Tag: writer in manila
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Body of Meanings (Part 1)
I am acutely aware of my body because I have changed it drastically, denied so much from it, and whipped it into submission, that I feel, at times, so tragically disconnected from it. Sometimes I feel my body isn’t me, but a tool, a robotic shell I occupy and augment and repair.
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A Filipino Who Doesn’t Eat Rice
Whether it’s language or food (or any other cultural symbol, at that), can you still be faithful to your culture if you stray away from its shibboleths?
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With Distance We Make Friends
It’s easy to be friendly. But some people assume friendliness should mean unbridled openness. Far too often I’ve seen how some people would lovebomb strangers in the hope that they will win their trust and friendship. I think true friendship takes time.
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Am I Too Old to Enjoy This?
The adult in me thinks that she is very juvenile and naive, and I wonder if I’m just too jaded to enjoy how whimsical she is, how her whole world seemed to be rose-colored and bright.
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A Polite Chat with Dying
What do we actually lose when someone dies? (How can you lose a potential, anyway?)
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Whose Adobo is Authentic, Anyway?
Will gatekeeping culture and calling out cultural appropriation bring justice? Or is it going to kill the very thing it wants to protect?
A Writer in Manila 