Feel like a tourist: A Taiwan diary

In one of the last conversations I would ever have with my mom, we lamented that we should’ve gone on more trips together. “Sana pala,” I started, trying to keep my voice light and steady, “nag-Taiwan na po tayo nung kaya pa natin.”

It was early 2021, so it went without saying: we should’ve traveled more before last March. But as she agreed and we mustered shaky smiles, she and I both knew that this was an exchange not of wistfulness, but of heartbreak. 

She had just gotten diagnosed with stage IV cancer. 

When we found out, it was a stupid thought I kept going back to: Would she still be here by Christmas? My birthday? Her birthday? But it turned out that she wouldn’t make it through the month at all. 

My mom loved Taiwan. It’s one of the places our family considers second homes, from very long holiday stays with my diplomat aunt—her older sister—who is often stationed for work three years at a time in different cities. I was 13 when I first visited, with no idea what to expect save for what I’d seen on Meteor Garden. It was my first overseas destination, which kind of makes it a first love. 

I wouldn’t meet my actual first love until a couple of months later, when the first day of school rolled around. 

My aunt lived in a cozy studio that I can still picture in vivid detail after more than a decade. It had a huge window that I would look out of when it’s late, and I never quite found out why, but the skies would be the color of an orange creamsicle even in the middle of the night, when you could hear the garbage trucks make their way through the city with their cheerful little classical songs. Tiny, shiny bottles of apple-flavored milk lined the fridge. Across the street, there was a movie theater, adorned with posters and promotional paraphernalia for Iron Man, Speed Racer, and The X-Files: I Want to Believe. (Can you tell it was the summer of 2008 yet?) We would pass it when we went to get bagels with cream cheese and bread filled with cheese and scallions for breakfast.  

But my favorite thing about the apartment was that it had a loft. It was the perfect hideaway when I wanted to read. I would lean against my suitcase and make my way through the books I’d bought at Eslite: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Naomi & Ely’s No Kiss List, How to Say Goodbye in Robot, the very apt French Kissmas installment of the Students Across the Seven Seas series, easily the chicest thing to come out of late 2000s YA along with the Simon Pulse Romantic Comedies. That last Christmas, when ten (!) of us flew in to squeeze into that tiny apartment, three people slept on the king-size bed, one on the couch (that would be me), four on the floor, and three on the surprisingly spacious loft. 

I came to see Taiwan as an extension of myself, to the point where I formed my own phantom scent memory of it: Christmas air, fresh coffee, exhaust fumes, and five spice. 

We welcomed the New Year—and the new decade—with a spectacular view of the fireworks at Taipei 101 from afar. And when we flew out, I didn’t know I wouldn’t see Taiwan again for 13 years, or that my mom would never get to go back.

Yesterday will be replaced by today and tomorrow

When flights were becoming common again, Taiwan was one of the top places on my priority list for trips. I jumped at the chance as soon as its borders opened, eager to see what it was like now compared to how it had been when I was growing up. I was confident that I could do it solo, but I really wanted to go to Nantou, and it wasn’t easy to get to on your own. 

I checked group tour listings every so often, lamenting (whining, really) that they never included any stops in Nantou. My go-to travel agency didn’t have any Taiwan routes available, either. That is, until I checked their website for the millionth time and found that they had opened up slots for a new tour package. It would start in Taichung and include spots like Yehliu Geopark, Shifen Old Street, Ximending, and—I might’ve literally screamed—Sun Moon Lake. Further proof that there’s always merit to being a reklamador. 

I initiated a booking immediately. I’d wanted to go in the spring, but the schedules would keep falling through since not enough people were signing up. I had to wait months before everything finally clicked into place and I got to go in June. 

I never did get to experience what summer was like in Taipei the first time around. 

Taichung 

We got in at noon and from the airport we immediately drove to an outlet mall before proceeding to Zhongshe Flower Market. It didn’t feel like a homecoming yet, because this was a city I didn’t really get to explore much during our visits. I was also a little dazed from having been awake since 1 a.m. for the super early flight.

Making our way to the National Taichung Theater, I learned that half of Taichung had this ultra-modern metropolitan feel to it while the other half was more old-world quaint, and the area surrounding us looked almost the way New York does in the movies. The architecture was gorgeous. I loved the blob-like minimalism of the theater’s interiors and wished I could stay longer. I looked through the flyers for upcoming shows, thinking someday I might get to watch something really breathtaking if I ever got a chance to return. 

Dinner was at Hosic Teppanyaki, which felt unassuming in that cozy Taiwan way but still very young and upscale inside. I ate my steak at the counter and got to watch all the dishes being prepared. I walked around on the street outside—it was a busy night market-ish area—and my favorite finds of the night were microwavable scallop risotto at a convenience store and sushi being sold out of a cart. I desperately wanted to try both, if only I weren’t too full already.

