The Good Parent Handbook

Whenever someone I know gets to a fight (or a disagreement) with their parents and confide with me how annoyed they are about how their parents are "immature about it," that is, the parents don't take the apology that their child gives too quickly, I tell them one of my most favorite canned responses: You have to understand, they never got the "How to be a Good Parent" handbook.

Silly sounding, yes, but think about it. It makes total sense.

Last week, a good friend of mine was, in his words, bummed out over a disagreement he had with his father. According to him, they haven't talked for two days and he's a little more than pissed off that his dad's giving him the cold shoulder (or silent treatment, forgot which is the correct one). I came up to him and told him the whole HTBAGP deal, and that this is compounded by the fact that you're talking about your father, another man.

You see, it's a very unfortunate fact that our fathers were raised in a society where showing any kind of emotion—or in the case of my friend, humility to forgive and acknowledge pride—makes them less of a man. When my grandfather died, my dad only cried for a good 30 seconds—no kidding—before he basically pulled himself together and said "I'm okay." I think me and my brothers' eyes weren't even welling up at this point. We were just absorbing the shock of the news, and already my dad's all composed. I didn't get it at first, but it made more sense to me once I've put some more thought into the whole thing. He probably didn't want to be seen as weak in front of his kids—and just break down and cry—because I would think that if he did that back in those days, he would've gotten a slap in the face, with whoever doing the slapping yelling at him "Real men don't cry!"

Long story short, I told my friend that things would be okay. Just let his dad's pride mellow out a bit, and it'll be better.


(there's more I wanna talk about the HTBAGP, but for another post. Happy Father's day)

TV Watch: Running in Heels

I'll say it first: Any show that gives other people a glimpse of how it is like to work in my industry will get my attention—the first couple of episodes at least. Running in Heels is a reality show (not competition) that chronicles the day-to-day operations of Hearst's Marie Claire, seen through the eyes of all levels of staff: From Joanna Coles—the French publication's Editor-in-Chief—down to the 3 interns: Talita, Samantha, and Ashley. Of course the focus is on the interns, and how they just do a crappy job at it—treating the entire thing like Marie Claire should be kissing their toes whenever they enter the Hearst towers. (Maybe it's just the editing, but geez do these girls complain way too much, be fucking happy that you're still able to get an internship and get clips that would help you get an edge the moment you leave school—and this economy gets on the road to recovery.)

I've been watching the 30-minute show since its debut the first week of March, and think it's a good show. It's definitely better than that joke Stylista. (Damn, did that cast Elle in a ridiculously bad light.) I really honest to goodness care not one iota for the random bitchings and frustrations of the interns—because truly, it makes me wanna smack Ashley every time she schemes. But I stick around because it gives a realistic view of how it's like to put a monthly glossy together. Last week's episode had the magazine's Senior Fashion Editor, Zanna Roberts, put together a run-through (magazine-speak for a meeting where the clothes that will be used for a fashion editorial shoot are previewed by the EIC and the fashion team) for a story in the April issue. She wanted to do a story on investment pieces (everyone's doing this nowadays if you haven't noticed yet). When she told Ms. Coles the price of a pink skirt, she was, shall we say ripped to shreds over justifying a $1995 skirt and calling it an investment piece. Same thing happened when she tried to hawk a $25,000 crocodile bag. Joanna basically said something to the effect of "Are you kidding me? We can't even put those in as a joke."

Situations like these are what keep me glued to my TV screens. Sure we editors get a lot of free stuff—and at times even pricey clothes and toiletries—but it's no excuse to forget that not everyone has a "Press" badge that they can flash to get discounts, designer garb, and even exotic vacations.

There's another scene in an even earlier episode where the interns were given the task of photographing women on the streets of NYC to illustrate a trend. They had a week to work on it, and when they handed their stories in, I couldn't laugh hard enough at the level of crap that the three displayed. Talita's had a spelling error, Ashley's was obviously rushed, and Samantha's was just drab-looking.

Because of this, Joanna basically tore them. They deserved it. They're no longer in college where they can wing every single assignment given to them. This is the real world, girls. Step it up!

It's situations like these that make Running in Heels a curious show to watch, and I'm more than okay to stick around until it concludes.

In these Economic Times...Magazines Drop Like Flies

Wow. This is really bad.

Since this whole crapfest called the recession started, a handful of magazines that I read have already closed.

There's EGM, Plenty, Blender, Best Life, Men's Vogue, and PC Magazine. Other titles I'm familiar with but don't read that've shuttered are O at Home, Radar, Hallmark, Domino as well as a ton of others that although I don't pick up, it still is reflective of the industry I chose to work in.

Sucks.

On a related note, in the same way that writers and journalists back then have used and abused the word "juxtaposition," now you can hardly read a news article or blog post that doesn't have the phrase "In these economic times." Article here.

That Thing Called Technology

I consider myself as a late adopter of technology. Never really was the type of guy that would salivate over the newest and latest gadgets the minute they're released—even though for most of my career, be it in the technical training, multimedia, even publishing, it requires some degree of knowing the trend in order to tell everyone else about it.

One event triggered this. Six years ago, flash drives were anything but commonplace. The sizes range from a puny 32MB to a wallet-busting 256MB. I was a college student in multimedia then, who needed the extra storage space but doesn't have access to a burner-equipped notebook (I didn't even own a notebook then) to constantly create a copy of my Flash or Photoshop files on a disc. A 128-MB flash drive was the best option—matter of fact, it was the only sensible option I had. So off I went to the local Best Buy. I asked one of the sales associates what I wanted, and he stared at me for what I swear was 10 full seconds. Only then that he I guess got over the initial shock of not knowing what the hell I'm talking about, did he direct me to the PC peripherals section, and said it's right next to the floppy diskettes. (He probably just guessed it, but it was a good one because that's exactly where I would start to look.)

Off I went to that section, and imagine my shock when I saw the ticket price of that flash drive. The damn thing was $60. I don't know about you, but when you're a college student, sixty bucks is a lot of money. But I said I needed it so I swallowed my pride and gave up 3 $20 bills, begrudgingly, to the uncaring cashier. (She was just there to work. She doesn't care that I will spend the next 2 weeks not eating out, partying out, even taking the bus home because I don't have the money.)

Then, before I knew it, the price of flash drives went south—and the capacities went up, and I mean way up. For the same amount I forked for a 128MB drive, you can get a 1-Gig one a year later.

With this realization, I told myself, "hell, I'm never going to be first in line to get whatever's new."

