I didn’t care about little things when I was young and dumb

We never had a junior prom. 

That was the year Ondoy hit Manila and flooded my house knee-deep, causing water damage to beautiful wooden furniture we wouldn’t have it in our hearts—or pockets—to replace for years. We had a nook outside by the gate that was only there because there was nowhere else to put it, table and all, and that was where we ate our dinner, candlelit but not quite something to romanticize. This is just like Villa Escudero, we joked anyway, remembering the restaurant we had dined at that was next to a waterfall. Pretending the current at our feet was anything but rainwater and devastation. My dad and I walked around our neighborhood the next day, surveying the destruction the typhoon left in its wake. 

Months later, the administration of my high school would announce that in light of recent events, they wouldn’t be holding the annual junior-senior prom. It was done out of respect for the victims, they reasoned, and there were also budgeting concerns because the school suffered its fair share of damages. 

I don’t think about it these days, but once in a while it would come back to me. At the time most of the students would talk about it like it was the end of the world. Part of it didn’t make sense to me—couldn’t there have been a compromise, especially for the seniors? Now, though, it’s just another little anomaly about my adolescence that makes for a good conversation starter: One year, we skipped the prom. As in, we didn’t hold one.

I always meant to skip my junior prom anyway. The idea of dressing up stressed me out, I didn’t dance, it wasn’t worth such a hefty expense. I thought it would be cooler to hold an Anti-Prom Party as an act of nonconformity instead. At the time my favorite movie had been 10 Things I Hate About You and I fancied myself akin to Kat Stratford, was never one to go starry-eyed when it came time for the prom scene in a teen movie regardless. Not even with Heath Ledger in a tux and Letters to Cleo performing “Cruel to Be Kind” in the background. 

But senior year was different—this time, I wanted it all. To satisfy the curiosity of what it was like, to have this last hurrah.

The truth is, I barely remember much of the prom I did get to have. I’ve lived twice the life I had at sixteen, after all. I have no idea why I don’t have a single picture either. When I look back on it, I think of how beautiful my friends all looked and how I wished I could always keep them with me. And did you really go to high school in the late aughts/early tens if your prom playlist didn’t include “Can I Have This Dance?” from High School Musical 3 and “So Close” from Enchanted? 

It was also a night of so many firsts for me. First time shaving my legs. First time curling my hair. First time wearing contacts, which I ditched within weeks and never tried again because I thought I lost one while applying them one morning and turned out it had been sucked into and stuck inside my eye socket the whole day. 

First dance after first dance, including one with the boy I’d written most of my lovelorn poetry about. We’d drifted to each other’s sides like we hadn’t even been thinking about it, pulling together into something that couldn’t decide whether it was a waltz or a slow dance. His hand hovered at my waist, but the other was warm and solid in my own, and we avoided eye contact until we had to part. Don’t ask me what song was playing—I wouldn’t have even been able to tell the morning after.

Months later I would see Prom, the utterly forgettable and mostly forgotten movie, in the cinema on my break. I was completely alone in the theater, the sole ticket sold, and it was an interesting enough experience that I started a new blog and wrote about it as soon as I got home. That blog became a place for me to develop my writing voice and document my teenage years. By then, I was a freshman in university, and it hardly even occurred to me that my own prom wasn’t even all that long ago. It had been only four months, but everything in my life was different, and for once I wasn’t dwelling on the past. 

I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to finish this. None of this had been on my mind in years, until one day I recalled that little blip when I was fifteen where tragedy struck and our prom was canceled, except the tragedy wasn’t hyperbole and had nothing to do with the prom. But there’s one thing I really wanted to write about, and it’s this: 

My prom dress was born out of a magazine clipping, an ad in Vogue for Louis Vuitton’s Fall 2010 collection. Three women primping and preening in a dressing room wearing gorgeous dresses with vintage silhouettes. One of them had her hands at her waist, and immediately I knew that she was wearing my prom dress: Sabrina neckline, sleeves up to her elbows, sheer bodice and delicate layers. 

My mom and I went to a house somewhere in Novaliches or Fairview, the torn-out magazine page clutched in my hands, so we could have a designer recreate the dress. Midnight blue lace and a bubbly, swishy layered skirt, so it would look less like I was attending a funeral. (My mom’s words.) I’d never been so excited. It turned out so beautiful. 

