IT'S A WRAP!

DAY 30

of the 30-Day Blog Challenge, 2011

"Celebrate good times, come on!" [tanananant-tant-tanantant] "Woo hoo!"

Ooh la la! I've made it to the last day of this year's 30-Day Blog Challenge! This has been my third year of doing this around mid-July and I can truly say that the longer I do it, the more challenging it feels…which is a little surprising because one would expect things to be easier after having done it a few times. I am quickly reminded of my first major, Business Economics, wherein my third year, I still struggled with the economics subjects (hence, the shift to the more apt—for my personality and inclinations, at least—to Journalism). And, like college, I should probably keep at this until the fourth year, or even beyond.

Anyhow, sharing my thoughts about this whole process of blogging for 30 days straight!

1) Super (Mommy) Bloggers
I have newfound respect for daily bloggers in general. I know for many people out there, publishing a post everyday is the norm rather than the exception. Whereas I strive to follow a decent personal writing schedule, many of you just do it. I particularly admire the moms who find time to write posts on a regular basis, and even find the time to read blogs like mine (you know who you are!). While doing the Challenge, I struggled with getting everything done in one day—a full-time job, yoga (I've skipped some classes), my online part-time job (I've already missed a deadline…or two), updating my accounting Excel sheet (it's backlogged/back-dated as I write this), the occasional magazine article, and making it to the 12 midnight blogging deadline. I can only imagine what it's like for busy mommies out there who juggle jobs, PTA meetings, birthday parties, breastfeeding, and so forth. Hence, my virtual salute to all of ya!

2) Car Service
I recently asked a new friend how her boss—a famous person in the publishing world whom I shall not name here—managed her time and how it was possible for said boss to do everything that she did (books, magazines, speaking engagements). Even without asking, it's quite obvious that in order to successfully multi-task, one has to have top-notch staff. That's a given. But my friend gave two answers: One, the publishing executive woke up early and went to bed late. Two—and literally, two words: "car service."

You see, we all spend an inordinate amount of time commuting, running errands, and going from point A to point B on a daily basis. Being chauffeured to wherever means having pockets of space and time to zone out with one's Blackberry, iPhone, laptop, or iPad and do what one has to do…like blog! Even if it's as simple as doing your hair and makeup, being able to tick off something on your agenda while in motion gives you plus points in the productivity department. So, here's my friend's advice, and I paraphrase: "If you're negotiating a new job and it comes down to benefits and less money offered, ask for the car service."

Noted!

3) Gadgets To Go
Speaking of the things above, there have been times in the last 30 days that I've typed up drafts in my phone, or ducked into Starbucks and tip-tapped on the iPad (I recommend the Blogpress app, by the way). Once, I even worked on a post on the bus. If you're planning to do the Challenge, great gadgets are a big help, especially on days when you're pressed for time or when your schedule is packed; or even when you're just being lazy.

4) Bloggerjuice, Bloggerjuice, Bloggerjuice
I've said—or read?—this time and again: Writing is a muscle, and it needs regular exercise. I'd say it's like going to the bathroom; you need to do it everyday. The nice thing about having to blog everyday is that ideas flow and even when you're stumped for a post, something still comes up; the blogger juices flow. While I've mentioned that the Challenge gets harder every year, it's actually more of a function of time and scheduling, because it's more difficult to write after a long day when you're tired or sleepy, or, again, lazy. But, in terms of ideas presenting themselves or sentences/phrases/paragraphs forming in your head as you wait for the train to arrive, you get more of those as you write more often.

5) What's Next?
Truth be told, I doubt if I'll ever get to blog daily. It also comes down to quality vs. quantity. And my take on that is to have hearty helpings of both: quality, for when you want to tone that muscle and hone this skill; quantity, for when cardio and consistency are called for.

If you don't hear from me as often, that means I'm actually spending time finishing my long overdue Manila novel…and then hopefully have the discipline and fortitude to start the next one for here in New York. Friend and former Seventeen boss, Maya Calica, blogged about writing a novel in 30 days in her post, "Who wants to write a novel?" You'll also find her Suite 101 article linked up, "Writer's Block Be Gone—Tips on How to Write Your First Novel," which is very insightful and a must-read.

A bit of trivia, it was actually a blog post of Maya's that prompted the 30-Day Blog Challenge back in 2009. In it, she said, "Do something regularly over a period of 30 days and you will create a habit."