 

We checked in at the hotel and finally got some rest. I’d wanted to explore and go on a little walk, maybe even take the bus, but it was late and we had another early morning coming. And I couldn’t wait for said morning to come, because it meant I would be back in Nantou. 

Nantou [then] 

First: some context on why Nantou means so much to me. 

In the Christmas season of 2008, my aunt, cousin, and my aunt’s friends from work rode a bus to Ren’ai, a township on a mountain in Nantou. I was 14 and fully in my broody, moody, angsty teenager era, especially since it would take a couple more years before my cousin and I learned to be kinder to each other. 

Regardless, it was beautiful up there. Absolutely unlike anything I’d ever seen before or will ever see again. We stayed overnight at Ailiga Travel Villa, which is still the closest I’ve come to experiencing a Swiss ski lodge. We visited the nearby sheep farm and a theme park about old Taiwan, aptly called Formosan Aboriginal Culture Village, which also held a little European garden with miniature landmarks. 

We walked everywhere huddled in our cozy beanies, mittens, and boots. I applied pear-flavored Kiehl’s Lip Balm #1 and still clung to my colored skinny jeans (again: 2008) even in the winter weather. I wore an adorable patterned purple cable-knit turtleneck sweater made with the thickest yarn, and I’m still pretty much in love with it even if I never saw it again after that trip. 

Admittedly, I romanticize Nantou a lot, and not just because it’s breathtaking and I haven’t gotten a chance to relive it exactly as it was in my memories. It’s also because these memories, from a brain that wasn’t even fully-formed and over a decade in the past, are literally all I have left of that trip. The Sony digital camera we used to document it was corrupted, and we never got to save our photos. (Not even the proto-Tumblr photoshoot my cousin and I did on a sprawling field that makes me think of The Sound of Music—or the default Windows XP wallpaper.) 

We’ve come to call it our “lost vacation.” 

Seven years later, my dad was looking through an old buried backup folder on our ancient desktop (that actually did still have Windows XP with the default wallpaper) and found a series of photos taken on the Samsung digicam I’d gotten that Christmas, completely forgotten. There weren’t many of them, but there they were: the gorgeous chalets at the bed and breakfast next door set against the endless mountains, the view of the trees from our hotel window, the tiny glimpses of Europe at the theme park, families around a fountain in a garden, their bodies blurring from movement. Each image was dreamy and hazy, fading into an everlasting blue, like it really was meant to be lost and found. 

Nantou [now] 

The next morning, after a quick stop at Wen Wu Temple, we went on a boat ride at Sun Moon Lake. It was cool out there despite the summer heat, and I could’ve easily spent another hour or two on the water, admiring the mountains and breathing in the bright and slightly briny freshness of the water. I loved being able to compare my experiences in the county across the seasons. Whereas Ren’ai had this little Heidi-esque cottagecore thing going for it, Yuchi was very much akin to a seaside town. The street leading to the pier was a busy, sloping market sprawling with laughter and music and unique snacks. And a 7-Eleven, because of course there was. 

I got to know some of my travel companions over lunch. We were served Taiwanese seafood dishes on a lazy Susan, which helped make the meal conversational and communal. I grew particularly close to a doctor and her son. He was drag queen, I would learn, and we wound up sharing eye-rolls whenever this one obnoxious person on the tour group would be late for call time or repeatedly say “It’s very giving,” a bastardization of a TikTok phrase I was already never very fond of. 

There was also this pair of sisters who had gone on the trip with their mom, who had to be in her late 70s but was still quite sharp and energetic. They asked me what I did for work, and somehow the conversation led to me sharing that I was a columnist for the Philippine Star. The mother asked me to repeat my name, and it turned out that she was the type who really read the paper section by section, cover to cover, and she had seen and even liked my work. It was a very cool and touching moment. 

After a longer-than-usual drive to Taipei due to heavy traffic, we had hotpot at TAKAO1972, just across the street from Ximending. The restaurant was huge with really dark, really cool interiors, and their selection of sauces to go with the meat and rice was very good. 

We didn’t have much time in Ximending and it was raining, but I enjoyed getting to see it again anyway and found that I still kind of knew its ins and outs. I got souvenirs for my family and for work and tried to find the magazine shop I used to frequent where I bought copies of Teen Vogue. I thought it had closed down and accepted defeat, choosing instead to check out a shop with manga art all over its exterior—only to find out that it was the magazine shop, now also selling comics and collectibles. (It’s called Mag Freak, which I still love.) I got a fun pouch shaped like a big Nissin Seafood Cup Noodle and a Japanese lifestyle and camping magazine. Before the trip I’d been thinking of overpaying for the Re-Ment Snoopy’s Life in a Bottle series online but decided to try and look for them in Taiwan instead, and by chance I found them at the shop without really actively looking. I bought three blind boxes and got the two I really wanted the most, and the third one I gave to my niece. It all made me so happy.