We borrowed a clutch from my aunt, and we searched for the perfect shoes at the mall: rounded toes, wedge heels for comfort, gleaming with gem accents all over. I would wear them around the house before the big day, head spinning with images of my new life as someone who actually wore heels instead of ballet flats and Converse. 

So much of that night was about me becoming a new person. I was graduating high school soon, I was finding my identity and independence, I was growing up. 

Only, not just yet. My parents drove to the fancy country club banquet hall to pick me up. The first thing I removed was my corsage, as soon as I saw them. They brought me flip-flops and helped me out of my heels. My curls flattened out. I had the contact lens incident not long after. My dress was tucked away in a closet, but it might as well have been permanent storage. And as for the shoes? It wasn’t long before I never saw them again. 

I went right back to my Buddy Holly glasses and my rotation of flats and sneakers, but that didn’t mean I stopped trying to discover who I could become—they were just part of who I was, and they weren’t all I had to be. By then I knew better than to box myself in. And, wow, if that isn’t the most Kat Stratford thing of all.

Sometimes it's good to settle down

For me 2024 became a year of trying to end constant searching. 

I think I was trying to make sense of my sudden independence (as in I no longer had parents and literally had to primarily depend on myself) and find some semblance of stability in a life that has refused to be stable for the past few years. I was also getting tired of constantly feeling like I needed something and the cyclical trial-and-error of online shopping... so I exhausted every opportunity to shop online and find the exact thing that would fill that (very specific) void.

It's been a long, pretty tedious process, but necessary and worth it, I think. It felt frivolous and shallow in the moment, but it genuinely taught me a number of important practical things.  

I've mentioned that I've reached my bag quota in this post, but really it took me a few more tries and months of reflexive online window shopping before I found the one/s I've been looking for (for real this time). The first was this dupe of the Stand Oil Joey Mini that I got at about P1500—I kind of shied away from getting an original after the Donkie bag I'd splurged on had a tiny bit of its material chip off by the third use. And it's so much better than the Connie! Sturdier and more spacious, with a strap that's as long as I want it to be and a cooler-looking leather finish. Its shape is also chicer in my opinion. I've gotten plenty of use out of it, and so far it has yet to show any signs of wear.  

The heart of every fruitless search I've gone on for the ideal crossbody bag lies in the Fossil Sutter (right), which I'd gotten as a random souvenir from my aunt. It has the perfect amount of space and  compartments, and my only problem with it is the leather has gotten so faded, one of the hooks is faulty, and it's pretty heavy so not the best for travel. I keep thinking of just taking it to get repaired so I would finally stop looking for its replacement. 

That is, until this unbranded bag style going for P1600 (left) wound up on my suggestions. It had the exact same structure as the Sutter: two front pockets, large zipped compartments outside and inside, two small pockets on the inner lining, and another large zipped compartment at the back. And best of all, it's brand new and much lighter. It's just a little smaller, but I loved that it had a lot of possible places for keeping my passport safe. (The Joey Mini doesn't.) 

It looks dressier than nylon or canvas bags but I can just take it out and sling it over my shoulder for any day. 

I also want to gush a little about this Marikina bag I got for under P300! I've written about it before, but I didn't include a picture. The hardware is thinner and the edges aren't sealed, but I love how spacious it is for such a small bag, the dark green color (it was supposed to be olive green, but they seem to have trouble differentiating since they have so many green options, including emerald and teal), and how fuss-free it is. The zipped back pocket is great for putting my keys, and there's also an inner pocket. Yay, lightweight feel and long detachable strap that makes it easy to store. 

For the last three years I'd been using my mom's vintage Ralph Lauren houndstooth wallet from the '90s, but I decided recently that it's time to retire it before it's damaged. I had the same problem about it as the Sutter: it was too perfectly structured and now I couldn't find a suitable replacement. But I splurged on a Coach snap wallet, and I've never looked back. 

I'm so happy I found this olive green jacquard version, and for a third of the price on Zalora. I'm in love with the details, especially the C-logo zipper. All I really needed were a picture window, a roomy coin purse, and a bill compartment that opened comfortably wide even after you put your cards in. (The Ralph Lauren wallet is still more comfy for me, and for a second I had to "train" my way around the new wallet since the picture window side is flipped around, but I still think I have a keeper on my hands.)  