And from then on, I kept my word.

Two of my most prized "antiques" (I put it in double quotes because they're just over 3 years old—and by computer/technology's standards, would make them practically obsolete tech) are my Apple PowerBook G4 and Nikon Coolpix 3100 digital camera. Both came out the top of their class back then. The PowerBook was the default machine of serious multimedia users, like graphic and web designers; while the 3100, though a point-and-shoot, received rave reviews for its fantastic photo quality, excellent flash, and remarkable image stabilization for a consumer camera. I didn't buy them the first year they came out: I essentially waited for something new that's aimed at trumping their respective thrones so that their prices would be reduced. Then that's when I picked the notebook and the camera up.

If I didn't get new phones from T-Mobile on a regular basis, I would gladly stick to using my Nokia 7650. Yeah, that 7650. It has 5MB of internal memory, VGA digital camera, and it's good for nothing but texting and calling. I don't care about the camera, and consequently I don't care about the storage space because text messages take up next to nothing, space-wise.

It seems to me, as well, that these guys are sturdier than the McTech that we get of late. The MacBooks? They break easy. Eight-megapixel cameras? Takes noisy or mottled images. For what I do, I don't need the latest and greatest—and really, who does if you're not a serious hobbyist? Nobody prints 25-inch photographs on a regular basis, no one needs 2 gigs of RAM to browse the web and check their email. I just refuse to be sold things I know I won't need now or in the immediate future.

True, I can't say the same for tech-virgins or tech-newbies. So it's understandable that while the SAs at Best Buy, Staples, or wherever they choose to buy their tech products are well-meaning, meaning they wouldn't mind explaining the advantages of getting one computer over the other, they are also trained to sell the customer as much stuff (and sometimes, junk) as possible.

That's why as much as possible I try to educate people I meet about this one fact: You don't need the latest and greatest. In many ways, you're better off just buying something used (but of course you have to know who you're buying it from) and really be happy about the purchase.

Me? My friends think I'm long overdue for a prosumer digital camera, and I should retire my Coolpix—in some ways it's true. I require so many things off my cameras nowadays. And that my PowerBook's slightly sluggish with rendering Flash and playing DoTA. But until I see some absolute need to retire my gadgets, I think I'll be fine for now with my tech.

Photo from Chivers Dixon/Getty Images. I kept the watermark because I didn't buy the image, I'm just linking for illustration's sake. If you want me to remove it, please let me know.

The Masthead: Myron's Magazine Roundup

Number of active subscriptions: 33
Men’s general interest
GQ, Men’s Health, Maxim, Esquire, Details, Men’s Journal
Science and Technology
Wired, Popular Science, PC World, Mac Life, Mac World, Seed
Lifestyle
Prevention, Marie Claire, Elle, Cosmopolitan, Organic Spa, Blender, Town & Country, Harper’s Bazaar, Elle Decor, Tennis, Saveur, The Smithsonian, Interview, Nylon
Others
Art in America, Psychology Today, Ode, American Photo

(Not photographed: Harper's Bazaar, Saveur, Elle Decor, the magazines that have folded, Martha Stewart Living, American Photo, Popular Photography, and Body + Soul—these are all magazines that I haven't received my first issue yet.)

Number of magazine subscriptions that have folded: 3
Plenty, EGM, PC Magazine (although it still will continue as a digital magazine, I consider it a moot effort now)

Number of magazines that aren’t available as subscriptions, but buy on a regular basis: 5
V Man, Vogue Hommes International, Another Man, Fantastic Man, and GQ Style

Favorite coverline ever in a magazine: “Do you have douchebag hair?”, Details November 2008

Of the 6 men’s general interest magazines:
Best style advice: Details
Most memorable articles: Men’s Health
Widest breadth of articles: Men’s Health
Not interested at first but grew on me: Men’s Journal

Of the 5 science and technology magazines:
Best coverage: Wired
Interesting articles: Popular Science
Read the most pieces each issue: Mac Life
Widest breadth of articles: Wired
Not interested at first but grew on me: Wired

Of the lifestyle and non-categorized magazines:
Favorite publication to read: Psychology Today
Best in page layout: Town & Country (very clean, which is really how I like it—despite it being a women’s magazine, and I only get to read a page of it, Style: Men, each issue).
Has the most number of great-looking photographs: Art in America (come on, this one’s a clear winner. Even the ads look awesome.)
Not interest at first but grew on me: The Smithsonian
Title with the best of intentions: Ode (it’s the magazine for intelligent optimists, which is really just saying that we should stop looking at everything that’s bleak in life—there’s still a lot of good to look forward to and to smile about)
Women’s magazine I don’t mind reading: Marie Claire. I like their human interest pieces

Average price of subscription: $0/year. I get lots of free subs because I’m part of the industry.

Earliest magazine to arrive: Hearst publications—Esquire, Cosmopolitan, Town & Country

Magazines with the most prompt customer service: Condé Nast—GQ, Details, Wired, Domino

Magazines that arrive in my mailbox in the best shape: Condé Nast

Magazines that arrive in my mailbox in the worst shape: Hearst

Magazines that have the most number of subscription cards stuck in each issue, even though I’m a subscriber already: Rodale—Men’s health

Magazine I’d like to get a subscription to: Wallpaper*

Next in line: New York Magazine

And third: Best Life—not my market, but I like its fiction and interest stories the same way I like Men’s Health’s.

Section of my magazines I almost always get to read: The Front-of-Book (these are one-page stories that are found in the first few pages of the issue, usually has industry news, vignette-style reporting, or what’s new and what’s hot pieces)

Section of my magazines I almost never read: The celebrity cover stories. I don’t care about what the celebs are up to. And I really don’t like the fact they’ve invaded a lot of my magazines. I can count the number of exceptions with my hand.

Magazine that inspired me to become a magazine journalist: EGM. I thought playing video games for a living is the best job in the world—I still think so, although now it’s all about writing stories that would make a difference in the reader’s lives, whether it’s in giving a bad game a bad review just so they wouldn’t waste their $60 buying it at Gamestop the first day it’s out, or in reporting the latest breakthrough in curing or treating Alzheimer’s.

Best magazine article I’ve read: “Simplify Your Life,” Men’s Health July/August 2005. Full article can be found here.