My mental image of it had been a wide-open storefront with plain displays and shelves showcasing magazines all over, fans situated here and there for cooling. But the Mag Freak of a decade later was now air conditioned and had glass partitions. There weren’t a lot of English titles anymore, and it’s bittersweet that there were no longer enough of them to cover the store pretty much wall to wall, but it was so important to me that this part of Taipei, my Taipei, had remained. 

Apart from everything but the heart in my chest

Another reason this particular tour package was a must for me: my hotel happened to be a five-minute walk from the loft where my aunt used to live. That night after checking in, I left my room to make my way over to the apartment building whose address I’ll always know by heart: Yitong Street, corner Changchun Road.

It was nearing midnight, so the streets were dark and empty. Nothing was open anymore. I crossed the main road with the bus stop in the middle, passing side streets and places I never thought I’d see again: the local playground, the old tea place we loved just downstairs before bubble tea ever became a big deal in Manila, a small market of dry goods that was now a little Korea of sorts. 

The doors to the building were just as I remember. I wondered if the fountain in the lobby still worked, if the security guard we’d come to know as Patrick was still around. If any of the tenants had apple milk bottles in their fridge. 

I didn’t stay out too long. Certainly not enough to feel like I was home again. I wish I could’ve known how it felt during the day with people around and everything in full color, but if there’s anything this trip has taught me, it’s that I can always come back.  

Feel like a lover out on the ocean 

Our first stop the next morning was all about pineapple cakes, with a fun interactive factory tour and a hands-on experience where they had us cover the pineapple filling in dough and shape them with cookie cutters. We made cakes shaped like Taiwan, the classic square shape, and a pineapple. We browsed the souvenir shop while they baked (they had the cutest dessert-inspired characters available as little figures), and they were boxed fresh out of the oven for us to pick up on our way out. I couldn’t resist trying one while it was hot, and it was good enough to make the whole stop worth it, even if it felt a little hokey.

I’ve gotten to see a lot of Taiwan, but I’m glad this trip actually included mostly places I’d never been before. Having ridden mostly trains to get around back then, I noticed how perfectly paved the whole island is for breathtaking road trips thanks to all these long bus drives. Shifen Old Street was charming, if a bit crowded. One of my wishes on the sky lantern didn’t really pan out. Yehliu Geopark was particularly exciting to me, with its gorgeous majestic rock formations set against a body of water that made me feel at peace to breathe in. 

We had dinner at Din Tai Fung in Taipei 101. I would joke that I could literally just go to my local mall for it, but it was still nice since I’d never really tried it before. Everything was delicious, of course. There wasn’t time to explore around the area, including the nearby Eslite Bookstore, so after getting back to the hotel I just went on a Family Mart run. I got a cheeseburger onigiri (beef was kind of bland, but still a fun novelty), salted chocolate milk, scallop potato chips (haunts my dreams with how good it was), and some Knorr Soup Deli. 

Soon I would simply evaporate 

That night I barely got any sleep from sudden health problems that didn’t go away through the next day. I begged off the last few stops of the trip, which were thankfully just the well-trodden (by me and my family) Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall and the Presidential Square. I just did my best to keep it together on the flight back to Manila, until I saw my dad again at arrivals and we made our way home. 

I had a great time on the trip and I got good pictures and cute souvenirs out of it, but I’d be lying if I said it went exactly as I expected. It made me realize how much of the Taiwan I loved would never have been the same if I hadn’t been there with my family. No mornings sharing cheesy rolled omelettes from downstairs. No long, aimless walks in the early winter/springtime cool that somehow took us farther than we ever imagined. No afternoons cross-legged on the floor waiting for “Bad Romance” to come on Channel V because it had become our song of the season, and no randomly bursting into “Whoa, caught in a bad romance” as we went sightseeing or shopped at Costco or made our way around night markets or dined out. It felt like home to me because I was home. 

But it was nice to get to know Taiwan again in a way I’d never really seen before. It wasn’t as cheap (as in cheap thrills), it didn’t feel as much like my best-kept secret anymore. It’s different, but I know I could fall in love with it again. And the next time around, I’ll make sure to truly discover it for once on my own terms.