I didn't want to use some stock image of a perfume bottle I don't even have, so I had a little fun and chose a DoJaeJung picture instead, lol.

It's been a frustrating few years for me when it comes to finding a signature scent! The one I still mourn that I used from about grade six through high school and even college was the Extra Relax variant of the Bench Overhauled line, which broke my heart when it was discontinued in 2014. It's like I've been floundering since. For a while after I became a Body Fantasies Peach Apricot girl and I thought I'd found a forever scent, but that was discontinued recently too. 

In 2023 I tried Miniso's Fancy Bubble, and I adored it (and have gotten compliments on it!). I'm putting the details here so I can always find them and I might try to find a dupe someday: top notes were grapefruit, lemon, orange; heart notes were jasmine, rose, honeysuckle; base notes were sandalwood, vanilla, musk. I don't typically like vanilla in perfume, but here it was the perfect balance needed to take Fancy Bubble to the next level. I never would've pegged it as a citrus scent. I tried to buy as many bottles as I could, but Miniso perfumes were always meant to be limited-edition. I'm on my last bottle now, and I've stopped using it so I can always remember how it smelled. 

Perfume miniatures I bought for a grand total of I-won't-admit-how-much at a pop-up

Much as I want to be a Fragrantica girlie, I just know that collecting scents is not the hobby for me and the constant experimentation just to find The One (no, not that one) felt so wasteful and like I wasn't getting anywhere. I have a sensitive nose and I'm too particular about the kinds of scents I prefer. Like, I do like fruity scents, but they need to have that depth of tartness to me for some reason—something Peach Apricot had that other peachy scents just seem to eschew. 

 

So I decided I needed something classic that wouldn't go away. My mom had left behind a full, unopened bottle of D&G Light Blue that really sustained (sustained?!) me for a while, and I think it's definitely something I can always come back to. I wanted to love Tartine et Chocolat, but it just wasn't enough for me. Finally, one time I was at a Sephora and I got to satisfy my curiosity regarding how certain Tom Ford perfumes smell, and the one that blew me away was Neroli Portofino. It smelled just like Extra Relax did, even the cottony dry-down, except Extra Relax was just a little more green. 

But like I said: not a Fragrantica girlie. You'll never catch me spending five figures on a perfume. So I bought a dupe, and I've been so happy with it. 

Another go-to of mine that was discontinued was Happy Skin's Nostalgia lipstick. It's my MLBB and no shade looks better on me. It's still amazing to me how I didn't have to look too hard to find its successor... but it did make me laugh and kind of lose my mind a little that of all lipsticks, it had to be Sunnies Face's Fluffmatte in Mood. But I can't lie, the formula is crazy smooth and wearable and there are literally no differences in hue between it and Nostalgia. (It's currently sold out everywhere, though, and that has me biting my nails a little. Let's hope it just needs a restock!) 

I also swear by MAC's Succumb to Plum and a gorgeous deep mocha called A La Mode from a brand that won't be named that's a shade of brown I haven't come across often. I don't know how to describe it, but it's a pure kind of brown that doesn't look mauve- or red-adjacent and it's a standout on morena skin. Think Janine Gutierrez' lipsticks on Lavender Fields. 

Settling also means setting boundaries and figuring out some base truths about myself. For one, I think I might not be suited to pet ownership right now, not just because I don't need another money sink and I'm still not fully functional, but also because my OCD would never let me rest about whether I'm taking care of it properly. I've also come to terms with the fact that I'm just fine never drinking again and have set hard lines when I'm out in a drink-y setting, and I'm glad that the people around me have respected that. I'm still open to it and I'm probably always down for peach schnapps or champagne, but I just don't like the discomforts that come with it and it's not worth living with them for me. 

Another thing I've accepted is that I can have a wardrobe that's 50% black, 40% grays, navies, and olive greens, and 10% everything else. There was a tweet about how people in creative fields just figure out a "uniform" instead of having to meticulously plan outfits so they'd have more headspace for their work, and while I no longer recall if it was meant to be serious or a joke, it kind of gave me this license to just dress comfortably but still dress well. 

When we switched to hybrid work and started going to the office, it was fun to really take the time and invest in key pieces and expand my closet. Keyword being "invest," because I did learn that it was worth splurging on quality brands to feel good and look good. Recently (like last month recently) I also learned to apply this philosophy to buying pants, and I've been so happy with the results. 