Mangez, Mangez, Vous Mangez Avec Moi

No one in my family—immediate or otherwise—is a chef, yet one common trend I see all of us having is our shared interest in cooking. My mom cooks a ton of things, my dad second in number of dishes in his repertoire, and my two brothers not minding breaking out the pots and pans every now and then. Speaking for myself, I’ve been handy in the kitchen since I was in middle school. While I did have it quite easy in the beginning because all I’ve done was to cook breakfast meats—sausages, spam, and eggs—they still were considerable challenges because it wasn’t all about drizzling a heated fan with fat and plopping the meats in. For the sausages, I’ve to use a knife to make small slits so even the insides cook (I remember the first time I didn’t do it—the outsides were charred but when you bite in the sausage, the insides were so cold it was just disgusting to even attempt to recook), slice up the spam from the can (and the can wasn’t exactly easy to deal with either), and finally, the whole mess of having to crack open the eggs and making sure you don’t break up the yolk as you firm up the whites. Small feats for the more experienced cook (moreso a chef), but for a kid like me back then, they’re a big deal.

Eventually I got tired of the same thing—perhaps I got tired of the fact it’s only during breakfast that I get to eat my own cooking—I told myself I need to graduate to cooking an actual dish.

My mom helped me out. She was cooking pasta one day and basically asked me if I can finish up the sauce after browning the meat (it was bolognese, a meat-based sauce with celery and carrots), and I didn’t have problems picking up the wooden spoon and emptying two cans of crushed tomato and seasoning with sugar, pepper, salt, italian seasoning, and a handful of basil.

This continued for a while—I’d come in halfway through the cooking process—until she finally thought I was ready to take the reins. Ingredients were easy to come by and didn’t require so much in terms of prep: You can buy the beef ground up, and there’s the personal processor to chop the onions, garlic, and the vegetables. (Although I must say this: Any cook who refuses to chop their own onions is not a cook. You have to cry. No exceptions.) It was a matter of being patient with the entire thing: The onions and garlic have to release their aromas first before going on, the beef has to brown evenly, and the vegetables have be cooked just slightly so they don’t disintegrate to mush.

Pretty soon, after a few not-so-successful tries (and I only say this because it wasn’t as tasty or well-spieced as I thought the sauce would be) I was conquering the realm of pasta sauces.

My dad came in next. He does a mean pot of upgraded pork & beans. His signature dish required more patience from me: The beans can become mush or crunchy if they’re not cooked properly, I’ve to slice more things like chorizo, chicken, andouille sausage, plus of course garlic and onions; but at this point, I was used to the discipline of “cooking things through”—true with pretty much all tomato-based dishes—that I picked up on the procedure after the first try.

Finally—and I remember when I did this: The Friday before the week that I’d start a new job—I told myself I’d have to cook my own. My recipe? Rachael Ray’s Country French Chicken. (Recipe here.) I’ve seen this episode a number of times on FoodTV, and I’ve always thought of it to be quite easy. One thing I was looking forward to is the use of red wine to flavor the dish. So off I went to the grocery, bought the ingredients—they were all easy to come by, even the creminis—and started with the process.

For some reason, I didn’t season as much as I should have, thus the finished product turned out bland, but because I salted the egg noodles and used salted butter to flavor them, things fortunately balanced quite well in the end. My dad seemed to like it when he tried the same thing that same night, commenting about the need for more salt and pepper in the chicken itself. I made a mental note to myself that if it’s chicken or a nice piece of steak that I should season generously.

It took me two more tries to perfect Country French Chicken, mainly because like Ms. Ray, I eyeball seasonings. (Actually, I picked up the habit from her, so....)

That one dish jump-started my still-growing plethora of recipes that I can whip when necessary. Matter of fact, I have enough that I’ll have something new to eat every day for three weeks:

Pasta
Country French Chicken
Bacon Mac & Cheese
Bolognese
Basic Spaghetti and Meatballs
Carbonara
Lasagna
Pad Thai
Beef Stroganoff
Shrimp with Feta
Penne della Terra
Seafood Alfredo
Puttanesca

Rice toppings
Sesame Chicken
Mongolian-style Chicken & Crab
Cajun Jambalaya
Chicken Curry
Thai Beef Curry

Sandwiches and wraps
Asian-style Chicken and Vegetables
Philly Cheesesteak (a big hit among my friends!)
Steak Sandwich with Mayo-Mustard Sauce
Croque-Monsieur (and Madame)

One-pots
Chili Tots
Beef Bourguignon
Shrimp and Scallop Gratin
My dad’s supercharged Pork & Beans

Among these 25, my personal favorite dish is the Beef Bourguignon. I’ve long salivated doing this French stew ever since I saw it advertised in the FoodTV.com website. Besides, doesn’t it sound so sexy?

For those whom I’ve prepared the Bourguignon to, know that you’re special to me because I’ve whipped up my signature.

Every now and then, I would buy a food magazine or two just to see if I can make something new. I used to just be fine with getting the recipe online, but I found out that I required to see a photograph of the dish before I’m enticed to actually try it out. That’s why cookbooks such as Nigella Lawson’s, Rocco di Spirito’s, and Tyler Florence’s appeal to me so much: They hire photographers and awesome food stylists to make sure each dish that makes it on the pages of their publication stand out and actually entice you to make them at home. I’m actually considering a subscription to the Food Network magazine just because I wholly support the network and its endeavors to make everyone try out cooking.

Now, do I have any interest in pursuing cooking professionally, i.e. train to be a chef? I sincerely doubt it, but I never thought of myself to cook for the satisfaction of others. Basically, I started making my own food for my own personal enjoyment. When friends and family compliment what I make, then that’s a very welcome extra.

So, when are you coming over to my house? I’ll be sure to have at least one day when we’ll not eat out, and I’ll have you try my food. I promise it’ll be good.

Image from thegutsygourmet.net

Music Break: Just a Love Song and Beautiful in my Eyes

Okay, I admit, I have a soft spot for ballads and love songs. But I have strict standards as to how sappy it has to be. Boyband ballads are disgusting and I wouldn't go anywhere near them. For the most part, remakes of past hits are acceptable, since they build on an already successful foundation—i.e. they're already good to begin with.

Christian Bautista, a Filipino singer and a good friend, released an album last year called "Just a Love Song...Live!" and it contained these two songs. Both—well, I'll give him this because he rendered them so well—are remakes, and actually I don't mind.

Simple lyrics, soothing melodies, and both registering low in the too-sappy scale. My favorite of the two is "Beautiful in my Eyes." I got choked up a bit the first time I heard it. Seriously.

Live Blogging Street Fighter IV

I'm such a nerd for doing this, but on February 17th, I'll be liveblogging my experience playing Street Fighter IV for the XBox 360. Yeah.