“Lost Taipei” by Joanna Wang

“Tourist” by Julian Casablancas

“Sentimental Heart” by She & Him

“Love Me or Leave Me” by Rooney

“Seaside” by The Kooks

“Silver Lining” by Rilo Kiley

“Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga

“Now” by Joanna Wang

“At the First Place” by F4

A taxonomy of my bag collection

A couple of years ago I bought a large metal shelf with wheels so I could stack my magazines on it for easy access when I would scan them for @glossyarchive, my Twitter archiving project. When I was done scanning everything, I started selling a good number of them to make space and raise some funds for personal needs. The issues I wanted to keep, I stored in a big box. And as for the shelf, I wheeled it into my room so I could deal with the Bag Situation—which was finding a way to store my bags that would be accessible and OCD-proof. 

It's been a total lifesaver. I got these boxes that fit perfectly stacked two by two in the middle shelf, and they have front latches so it's super easy to take out the bags and put them back. Lots of space so nothing's sticking together, and they're safe from dust, and I put silica gel everywhere. Like I wrote before, I've been reframing my mindset so I'm less precious with them and I can enjoy using them like I should.

I've been really excited about this new development, so I decided to gush about the bags in my current rotation.  

mango small saffiano effect shopper bag (left) and crossbody bag with pockets

When I first felt secure enough to buy slightly more expensive bags, I turned to Mango. Their bag line is full of quality basic pieces in sleek and simple styles that are just my type. I love anything with two front pockets, and it's something I reach for when I have a night out. At 10 inches the shopper bag is not too small or big, just the right size for a day where I'm on the go and I might have a lot on my to-do list but it doesn't really include lugging my laptop around. It doesn't have a clasp, just two easy-to-reach-in compartments with a zip-up pocket in the middle for the valuables.   

Shocker of all shockers, I'm not really an impulsive buyer. I'm often in an infinite tailspin before I finally decide to buy something I've been eyeing. When I bought my Canon G9 X, my dad had thought it was out of nowhere, especially for such a big purchase. But he didn't know that I'd had it on my wish list for a couple of years, and only took the plunge when I realized it was about to be phased out and unavailable for good. The same has been true for these bags—I convince myself I don't need them several times until they go on sale and I'm like "Y'know what? Fuck it." 

side by side mini-bag by j-hope

I'm not a fan of chain bags at all and I wish the strap offered more options for customization. I had to use my dad's pliers for a better fit, for one, and I got a fan-made version with the "Blue Side" cover art as the pattern and its strap is detachable with clasps that make it so much easier to adjust and store. There's another fan-made dupe that has a denim strap instead. But still, this bag will never stop being special to me. It's such a clear indication of known bag lover Hoseok's keen eye for detail, style, and design and it would be so exciting to keep seeing what he could come up with. (We need those fashion collabs or a full-on streetwear line!) I love the chic, dreamy tie-dye and the sweet little "made by hope" tag. It's compact but bigger than you'd think, and the front pocket is the perfect place to put your camera when you're traveling or out and about.  

coach pillow tabby 26 

When I first bought this I thought I was "settling" for it. We were at an outlet and it was the only color available, but I really wanted a Pillow Tabby so I couldn't pass it up. But it didn't take me long to realize how much I love this color. I'm immediately drawn to this shade now, especially Prada's Re-Nylon shoulder bag. My dad pointed out that my mom had loved it, and in my head I call it "Cinderella blue." Just so classic, charming, romantic. The dark metallic hardware and the softness of the bubbly padded leather are adorable to no end. 

maverick & co. noelle boxy

I went through a phase recently where I absolutely needed a spruce green bag. Did you know you can filter for color on Zalora? I went on it and did just that, which is how I found this little darling. It was smaller than I thought and the strap is definitely not crossbody-length like advertised, but it's exactly what I was going for and it has all the space you need for essentials. 

eve & adam hanni

I also stumbled across this style from a local brand during my spruce green phase, but when I first found it, the dark green was sold out. So I just decided to forget about it—until one day when I found myself looking at it again to check out the new pink shade and saw that they somehow have one available! Forgotten stock, maybe? Either way, I didn't hesitate. I'm obsessed with its shape and the texture of the vegan leather, and I can't wait to see what else Eve & Adam releases. 

saint laurent baby cabas

You've heard all about this. <3 

kate spade boxxy

Okay, I swore I'd hit my bag quota when I bought the YSL, but I checked Zalora one day and found that a local retailer had the exact color I wanted in stock for a very reasonable price. (I had searched back in March and nothing had come up then!) And, well, I had been telling myself that it would be the final thing on my list, and I could rest. I'd had an eBay link bookmarked and everything, but it was located in New York and I just didn't trust or care to spend so much for international shipping. So really I would've been a fool to let this go. 

