contents 01.
work for elision zine
02.
work for cnn philippines life
03.
freelance work
is this the coolest office in manila?
Originally published on CNN Philippines Life on April 4th, 2016. Photographed by JL Javier.
Situated on a street lined with corporate buildings and coffee shops, the 600-square-meter space occupied by the Manila office of the Sydney-based graphic design startup Canva is a specimen to behold, one that lives up to the name of the company it’s meant to represent. Think murals along several walls (one is about adventure and another features Philippine icons like the jeepney and the tarsier), meeting rooms with writings on the glass, standing desks next to a brick wall, couches, and long tables instead of cubicles. The office design was done internally, with the only outside help coming from a consultant and a construction firm. “I think there was definitely an attempt to keep both of our offices consistent,” Shamal Si, a Canva designer and architect, says, “[But] it’s kind of nice having the Philippines touch, especially natural materials and such.” Melanie Perkins, a co-founder and CEO of Canva, who is part Filipino, agrees: “We have a lot of glass and wood throughout the office, to
keep it really very open and natural. [It has a] home-like feel, with the kitchen being part of the office environment as well.” Canva Manila opened in August 2014 in Makati. “We asked a number of people which is the best area, and a lot of people said Makati,” Perkins says. “It has a very similar vibe to our office in Surrey Hills in Sydney, a very cool and upcoming sort of area.” In its early days, Canva Manila had a team of six people and occupied only one side of the floor it was on. The team has since grown to 60, ranging from designers to engineers to “customer happiness” specialists (as opposed to customer service or satisfaction; “a Mel thing,” in reference to Perkins, according to Rose Powell, Canva’s communications strategist), resulting in a much-needed takeover of the other side. Having two offices that are almost 4,000 miles apart has prompted the use of virtual teams, but Perkins stresses the importance of physical teamwork as well. “This year we moved to a model of small startups,” she says. “Each team is their own startup with their own ambition and their own goal.” She adds: “But the important part is, as we become larger, to make sure that each team still has that same feeling of, ‘We want to achieve great, big things.’” Last year the Manila team flew to Australia, and recently the Sydney team made their own visit to the Philippines. To foster growth and creativity, several types of work spaces have been set up. “One of the spaces is more of a collaborative space,” Si says. “It’s for people to be noisy, talk together. Incidental meetings can happen which is all fun and happy and great. I think there’s also a space where everyone can go back to working a little more, have solitude and get stuff done after having those cool meetings.” They also hold individual and team workshops, as well as a “hack-a-thon,” which entails 24 hours of “people working on whatever project they want and then they present to the rest of the team,” resulting in “lots of fun and innovation.” According to Perkins, creativity is a landmark of all that Canva stands for: “I think enabling people to have a voice [is important], so that they can not only own their environment but own their work and own their team’s creativity.” Celebrations and a “familial feel” play an important part in Canva’s work environment. Doves have been released, plates have been smashed, tomatoes have been crushed under feet (“a mini La Tomatina Festival”), islands have been visited, and meals are shared — a tradition of sorts that’s been around since the company’s beginnings in Perkins’s mother’s house. Perkins calls it egalitarian: “I think that the environment that we have really brings out the best in people. Having lunch together, it might be a bit of a novelty, but it actually has real benefits for the company and for the individuals here. People feel a lot more included and part of the family that is Canva.”
Perkins states that the work environment is crucial to Canva’s productivity, and that design decisions regarding their offices are made very consciously. “We’ve always wanted to make a place or environment that we wanted to work in,” she says. “The people we employ have got to be super passionate and motivated, and in the office we have a very transparent and open culture, so that’s got to be the way we style our office, too.” There’s also a certain whimsy around the place that’s been apparent in their overall brand; an entire wall dedicated to inspiration, with posters, magazines, and various decor, is a testament to this. “It’s actually very important [to us], having a bit of fun — making it a very relaxed environment that feels like a café, and a sort of culture that reflects the feeling at Canva,” Perkins says. In their team workshops, there’s often a lot of talk of Canva’s future: what they hope to do, and how they plan to do it. With almost 10 million unique users and counting, they’re fully aware that they’re not quite done yet. “Our vision with Canva is to enable everyone to take their idea and see what they turn that into,” Perkins says. “But we’ve only really achieved about 1 percent of what we’ve been working for here, so there’s a lot more yet to come.”
a f i l i p i n o tw i s t on ma l a y s i a n and singaporean cuisines
Originally published on CNN Philippines Life on July 5th, 2016. Photographed by Gabby Cantero.