Happy New Year!

I know, I know: This post is 11 days late. There's no excuse for it, except I've enjoyed the holiday season so much that I didn't have time to sit down and collect whatever thoughts I have to a composed blog post. When it was over, the avalanche of back-to-normalness was also kind of overbearing for me, despite it really being just this week.

Well, that hopefully explains the absence, now let's get on to the meat of this post, shall we?

2008 for me started on a high note, then came very low points, and ended well. Those who've been following my life definitely would be able to deduce that the high note is really the exhilaration of moving to the US. I've always set my sights on the land of milk and honey for the longest time, and having the opportunity to actually live here is something I'm unwilling to trade for anything. Not that I didn't love my country, the Philippines—it's been my adoptive country for so long and it deserves my unending gratitude. I guess for me it's really a decision I had to do for myself, because I've long known I'm meant for greater things. And grass being greener on the other side, this was it.

I was in a high when we stepped foot in Philadelphia airport—this time as people who wouldn't be on the same airport after a month. The snow, the chill, and the early morning sunlight was all precursor to a fresh life, something I was ready to immerse myself into. For the first time I saw relatives, family members I haven't seen in ages, some I never even saw at all until we went here.

One particular moment that I savor with gusto is our trip to Florida to visit Walt Disney World. Believe me when I say it's been 13 years since we were last there. (Disneyland in Anaheim, California, is a different story, however.) The place really is as magical as everyone made them out to be.

But things started to go downhill after coming back. The reality of having to look for a job set in—and the fact that 2008 wasn't exactly a shining year for employment. Just as I started polishing my résumé, news of layoffs started pouring on TV much to everyone's chagrin, the country that has enjoyed years of flush living slowly had to reevaluate their spending habits, and really, life just started to become tough for many. I was caught in the midst of it all, an earnest editor and multimedia artist from a third-world country trying to establish his life in a country that became alien to him for so many years. Weeks of fruitless job searching became months, and as the months progressed, life became difficult for me. I've had to constantly dip into my savings just to be able to afford whatever necessities my job-hunting—and really, living—had to entail.

While this was happening, I was battling homesickness. While it's true that I was quite the loner in the Philippines—preferred to keep only small company, and stuck with them with a passion—to suddenly be in a country where there's no one that you can call your friend, is something I do not wish on anyone to go through. Because it's hard.

This continued during the summer months of June all the way to August. It was the worst summer of my life (didn't help that it was, you know, freaking hot—yeah, I'm intolerant of the heat that way). The extended period of unemployment, I can deal with. I had my family as support system throughout the months I wasn't bringing in money; but it's the lack of peers that got to me. It's a known fact that we are social creatures, and that we actively seek out like-minded people who we can—dare I say it in young people lingo—hang out with.

I am proud, however, that despite the thousands of miles separating us, me and Diana, my close confidante and friend of many years, have never been stronger than we are now. This helped me remain sane and have stopped those nights when I'd just give up and head home. She is, and continues to be my rock.

Regardless, I remain unable to just call her just meet up for dinner and drink on a whim. Frustrated with this thought, and trying to stem what might've been the beginning of a minor depression (OK, too strong a word, but it's close to it), I decided to look around. I contacted the guys I play World of Warcraft with, see if anyone's in the area I can hang out with (no luck); I talked to friends of friends, and tried to extend acquaintances from there (no luck); until, just on the verge of giving up, I posted an ad online. Insanity? No, but desperate? Absolutely.

On other news, things were looking up, jobhunting-wise. (Well, kind of.) I interviewed and got an entry-level Junior Editor position at a small New York City-based magazine. My crowning achievement is the fact that it gave me entry to the magazine industry here. (You have no idea how much I was jumping around when I saw the copy of the issue with my name on the masthead.) Now, I'm building my reputation, establishing a network of contacts, and really slowly but surely making my way toward taking a slice of the opportunities available in the industry.

Unfortunately, another roadblock came: This time the crumbling of print media, due in large part to the looming recession that America—and eventually, the rest of the world—faced. Companies went on hiring freezes, some publications closed, and aspiring editors are forced to seek alternative means of earning their incomes while they wait the craziness to pass. I had to really cross my fingers the publication I was in doesn't close, and that my dreams of establishing my name would come to a screeching halt.

The magazine still stands up to now, which gives me a sigh of relief.

However, it remains that I'm not earning enough to be able to actually help me transition to the way of life here, so I continued to look for one-time, part-time, or contractual gigs. Again, this happened in the midst of the bloodbath that the economy faced. So again, for several more months, I was passing my résumés around with fevered enthusiasm (though even the most optimistic of optimists felt the blues in some degree because prospects just continued to dwindle) to deaf ears.

I didn't bother remember the things that happened in the months leading up to the holiday season, because it was really disappointments after disappointments. There were several highlights: My awesome brothers turning a year older full of life and in the best of health; I met Bill, who really was my first friend here—my bro!—and because of him, I'm spending a couple of days a week in the company of the bestest group of people a guy could ever have; and I guess because of all the madness, I learned how to eat my humble pie—and I emerged the much wiser man.

November was when things slowly picked up, leading to a good close to the year. I was able to get a job working as trainer for Apple, my editor at the magazine started talks with me about a full-time opportunity in the near future, and things in general really started falling in place, whereas it was nothing but chaos weeks before.

Now I'm here, year 2009. Whatever mess came about during 2008 I have already let go. I'm writing this with much higher hopes for a brighter future, a much better year (which I think will really happen), and a much fuller life. To be an optimist is to understand—and find what's good in something—even if the general mood points on the contrary. And this is the attitude I'm carrying with me—and I hope you will, too—as you start your own journey in search of great adventures.

Happy New Year!

Image from www.firebirdents.co.uk

The Meaning of Life...As Given by Myron

(Inspired by the The Meaning of Life issue of Esquire this January, I came up with my own list.)

The best gift you can give your kids is your time. Education comes in at a very close second, but you have to make them pay a part of their college tuition.

If I can do anything for the rest of my life, it would be to travel the world. And I don't mean just going to tourist spots. Sure, that's the first off anyone's list, but I don't want to leave the countries I visit still feeling like a tourist. It's all about immersing yourself in the way of life. You don't have to work or pay mortgage or shit like that, but every once in a while, go out and get to know the cute girl that's serving you coffee, or talk to the painter next door.

Even if you say you don't care about it, put a lot of thought in your personal style. You wouldn't believe how far it would take you. Screw those who still go by the mantra that “men aren't fashionable by nature.” In the world of first impressions and outside appearances, style is god.

