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Making sense of all the little pieces I’ve scooped up in my hands

The thing with staying up late and pulling all-nighters, now that it’s about seven years post-graduation, is that it takes me about two days of focused sleeping to somewhat recover, and now it’s Sunday and all I’ve done is clean paint palettes. And buy a filing cabinet for my “files,” I guess, but even then, I had to be roused from my midday nap.

You couldn’t have found a more surprised person than me, discovering on Friday that it was, in fact, Friday.

And now, I’m awake, and we have no internet connection at home, and I was in the mood to write and maybe vegetate in front of internet-reliant television. Alas.

I’m in the process of retrieving a replacement for the passport that I lost, and it’s been a weird little struggle (mostly because of aforementioned tiredness, and also, sure, procrastination on my part) but it feels like a small concern when the person you’re beside at the notary office lost hers because she was imprisoned by her employer in Saudi. It isn’t the most productive action, to compare, but how can you help not comparing? Especially, when the “ordeal” you’re going through is partly self-inflicted inconvenience.

So, anyway, the passport thing. It’s a luxury and a privilege to be able to leave whenever you want to, and the people around you understanding why you need to, and it’s jarring to realize that you can’t actually leave this country, because you had been careless about the thing that let you leave.

(This is what I look like on most days. Ahhh!)

A few weeks ago, my best friend asked me if I was happy, and I think I remember saying “yes,” but I think I’d like to amend that answer now and say “I’m not sad” instead, which feels more accurate an answer, and may seem alarming, but mostly isn’t. I just feel stuck, which is typically what I feel right before I spiral into something else, but I think I’m handling it better this time around.

(It also feels weird to whine about these kinds of things. I always feel like someone reading this is going to dismiss all of it as a stupid privileged person problem, and maybe all of it is just that, but I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud is all.)

I do, however, feel grateful for all of the breathing room our new house affords.

It still feels weird that we’re old enough to get drinks with each other—even though it’s been that way for eight years.

We went to a Bench fashion show, and Ziggy Savella showcased a new collection, and my sister and I both died because we wanted everything, despite potentially unflattering decisions. (Mostly on my part.)

Beng, Noah, and Raymond, in a rare uncharacteristic moment of petting a dog.

Noah, a sleepy baby. Noah, a needy baby + Tara.

Isa, best friend who asks the hard-hitting questions, haha.

I literally could spend the day watching Noah sleep.

When you just need a moment at work + catching the light before leaving!

Speaking of work, this was from about a year ago, on our first cover story shoot at CNN Philippines Life:

This is the longest I’ve stayed at an actual job, and I don’t even know if it counts because it’s just a part-time gig, and I’ve taken a few chunks of time away, but I’m still grateful to be around great people, and to have been able to write about things I like and things I didn’t know I liked, and that I get some semblance of freedom within the office and outside of the office, plus other corny stuff, et cetera.