I know this all makes me sound like such a naive fashion amateur, but that's just because I focused too much on books when shopping as a teen, okay?  

And, well... now I don't really buy books. Don't get me wrong, I still get books digitally, but last year I had to think about the constant possibility of moving and it really stressed me out to account for all the books I own that I needed to keep pristine. (Yes, another OCD thing.) I was running out of space and I couldn't spare any more time worrying about them and needing to protect them, so I decided that my shelves have hit their limit for now. It's not like I have bookstores to buy them at anymore, anyway! [face holding back tears emoji]

I did buy the illustrated edition of The Bell Jar, because how could I not. 

I also let go of my camera collection, somewhat. Again, it was a case of burnout from "needing" to protect them all, which included having to find plenty of space (that I didn't have) since my OCD demanded that they had to be stored just so. And I'm in awe of how my brain can recalibrate sometimes, because as soon as I got my Vivitar CV35, it was like it decided I didn't need anything else. Not even the Contax T3 of my dreams. 

My mind makes itself up a lot about things like this, whether it's cameras or K-pop or whatever else, gets on one track and refuses to get off, and it's allowed me to save so much. Like, NCT 127 really is my ult group, but somehow that's not enough for me to want their albums or photocards or merch, no matter how cool they are, and I only ever open my wallet for Hoseok. (Boy, do I ever.) Maybe it's really just a case of knowing who I am and knowing what I want. I can't explain it but I'm grateful for it! 

The CV35 is such a smartly designed camera. I found a working one for about $20, and in the color I wanted. See-through, very compact and handy, and it even has a thin sliding lens cover that prevents the shutter button from being pressed when it's closed (so helpful because that's one of my worries!). The flash only needs one AA battery, and the compartment clicks open so you don't need screwdrivers. Plus, it allows double exposure.

I kept the CV35, my TolNe, a teal Aquapix, and an Aquapix with a j-hope design from a birthday cafe. I still have a Minox Leica that no longer works, which breaks my heart, and a Superheadz 110 spy book camera. For my birthday I bought a cute squishy little 110 jelly camera, although it doesn't really have the best quality. And even then, I've written about how I've decided to just use disposables when traveling because they're not much more expensive than film and I can just pull them out without fearing damaging them. 

For digital cameras, I have my Pentax Q-S1 that I need to check on one of these days. My D3000 is lying at the bottom of a closet, no longer in any condition to shoot, though it may be repaired.

Currently I'm glued to my Canon G9 X. I had it on my wish list for years as trends moved away from bulky SLRs and mirrorless cameras. People wanted to go back to basics, the compact point-and-shoots, and so did I. Everyone goes for the clunky G7 X, but I'm someone who kind of prioritizes better (read: cuter) design over specs as long as the output is decent. So in 2022, I forget how but it came to my attention that the camera was becoming obsolete and production was ceasing, meaning I had to act fast if I wanted to even find it. I dragged my dad to SM Annex, and luckily the Canon store still had them. 

We left and I spent overnight convincing myself to get it, yelling at myself that I deserved it like Vanessa Kirby going "I AM FACING THIS! I'M FACING IT!" in Pieces of a Woman. The next day, we came back, and I bought it in a one-time payment. I didn't want any more second-guessing after having it on my mind for so long. 

I was so sure that its value would decline, but it's done quite the opposite of depreciate. I checked online and saw that used G9 Xs go for more than I'd gotten it for brand new (around $420; listings go from $430 to $700) and to get one new in box, you'd have to shell out $1000. I can't be more thankful that I took the chance to buy it when I did. 

Lately when I travel, so I would pack lighter, I try to tell myself that my phone is good enough for documentation. And it is, but I want to make the most out of this camera, too.  

I can pinpoint a reason for the current market price of my camera, and of course it's that digital cameras are all the rage right now. I feel strange about it as someone who grew up with these "retro" gadgets but never really got to have them because we could never afford them. I can't help but think sometimes: It's supposed to be my turn. This Canon PowerShot E1 is my birthright. None of you have spent the last 17 years pining after it since you were 13! 

There's listings of them everywhere, even on Instagram, and a little voice would gently coax me, Why not? But having my go-to cameras across mediums and formats lets me shrug off that voice, because I know I already have everything I could ever need, and all of those pretty sample pictures are just a combination of good environments and, literally, the power of flash photography. My digicam is good, and it doesn't have to take pictures that make it look like it's 2003.  