That said, I think every man should own at least one single- or double-breasted military-style overcoat. There's something about the stiffness and the pin-point construction of the overcoat that screams “I'm a man.”

Loving someone should be close to effortless. That's how you know it's true love.

Your dream job—the one you'd kill for, is usually the one that comes with the most number of gut-wrenching and ego-breaking challenges. But it's also the one where you're in the cloudest of Cloud 9 when you've accomplished the task at hand. I worked for 3 years in Men's Health and it's the best years of my working life, but it also was the hardest in so many aspects.

There will always be someone better than you. I have a friend who's better than me at video games, another a sharper dresser, and yet one more that's wittier and funnier—and that's perfectly fine. Stop trying to be great at everything. Perfection is boring. Imperfection is living.

At the end of it all, remember what Abraham Lincoln said: “It's not the years in your life that count, it's the life in your years.” But you may grieve for those who passed away before their time. That's life's curveball.

Age is just a number. The people I hang out with now are 3, 4, even 5 years younger than me, but really, who cares? They're all amazing people, and that's all that ever mattered.

At least once in your life, you're gonna have to sleep in the airport's departure area or the train station. Keep one eye open for motherfuckers who will steal your stuff, but also savor how incredibly different the place is once evening rolls by.

Stop and smell the roses. Or at the very least, go out and breathe the fresh air, even if you have to book a weekend escape at a destination spa to be able to inhale something that isn't full of carcinogens. Funny how sometimes we tend to forget that our world is beautiful. Remember the Discovery Channel jingle: “I love the whole world, it's just an awesome place.”

Adventure Begins One Footstep at a Time

I've been walking for as long as I can remember. I don't really know why or what exactly triggered that I favor being on my two feet over taking public transportation or even bringing my own vehicle, but for as long as I can remember, I've always taken it upon myself to walk to wherever it is I need to be.

Now, mind you, this is easier said than done, especially when you're in the very humid, very polluted, very muggy streets of the Philippines. Five minutes walking on the streets is enough to reduce me to a dirty, filthy, sweaty mess—and for someone like me who likes that I remain clean and fresh (never know when I'd meet the girl of my dreams, after all) throughout the day, the idea of walking is torture.

However, there's something very human, very real about experiencing lives of others as they happen on the street. In my walks, I've witnessed a couple beating each other senseless (and the woman's the one giving the harder blows!), two women fighting over one man (he's not around, but it was clear that that's the reason they were whacking each other), a real tall female model trip (too bad I didn't catch her), a drunk college guy passing out, and hordes of other funny, if not memorable, events.

I guess one of the reasons I enjoy New York City and Philadelphia so much is this fact: You're encouraged to walk, because everyone else does the same thing. Sure, they both have very efficient subway systems (NYC's is just so intricate I'm in awe), but they serve merely as complementary to the people walking. I mean I like walking, but I'd be crazy to walk from uptown to midtown, and finally downtown. Way too tiring and way too time-consuming. It's a little difficult nowadays because it can get rather freezer-cold in the mornings, and in the summer can get very humid (but nothing, and I mean nothing, rivals the humidity in the Philippines), but for the most part, it's fantastic to just wander around on foot.

I will never forget this one time when my legs practically gave up after close to 7 hours of walking non-stop around Manhattan (the only times I got to sit down were the subway rides and the meetings I had to attend). As I was readying myself to board the bus home, I literally felt my legs shake and my feet just surrender as if to say “I can't freaking walk anymore!”

Thankfully, I did get to the bus on time, and I was able to walk all the way back to my bed and just rest, but it came back to bite me the next day, when I couldn't as much go to the bathroom and pee. I had to take a day off work because of it.

That was many months ago, and I still do not mind at all missing the subway stops—simply because I would rather walk.

On a side note, maybe this is the exact reason why I get to maintain my weight. Because I unconsciously burn lots and lots of them in an exercise I didn't even sign up for.

Image by Sam of SXC.hu

Holi-dazed?

I'm pretty sure the lot of you are feeling exactly what I'm feeling these past couple of days: Overwhelmed at what is supposedly a joyous occasion. Whenever you turn on the TV, you see ads of department stores and retail firms going on their "most massive holiday sale ever," enticing you to spend, spend, spend for gifts. (On a side note, going out and spending actually does the economy a lot of good—America derives a good percentage of its GNP from retail sales.) 

Don't get me wrong. There's absolutely nothing wrong with celebrating the holidays. As a matter of fact, it's the time of the year I myself look forward to—it's just that sometimes we tend to forget why we're celebrating it in the first place. Sure, the season is also about the gifts—it's a reminder that one is loved and remembered by someone else; but doesn't it also follow that acts of altruism shouldn't stop when the time stores put down the "Sale!" signs and homes set aside decorations to gather dust for another 300 or so days? 

So while I am also joining the hundreds of people in America who'd hit the nearest mall in the early morning (open at 6AM? I'm there!), I also would be the first to reflect on the year that was. It was challenging—and for some, extremely rough—for the most part, but the fact that we're still here and still among the living already is something to be thankful for, right? 

I for one can't wait for 2008 to be over, and allow 2009 to roll in with new hopes, new opportunities, and new promises. But until I'm counting down the last few seconds of December 31st, I'm definitely going to enjoy the chilly weather, the fact that I have friends who have been nothing but amazing, and the presents that I'm going to get in 2 weeks' time. 

I'm a sucker for freebies, but this one just pissed me off.

I got this in the mail today. I know, I'm getting myself ready to get bombarded with shitty spam mail.Enthused, but not really excited (supposed "free" gifts usually follow a gift-with-purchase scheme), I opened the envelope.

Lo and behold, I got this. And I couldn't be more in-fucking-sulted at how crappy this free gift is. People, I get magazine subscriptions, electric razors, cookies, body washes, pretty much things that I have good, measurable use for on a regular basis. And you fucking give me this handy pocket calendar? What the fuck?

I think I've never hated a freebie in my life until I got this. Pissed off, I tore off the entire mail and ran it in the shredder. Yes, including this handy, wallet-size calendar that's their FREE gift to me.

After it, though, I felt a whole lot better.

Anyone Up for a Smoke?

While on the street today, minding my own business, this lady stops me dead on my tracks. (She was huge!) I thought for a second that I'm gonna get mugged (she was huge!) but was a little surprised when she said to me “Can I have a cigarette?”

It's funny—I don't smoke (never have) and there's nothing in my gestures that say that I'm a smoker. I was merely puffing frost breath in funny ways on a cold, damp New York day.