So, off I go, and onto the next challenge! Thank you, everyone, for the pep-comments and, of course, for reading my blog! It means a lot and it makes sense out of what I do and why I should keep doing this. Again, thank you, from the bottom of my heart (and chocolate-starved stomach).

I wrote this!

The Official Guide to ZAPPING the FRESHMAN 15 is here! It's my first ever non-fiction book, and I'm super excited that it's finally out. I co-authored it with fitness specialist, model and actress, Marsha Irving, whom I met one fateful day back in 2008. Three years later, we have our humble fitness primer dedicated to college freshmen and health aficionados alike.

I'll post select pages one of these days. In the meantime, please feel free to pick up a copy from the following online retailers: Amazon, (paperback and Kindle edition), Barnes & Noble, and Xlibris (our publisher).

A special shout-out to art director and designer, Claude Rodrigo, whose portfolio you may view here. She also posts more recent works at clauderodrigo.wordpress.com.

Here's what's on the back cover (and I don't have to put quotation marks because they're my words, yay!):

The Official Guide to ZAPPING the
FRESHMAN 15
by Marsha Irving and Mariel M. Chua

Fight the flab with this simple, easy-to-read guide to keeping those extra 15 pounds off during Freshman year…and beyond!

With helpful tips, tricks, and shortcuts to staying lean and eating healthy, this little handbook is your one-stop shop to all things fit and fab.

Navigate the tricky world of fastfood restaurants with a straightforward listing of belly-friendly options, and give yourself a body makeover with a custom eating and exercise plan—all within your busy, busy college schedule.

Not the 'exercising' type? The Freshman 15 lists gym-free moves to get you going, in or out of the locker room, on and off campus. You'll be hopping from class to class, party to party, armed with stress-busting moves and smart snacking strategies to help you make the most of what could be the most amazing time of your life!

Cover design by: Claude M. Rodrigo

Proud *author* (wee!).

University Fashion and Beauty

The 2011 version of what
I would have worn in college.

In retrospect, it perfectly worked out that none of the "cute" boys I liked and pined over back in college found me attractive—maybe because I looked like them and dressed like them.

I fondly refer to my college days as the time when I had fashion amnesia. (I pointed out my penchant for t-shirts and shorts back then in my "Blast from the past" and "Short Shorts" posts.) As a tween, I pretty much was as prissy as the next Selena-Gomez-Justin-Bieber follower if it were 2011 back in the late eighties/early nineties, but for some reason, by the time my college years rolled around, I had no semblance of fashion nor concept of beauty (I do remember purchasing one tube of lipstick in my junior year. I still remember what it was: Revlon Raisin Rage…so maybe I did have the makings of a beauty editor).

It would take a magazine internship, an editor promotion, and a makeover to snap me back to the kikay youngster I once was. One of my early purchases at this new stage was a pair of turquoise BCBG pointy mules from DSW (back when BCBG shoes weren't as readily available online) that I wore to one of the Seventeen anniversary parties. This is why when the whole magazine thing happened, university friends were baffled by my so-called "transformation," whereas my co-Sweet Valley Twins cohorts were probably just as surprised at how I managed to even start looking like a boy.

And, going back to those college guys, all the platonic friendships and unrequited crushes gave me enough time to climb, go to the beach and road trips, and make great friends—both male and female. If I had snagged a boyfriend back then, I would've been too distracted by the serious emotional involvement to create awesome memories of those carefree years.

Suffice it to say, I was finally asked out by good-on-paper boys during those early years as a magazine editor. True, it was fun and exciting, but now that I think about it, it was ironic because I was still the same person from college who wore t-shirts and Birkenstocks to class. Is it because of clothes that I attracted class clowns and geeks instead of frat guys, jocks, and politicians' sons? (On another note, those nerdy types turned out to be great career men and responsible partners later on.)

Fast forward to 2004, when I met the man who would become my husband, it was time for yet another makeover: I'd gained a lot of weight and was in the middle of trying to shed it all off. Simply put, I met my husband when I was fat, and no amount of beauty or fashion could have covered up all of it. That, too, surprisingly worked out. And, that's the subject of another blog post.

Image courtesy of Bluefly.com.

College Musical

One of the most memorable movie soundtracks around.