“It’s a passion project,” Nicco Santos is saying. “And it’s basically an extension of me.” The chef and restaurateur is talking about Hey Handsome, a Southeast Asian joint that’s set to open in Bonifacio Global City, Taguig. He is also behind the neighborhood Asian fusion bistro Your Local in Makati, which he had opened after having come home from New York “itching to open a restaurant.” It was a year and a half later that the idea for Hey Handsome — named for the friendly greeting uncles and aunties would give to customers lining up for food in Singapore — began sprouting in his mind. “I was looking at my team and I was wondering, ‘What’s next for us?’” he recalls. “So for me, the only way to go from there was to experiment. I wanted to be challenged — I didn’t want it to be another neighborhood restaurant — so I thought, I’ll try the Fort. It’s a scarier market, I think, but we all want to grow as professionals, as artists, so we thought we’d start here.” Part of that growth was stepping out and doing something different, which to Santos meant being more forward with Asian flavors: “really, really Peranakan,
really Thai, really Malaysian.” To achieve this, he made an effort to use ingredients that hadn’t been tried in the Philippines, such as keluak, a large poisonous fruit native to the mangrove swamps of Indonesia that can be made edible by fermentation. Santos compares its flavors to a mix of truffle mushrooms and chocolate. Ingredients — “the freshest,” he insists — are shipped, but some are also sourced from obscure local suppliers that he really sought out, located in the likes of Baguio, Bicol, Pampanga, Pangasinan, and Tagaytay “I grew up going to Singapore and Malaysia, so I love bold flavors,” Santos explains. “I kind of wanted to introduce them [to the Philippines] slowly, gradually. I don’t want to shock the Filipino palate right away. So I’m going to feed them something that they can digest.” This also comes through in the look of the restaurant, which combines modern booths and tables with an open kitchen (“So we get to interact with guests,” Santos says) and a bar where guests may also opt to sit. The walls, bar countertop, and floor are all tiled, which brings to mind the hawker centers of Singapore and family-run restaurants that have been passed down from generation to generation — which, incidentally, are part of Santos’s culinary journey. “For me, at least, there’s no such thing as ‘authentic,’” he says. “But what I do is to respect where I actually got these [flavors] from. I learned from families all throughout Southeast Asia. Not from restaurants. So I value [the] recipes that they grew up with. So as much as I want to do it their way, because I respect that it’s theirs, I will do my thing, but in the context that I want to highlight what they grew up eating.” He adds that all his years of travel have driven him to share his experiences: “You know, I just want to serve something that will nourish people, and give them a taste of where I get my inspiration from, what my passion is.” For his team at Hey Handsome, Santos didn’t put out posters or online job listings. Rather, he gathered together a ragtag bunch of team members from Your Local and regular customers who applied as soon as they heard about Hey Handsome. “It was tough because I didn’t want this to be just a job,” Santos says of the hiring process. “I want this to be something they could pour themselves into. Really invest themselves.” It was important to him to find people who share his views, not just when it comes to the restaurant industry, but also when it comes to life. “My team is an extension of my creativity and passion,” he says. “They’re my brand ambassadors. I want to push myself to always be out of my comfort zone, and I think working with them, having that same vision, same attitude toward change is inspiring. And all of us are pushing each other to perform a certain way.” He likens the team’s companionship to the joy, chaos, and support of a family — a comparison that would not be lost on guests, should they look into that open kitchen: “That’s what
families do. They push each other. They take care of each other. We take care of our guests. We take care of our loved ones.” Santos, who has dabbled in photography and filmmaking, believes that it’s not enough to stick to just one passion. Still, some things prove more important than others. “I had to put photography aside for now,” he says. “I have a son; he’s a year and three months. So I think my priority is basically managing my restaurants and spending time with my family. It’s the struggle for most chefs. But I don’t believe that there’s no time. I think it’s just a matter of setting your priorities and allotting time for each thing.” He had grown up in a broken family and realized just recently, in the last three months, that the reason for his cooking — to gather people — was to fill that void, to seek different people. When he got to spend time with his mother, she would always be with a group of chefs. “That gathering was fantastic,” Santos says. “It was beautiful, their camaraderie. So I would just be there, I would see them gathering for food, it was so natural.” Throughout elementary school and high school, he would invite friends over to his house to cook for them. “Whatever it may be — spam, eggs …” He pauses. “I didn’t know that that was it, because it was so deep, that I couldn’t figure out that it was [what] made me keep gathering people. Now that I know that, it’s more like, from that, I’m trying to, I guess, gather like-minded people now. Try to expand my team, try to empower them.” With roughly three weeks left before Hey Handsome opens, Santos — who cites finding suppliers and beating deadlines as the greatest challenges — estimates that it’s about 90-percent finished, with only incoming furniture and branding to work on. He lays out his vision for the restaurant: “It’s a place where you are being taken care of. And it’s a place you can be yourself, a place you want to escape to, I guess just to feel good. It’s going to come across in the food and in the service.” He specifically wants to showcase the Filipino hospitality, not only for customers, but for the people working in it as well. “I really want to empower the people who work in this industry because sometimes, they work here because they don’t have any other choice,” he says. “I want them to feel that this is an amazing, amazing industry, something they could really be proud of. I also want them to know that it’s also a good, well-paying profession. I don’t want to scrimp on their talents, because they’re amazing.”
genuine ‘kilig’: aldub beyond the camera
Originally published on CNN Philippines Life on July 19th, 2016. Photographed by JL Javier.