Then again, that's probably what got her to thinking that I did smoke. At any rate, I shrugged and said that I don't have any with me and proceeded to walk faster than usual. Hell, what if she went after me and actually carried out with the mugging? That would suck.

Kinda reminds me of beggars in the Philippines when kids would actually ask for a specific amount of money as their alm. “Kuya, pengeng sampu,” they would say. (It means “Sir, can you give me 10 pesos?”) Isn't the act of almsgiving supposed to be left to the discretion of the giver?

Meh.

What I'm Thankful For

I just came from celebrating Thanksgiving with my family, after so many years of not doing it. (In the Philippines where I came from and have lived a good deal of my life at, it's not celebrated.) As Kyan Douglas of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy fame said in a Thanksgiving episode, "We don't count calories; we don't watch what we eat, but we do give thanks." And that's what I would like to do.

I'm thankful that I'm here in the land of opportunities, despite the collapse of the stock market, the doomsday predictions (that I think are seriously over exaggerated...blame the American's tendency to catastrophize everything), and the fact that I left a great job back home to start anew.

I'm thankful that I continue to do what I love, and that I get good money doing so.

I'm thankful for my family, who despite the same financial circumstances, have remained in good health and are doing well in other aspects.

I'm thankful for Bill, Deanna, Devin, Jess, and Rob, my friends here in the US, for always showing me a good time. Alain, Charl, Adam, Benj, Mariel, and Shane, my friends who are in other states (and Ann, my friend from London), I also am thankful—and I can't wait to visit you in your home states when the right timing presents itself!

I'm thankful for my friends in the Philippines—I would not name you all, because it's quite a list—for still keeping in touch, saying hi, leaving messages in Facebook, and generally being the awesome bunch of people that I've known. Maraming salamat.

Et finallement, chére Supermawdel, merci beaucoup. Nous nous connaisons depuis huit ans, et on continue être des amies exceptionnel. Il y a peût-etre 10 000 milles entre nous, mais rien n'a changé. Tu es vraiment speciale, et pour ça, je suis très reconnaisant. Groses bises! (Apologies if my French has structural errors!)

Turkey image from www.igourmet.com.

I'm Sorry for Killing Trees

Sometime during the (current) length of my stay here in the US, I've amassed quite a number of magazine subscriptions. I was organizing my room one day and realized that, damn, that is a lot of subscriptions!

Some of them, I've paid for—publishing companies slash as much as 80 percent of the newsstand price when you subscribe—others I get from work, and others, well, I get them for free.

See for yourself. And there are 5 more that's going to start some time in November or December.
From top to bottom, left to right: Cosmopolitan, PC World, Men's Fitness, Town & Country, More, Wired, Maxim, Interview, Details, Psychology Today, Country Home, O, Organic Spa, Best Life, Mac World, Men's Health, Parents, GQ, Vogue, Seed, Sunset, Better Homes & Gardens, Metropolitan Home, Women's Health, Tennis, Country Home, Men's Vogue, Popular Science, and PC World.

Not photographed but am subscribed to: Esquire and EGM.

Due to start soon: Mac Life, Ode, Prevention, Men's Journal, and Shape.

With the exception of the women's and shelter/home decorating magazines, and Tennis (the first two I give to my mom, the last is for my Dad and uncle), I've read much of each issue. If there's one title among all these that I'm reading a lot more than others, it's Psychology Today. (Don't ask me why.)

Crazy, huh? But I like it—there's always something new to look at and read that doesn't take too much of my time.

Stylista, Oh How Much Do I Love the Delicious Addiction You’ll Give Me

Full disclosure: I’m a stylist and I work in the magazine industry. These two are reasons enough that I would give the Tyra Banks-produced show on The CW, Stylista, my attention. And because Bravo’s Project Runway and The Rachel Zoe Project are over, there’s a considerable void in late-night reality TV that has style and fashion as its main subject matter.

Obviously based off the success of the book—and subsequently, the silverscreen adaptation—The Devil Wears Prada, Stylista chronicles the life of a group of aspiring fashion magazine editors as they fight through challenge after challenge (and the occasional, actually, scratch that—often—bouts of bitchery) for, among other things, a paid editorial position at Elle (under Hachette Fillipacchi Media), an H&M clothing allowance, and an apartment in Manhattan that they’ll pay for a year. Not bad, considering the other production by Bankable Productions, America’s Next Top Model, doesn’t even give a cash prize (it’s a $100,000 contract, take note). At the very least, the winner of Stylista can earn about $30,000 for the year that s/he’s with Elle.

Wednesday’s episode already had proved how much of a train wreck anything Tyra Banks lends her hands on becomes. And it starts with the annoying ripoff of the scene in TDWP where Miranda Priestly (played by the very talented Meryl Streep) leaves her limo and walks to her office. Lauren Weisberg’s novel is based off her experience at Vogue, and with Anna Wintour. No one can dispute that Ms. Wintour is a very recognizable name in fashion and the magazine industry, and it’s pretty funny that they’re playing off this fact with Anne Slowey instead of Anna.

By the way, damn. She can’t walk in those heels to save her life!

Second, according to a very reliable, but not impeachable source, the place where they film the reality show is not the actual Elle editorial office. That’s why they say “Elle downtown.” Hachette’s office is more midtown. Haha. The winner of Stylista will be very surprised that the very manicured office s/he’s used to working at is not where the actual work will happen.

Third, what’s the deal with the annoying—and very unnecessary—ploy for the edit staff of Elle to be bitchy, and—if things are any indication, we’ll witness this in future episodes—condescending, Slowey included? I seriously doubt that much of the staff is that bitchy. I’m pretty sure it’s just the producers telling them, “Be as cold as the people in The Devil Wears Prada, or you ain’t getting paid.”

The challenges are actually pretty okay. Editorial Assistants—the entry-level paid position in each and every magazine—are required to do some administrative work on top of helping run the edit side of the magazine. So I didn’t mind that they had to make the contestants prepare Slowey’s breakfast. (Interesting to note, by the way, Anne doesn’t really eat that much, as evidenced by this piece in New York Magazine.)

Even the elimination is something that actually happens in a magazine: Create and write the contributor’s page. I just wish they paid attention to how the copy is written, if it’s something for Elle. Magazine publishing is a journalism job still, after all.