And it's everything I ever dreamed it would be! Super cute and lightweight. There might not be a lot of space, but it's well-designed so it's easy to wear and actually use. A unique statement piece for sure. 

donkie connie

I needed a dressy crossbody for traveling, and the day bag to end all day bags: the one I would reach for any day, any time, for any situation. "Expendable" thanks to its price but still a step above casual. After a search that's been longer than I care to admit, this style from Korean brand Donkie has finally given me exactly what I wanted. It's not easy to find an affordable leather(ish) bag with a strap long enough to actually be crossbody on me—the designer and more upscale ones have been more inclusive in that regard somehow. It's super soft and roomy, and it even has front pockets! 

the ones i can grab and go

Continuing the "expendable" theme, these are the bags I would choose for grocery runs or a long, heavy day of travel. My favorites are dupes of Kipling's Ron, because you won't ever catch me spending P6000 on an original. Even if it's barely bigger than my palm, it has about six compartments that safely hold everything I need, including two cameras, and it never feels bulky or heavy. Other nylon sling bags of all shapes, sizes, and colors (mostly army green) go in this category, as well as a trusty Fossil bag that's been with me through the good times and the bad and was the catalyst for my dual-front-pocket obsession. Finally, a Marikina-made double handle crossbody in emerald green that cost me like P300 and has been a pleasant surprise, if only its edges were properly sealed. Still, it looks pretty good and I've been so much fun with it. 

You could get what you want or you could just get old

Yesterday I wanted a tiny cake. 

Not a bento cake, although I have tried them once or twice. I’m talking about the pre-made three-inch cakes covered in sickly-sweet, powdery frosting from a cake stall you’d often walk right past at the mall. If you can’t quite understand what I’m referring to, I don’t blame you. You wouldn’t know they were even there unless you stopped and really looked, past the Barbies wearing heavy chiffon skirts (I celebrated my seventh birthday with one) and the racecars sporting shiny red fondant paint jobs. They’re usually displayed in a line beneath the glass counter, and people don’t typically peruse specialty cake stores unless they have a reason to. 

My first taste of these treats probably counted as more of a cupcake, years before cupcakes really blew up as a trendy dessert. My mom managed the showroom of a Maco Kuchen in Shangri-La Plaza, and sometimes I would get to visit after school and close up with her, after which we would take the MRT home. On the fifth floor on our way to Shaw Station, we would stop by the Art Cakes stall just before the exit and buy character cakes—deep, dark chocolate batter baked into palm-sized aluminum cups and decorated with the faces of cartoon characters. We’d get Tom and Jerry, or Tweety and Sylvester, or Elmo and Cookie Monster. 

The cakes came with plastic forks, and even after twenty years my sense memory of them is so strong that sometimes it feels like a phantom limb: my teeth scraping against smooth plastic, frosting on my lips, the dense, slightly bitter chocolate cake complementing the saccharine buttercream. 

I don’t remember which came first: my mom leaving her job at the showroom so she and my dad could start their own business, or Art Cakes’ closure. Either way, this routine we had eventually became just another thing we used to do. 

I got to have them again once or twice over the years, delighted at the discovery that the Cakes ‘r’ Us near me had little cakes, too. They no longer came in cups or frosted with animated icons, but they tasted just the way they used to in my childhood memories nonetheless. Most of the time, though, I let myself pass the shop and the cakes by, either too preoccupied with the life I’ve come to live or too shy to come up and just buy one out of the blue. 

The last time I had a tiny cake was five years ago, bought on a whim from a similar type of cake shop in Megamall on a day when everything seemed to be falling apart and I found myself turning to any source of fleeting comfort I could think of. It was a new year and I had just gotten diagnosed with depression and I didn’t want to go home just yet, so I decided, fuck it. I went up to the stall, picked a cake out from the day’s display, and took it down to the food court. It was decorated on the sides in stripes of different colors, the frosting piped downward, the top of the cake a plain pale lavender and framed in dollops of chocolate frosting. No pastels, no patterns, no rainbows, just vivid shades. 

And it tasted the same. Of course it tasted the same. I ate less than half and took the rest home, and I showed it to my mom and we laughed about me being silly and nostalgic and spontaneous. I asked if she wanted any and she said she would have a bite. 

When bento cakes became popular, I adored them for their cuteness and how creative they could be: puffy frosted flowers, faux watercolor, even the chic minimalist ones with short and sweet messages piped neatly onto solid colors. But every time I take a bite, I just end up missing the flavor I know best: like yesterday’s birthday cake, just a tad more bittersweet. In more ways than one.

I can’t remember the last time I passed a cake stall at the mall. There are the fancy bakeshops, sure, only they never have exactly what I’m looking for. In my mind I want to believe I can walk into an SM and find another one. I can even picture the exact places I’d try to look. But I’m pretty sure they’ll no longer be there. Just another thing we used to do, just another thing I took for granted. Just another thing I can’t bring back from the life I was lucky to share with my parents.

