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. 

In this small world, I turn my eyes outside: An Osaka photo diary

Landing in Kansai, the plane window became a triptych of sky, sea, and grass. In my mind it immediately took on the quality of a Kate T. Williamson illustration, gorgeous finely detailed abstract patterns stark against one another. Even though I spent a month practicing in my sketchbook so I could draw on this trip, I never really got around to doing it, but sometimes I still think about trying to put this lasting image to paper. 

Having spent the first four years of my career freelancing, the thought of traveling to Japan always left me frustrated since it wasn't as easy for me to obtain an ITR needed to apply for a visa. For a long time it felt unattainable to me. But in 2022 I'd been employed full-time for two years—not only did I have the form, I was also making enough that I could let myself have this trip. (Even better, applying for a visa through a tour package doesn't require you to submit an ITR or bank statements, so this is a great option for anyone who's been having the same problem I did!) 

I got a Fibe-Mini from a little corner of vending machines at the airport. The bottle is adorable, so tiny I can close my fist around it and have it disappear, almost. It’s pink, fizzy—the grapefruit taste made complex and sweeter by tutti-frutti undertones. The drink is produced by a pharmaceutical company, of all things, which I think explains its slightly medicinal but overall pleasant flavor. 

The drive into the city from the airport was wonderful, and I especially loved getting to see the massive ferris wheel from the window. 

I had the time of my life exploring Shinsekai District, a neighborhood bridging the old and the new (and the sensibilities of New York and Paris, so I'm told). Some side streets carried the smell of ramen broth and my eyes grew wide at the larger-than-life exteriors. 

Dinner was at a local restaurant, Iruri, where we were served a set menu with deep-fried skewers, takoyaki and okonomiyaki, tabletop cooked chicken and rice, and a salad with fresh, crispy lettuce and blue cheese dressing. 

In Nara after exploring Todaiji Temple and buying a beautiful bookmark with swimming koi on it, I walked among the deer and mostly sat around by the trees listening to "Autumn Outside the Post Office." 

I walked back to the bus on my own, giving myself a chance to enjoy the surrounding neighborhood a little more. I bought a DyDo drink at a vending machine. The can was blue with a glass of ice cream on the logo, and I'd chosen it thinking it would taste like ramune. What I got instead was the most layered and complex-tasting soda I'd ever had—officially it's called "ice cream soda" or described as "vanilla ice cream-flavored," and it certainly tastes the part, but it's so much more than that. It made me think of the gum in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where Violet really felt the sensation of having a three-course meal. It was the most full-bodied vanilla, with even a hint of salt to make things interesting. So good. 

I saw my favorite street outfit in Gion, on a girl laughing with her friend. She wore a blue oversize dress shirt with a white knit vest over a dreamy glittery blue tulle skirt and sleek black boots. 

I wanted to explore every inch of Kyoto. Tammy, the tour guide, told us about its law to keep buildings low and maintain the area's quaint, restrained, but proud old-world atmosphere. I drank it all in, from the river, to an office with a collection of the employees' shoes at the door, to bright cafes and tiny houses, to the Arts and Crafts University. (Obviously I fell in love with and remain obsessed with that name.) It was surreal to pass the headquarters of Capcom in Osaka and Nintendo in Kyoto while listening to "Safety Zone." 

It started raining on our walk to the Fushimi Inari Shrine. I wanted to take so many pictures, especially at the train station in the middle of the street where we had to stop to let a train pass by, and I saw a couple of cats lounging. And I'm gonna be that person just this once, okay? It did feel remarkably like a Ghibli movie. So there.  

The next day Tammy gave me a little gift: a postcard, a small picture frame, and some treats and cute erasers. I hadn't planned on revealing it had been my birthday the day before, but somehow it had come up during the sushi making class. It felt quite nice to not carry it alone, even if that had kind of been what I wanted when I booked this trip. I'd just wanted to get older someplace where nobody knew me.

Our first stop in Kobe was a sake brewery, and my favorite was an orange-flavored rice wine served cold from the tap. It was so refreshing. Way touristy, but I was excited about going to Steakland and having Kobe beef for lunch in the city it was named for, and I wasn't disappointed. In the area was a small row of shops, each with two compact floors that reminded me of the old shopping center in UPD. There were shops selling ice cream and taiyaki, there was a bike by a cafe with flowers in the window, there was street art adorning a dance studio.  