However, here’s bullshit # 1: They kept the über-bitchy one, Megan, and eliminated Arnaldo, the one that I think would be a better editor between them two. Again, I’m pretty—actually, very—sure that the producers had a hand in this. I mean, come on, Megan will provide delicious tension, and will most likely be Stylista’s Kenley Collins. Ratings!

Bullshit # 2: Joe Zee’s critique of what the contestants are wearing. Didn’t you find it funny that he said to Arnaldo that he looks like he’s working at a law office and has no creativity in his manner of dress when Zee himself is just wearing a suit? Whoop de doo, Mr. Hypocrite.

Still, his other comments were funny, like “Your boobs are spilling out all over my face.” Very smooth. Haha.

Does this mean I would no longer watch Stylista? Far from it. In fact, I’d miss the premiere broadcast of Top Chef New York just to see a new episode of Stylista every Wednesday. One, because I’m curious. Two, because it’s in my industry, and three, because it’s a new reality show. But you see, the problem with this and most reality-based job-search shows is simple: It’s never an accurate portrayal of how the business works. The winner, much like those who have been bagged “America’s Next Top Model” will probably enjoy a brief period of notoriety followed by everyone not caring for them. (I mean, ask yourself, have any of the winners of ANTM walked the runway of an actual high end label like Burberry during Fashion Week? The final showdown episode doesn’t count, as these are runway shows produced specifically to face the last 2 contestants off.)

I’m waiting for Wednesday...

Secret Questions (from Jess)

You have to promise to answer them too, if you want to know the questions.

1. Jess S.
2. Diana M.
3. Josh P.
4. TJ R.
5. Ara F.
6. Nico A.
7. Ann Y.
8. Nina L.
9. Shayne G.
10. Bill R.
11. Miel V.
12. Diana M.
13. Georgina W.
14. Michiko H. / Marco B.
15. Lindsay L.
16. Nico A.
17. Aaron R.
18. Steph M.
19. Richard G.
20. Gabb D.
21. Jon M.
22. Brent J.
23. Carol P.
24. Carol P.!
25. Tanya G.
26. Raya P.
27. Miel V.
28. Anna R.
29. Karolina K.
30. I miss you / I really wanna have lunch with you / Can I pick you up at 7? / Let's hang out soon

Survey, Schmurvey

While I catch my breath from my recent New York trip (I was out and about in the city in the middle of the heatwave last week!), I'd like to put a lighthearted post.

In my work as a journalist/editor, I have interviewed a number of people who've offered very interesting responses to what I originally thought to be rather mundane questions. (Yeah, even I get brain farts.) When I was designing my first website (now down because I let the domain expire. Boo) I didn't put a list of my favorites in the requisite "About Me" page. You know what I mean--the stuff that you add in your Facebook or MySpace profile. Instead, I answered questions magazine editors ask celebrities, as if they were being directed to me.

Mariel Chua, a colleague of mine now based in NYC, posted one such spin, and if she may indulge me, I'd answer the same questions. The original recipient of the questions was Narciso Rodriguez, and his responses are italicized.

Other than yourself, who is your favorite designer? [I'm not a designer, and I don't really like Narciso Rodriguez's style. So I'm just gonna answer the question minus the disclaimer]
Cristóbal Balenciaga
Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana

If you could come back as a model, who would you be?
Violeta Sánchez
Mr. Tyson Ballou. My favorite male model.

What's your favorite color?
Blue
I'd like to think it's green. But I don't really know. I don't quite like blue, tell you the truth.

What are you most vain about?
My weight
My weight.

What are you most shy about?
Too shy to say.
My thighs. Hahaha!

If you could have somebody else's body, whose would it be?
Evandro Soldati's.
Tyson Ballou's.

Who are you fantasy dinner party guests?
Louis Armstrong, Coco Chanel, Lee Miller, James Franco, Anaïs Nin, Romy Schneider, Gabriele D'Annunzio, Alain Delon, Abraham Lincoln, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, George Sand, and Amy Winehouse.
I honestly, honestly do not know who to invite.

Where is your favorite place to have a drink?
Angel's Share, East Village, NYC.
At home: It's cheap, and no one has to drive.

What's your underwear of choice?
Zimmerli.
Boxer-style briefs. I just started liking 'em.

What's the last book you read?
Absurdistan by Gary Shteyngart.
Buddha Mind, Buddha Body: Walking Toward Enlightenment by Thich Nhat Hanh. I'm not yet done, though.

Do you have any pets?
Yes, three dogs, named Lucky, John, and Clifford
No.

What do you eat for breakfast?
Coffee, protein shake, egg whites.
A heaping bowl of Post Selects Banana Nut Crunch, with 2% Reduced-Fat milk

At age seven, you wanted to be:
A monk.
A painter. But not the painter that we know Da Vinci, Picasso, Giotto, and Michelangelo. I meant real house painter. As in with the wide brush and denim overalls.

What is one thing you find easiest to forgive?
A mistake.
An honest mistake. - I agree.

What is one thing you find impossible to forgive?
Dishonesty.
I have no idea.

Do you have any supertitions?
Many.
None. I don't believe in them.

What's your biggest self-indulgence?
Ice cream.
Chocolates.

Favorite place to shop?
Ted Muehling Store on Howard Street, NYC.
I love a lot of places. I go to H&M for great deals on trendy things; Zara for well-made and awesome-fitting shirts and suit separates; Old Navy for basics (my latest triumph: $0.97 for a thermal); Macy's for random things; Target for supplies; BJ's or Costco for magazines I'm not subscribed to (30% off!); Borders for books and hard-to-find magazines (only because I'm a Borders Rewards member, otherwise Barnes and Borders are both fine); and Cherry Hill mall because they have an awesome selection of stores.

Whose wallet would you like to steal?
No one's.
Steve Jobs's

Whose diary would you most like to read?
George W. Bush's.
Katie Holmes. Just so I know that Tom Cruise really is from the planet Zorg.

If you were an inventor, what would you invent?
A time machine.
A brainwave magnifying machine. You can either be a telekinetic or a telepath, depending on how the machine's wired.

Who is your favorite furniture designer?
Poul Kjaerholm.
*shrug*

What's your favorite car?
1967 Porsche 911.
A car that's 35 mpg on the highway.

What was your childhood nickname?
"Cisito," diminutive of "Ciso" (my father), diminutive of "Narciso" (my grandfather).
Patchoy, because I was skinny. (Patpating Tsinoy, get it?)

When and where are you happiest?
The holidays at my home in Brazil.
Christmas time.