While in the kitchen prepping ingredients for banana bread and chocolate chip squares, my Pandora Quickmix suddenly played the song, "Crash" by the Dave Matthew's Band. I stopped in my tracks and took a moment to listen to the song I hadn't heard in YEARS. I found it odd that the anthem of my late teens never found its way to my iTunes playlist. So, suffice it to say, I have been fixating on songs I used to listen to back in the day.

It also occurred to me, how, for a good decade—from the early nineties to the turn of the new millenium—I'd regularly played the guitar as a hobby. As a teen, one summer I taught myself to play, and that school year in high school, I chose guitar as a music elective. I didn't become quite the expert, but I learned the basics in a more academic setting. I played random classical pieces, and my teacher—a lanky, long-haired guitarist who probably had his own band and was working as a music instructor during the day—would sneak in some contemporary hits during practice sessions. Eventually, as college rolled around, I learned how to play songs by Dave Matthews, D'Sound, Everything But The Girl, and all of those artists who were popular back in the day. It felt like a lifetime ago, and I instantly started to wish I had a new guitar to completely reminisce, as well as relearn, the tunes of my yesteryears and actually pick up new pieces (Taylor Swift's "Love Story," perhaps?).

One particular song that got my heart thudding today was "We Meet Again" by Nancy Wilson, which was featured in the Jerry Maguire OST (sample the iTunes track here or on Amazon.com). Now, this one was incredibly memorable and special because at the time, my ex-boyfriend and I were just friends at the climbing gym we both frequented, and I tried to impress him by learning the complicated track, which required precise plucking of certain notes, versus collectively strumming chords. So what I did, since the College of Music was just across the street from MassComm, I approached a random musician and asked if he could translate the song into sheet music for me, into "tabs" as what they're commonly called. 

Looking back, I couldn't believe I did that(!)—both the fact that I commissioned a music student AND went through all that effort to get a boy's attention. How I wish I still knew who the guy was—he did an excellent job that within a week or so, I had pages of music to study. I probably told my ex the story when we did get together about a year after. He and I are actually still friends to this day (his wife did my beautiful invites and they both were guests at my wedding). I do have some thoughts on staying friends vs. not staying friends with people whom one dated and that would merit another post altogether. 

It's just amazing how my life changed throughout the years, and how the music I listened to changed with it in the process (now it's plenty of house, Chicane, Phoenix, Katy-Perry-pop), and, now that I'm married and living here in New York City, how I'm rediscovering good bits and pieces from my past and finding ways to incorporate them in my current life.

Image courtesy of Amazon.com.

Time Out, New York

Concrete jungle where dreams are made...if you have the stamina and chutzpah.

One day in 2008 I lay in bed thinking, "What if I never had to work? What if I didn't have to get up everyday to be somewhere?" It was around fall, I was working as a proofreader and copy editor at J.Crew, and the prospect of another cold, bone-piercing winter had long lost its appeal. And, I was simply...tired. From the time I was 20 until I moved to New York at 27 to pursue my publishing dreams, I never stopped working. I never had that year off college co-eds usually take after graduation to "explore and look around," only because I was lucky to have found the perfect job match off the bat, working at Seventeen Magazine when it launched in Manila in 2000. (I did get to go on yearly US vacations though.)

Yet, it's true that we gravitate toward the things that we want and have a hand at making them happen. By December of that year, I'd lost my job and had to quickly pack up my apartment; stashed meaningful and useful items in storage, donated the rest of my belongings to the Salvation Army, and off I was to Denver to recuperate from the whirlwind that was New York Round One.

Fast forward to 2010: I've made three trips back and forth between Manila and Denver; vacationed in beautiful beaches; had a lovely destination wedding (with a beach-side reception); cooked and baked my heart out; blogged and wrote about food and musings on life, love, and career (and got paid for it at times!); spent quality time with family, flying/boating to far-flung places; took on lucrative freelance projects (to help finance the above), and more.

I couldn't have asked for a better sabbatical.

While I agree that a certain amount of stress can be beneficial (studies show that a little of it actually helps you perform better), too much can be detrimental not only to your health, but also to your productivity and morale.

So, if you're feeling the onset of a burnout, I highly recommend taking some time off. True, you may have to cut back on certain things (I've had to give up living in NY full-time to ease the pressure of rent and other expenses) but, in the bigger scheme of life, it's absolutely worth it.

That said, I'm now back in New York, recharged and ready for Round Two. With my freelance plate full, I no longer dread having to work at a new job requiring me to be somewhere everyday—no matter the weather, whatever the season.