(Recently I realized I’ll never have a 13 Going on 30 “Vienna” scene because my parents won’t be there when I turn 30.)

The tiny cakes I grew up with weren’t as sophisticated or pretty as bento cakes. They were kitschy and colorful, piped with standard, impersonal greetings: “Congratulations!” “I love you.” “Happy birthday!” Not much room for personalization. (Literally. They were too small.) But they were cheap and they were still cute and they were good, the perfect last-minute pick-me-up for a celebration with someone dear to you—or for yourself when days felt too ordinary or too gloomy. 

What I’ve learned from them—and my mom who always shared them with me—is that I don’t need a special occasion. There’s always a reason to enjoy the little things. 

Desire and reward; long term and short term joy

August 2

Never had my life been more akin to a whirlwind than when I landed at Changi Airport with nothing but a backpack that held two days’ worth of clothes and the barest essentials. 

Two weeks before, I had flown to Kuala Lumpur to see The Strokes at a music festival, and we had decided to make it a weeklong family trip. On July 22, it was announced that the rest of the music festival would be canceled after its first day. 

The Strokes were headlining the third and final day. 

I don’t want to get into it, but let’s just say I’ve prayed for the main loser from The 1975 to trip and fall flat on his face every day since then. I burst into tears in the middle of a mall, trying to come to terms with the fact that my one chance to see this band that has meant the world to me in over 10 years of loving them has just popped like a bubble. The KL trip had been fun, but this was why we were even there in the first place. These were their first Southeast Asia tour dates in their twenty-plus-year-long career, and now one of them had just been taken away by utter stupidity. 

I’d come home, gone back to work, and successfully held my tongue from any expletives in front of my coworker who’s a 1975 fan when The Strokes announced a few days later that they were adding a second show in Singapore to make it up to people who were supposed to see them in Malaysia. 

It would be insane, right, to spend an exorbitant amount on another concert ticket, another round-trip flight, another hotel (wait, no, not “another,” we literally stayed with my aunt) just for five men in their forties who changed not only rock music in the 2000s but also my life? 

Anyway, my flight was in five days. 

It was late when I arrived at my hotel in the chic neighborhood of Lavender. I still had a bit of a cold—the whiplash of making all of this happen in less than a week included overcoming a horrible fever that I had to deal with all weekend (with the help of my doting dad <3). 

The room was small and windowless, but cozy. I especially loved the black and white Brooklyn-style bathroom of my dreams, with brick-like tiling around the walls and gorgeous floors. I got settled and rested up for the night. 

August 3

I didn’t include this day when I filed my leave, so I spent until the afternoon working on my phone—I hadn’t brought my laptop, and I’d made sure to finish the major tasks before I left anyway. I walked around the neighborhood to look for breakfast, and I decided to stock up on food and snacks at 7-Eleven: chicken bolognese, an unagi onigiri, a rainbow chip brownie, and some really good instant mac and cheese in a cup.

It was also the time when “Planet of the Bass” was mega-viral, so I can’t think of this trip without being reminded of it. 

I met with Alissa at a coffee shop in Marina Bay Sands before the show and had a lot of fun just talking at length about all kinds of things and getting to know each other better. It was the first time we were hanging out and meeting in person, and I had a great time and I’m always hoping to get to do it again. 

Eventually it was finally time for me to go down to the expo hall for the show. I was near the back since I’d waited until the last possible second to go in, and that was just fine by me. As far as venues went, it was pretty cool: huge space, super high ceilings, but the stage was set against the center of it and it somehow felt like an intimate basement show. (Which, well, it kind of was.) 

I couldn’t think of a better song to start my Strokes show with than “What Ever Happened?” The title track of Is This It is a classic slow burn, but this was the track you wanted if it was about coming out swinging. The pulse of the beat, the anthem-like declarations of the chorus that made it perfect for shouting along to (I wanna be forgotten/And I don’t wanna be reminded), that rousing solo that signaled this was just the beginning—for the song, and for The Strokes themselves at the time it came out. 

I don’t really have a lot of specific memories attached to most of the set list, other than absolutely losing my mind every time they started up and I realized I was hearing them live, but I want to remember every song they played, so I’m listing them here: 

1. “Bad Decisions”
2. “Soma”
3. “Juicebox” (of course it was the most cathartic thing ever to scream along with the chorus) 
4. “Automatic Stop” (I loved swaying to this one) 
5. “The Adults Are Talking”
6. “Take It or Leave It”
7. “Under Control” (this is where I finally cried) 
8. “Reptilia”
9. “Call It Fate, Call It Karma” (literally the fourth time they’d ever played it!) 
10. “Red Light”
11. “Someday” (this is where I finally cried pt. 2) 
12. “Ize of the World”
13. “Hard to Explain”
14. “You Only Live Once” (truly one of the most flawless songs ever, what can I fucking say)

It’s well-established that The Strokes are absolute monsters live and their performances (the guitars!) are always phenomenal, and it feels so good to finally be able to state it myself firsthand. 