The conference room is abuzz with scattered chattering between road managers, makeup artists, and television producers. Beyond it, office workers — adult professionals — are in position, phones and cameras at the ready, eager for any glimpse of whoever it is causing the commotion and the noise. No noise is more distinct, however, than that of the theme music of Circus Charlie, an arcade game introduced in 1984. The music is the loopy kind that gets stuck in your head, and every few minutes or so, it is accompanied by the frustrated, giggly shrieks of the person playing the game. The player happens to be the TV personality and actress Maine Mendoza, the cause of commotion in question, who only minutes ago downloaded Circus Charlie as an app on her phone and is now using it to pass the time while getting her makeup done. She laughs at herself and nearly jumps out of her chair every time she loses, and she taps her feet while humming along to the theme tune.
If she’s at all nervous about filming a guest appearance on CNN Philippines’s talk show “Real Talk” to promote her new movie, “Imagine You and Me,” and discuss the whirlwind year she’s had after becoming a Dubsmash lip-sync sensation and half of one of the country’s biggest romantic pairings, it doesn’t show. “Alam niyo ba yung Harvest Moon?” she asks the room, referring to the farm simulation video game from the late 90s, and is appalled to be met with blank stares and negatives. “Seryoso? Buhay ko yun noon!” The game on her phone forgotten, she raves: “Promise, ‘pag binigay niyo sa ’kin yun ngayon, bye, showbiz. Yun na lang gagawin ko. Buhay ko yun, eh!” She is interrupted by the opening of the conference room door, and in walks Alden Richards, her leading man in “Imagine You and Me” and the other half of the above-mentioned romantic pairing, affectionately dubbed — no pun intended — “AlDub” or “MaiDen.” He is asked to take a seat on the side of the room opposite Mendoza’s, and soon they’re preoccupied with their own separate engagements: She’s off to wardrobe and finishing touches, and he’s making videos for fans’ birthdays and signing requested autographs. Richards is left-handed. When he is given a photo to sign — “Ito yung nag-present ka sa FAMAS,” says the woman who hands it to him — he quickly scribbles on it before jokingly making a light self-deprecatory comment on what he’d been wearing that night. When his duties are done, he spends the rest of his downtime in his corner of the room, not speaking unless spoken to. His dimples, however, never disappear from sight. When Mendoza returns, she pops a mint from a small green tin she has taken from the survey of items on the table. “Sa ’kin yata yan,” her companion tells her. She quickly checks her bag, and indeed, she produces a mint tin identical to the one she has just picked up. She apologizes and, with a smile, waves the mints and declares, “We’re twinsies!” She and Richards have yet to acknowledge each other. It’s almost like a visual summary of AlDub’s beginnings on the improvised show-within-a-show on “Eat Bulaga!” called “Kalyeserye,” where the two built their brand of kilig on stolen glances and missed chances. But when the time comes for them to make their way to the studio for the shoot, Richards finally approaches Mendoza, beckoning to her, as if to prove that they really are in this together. At the photographer’s request for a few last-minute portraits before they leave the room and are faced with what is shaping up to be chaos, they lean against the wall, poised for the shot. Mendoza is still on her gamer kick. “Wala ba talagang may alam ng Harvest Moon?” They gamely follow directions and pose for the camera. When the photographer says to pretend to talk, they don’t pretend; they just do. At one point, told to keep some space between them, Richards instead puts his arm around
Mendoza’s waist. In an abrupt move, he pulls her close. “Bawal ang space,” he quips. It would be easy to understand; unresolved romantic tension, whether real or imagined, must be tiring. They never used to touch, never even used to talk. Their early appearances became guessing games of “Will they or won’t they?” And it certainly worked — their audience swooned, and when they caught their breaths, they turned their fresh-faced idols into a national phenomenon, just like that. When AlDub finally closed the literal and figurative gaps and the unresolved was resolved, the nonbelievers said that with the “magic” gone, they would begin to fade. They would stop being the flavor of the month. They were overexposed, and rising that high that quickly must be a fluke. One year, a blockbuster film, numerous endorsements and magazine covers, and a hit theme song performed by Richards later, and it looks like the nonbelievers have been proven wrong. In a single file, Mendoza, Richards, and their entourage leave the conference room to go to the studio. As expected, their phone- and camera-toting fans greet them, content with their quick greetings and photographic proof that today hasn’t been an ordinary day at the office. One has to wonder whether Mendoza has drawn parallelisms between the game on her phone, in which she pretended to be a circus performer who triumphs to rousing applause, and her life. “Kuya, pakipatay yung maingay sa labas!” a floor director says when the show first cuts to commercial. The crowd outside is restless, and so is the crew inside — phones are out, turned on silent, acting as bootleg recorders alongside the larger professional video cameras. “First time ko pong makarinig ng talk show na hindi sinisigaw yung title [‘pag magko-commercial break],” Richards jokes, alluding to the relatively subdued tone of “Real Talk.” When the cameras roll, the people inside restrain their voices to excitable whispers while Richards expertly deflects questions about their relationship (“We have a mutual understanding,” he says, leaning in close) and Mendoza weighs in on what makes AlDub work. Later they gush over filming in Italy for “Imagine You and Me,” an opposites-attract romcom where Mendoza plays a hopeless-romantic OFW who believes in destiny and Richards plays a heartbroken medical student who has a decidedly more pragmatic perspective in life. The shoot wraps, and the bootleg recorders immediately turn into weapons of mass selfie-taking. Mendoza and Richards gamely oblige, but they have prior engagements — people like them always do — and so it’s not long before they’ve disappeared through a hidden exit before their adoring public could catch one last glimpse. Back in the conference room, while getting their pre-shoot portraits taken, Mendoza slumped dejectedly, having failed to find anyone who could share in her passion for Harvest Moon. She turned to Richards. “Ikaw, alam mo yung Harvest Moon?” she asked.