So even if this Japanese clear toy camera is only P2000 and it's super cute, I can just put it on my blog if I want to admire it so badly. 

That's what settling really means to me. There's a lot of talk lately from influencers about "no buy" and relearning minimalism after all that overconsumption, and this journey or whatever has been similar to that, but it's mostly just me finding the (god, buzzword alert) most authentic way to be me. It's so much easier to click off a listing for yet another bag, yet another book, yet another intriguing perfume or cutely packaged lip product with a unique formulation, yet another trendy l'objet du jour because I already know and have what works best for me. 

(I'm still trying to add to my closet, though.)  

I had a lot of fun writing this blog post! Lately I've mostly gone back here whenever I've gone somewhere or something big has happened, but I have missed yapping about my daily life and my current obsessions and things that make me happy and silly pop culture headcanons. I hope to do more of it this year... but I'm definitely looking forward to blogging about Hope on the Stage Tour and I hope it will be a long entry or even series that spans across a number of shows and cities ;) 

Surrounded by familiar faces, the people that you love to see

 Or: I was born in the right generation

I hadn’t been inside the SM Skydome since I was 18. 

It had been about ten years. It was the venue where I got to cover my first concert with a press pass, where I got to see William Beckett from the front row in the most intimate concert I’ve ever attended—only hundreds in the crowd—and he acknowledged me from the stage. But there’s only ever going to be one band I’ll always associate with the Skydome, and it was the same reason I was there at that moment: The Maine. 

I hadn’t gone to a concert of theirs since their pivotal Pioneer Tour stop in 2012 because their newer songs resonated with me less and it got to a point where I’d become mostly unfamiliar with their setlists. But this was going to be the Sweet Sixteen Tour, to commemorate their debut album Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop, and they were going to play the whole album on their second night in Manila, along with more deep cuts from their discography. 

My friends and I could not miss this. 

Having been fans of The Maine when we were in high school, we’ve naturally had plenty of time to evolve into different people and kind of grow out of that phase. We tend to joke that we’re “retired.” But as soon as the announcement dropped, it was like no time had passed. We immediately made plans, and for some of us, for the first time in a very long time, we were going to be attending another concert in a mall together—seeing the band that allowed our worlds to collide. 

There was no question to me that I would be getting two-day tickets, and closer to the show dates, I decided to treat myself and check in to the hotel connected to the mall so I wouldn’t have to go home only to come back the next day. Most of this might be personal myth at this point. I’d waited too long to write and I didn’t take many notes on my phone, and it was really just two great nights spent listening to the music of my teenage years live with the people I got to grow up with listening to them. 

It’s so freeing to have a band like The Maine that’s pure comfort. I didn’t have any expectations, save for songs I wanted to hear, because I’d already had such a rich history of experiences related to them. I’d seen them in their prime, I’d met them, I’d even gotten to interview them a number of times. Garrett had literally, at one point, used a photo I’d taken of him as his Twitter icon.

On September 27 we mostly watched from the right-side bleachers. They played over 25 songs that night, including “Diet Soda Society,” “Right Girl,” “Don’t Come Down,” “Misery,” and “Blame.” I’d been playfully livid whenever they’d play “Saving Grace” here and I hadn’t come to see them, but this time they played a beautifully romantic mashup of the song with “Whoever She Is” that had us all swaying. Camz and I kept screaming that it’s my song (being a Halloween baby) during “Forever Halloween,” a track I thought I’d never hear live. And “Another Night on Mars” was a great encore. It was funny how we’d go quiet when they’d play newer songs, then go absolutely berserk when it was time for the classics. 

But what got me crying, grasping the magnitude of the how-we-got-here-ness of the moment, was “(Un)Lost” and the back-to-back double whammy of “Love & Drugs” and “Like We Did (Windows Down).” I couldn’t help flashing back to 12 years ago, sitting on the floor outside this same venue with Mariel waiting in the queue to be let in for that concert, as the same two songs—“Like We Did” and “Don’t Give Up on ‘Us’”—looped over and over.  