I heard the guy in front of me, who’s dancing in all of the footage I took of the night by the way, tell his companion, “They used to just be on TV, and now they’re in front of us,” and as I said in my tweet later when I was reliving the concert in my hotel room: SOBRANG FELT PO, KUYA. 

Julian asked Nikolai to say something, and he was so soft-spoken that Julian said he sounded “like the parents on Charlie Brown.” I couldn’t help but think back to 2014, when I was really falling in love with The Strokes for the first time after years of being a casual fan, and they were starting to play shows again and figure out what it means to be in a band together at their current stages in life after all the animosity of Angles and the uncertainties of Comedown Machine and everything else that came before. I would zoom in on a GIF of Julian patting Nick’s back after their Capitol Theater show and get so irrationally emotional like, “See?! They’re friends!” So to witness something as casual and sweet as this, especially between the oldest members who had known each other longest, was doing my head in a little. I’m so glad they’ve made it to a point where all of it doesn’t have to be such a big deal.

Nick grinned so wide at the Charlie Brown comment, and I wished this could be my life every night. 

One final anecdote: During “Last Nite,” just before the guitar solo, Julian went, “Introducing! Albert... Hammond... Jr!” (Fab, of course, was being his silly, ever unflappable self the whole time, and I loved seeing them all exchange smiles every now and then.) 

I booked a Grab to the hotel. I admired the view as it passed the Helix Bridge, and I couldn’t be happier.

August 4

I checked out in the morning and tried to find the nearest train station, which turned out to be very close by. I got a card that gave unlimited rides for the day and hopped around the city a little before I went to the airport, where I waited to board my flight at the Texas Chicken near my gate. I had salted egg poppers and these cheese fries that I still think about sometimes, with loads of sour cream and cheese and super flavorful large chunks of green onion. Hear that, Taco Bell cheesy fiesta potatoes? GREEN ONION.

I still can’t believe I flew to Singapore on basically a whim and took my lightest backpack and flew back home in two days. I would never recover financially. My eye still twitches when I think about what I had to spend because some man was so full of himself that he caused an entire music festival that people planned for months and was the source of multiple livelihoods to be canceled. (Where’s that class action lawsuit? He needs to pay me back.)  

But the truth is, it was all worth it. Even if my relationship with this band (particularly its frontman) has grown complicated over the years. I was impressed and touched that the band even chose to do an additional concert at all when they could’ve just shrugged it off, and that they managed to put it all together so quickly. It was nice to know they cared, when their entire brand has been foolhardy indifference. They even mentioned Manila when they said they would be back. 

It was a night I’ll never forget, I’d do it again and again if I could, and I got a good story to tell out of it. Even if they didn’t play “The Modern Age” on my show date. 

You feel so good to leave behind

For Tokyo, I decided to bring a Fujifilm Simple Ace 400 instead of my usual Vivitar. Disposable cameras are almost the same price—i.e. eye-twitchingly inflated—as a 35mm roll, and it had the added bonus of being expendable so I could just pop it in my bag without worrying about scratching or damaging it. (I literally put my Vivitar in a zip-loc to protect it from getting wet or getting ruined.) Then I can just pull it out any time, especially if I need to be quick. 

One of my favorite things I've stumbled upon around my hotel area. I'm choosing to ignore that it's a police box. 

When shooting film, sometimes I default to portrait without really thinking about it, just a reflex that feels right. I always like the results. 

I only ever get to indulge in this hobby when I travel these days because I don't get a chance to go around Metro Manila much anymore. Sometimes I wonder if it's even something I want to keep pursuing since it's so costly now, but then I get a roll back and I'm reminded every time that it's always worth it. It keeps me on my toes and motivates me to seek out the slice of life stuff you never see in the guidebooks.

More vertical shots, the first two probably being my favorites out of the whole roll. I love the unique POV of the first, and I like how the second has all these fun details: a wide street, people with umbrellas to hide from the sun, a human figure on a storefront awning, some Hokusai street art, and of course Tokyo Skytree towering above it all. 

I'm also always drawn to crates when I'm using my photographic eye, which is definitely a result of being a big Sophie Tajan fan on early 2010s Tumblr. Her iconic shot of pink Evian crates greatly informed my own picture taking style and taught me to find fascination in seemingly ordinary, mundane moments. 

I bookmarked this place on Google Maps for when I come back. 