He was the only one to say yes — her eyes seemed to light up. “Talaga?” she exclaimed. “‘Di nga!” “Oo nga!” Richards said, narrowing his eyes and biting back a smile as she slapped his arm repeatedly out of excitement. “Nilalaro namin yun ng kuya ko.” Her quest for a kindred spirit put to a satisfying end, Mendoza returned to her bubbly demeanor. “Wow,” she said, in a tone that conveyed, Imagine that! “Meron pala kaming something in common.”
ho w p a i n t i n g he l p e d he a r t ev a n g e l i s t a f i l l i n t h e g a p s
Originally published on CNN Philippines Life on July 26th, 2016. Photographed by Kitkat Pajaro.
Listen to Heart Evangelista talk about her life, and you’re bound to give her credit where it’s due. When a person who’s lived the last 18 years of her life in the public eye tells you, “I think I’m pretty controversial,” like she’s reciting a grocery list, that’s when you know she’s not playing around. “I’ve been through so much in my life,” she goes on. “And I’ve been written, you know, painted a different image many times.” And although she doesn’t name names or get into specifics, the accompanying mental image says it all for her: the ups and downs of her acting career, her transition from kikay teen idol to fashion icon, her well-documented dating history, her relationship with her parents, her marriage to the senator turned vice-presidential candidate Francis “Chiz” Escudero, and whatever else. She can’t say it enough — she’s been through it all.
But today, Evangelista is settled, to say the least. She’s launching her line of lip products, a collaboration with the local makeup brand Happy Skin, following the release of her beauty book, “This is Me, Love Marie,” just months before. On Instagram, where she caters to more than a million followers, she declares herself a multi-hyphenate, or, in more recent terminology, a slasher: She is a “wife/actress/artist/author/designer.” And she has the cred to back up each title. She is a big believer in going after what you want — making it happen — when you want it. This go-getting mentality is one she employed when she decided to work with Happy Skin, of which she’d been a fan mainly for its being local and “good for the skin.” “I thought of coming up with a collaboration because on a lot of my Instagram posts, people would ask me, ‘Oh, what’s your shade of lipstick?’ or, ‘What do you advise for this skin tone?’” she says. (True to her teenybopper persona, she has been passionate about makeup for as long as she can remember. “When I was little, I used to draw on covers of Vogue, put lipstick on [the models], take a Pentel pen and make it like an eyeliner,” she recalls.) To make the collaboration happen, she decided to send a message to one of Happy Skin’s co-founders, Rissa Mananquil-Trillo. “She messaged me the day after,” Evangelista says. “She was abroad. And I was like: ‘Oh, my God. Such a stupid idea. She didn’t message me back!’ But yeah, she was super excited.” The pair came up with a trio of shades with accompanying lip liners, made up mostly of nudes, which corresponds to Evangelista’s personal beauty philosophy. “They suggested that we put in a [red shade], so you’re covered for the whole day, from morning to night,” she adds. “Because, you know, we all live serious lives, with work and everything, we wanted it a bit playful.” Proof of this can be seen on the packaging, which — in addition to being a boxed set that comes in the shape of a heart, of course — is adorned with her doodles. And doodles are cute, for sure. But if you’ve been paying any attention to Evangelista at all for the past few years — and it’d be difficult not to — you’re probably well aware that she has gotten serious as a painter. While it came as a surprise to most when it first made the rounds that the actress was dabbling in art, as though it were a sudden development, to Evangelista herself, it was more like coming full circle. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’d paint on our walls,” she recalls. “My mom would always get mad at me [because] we had white walls. But my dad was super-duper supportive. And he said, ‘No! ‘Wag mong pagbabawalan! Let her hone it. Let her develop it.’” He would come with her to museums and to SM Megamall, where they would discover painters and new artists together, and take her to see street artists who sketched customers live. When she started acting and focused on different interests, art was relegated to the sidelines, where it stayed for quite a while. “Until I went through life,” Evangelista says. “One day I was just super extremely sad, and then I started to paint again. And my husband said, ‘Why don’t you get a big canvas and just
paint?’” Unsure at first, as she didn’t know what to fill such a large space with, she decided to just go for it. “I just kept on painting, and I love it. I absolutely love it.” It became apparent that filling in the gaps wasn’t so difficult after all — her arsenal of recurring themes touches on images of women, fish, florals, and nature in general, but she insists that she just paints whatever she likes. Her foray into art soon grew with exhibitions at the Ayala Museum and even Chan Hampe Galleries in Singapore, a collaboration with the designer Mark Bumgarner on handpainted dresses, and illustrations for the children’s book “Daughter of the Sun and the Moon,” written by Rocio Olbes, and A.A. Patawaran’s poetry collection “Hai[na]ku and Other Poems.” She also turns handbags into one-of-a-kind pieces by painting on them. Evangelista has turned to minimalism as a fashion must. “I think I like to keep it simple, basic, timeless,” she explains. “I like whites and blacks, and maybe a pop of color with my bag. My shoes, I [prefer to be] nude all the time; with my makeup, it’s the same.” It is, then, she admits, a contrast to the way she paints, which she describes as very colorful. “So I guess that’s why it’s