Oh, Shoe!

I never thought the day would come when I would trade fashion-y footwear for cushy rubber shoes. In college, I was more or less known for having the latest trainers and sneakers, and my girliest shoes were a pair of Birkenstock Mary Janes that I wore to the ground. And then there were my Mojo [a local brand with Teva-inspired designs] sandals.

When I started working (and driving), the world of high-heels opened up for me. From wedges to stilettos, the sky was the limit for my teetering frenzy.

In New York, I'd easily adapted to the norm of toting two pairs of shoes on any given day: flats for the subway and heels for work. But eventually, I just got lazy doing this cumbersome—albeit unnecessary for some—switcheroo.

And lo and behold the queen of all switcheroos, I've had with me these beautiful Madden Girl Raleigh booties from DSW Shoe Warehouse for quite some time. I hadn't worn them yet and I'd planned on taking the pair with me back to Manila to happily sashay in them during the holiday season. Alas, I ended up returning the booties and exchanging them for a very, very sensible pair of New Balance 737 women's running shoes.

This is a big deal for me because I've said in the past that I would never get into running again—out of laziness and sheer tediousness of the sport. Just thinking about it makes me tired. Running to me feels like work, perhaps as a result of being 'coaxed' with an iron fist to run in college, and being duly rewarded for completing a successful training program.

However, I recently found myself, despite rebelling so, hopping on the treadmill; and there is a tentative plan to run at the park this weekend. I don't know where this is going this time around, as I still feel exactly the same way about the sport. I guess a new pair of orange-tinged, high-tech trainers is my way of bribing myself to just get on with it.

Image courtesy of Zappos.com

Working Happy: To Each Her Own

What's your work forecast?

My college (and early work life) ex who remains a good friend once used to find it funny and amusing that I wanted to be a journalist...but only for happy news. We used to joke that, in the event I became a broadcaster, my segment would start like this:

"And now, for the good news..."

Little did I know then that I would eventually work as a beauty editor—a job which was as close as I could get to being a bearer of sparkly-happy updates. What better way can one be positively entertained and willingly distracted than by perusing beautiful baubles of perfume bottles or marvelous palettes of face paint?

While working in a magazine was stressful especially during tight, back-to-back deadlines—and when it comes to the nitty-gritty, an editor’s life isn’t as 100% glamorous as it seems (fashion editors are expert plantsadoras behind the scenes)—it was a unique career path. For many years, I had a hard time explaining what exactly I did because it was a bit challenging to discuss the minute details of what goes on behind the pages, and not to mention incredibly boring once you get past the sparkle (we got used to disappointed interns).

But overall, I did get what I wanted: I had a HAPPY job. I reckoned, my way of being charitable, helping people, and contributing to the common good was by providing readers with a beautiful, glossy escape. I did tackle (and still do) some not so peppy subjects in my beauty pages and articles like "Breakup Makeup" or "How to Look Pretty After You've Cried Your Eyes Out."

On a drive back from out of town with my cousin-in-law, a neurosurgeon, he and I talked about our work. My memory of the whole conversation is hazy, but I most probably regaled him with stories about how I lugged shampoo bottles to and from shoots, interviewed dermatologists, decoded complicated ‘breakthrough’ ingredients of new skincare products, etc.

But what I do remember is this: at some point, he said, "I understand now that what you do isn't necessarily 'less' than what a doctor or engineer does. Same goes for janitors and other blue collar employees. Each one has to do their job, because all these jobs contribute to the whole of society.”

Not verbatim, but in essence: “When one does a good job, it propels everyone forward.”


Part of this month's Cosmo Series, 12th of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph.
(Image courtesy of Sony Pictures Animation and Columbia Pictures)

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Slut...or Not

Never judge: The "Samantha" you know may be more like Charlotte.

I know at least three women who have, in the past, been branded “easy” or worse, “slutty” because of either their sexy way of dress or aggressive dating habits (or a quick turnover of dates, for that matter).

But surprise, surprise: These women, at the time these labels were slapped on, were actually VIRGINS, and the first men they've incidentally bedded were either their longtime boyfriends, and/or the men who became their husbands. And all of them have been nothing but faithful. Shocked? It gets even better: The real "sluts" are now hardworking career women and mothers living successful married lives. Though their reputation may have preceded them in the past, (someone I knew in college was notorious for getting down and dirty with her boyfriend in the parking lot) they're now cruising life in the fast and fabulous lane. Talk about having the last laugh.