Next time I'm also going to be more consciously seeking out storefronts as subjects because they're just so fun. I've been so inspired by Joel Holland's NYC Storefronts (remember when I picked up drawing again for a bit to prepare for Osaka then I just... didn't draw after that) and James and Karla Murray's Store Front NYC. 

Omiya is a quaint little fancy restaurant serving Western cuisine and I was intrigued when I looked at the menu. Definitely another place I'd love to return to, especially if I come with company. 

Our final stop was full of prettier-than-average vending machines (but not the best selection of drinks). 

The film version of the surprise Asakusa street shot on my phone, and an example of me being able to pull out my disposable at a time-sensitive opportune moment. I like the contrast here, but I prefer the phone shot since the portrait orientation was able to capture a more dramatic angle that includes an expansive sky over the top of the tallest building, whereas here it's been cut off. 

One last star rise before I go

An earthquake hit Tokyo on my final night, unmistakable with the way my hotel bed audibly hit the wall—which it was set at the very edge of, meaning the earthquake was strong enough to shake it so that it moved and bounced back. I had to find the translation for "earthquake" in Japanese and searched it up on Twitter to see what was going on. I found tweets from locals, and also NCT Dream fans sharing that Jisung posted about the earthquake, because they were in the city as well on tour. 

We checked out the next morning, and for the last time I hit up the breakfast buffet for my favorites: rice with grilled mackerel and fried dumplings. My favorite drinks on this trip, meanwhile, have been a mint chocolate milk I got at Family Mart and Skal. I've become obsessed with the latter for its delicate balance of sweetness and fizz that goes down way smoother than any drink I've ever had, and I was surprised to learn that it's actually a soda and skim milk hybrid since it's so light and refreshing. I loved the cream soda/ramune flavor I first tried in Osaka, but this time I could only find peach. 

Not much really happened on our last day since we had to be at the airport by noon, so I thought I'd use this entry to talk about some pictures from my phone camera. For our final stops we explored the Asakusa Sensoji Temple and Nakamise Street area, then walked along the Sumida River, which I would've enjoyed so much more if it hadn't been so sunny. (You know I'm a big believer in the power of proximity to a large body of water to heal depression.) 

I took the picture on the left as a final-goodbye view from my window. The shot on the right, I took before crossing the street in Asakusa, and the sun was so bright that I hadn't seen my screen at first. I saw it only the day after and was floored by how much I love it. I find the inadvertent composition so dynamic and interesting. 

I saw the building on the right out the window on our drive to Disneyland. Love the idea of an unassuming bookstore out there with these really cute signs. 

The modern izakaya I wrote about in my last entry. I wanted to step in so bad but it felt like a little more than my social battery could handle right then. 

Yuki and I had formed quite a real connection and I was lucky to have met someone so thoughtful and kind. She had asked me about my plans for my free day and when I told her about wanting to visit the Snoopy Museum, we talked about other characters and pop culture we love, like Studio Ghibli and Sanrio. There are decades and thousands of kilometers between us but it's so nice to be able to find common ground in these little things. 

She asked to hug me goodbye at the airport before I left, and I was all too happy to oblige. 

I had amassed quite the collection of tiny keepsakes and trinkets, including a Mofusand banana figure that ended up being a digital clock that even tells the date. I was very excited when I searched up where the biggest gashapon place was in Tokyo and found out that it was literally right at the complex my hotel is in, and I let myself go wild with every 100-yen coin in my possession. Just hitting up every machine that caught my eye, dropping the capsule into the tote I'd brought for this exact purpose, and moving on to the next. The absolute time of my life. 

At Narita I had unadon at the Yoshinoya near my gate for lunch and waited to board at a counter with charging ports, right at the gate. I didn't need to charge my phone, but it did provide something I've been adamant is a basic human right at airports: a free place to sit with something akin to a table, or at least somewhere to properly rest your elbows. [Mark Ruffalo "We are America!" protest.gif]

It was raining in Manila when we landed. I hauled my suitcase to the pickup area and tried not to think about how, whenever I would land and turn on my local data, there would already be a message from my dad telling me where he'd be waiting to welcome me home. This time, no one was waiting for me, and I was booking a ride with a stranger. With my vision blurred by the downpour and my own tears, I cried in public for the third time that day from how I kept missing my parents. (Yes, I cried at the Yoshinoya, too.) 

But I know my dad would be proud of me for doing this on my own and finding ways to be happy and strong and healthy without him, while still keeping him and my mom near. I'm so happy I went and came home looking forward to more, that I've never lost the ability to want and to anticipate. Moving forward and surviving is painful, but I'm doing it anyway, in small steps and in large leaps. I'm already planning what comes next. Spoiler: Kamakura, wait for me.