an outlet,” she muses. “It’s therapeutic for me to paint.” Asked about her identity in art, she turns serious. It is perhaps out of a certain self-awareness regarding the fine line she’s treading: that public perception where, if you’re in show business, you can’t possibly be a “true” artist. “It’s kind of intense for me to talk about the art scene because I feel that a lot of people are raising their eyebrows,” she says. “Like, ‘Oh, artista, but she’s painting.’” But at the end of the day, she adds, she’s just a painter who wants to paint, regardless of the reception: “I just really want to just keep painting. Whether you like it or not, I will paint. And if you like it, thank you very much. If you don’t like it, I’ll just keep it in my house.” Somehow, strange as it may seem, acting is now a day job for her. While she may not have withdrawn from the public eye, to see her as anything other than herself has become a rarity. “Right now, I’m working on a telenovela, and I enjoy it,” says Evangelista, whose plan at the moment is to do one soap a year. On “Juan Happy Love Story,” which is more of a romantic comedy than a melodrama, she plays Happy Villanueva, an idealistic sap in search of The One who gets swept up in an unlikely relationship — and eventually, marriage — with the commitment-wary Juan dela Costa, played by Dennis Trillo. It’s just that her attention is fixed on the canvas instead of the screen. “It’s always going to be my first love, and I don’t want to forget about it,” she says of acting. “But as of now, I really am on a high, developing my branding and getting into certain things, like home, fragrances, painting, other things like that. So as of now, I’m enjoying the other side of me, which is Love Marie instead of Heart.” Love Marie is, of course, Evangelista’s real given name. In the delicate world of fame, former identities tend to fade once screen names — and screen
personalities — take over. That, or they become reserved for the private lives of celebrities, their last remaining tie to a sense of normal. It’s rare for an established actress to revert to such a name, especially when she has spent almost two-thirds of her life as someone else. Evangelista says the decision to “introduce” Love Marie came when she got serious about painting, echoing her earlier sentiments about being panned for her earnest attempt at art. “I didn’t want to put a face to the paintings,” she explains. “I was so afraid of the judgment — as an artista, you get bashed every day. People tell you this and that. If I painted, what else were they going to say? Parang, ‘Ano ba yan!’” She started signing her work with “LM” for anonymity. If people didn’t have preexisting notions of who she was, she says, “maybe they would respect me.” “I didn’t use the name that I’ve been using for 18 years,” she says. “I used my school name. So that’s how I introduced Love Marie, with my first exhibit at Ayala Museum’s Artist Space. And I just felt really comfortable introducing me as me. That’s who I am in the real world and I kind of like it.” Evangelista said it herself: Her life has been written about every which way possible, so many times that it appears as though everything had been said. But if there’s a side to her that she wants to make known, it’s that she really does try to live as normally as she can — and most days, she even succeeds. “Maybe because I’m always dressed and I’m always wearing my nude pumps, my bags,” she says, referring to the way she is perceived as sosyal. “I’m actually a really casual [person]. I love to stay home. I hardly wear my slippers at home — I sometimes just like to, you know, sit on the floor and get dirty with my dogs.” One would be inclined to think that for someone with so much on her plate, Evangelista must be just about ready for a vacation, to relax and stop for a while. But her plans suggest otherwise. “I’m planning to have a baby this February,” she says. “I’m really going to seriously work on it and make it a priority.” She’s only a year into her thirties, but her vision for the next few years is clear. “It’s really just discovering me as a mom, which is a totally different chapter, and I’m not familiar with it at all. But it excites me and frightens me. But you know, I will embrace it.” She has also been posting frequent updates about another first for her, and the surest sign of her independence. “I’m building a house right now, and hopefully I’ll celebrate my Christmas there with my kids now,” she explains, referring to Escudero’s children. With years and years paved with emotional learning curves, Evangelista wants to teach herself something concrete and practical for a change — but it’s also something that’s helping her reconnect and fix her relationship with her mother, with whom she had a falling-out. “I’m working on my cooking,” she laughs. “That’s why I’m so glad that my mom and I are OK [now].” Of course, like the multi-hyphenate that she is, she can’t become a cook without making it a
full-fledged project. “We’re actually coming up with a cookbook, and it’s all about heirloom recipes and how cooking has really improved our relationship. [It’s] me as a wife and as a mom-to-be, my struggles and the things I’m learning, and how I can relate to people [who are in the same position].” It was quite the journey for Heart Evangelista to become Love Marie Ongpauco-Escudero. The 31-year-old muses that the last 10 years have felt like “three lifetimes ago” to her. “I think I’ve changed a lot,” she says brightly. “I’ve been through so much” — and here she drags out so for emphasis — “I can actually write a novel about my life. You wouldn’t even understand, like, ‘What?!’ I think I’m a completely different person. When I look back, parang, ‘Who is she?’” Still, she is quick to clarify that she has no regrets. “I’ve changed so much, but I really like who I am today,” she says. “I love myself more today.”