I didn't love the super long cable car ride up (or down) Mt. Rokko when we went to the Nunobiki Herb Gardens. The flowers were beautiful, however, and my favorite part and something that calmed me down was getting to pass over the waterfalls. 

Back in Osaka the rain made the autumn chill even colder. My P200 shoes had finally given up on me after days of long walks, and I hobbled on frozen feet along Shinsaibashi looking for a place to buy a replacement pair. The hot pack Tammy had given the tour group earlier in the day gave me a lot of warmth and comfort. They were playing Selena Gomez' 2009 album Kiss & Tell through the shopping street, and I was 14 when it came out, so of course I knew some of it by heart—especially "I Won't Apologize" and "I Promise You." 

Eventually I wound up at a Skechers and (it's just much more fitting to express it in Tagalog) napagastos ako nang wala sa oras. It felt good to step out of my comfort zone and try my best to communicate with the attendant (who was also doing her best) despite the language barrier and really try stuff on to find the best pair. I settled on a futuristic-looking chunky black pair of Go Walks that I've come to swear by.

Every few stops or so there were alcohol dispensers set up to disinfect your hands, which was obviously a total marvel to me, someone who's never left the house without it even before 2020. We'd also gotten these amazing hand sprays on the first day of the trip that didn't really smell like anything but in a pleasant sterile citrus-y hospital-y way and had a different feel compared to rubbing alcohol. It dried quicker and felt cool to the skin and just felt cleaner, I can't describe it. 

I got karaage clip-on earrings at a gacha store, had a hamburger doria and a maple latte at Excelsior Caffe, and walked around some more before turning in for the night. 

My favorite drink on this trip was the ramune-flavored Skal I'd buy at the vending machine right in front of my hotel. (Not the one pictured.) And the breakfast I still think about was from the second day, when they had tiny beef patties available. I didn't want to feel too full, so I just took one and layered it on top of some scrambled egg and rice in a small bowl, poured a bit of curry on the side, and sprinkled some furikake over the rice, making a mini hamburg curry don. I washed it down with cold melon soda. Unfortunately, they didn't serve the tiny patties for the rest of my stay, so I never got to have it again. 

The morning of my best breakfast was our Universal Studios day, where I got to fulfill my dream (literally, not even kidding) of going on Jaws: The Ride and experiencing the eternal 4th of July in Amity. Since I was alone, I got to use the single rider line and almost never had to wait for too long. I found myself seated at the very front for Jurassic Park, I got to experience the Spider-Man ride before it closed, and I had a Snoopy teriyaki burger for lunch. The playlist was appropriately spooky for Halloween ("Thriller," for example) and there were so many students walking around in costumes. It was fun to see how they expressed themselves and their interests through the charms and accessories on their bags, just before the whole act of it really blew up as this trend. But don't get me started on that. 

One night I went out to buy a burger I wanted to try. It was a weekend, so everyone was out in Dotonbori to celebrate Halloween. Even though I was born on October 31, I'd never really gone out and seen how 20-somethings did it. Just that one chill house party I'd gone to when I turned 23, dressed as a slasher victim with a fake blood choker and a headband that made it look like scissors were sticking out of my head...

...like this. Yeah. I can't believe I'm ruining my blog post's aesthetic flow just to yell that Hoseok and I once wore the exact same cheap plastic prop. 

I didn't get much of a chance to appreciate the costumes or the atmosphere, though. The bridge leading to the shopping street was packed, and it was a little difficult to get enough air or move along. The tragedy in Seoul had just happened, and it made me nervous. It took some time but I got to the other side, bought my burger, and took a side street back to the hotel. 

Even now I tend to joke that I really only went to Osaka for two things: riding Jaws, and a "pilgrimage" to visit the exact spot Osaka's very own Yuta had stood when he took one of my favorite pictures of him. It was raining when I had a chance to do it and the photo isn't very good because I had to hold my umbrella, but it all felt quite ceremonious and like, well, finally. 

I really like this photo I took at Osaka Castle before we flew out. 

The canned Coke tasted great on the flight. My viewing experience of Jurassic World Dominion was not.    

Hoseok went to Osaka like exactly a month after I did for MAMA, where he put on an incredible performance and looked gorgeous in Saint Laurent, and I still kind of slap my forehead about it sometimes. But I'm glad I got to leave 27 behind in the city the way I did.

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

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.