September 28 was the Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop show, and we decided to plunge into the crowd for it. We all laughed seeing the band come out in the iconic white and gold suits (not black and blue!) they’d all worn as teens in the late 2000s, destined to be in the running for the new princes of pop-punk and eventually become something else altogether. “Everything I Ask For” will always get me on my feet, the ultimate girl-worship anthem where John comes off as a bit of a lovable loser. “Girls Do What They Want” and “Count ‘Em One, Two, Three” will never stop being good old call-and-response fun. “Into Your Arms” is the only song that will ever make me weirdly emotional during a line that tries to bait you into singing, She’s got the most amazing ass. 

John went into the crowd at one point. I think it may have been to start a mosh pit, or to join one. I’d said to Clarissa the day before that the concert didn’t feel complete without one of her signature condom balloons, and that night she actually delivered. 

I was so excited to sing “Love is a luxury,” she said during “This Is the End.” And the feeling of getting to scream 81! 23! Means everything! To me! during “We All Roll Along” is something indescribable that not everyone will get, but here it’s practically a love language, and few things are as powerful. 

And then there’s “We’ll All Be…” A song that goes on forever, but never long enough. My friends and I held each other tight as we declared, And for the first time, I feel less alone. For the first time, I can call this home. And later, We all have been degraded. We all have been the greatest. 

I had zero regrets about the hotel stay, even if it was a little pricey. I had a good breakfast, piling my plate with annatto rice and creamy chicken and fried dumplings and dry noodles, plus a little chocolate chip scone. And two consecutive days of concerts was a lot, but nothing I couldn’t wash away with a hot shower as soon as I got into my room. 

 

I spent most of both days with Camz, Audrie, and Steph—the three I regularly talk to the most, along with Cheska. But really the whole affair was nothing short of a family reunion: frantic waving and voices going shrill with excitement upon spotting these faces we hadn’t seen in years, some of which we never thought we’d see again. We sang along to lyrics that are probably tattooed on our minds (if not literally tattooed somewhere on our bodies), we laughed about old inside jokes and got up to old habits, we took pictures, we caught up over dinner, we sat down when we needed to because our joints did not work like they used to. “We’re so old!” 

I was especially grateful to have gotten back in touch with Kat and Clarissa, who flew out to live this great big new adventure in America not long after the tour. 

People express doubt all the time these days that you can meet friends online, particularly Tumblr, even more that you could manage to have them cross over to the real world. But as someone whose lifelong friends are from Tumblr, I’m just like, “Skill issue.” 

But of course these friendships are the absolute rarest gems from a bygone era, and I’m constantly being reminded of how lucky we are to get to have something this special. It felt extra real, looking around the Skydome and seeing them, feeling them, hearing them right next to me. These were people I met on a screen because we all loved The Maine a decade ago, and somehow they’ve become inextricable constants within my life. Nobody has ever oomfed harder than we have.

I wouldn’t even really called it a “reunion,” because we’ve all been here for each other all along, like the Skins cast. 

We’re so lucky. We’re so lucky. The timing, the people, the places. We got to be young at a time when these were the bands and these were the songs that were at their peak, living out our exhilaration, living through our angst, and living vicariously through them. Physical media and Astroplus release parties, music video premieres and waiting for surprise screen time on MTV, vinyl pre-orders and waiting two months to listen to the album until the record arrived and you could drop the needle. Microblogging when people weren’t afraid to interact and weren’t too cool to mess up their pages, so we just talked directly on our Dashboards through our posts and reblogs. 

A scene when being part of a scene meant something. You just truly had to be there. 

This kind of thing will never happen again, for us or anyone else. 

It wasn’t just our little corner of the internet—it was also a subculture and pocket of time that allowed us to meet in person frequently and really keep in touch. For a brief time concert producers actually took note that this is what teenagers were listening to, and they managed to bring these obscure-ish bands often enough. Think about it: even There for Tomorrow, even The Downtown Fiction. Many of us were also entering college, and it was just easier to make plans and keep seeing each other and hanging out.   

Live shows at Ayala Malls came to define a generation—our generation. They were common enough that they became unlikely markers of a specific era in my life, of my coming-of-age. Days when Fridays meant going to the mall after school to hang out at Timezone, or see the latest Harry Potter movie (I wish I could make a different reference, but I have to be true to the time), or try new toppings on frozen yogurt. It’s just that sometimes, you just happened to catch Cobra Starship performing their hit “Guilty Pleasure” live and in person at the activity center, and it felt like the most normal thing in the world. 