different directions
Originally published on Scoutmag.ph in September 2015. Illustration by Tricia Oraiz.
The first time I saw One Direction, I was less than amused. What fresh hell did these Backstreet Wannabes crawl out of? They were too clean-cut, too gimmicky, and always seemed to be on the verge of winking. They wore preppy outfits just shy of actually matching. Worse still, one of their songs had stolen the opening chords of “Summer Nights” from Grease, and this I found almost impossible to forgive. I was seventeen then, my days of worshipping teen idols like A1 and the Jonas Brothers left behind in favor of edgier dreamboats like Andrew VanWyngarden and John O’Callaghan. I fancied myself immune to their British-lad accents, still-deepening croons, and pinup-du-jour smolders. But they were inescapable, already building their army of devoted teen girls (a lot of which weren’t actually teens nor girls, but devoted nonetheless). I remained adamant even as those closest to me revealed themselves to be converts. “I don’t get it,” I would tell them. “What’s the big deal?” In an effort to understand the Directioner Mystique, I begrudgingly went on YouTube for the answer. Hours later I found myself wide awake long past midnight,
drifting in a vortex of music videos, tour diaries, and fan tributes such as the acclaimed “One Direction – Funny Moments #3.” I had to admit defeat—their music was fun and catchy, and they really were kind of adorable. For a good month or two, I was knee-deep obsessed, until one day I wasn’t, because I was young and fixations came and went. Even as my interest dwindled through the years, it became undeniable that One Direction had earned their place as icons for the 2010s. They perfectly encapsulated millennial culture through their lifestyles, tattoos, songs (the themes of which touched on dating, parties, and youth), and even rise to fame. These young men—none of them has even reached age twenty-five—were handpicked out of obscurity as teenagers and thrust into the spotlight, their record deal obtained unconventionally, their hard work really just the result of a talent competition on television. It was easy for them to be everywhere: hit charts, magazine covers, social media feeds. “Good morning Niall” would become an international trending topic because one of them had just woken up and gone online. I was content to catch a glimpse of them on MTV from time to time. When they played their first Manila show—finally—I didn’t buy tickets, but I was right outside the concert area with my friends, marveling at the fact that I was listening to them live and getting a little choked up when they performed “One Thing.” At the time I was unsure of many things regarding what’s to come for me, but I found comfort in the fact that I could be sure of them. I was convinced they weren’t going anywhere. And then Zayn Malik left and led me to question everything I’ve ever known. When you’re twenty, every little thing feels like a personal hit and a metaphor for your current state of being. Overnight, One Direction went from being a solid five-piece to a foursome with questionable futures, and nobody saw it coming. Getting old is so weird. Little by little my own generation is dating itself and our cultural icons and markers are beginning to disappear. I’m having more and more trouble keeping up with what’s going on. This boy band was my little piece of fluffy escapism—I could be interested in them without being invested. I’d counted on them to remain the same for a little while longer, so for the 1D I’d always known to suddenly be gone is a huge blow. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that everything has a shelf life, even the most omnipresent and universally-loved. They were so easy to take for granted and so monumental that I didn’t think they could up and leave, just like that. But they were always meant to fade from those teenybopper magazine covers—that’s just how things are. I let them into my premature nostalgia vault. Eventually they’ll be in my lifelong one. It’s a little melodramatic, but it’s still the end of something I’ve grown used to and perhaps even fond of. When I realized they weren’t going to last it made me wonder what else I might lose in time.
As if I don’t think about that crap enough as it is. Maybe this is growing up, letting go of your notion of normalcy and learning to live with what you’ve been dealt. I think of my past self, how she would walk and feel and live and be, and how she has no god damn idea. Maybe the present is nothing more than feeling blindly for what’s to come. (But, hey, it’s not like they didn’t warn us with “Night Changes.”)
to mean no harm
Originally published in the Young Star section of the Philippine Star on June 3rd, 2016. Illustration by Sean Eidder.