The moral of the story here is, don't judge...at all. Whether it's the touchy-feely class flirt or the girl who loves a plunging neckline at work, resist the urge to propagate nasty rumors. It's a total waste of time.

Sometimes I wonder if I'd ever been labeled something horrible. After all, I did work in Cosmo and met gorgeous models. (One time, my cousin’s husband totally freaked and thought I was at a seedy nightclub when he saw me on TV at a Bachelor Bash! I had to explain that it was, um, work.) But I guess when it comes to these things, the recipient of a shameful moniker can never really find out the full extent of her reputation. I’d like to think I've kept a good one throughout the years, but again, I’ll never know, right?

What I do know is that in those years I spent being single and meeting different kinds of guys, my dates all ended with dessert of the wholesome kind and me driving myself home—alone. I think that was the ironic side of having my own space early on; I became more discerning (bordering on paranoid—my apartment was tiny yet you needed to go through two locked doors to get to my bedroom door) of the people I invited over.

I once did bring a dreadful lawyer home who kept insulting my place for being a fire hazard and for not having air-conditioning at the time. Like fungi, he didn’t stay—in my home and in my life—for very long.

I love how my friend, Frances, takes it all in stride when it comes to pointless tittle-tattle:

“Gossip is evil and you truly cannot do anything about it. If you protest, it will fuel it. And they'll never believe you anyway.”

She adds, “If all the gossip I heard about me were true, I'd have lost my virginity to 30 boys at varying times, been many times pregnant, had them all aborted, stole at least 50 boyfriends, and have had tons of bastards, too. Incredible. My life is such an open book…And yet, nasty false rumors like those surface again and again.”

“[On another note,] only very important people get gossiped about. It's dumb consolation but it's true.”


Part of this month's Cosmo Series, seventh of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph.
(Image courtesy of HBO.com)

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Back-to-Back Boo-boos

[Note: This is one of my favorite posts so far. In it are three "Oops!" moments that happened different times. While preparing this a few weeks ago, I realized I had SO MANY boo-boos enough to do a blogging series. So I might do just that once I'm done with my guest-blogging stint at Cosmo. Meanwhile, enjoy this post! Hope it makes you laugh like I did while writing it :)]

Speaking of setbacks, what comes to mind next are boo-boos. You know, the kind that leave you dumbfounded and embarrassed beyond words (and if you say anything afterwards, it gets even worse).

I couldn't help but chuckle when I read Cosmo staffer Beam Mariano's post, "Keeping Things to Myself," wherein she talks about embarrassing herself at a recent shoot with a famous model. I could totally relate: I've had my share of mortifying moments, so many that I can't recall all of them.

Like her, I tend to constantly embarrass myself around people.

To this day I'm still learning how to deal with boo-boos. I wish I could say that once you've had several, it's easier to get past any that follow. Unfortunately, each one is so unique, and you never know what to expect or how to make light of every situation. The best strategy, therefore, is to move on and have a good laugh, and hopefully develop the pulse to distinguish when to speak up and when to keep mum.

I'm more inclined to speak my mind and that's why I've managed to put my foot in my mouth many, many times. Here are some memorable ones. Brace yourself.


The Blind Date

When Cosmo started a blind date section years ago, then editor Myrza Sison asked me to participate in exchange for a fun night out with free dinner and dessert. I gladly obliged—I didn't mind meeting this new person (I was fresh out of a breakup) and was friends with the photographer who was going to follow us around on our date. The guy turned out to be nice, well-mannered, and cute. In the car, we exchanged info on our work, likes and dislikes, and so forth. I kept saying "I looove dessert. I love dessert so much that I gave up meat so I could eat more of it."

We had a great dinner, and when it was time to order dessert, he wanted to order an exotic coffee-based cake from the menu. But I insisted on something more homey and sweet: chocolate mousse. He agreed, so we had these lovely morsels served on a plate. Since we were stuffed, we couldn't finish the whole thing so I nudged him to bring it home, to which he politely declined. I kept urging, "Bring it home to your little sister, she'll love it. Here, let me call the waiter." So we bid each other adieu and off he went, clutching a small brown paperbag.

The next day at work, an editor friend asked how the date went. I said it went great, it was more of a shoot than a real blind date, but I had a nice time and dinner. And then she said:

"You know his family owns Red Ribbon, right?"