When the LIV3 Tour was announced to be kicking off for a four-day run in 2011, it caused a huge shift. We could look at how our lives had changed and pin it all on this one crazy week. Our post-concert emotions didn’t cease for six months, as the February show dates bled into high school graduation (for some of us, including me) and the summer and some of the following school year, until we had a new thing to focus on: embarrassing to admit, but it was the All Time Low concert in Araneta that would be taking place that September. And one of the acts for LIV3 was going to be The Maine, whose then-latest album Black and White had pretty much been a soundtrack of my senior year. 

It was pretty clear that while those of us in bandom listened to many acts, the center of our ecosystem and the band that tied us all together was The Maine. If LIV3 was the beginning of everything, Pioneer Tour was where all of it fell into place. Full fucking circle. 

I’m going to hand it over to 17-year-old Fiel from 2012 for a bit: 

You listen to a band for almost five years, and for the first three years you think you’re never going to see them live. You think you’re alone, all this time, listening to them, you think nobody else in your country gives a shit about them. Well, you know there’s got to be somebody else out there, but you don’t know how to find them. You think, “I’d do anything to hear this live.” You think, “Of course, it’s never gonna happen.” 

But somehow, unprecedented and unexpected, this band had ended up here, in my city, in my “hometown,” as pop-punk cliches go. 

You look around, and there are people who feel the exact same way you do, who love this band as much as you do. And you never thought this moment would ever come. 

And you’re there. You’re so lucky to be there. 

This was also around the time Tavi Gevinson launched her online magazine Rookie, which in turn inspired and launched several copycat youth-oriented zines—one of which was our very own Elision, ideated during an idle, random conversation we were having while waiting around for yet another Ayala Malls concert to begin. We were young enough to want to do everything and believe we could make it happen. On my blog I’d post stupid song lyric Picnik edits on pretentious pictures I took with my Nikon D3000, and for some reason they’d get hundreds of notes. As 13- to 16-year-olds we all had businesses selling one-inch wristbands, designing them ourselves and emailing suppliers to produce them for us… and getting detained by mall security for trying to sell them at a Good Charlotte show in Glorietta.

Yes, we literally made (most of) these

Now that I’m 30, I sometimes think about the Tumblr Ask I got when I was 16 that just said, You are so young. It was meant to be condescending, to tell me I didn’t know shit about anything. Of course, I only replied with a GIF of somebody blinking, unimpressed. But that was the best and worst part of growing up online, after all: getting to make mistakes, getting to start over, getting to put something out there and have it travel and reach an incredible amount of people, even if it’s not perfect. 

The whole world was my Tumblr Dashboard, and my Tumblr Dashboard was my whole world.

My online friends and I built our trust and memories as we kept seeing each other, hands held tight and moving our bodies in the dark to the backdrop of all the songs we loved, live. Gathered to share our voices and our elation and this experience that’s bigger than all of us. It went on for a couple of years, every few weeks or months. And it felt only apt to have the culmination of it be the 2013 Fall Out Boy show in Araneta, after they came back from their four-year hiatus. I had turned 19, and I was ready for something else. Everything else.  

I was at prime malleability when I was 16 to 18, waiting to be shaped into a person. I could become anyone. It was that age when the bands you listened to became part of your identity, and in my case, they literally wound up creating domino effects in every facet of my life, for the bad sometimes, but mostly for the good. My friends, my job, how I create and how my passion manifests, how I handle grief and depression. 

We were the ones who were always saying, “I was born in the wrong generation.” But years later, it feels pretty good to realize we couldn’t have been part of a more fitting, more right one all along.

Even if I was “over it all” by 2013 and we all started branching out to other interests, my online friends and I kept in touch, and it wasn’t just because we had our zine or we were still following each other on social media. We’d become IRLs, reaching a level of closeness that allowed us to know each other inside out and love each other—not friends from Tumblr or Twitter, but bona fide friends, period. Tied to each other for life by the blue-moon moments we’d been through, the way nothing else can and nobody else would understand. Organic, true, valid, although I know in my heart it’s always been that way. I had called it a scene, but it was much more than that. It was a community. 

I’ve written this so many times: We came to be in each other’s lives because we loved the same things, and now we love the same things because we’re in each other’s lives.