My first exposure to the concept of gender in the Philippines, like most others, was through a silly children’s game that I would play with my classmates during recess. “Girl, boy, bakla, tomboy, butiki, baboy,” we’d chant, and depending on how old we were, we were one of these things. I was seven — I was a girl. But one of my friends was nine, and was not particularly pleased about having to be called bakla. We all laughed, out of good-natured ignorance, but the connotation was that anything other than a girl or boy in the most traditional sense was not an ideal thing to be. Over the last few years it’s become glaringly obvious to me how small the understanding of Filipinos is when it comes to gender and sexuality. The primarily Catholic culture has pressured us and conditioned us to maintain an attitude of condescension, apprehension and even disgust toward what it is that we deem “abnormal.” If it’s not condemnation, it’s an indifference that suggests, “You don’t matter.” And somehow, this is worse. Such a culture manifests itself in many forms, but its most obvious and most basic marker can be found, of course, in the language used to refer to the non-binary — or, in this case, the lack thereof. Here lies the most pressing hurdle to equality and inclusion: It’s a concern that’s so new and so overlooked that our
native languages don’t even have real, proper, politically correct terms to describe ideas related to it. We don’t have words for “lesbian,” for “transgender,” for “bisexual,” for “queer.” None for the more complex “gender fluid,” “pansexual” or “asexual.” No translation, even, for “straight,” out of what I assume is the idea that it’s the “default” setting for people, so it doesn’t need to be contextualized. In their place are words like bading, bayot, beki, tibo, and many other slang terms and colloquialisms. When they’re not punchlines to a joke (to make fun of and to belittle) they become insults and put-downs (to shame and to degrade): “Bading naman ‘yan, eh.” And I would hear these terms, bandied about on national television by journalists and news anchors without a second thought, chuckling among themselves as they launch into mocking imitations of stereotypical “gay” mannerisms after segments about Ms. Gay pageants or same-sex marriage. And when the LGBT — never LGBTQ, nor LGBTQIA — is mentioned, it’s with a tone that doesn’t mask the fact that it’s an entirely foreign, “theoretical” concept to them. No wonder people who identify as queer are not being taken seriously. I asked people I knew for their opinions on the matter, as queer Filipinos who have experienced this treatment directly. “I personally don’t identify as ‘bakla’ [or] ‘bading,’” says Jao. “I prefer ‘gay,’ although it’s the same thing. Bakla or bading doesn’t sit well with me.” He mentions the negative connotation: “I feel like it boxes everyone into the ‘parlorista’ stereotype,” referring to the way most Filipinos tend to picture a gay man — flamboyant, effeminate, the type you would encounter at a beauty salon, a caricature. “In the office people often get confused when I tell them I have a girlfriend because hindi daw halata na ‘tibo’ ako,” Nichole, a bisexual woman, says. “Even if I identify as bisexual, people still press na tibo ako. It hurts when it feels like they’re degrading my identity. Even though they say it not because they want to offend someone but because of ignorance, it’s still an offensive thing to say.” It’s also very indicative of the limited perception of the gender spectrum in the country. “I’ve had the experience of opening up to someone about me and my girlfriend,” she adds. “And that person told me, ‘Alam mo, nasasayangan ako sayo.’ Nakakawalang gana.” Nadeefa, also bisexual, agrees. “Personally, I’ve never been called [any of those] terms,” she tells me. “But I’ve been vaguely insulted by my friends when I say something gay, and they go, ‘Lesbian ka?’ like it’s a dirty thing, which it’s not.” She says that the use of these colloquialisms needs to be reclaimed by queer youth. “Especially in a predominantly Christian conservative country like the Philippines,” she elaborates. “I think non-queer people should be more mindful of stuff like this, where lots of queer Filipinos lose [so much] due to the bigotry and homophobia.”
Growing up, “I was often reprimanded for picking Princess Peach and Chun-Li whenever I played video games with my cousins,” says Gab, who is gay. “Even today, [my family’s] words still echo from the recesses of my mind, saying, ‘Bading ka ba? Walang bading sa pamilya natin.’” This, however, taught him to “accept that fact — that I am different and I shouldn’t feel any shame in it.” If we really want to take big leaps toward the welfare of our LGBT citizens and getting rid of discrimination, then we have to tackle the most basic aspects of respect. “Name-calling is only just a microaggression and not really our biggest worry right now,” Nadeefa offers, “but it’s a good place to start with.” “There’s still a lot of negativity being thrown around with the words ‘bading’ and ‘tibo’ and it really sucks that these words are enough to torment a child for a very long time,” Gab says. “I just hope that the coming generations are more understanding and supportive so nobody else would feel this way.”
peak experience Originally published in the November 2016 issue of Preview magazine.
