you are despite what your day job is, or what your education was.

When in doubt, write — cause that is just the most writer thing there is.

Writing On Writing pt.1

writing

It’s extra interesting to know people who have dreams and passions beyond, apart and/or different from their careers

I used to think that fusing both passion and career should be THE dream, but now do I begin to grasp that it isn’t always ideal to.

Being this so-called (self-confessed) passionate creative, sometimes it feels bland how I’m lucky enough to have it working for me.

Maybe because it’s the only thing I know, the only thing I’ve invested in, the only thing that’s working for me. And that’s not lucky at all.

At this point, I wish I have had different dreams – practical, life-saving, family-sustaining, stability assuring dreams.

The road to creative pursuits can sometimes (or most times) be a selfish path.

Currently, the world does not need more writers, or artists, or musicians. That is evident enough in this country with so little opportunities for such.

Even then, the struggle is always extra difficult – no set of external, standard metrics to success – no titles, nor numbers.

I wish I opted for skills that one can only actually learn from years of schooling. Because then I can always still write, draw or create things with my hands.

And I say, people with the opportunities to earn templated titles and skills are luckier, and should be able to dream bigger (or more).

To be able to feel needed useful – these are the things they could thrive on and be driven by. And I hope they don’t take that for granted.

This series of phrases / sentences originally appeared as a twitter thread. And hopefully be a thread of posts as I write my way through Writing – as a hobby, career, passion or escape.