Who is your best friend?
Annick.
Don't have one. I used to think everyone should have one, but I now I know better. Why make the distinction between friends and "best" friends? I have a lot of good friends that I love to hang out with and talk about anything and everything, but it's not like I love them any more than my other friends. Once I consider you my friend, you have my loyalty.

What is your worst enemy?
Cigarettes.
Self-doubt.

What piece of art would you most like to own?
Gerhard Richter's 439.
Madonna of the Rocks. Only because I like how it's composed. And because it's the only other painting I recall seeing in the Da Vinci Code flick that isn't the Mona Lisa.

Where is your favorite vacation spot?
Bahia, Brazil.
Palawan or Boracay. I haven't been around much, so this will definitely--or at least, might--change.

Who is your favorite fictional character?
Cartman on South Park.
Ryu of Street Fighter fame.

What is your most treasured possession?
A handwritten letter from a late friend.
My fashion portfolio because it's a collection of my 4 years in the publishing industry. All the blood, sweat, and tears I put into becoming a fashion editor is there. I know, I know, babaw, but that portfolio is--and will--be my ticket to cracking the publishing business here.

Your favorite band/musician/song?
Radiohead.
Song: City of Blinding Lights by U2, for now.

If you weren't a designer [editor] what yould you be?
An architect.
Web designer or developer. It's not too far from the trifecta of career paths I have: technology, magazines, and fashion.

What current trend would you like to see disappear?
Grotesque accessories.
Skinny anything. Thank god skinny jeans are already passé.

What's your biggest fashion regret?
A mullet.
Dressing to fit in, and not to express my personality. Remember the time when elephant pants were the in thing? Yeah, I had to beg my mother to buy me one in the name of conformity. Heh.

Favorite trend of all time?
Jeans.
Jeans-and-blazer combo.

Worst trend of all time?
Logomania.
Shoulder pads on jackets. Yeah, even men's clothing had them. Not a pretty sight.

Always:
Be cool.
Live each day as if it's your last.

Never:
Not cool.
Nag. You'll drive me crazy. I get it, you don't have to say it over and over.

The 10 Things Every Filipino Must Do In America

I got inspired by a feature story from Philadelphia Magazine called “The 57 Things You Must Do In ______.” (There wasn’t really a blank in the article, it’s just that I forgot the place. Haha.) I decided to do my own list to I guess help me get reacquainted to life here in the US—I’ve been away from it for a while, after all. And for humor’s sake. (Well, I’m not exactly good at injecting humor at things.)

1. Get Supersized

Technically, the word “supersize” isn’t on the fastfood lexicon anymore, after the Morgan Spurlock movie “Supersize Me” got the attention of the fastfood-eating public and Washington lobbyists. However, even though Ronald McDonald and his gang stopped asking diners if they want to supersize their meals, the sizes of their french-fry container and soda cups remained huge. Look at the photograph below and guess what size the cup I’m holding is.

This is a medium milkshake, kids. I know. This is large in the Philippines.

Now, check this large-size drink cup from the movie house, expertly modeled by my younger brother. (Sorry, bro, gotta clip the image for your own privacy.)

The drink is $5, and you can refill it an unlimited number of times so long as you’re in the movie house. (Here in the US, movie houses are in separate buildings. They’re not inside malls like those in the Philippines.) Curiously, I unloaded a 2-liter bottle of soda when I got home just to measure exactly how much liquid the darn thing carries every time you ask it to be filled up. Guess what? It’s indeed 2 liters. Damn. Imagine, you just drank the equivalent of 1,000 calories if you finished a cup full of non-diet soda. (Even then, I still discourage you from drinking too much just because you’re getting the zero-calorie variety.)

By the way, the popcorn is also refillable. But if you’re like me, just looking at it already makes me feel full.

Update: Burger King’s big-ass fries and Coke now goes by the name “Kingsize.” Apropos, non?

2. Get brand-name clothing for pennies, convert the price to Philippine Pesos, and secretly brag about how much more expensive it would have been if you had bought it back home

This is what I love about the US: If you know where to look, you can get the best of fashions at prices that will make you think the sellers are practically giving it away. (And trust me, they don’t give you a hard time.) It’s actually easier to be a—dare I say it—budget fashionista (igh…hate the word “fashionista”) here than back home. I’ve done my fair share of shopping at department stores and outlets, and—ha!—I’ve been able to buy more brand-name clothing than if I would visit every store that SSI owned. Some notables (meaning, the best bargains that I’ve gotten so far):

A Kenneth Cole lined blazer for $20,

Paper jeans for $15,

and Converse shoes for $4.97.

True, it’s not fair comparing these to what’s on offer in the Philippines, as we’re talking about clearance merchandise here. But I offer a different perspective: Stuff on sale back home are either absolute crap, or could never retail as low as they do here.

3. Buy something—anything—from Old Navy, H&M, American Apparel, Abercrombie & Fitch, or American Eagle Outfitters.

These are the McFashions of the US, really; or if you prefer, these brands are to Americans as what Bench, Penshoppe, and Oxygen are to us. The appeal of McFashion to many vacationing Filipinos I guess is the fact that it’s virtually impossible to get your hands on them in the PI. (I doubt 90 percent of the supposed AE and Abercrombie & Fitch items sold in Greenhills are genuine.)

But here’s the kicker: Basics here are steep if you’re the converting type. To worth: A basic printed T from AE is $16.50 (about P660 at P40=$1), Bench offers the same stuff for about P300. Lesson learned: The moment you step foot in the United States of America, use your mental calculator sparingly when out shopping. Otherwise, you won’t buy anything.

(I have to mention this about American Apparel, though: They’re proudly sweat-shop free McFashion. Meaning, AA is the antithesis of some brands that outsource the production of their clothes where the cost of labor is next to nothing and the working conditions are debilitating.)

4. Fumble with communicating

We may be the third largest English-speaking nation in the world (or so the reports claim) with a booming call-center industry that houses hundreds of thousands of Pinoys with a fantastically perfectly-attuned twang, but this doesn’t translate to every Filipino being a fluid conversationalist in English. I mean, just look at me. Despite me coming from here, I still fumble. Man.

5. Sleep in pyjamas

Back home, it’s silly to wear jammies to sleep. Kahit naka-aircon. It’s still too hot and humid to cover up your legs. In here, you wear long cotton pants to sleep for 8 months each year. Otherwise, you’ll shiver your ass off.

(By the way, the US uses the Fahrenheit scale. The only time they use Celsius is when the thermometer hits 32 degrees F. They report it as zero-day to mean it’s zero degrees C.)

Part 2 coming soon!