The act of travel is all a matter of perspective. It’s about appreciating a different point of view, which can be taken in the straightforward sense: casting your eyes on a breathtaking sight in a place you’ve never been. But more than anything, it’s about learning about new cultures and reveling in the strange and the unknown. It’s an act of collecting experiences and discoveries, pushing yourself, and trying something new. The folks behind local label Harlan + Holden seem to know this all too well, judging by the release of the Camino, the brand’s first unisex shoe. Named for a series of pilgrimage routes in Spain, the slip-on embodies Harlan + Holden’s minimalist, lifestyle-dependent, and detail-oriented approach to sartorial sensibilities. It’s feather-light and comfortable, which makes it perfect for going places, whether it’s packed in a suitcase or worn on a long walk. To put the Camino to the test, Harlan + Holden sent seven fashion personalities to Bhutan, a Buddhist kingdom on the eastern edge of the Himalayas. Over the course of three days, surrounded by the monasteries, brightly colored structures, and lush mountains found in and around the capital city of Thimphu, the participants of the Camino Challenge learned a thing or two about what it means to be in a country quite literally known for its happiness. Day One The arrival of the group to Bhutan was marked by excitement. “There is definitely a sense of calmness and serenity the moment you set foot in Bhutan,” says model, host, and fashion blogger Kim Jones. “As soon as we disembarked the plane we were falling head over heels trying to take photos of their beautifully traditional airport. And that was just the airport!” Caroline Issa, fashion director of Tank magazine and editor of its sister website Because, agrees: “It was a like a cleanse just by breathing in the air.” Both Kim and Caroline describe their experiences as “magical.” Kim, in particular, found it fascinating how “deeply interwoven” traditional and modern culture are in the country, out of an effort to preserve history. “Our Bhutanese guide wearing the traditional gho [a national dress for men in Bhutan] will excitedly mention the story of the planting of 108,000 trees to celebrate the birth of the first child of the monarchy in the same breath as a rundown of a Game of Thrones episode or the latest Adele song,” she recalls.
The details of the itinerary were kept vague and under wraps. Aside from the treks and failed attempts at archery (thanks to constant rain), the activities included DIY peace flags and souvenir shopping. “Everything was a lovely surprise,” says Caroline, who conquered her fear of heights on the trip. “I hadn’t expected the real connection to the earth and spiritual centering that was at the heart of all the people and the culture.” She also notes that while the Bhutanese eat meat—the yak burger is reportedly as must-try—their Buddhist faith doesn’t allow them to slaughter animals, which means they have to import meat from India. “Traveling to the Himalayan mountains is incredibly humbling,” Kim says. “You develop a new sense of appreciation and understanding of nature and spirituality.” Day Two “To be completely honest, I thought it was a light trek for fashion people,” stylist Liz Uy says. “I did not expect it to be a real long hike! But I survived!” The second day of the Camino Challenge had the participants taking on the goal of reaching the Tiger’s Nest Monastery, which rests on a cliffside 10,000-feet above ground. Initially on horseback, the group ended up trekking for hours, which stretched on and on because they kept stopping for photos and admiring surroundings. “I was expecting it to be super easy because I’m very active and I really like going to exotic places,” photographer Mark Nicdao says. While he may have slightly overestimated his physical capabilities, he shares that the destination made it all worth it. “Strange, whenever we got to reach our goals, it was like, magically, all the tired muscles and exhaustion just disappeared.” For Liz, the best part of the trek was bonding with her fellow participants. “They kept saying, ‘Almost there,’ but it had been five hours already!” she recalls. “We bonded on top of the mountains. We just laughed, laughed and laughed some more.” Mr. Porter’s Jeremy Langmead prefers walking when traveling, having discovered that it’s the best way to experience a city. He describes the trip as “magical” and “an adventure” and likens the view from the top to a fantastic world straight out of Lord of the Rings. “It felt like standing in the middle of a movie set; almost unreal,” he says. “A view you know you will never experience that many times in your life.” Day Three The Dodedrak Monastery is a Buddhist institute, a university in the clouds where monks study and undergo training. It also happened to be the end target for
the third day of the Camino Challenge. “It was a hard climb, and it felt like forever,” host, columnist, and creative director Tim Yap says. “But seeing the monastery all of a sudden, from afar—it was dreamy and quite cinematic. It felt like we were being welcomed in heaven.” They were served tea, treats, and a meal at the monastery, which had colorful decorative rugs that took nine months to make. The monks also performed a blessing ritual that uses a real human skull. “What really stood out to me was the fact that in order to be a monk, they must be closed off, in a cabin, for three years, three months, and three days of meditating,” artist Monica Urquijo Zobel says. “Jigme, our guide, would tell us stories about the gods, and their superstitions, and ways of life. I could listen to him for days!” Monica believes that nobody can experience a country in such a small amount of time. “Bhutan is so rich in culture, and it would take a lot to experience it at its fullest.” Still, Tim is touched by the way they were treated by the Bhutanese. “[They were] pure, sincere, and happy,” he says. “We didn't have a lot of time but it was enough to be able to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel Bhutan. And with such great company at that.”