It’s funny and it warms my heart so much to think about how we used to joke about Ovation Production bringing ‘80s nostalgia acts, and now we were pretty much the ones going to nostalgia-bait concerts. But I’d be doing The Maine a disservice to call them nostalgia fodder, because even now, almost two decades into their career, they’re as experimental and relevant as ever. And even if I’ve moved on, they’ll never stop meaning a lot to me. 

The morning of September 29, I checked out and went home, my wristbands from the two previous nights already buried like confetti somewhere in my bag. It never stopped feeling a little strange, a little empty when the bands were gone and it was all over. “On the ride home I started to get sad,” I’d written in my journal the day after I attended some concert in 2014, ten years ago now. “I always do when [something great] ends and I get preemptively nostalgic.” 

In my room I dug high (the overhead cabinets) and low (the boxes under my bed) for any artifact I could find from when I loved The Maine the most, but I was an idiot and let them all go. I’d sold my signed albums, including the copy of Black and White I’d bought from their merch table at LIV3, when my mom had gotten sick, and the regret kind of stings. But at least I still have my autographs from the whole band—and one from William Beckett—from when I was doing my silly “project” where I collected musicians’ stripper names. This was the kind of crude faux edginess that was acceptable during peak bandom, okay!  

And I’ll always, always have that time after we’d taken our picture for the Pioneer Tour meet-and-greet session, when I was walking off to let the next person have their turn, and I hadn’t even taken a couple of steps when I heard: “Fiel!” 

I’ll let 17-year-old Fiel take this again (even though I can still pretty much recite it verbatim): 

“Yes?” I turned around and faced John, the one who had called me. By my flipping name. I was looking him right in the eye, not even aware of anything or anyone else.

“Fiel, right? How do you spell that?” John asked. “F…?” 

“F-I-E-L,” I said. 

“F-I-E-L,” John repeated with a smile. “Fiel. That’s pretty!”

I still scream into a pillow about it sometimes.  

I may not have had any expectations going in when it came to the Sweet Sixteen Tour, but it was cool to end up in the front row (off to the side, but still) during the second day. And, okay, let me just have this, but I don’t think I’m being delusional when I say that John had looked over and our eyes had met while I was singing along to “I Must Be Dreaming.” 

These photos are so bad but whatever

We locked eyes, and he pointed at me as if he remembered me from all those years ago. The sight line was so clear, and I don’t think it was meant for the rando in front of me. He’d done it before, too, during an event at the Mall of Asia in the latter half of 2012, and if my memory serves me correctly, maybe even at Fairview Terraces in 2015. 

And I honestly wouldn’t put it past him, because I know that’s the kind of sentimental person he is. 

It was so, so wonderful to watch him take the stage again and note that he’d grown up too, right along with us. I’d been a fan of his since he was 19, and he was 21 the first time I saw him live, 23 the last. He was 36 now, married, a father. A girl dad! It was crazy to see how his demeanor had changed. He took himself a bit too seriously in his 20s, like many of us do, weighed down, in his head. I wish I could’ve told him “I get it,” but it’s enough for me to have listened to his music and think, “He gets me.” Now here he was. More confident, more likely to tell dad jokes (so much dad jokes), a certain lightness to him. Like he’d finally seen what was on the other side, and he’d found that everything was going to be just fine. Still every bit the rock star. 

(It's been so strange as well to look back on these bands and realize that so many of them found success online right out of high school. They'd seemed like whole people already, but they weren't that much older than us, and they were also just figuring things out. These people were from small towns, 17 to 20, already living out of tour vans, already total pros, already writing music that will not just resonate but prove to stand the test of time. Again: that just doesn't happen anymore.) 

John at Pioneer Tour Manila in 2012

There was a tweet where a younger person was asking, “Can you imagine being a teenager in 2014? Was it really like this?” And someone had quoted it with something like, “It was great and you weren’t there and you’ll never experience it.” 

And they were being funny, but it made me stop and really reflect on it. The truth is, there’s something enviable about being a teen in every decade. I’ve missed out on so many things, and I’m only getting older, but it made me glad that this, all of it, this is what I got. 

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. 

It also happened to be my mom's death anniversary, and getting back on the bus after the sky lanterns, I found that a butterfly had come in, and it kept flapping its wings restlessly by my window. I didn't look away until I couldn't keep track of it anymore.  

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