"What?! I kept going on and on and on about dessert! He must have thought I was nagpaparinig. What if he thinks I wanted gift checks or something?! Oh no...and the chocolate mousse! No wonder he didn't want to bring it home, he must be so sick of chocolate mousse, of all things!"


Resort Retort

I was in a big car with some new friends, who were more like gimik friends at the time so we weren't that close. One of them brought up the idea of going to the beach, and everyone agreed.

"Let's go to Bataan," the guy in the front seat suggested.

"In Montemar?" I asked.

"Yup."

"Oh! I don't want to go there," I said, and continued (in a single breath), "I've been there twice, for shoots. The first time was great, but the second time, the food wasn't that great and the service was bad."

Guess what? Front seat guy turned out to be one of the owners and shareholders of the resort. I think I ended up saying something polite and feeble and palpak like, "Oh, but um, I would still go back if it's with you guys..."

Now, imagine the same scenario, different setting, involving a person whose family produced Blu Skies crackers. And this is what I said before finding out the former:

"Oh, you shouldn't eat Blu Skies crackers. My friend says they contain marine fat, like animal lard, and it's BAD for you."


Otap

When I was a teenager, my cousins and I lived in the same house (with their parents) and we were like siblings. My cousin, Jacque—who was more like a big sister—was particularly gorgeous and always had suitors. Her little brother and I benefitted from the gifts her admirers would send over. One evening, as she was getting ready, I was in the dining room eating Otap [a flaky sugary biscuit like Elephant Ears] while waiting for all of us to go out to dinner. Her suitor was also waiting downstairs. While making small talk and munching—obviously enjoying every bite—I exclaimed:

"Oh! You MUST try these! They're Otap from Cebu, they're YUMMY! They're different from regular Otap. Here, try them."

Can you guess the conclusion to this story?:)

Part of this month's Cosmo Series, fifth of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph.
(Image courtesy of Universal Pictures)

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A Reason for Every Setback

Elle Woods' heartbreak merited Harvard success.

If there's one quote I've learned to appreciate and live by, it's this:

"There's a reason for every setback."

I cannot begin to enumerate the number of times I've had "Aha!" moments just by realizing this.

My earliest memory of how this meaningfully—or even magically—worked in my life was 10 years ago. I was 19 and an avid climber at a gym near school. While I didn't exactly train everyday, I was a mainstay and felt quite at-home in there. At the time I'd already joined a handful of competitions, and was at a comfortable place.

Every year, the owner of the gym and staff picked a handful members for the national team training pool. The main perk of being part of this team was that one got to climb for free (monthly fees waived) and of course, get the prestige of being part of the group.

I thought I was a shoo-in for a slot until a friend told me I was overlooked, because I didn't exactly workout there everyday. (In retrospect, there was some truth to that; I spent more time having coffee and eating banana bread by the counter than actually scaling walls.)

Another friend got in. Suffice it to say, I was heartbroken. Being told I didn't make the cut for basically not seeming to want to train was insulting, plus, I could really use the free monthly training. I was on a very meager student budget at the time.

Feeling betrayed, I started avoiding that climbing gym altogether. Instead, I went to the other branch, owned by the same people, but the likelihood of seeing them, and other friends who casted their vote, weren't as likely because this other gym was FAR from the one by my school. I probably had to take two kinds of public transportation to get to that place but it was worth it: I could concentrate on climbing, training, and getting stronger.

And train, climb, and get strong I did. I focused on finishing difficult routes, and just kept climbing and climbing and climbing until my body smarted and my hands were as callused as a carpenter's.

During this time at the other gym, I got to partner and train with my friend and mentor, Marie Calica (former beauty editor of Marie Claire Philippines; visit her blog, The Beauty Coach here ).

I climbed my heart out. With Marie, I finished one of the toughest and highest walls there after weeks of training. Eventually, the same owner who gave me the thumbs down, noticed, and finally included me in that branch's roster for the nationals. For some reason the mechanics were different in that gym (there was no free training), but finally, I was part of Team Xxxxx-xx.

The moral of the story is: Diligence, hard work, and persistence always pay off.

It's just ironic that I had to travel miles to get to a place and earn my climbing merits, far away from the homebase. Strange, but worth it.

But here's why this incident is special and major to me. Fast-forward to succeeding events, months and years down the line:

1. Marie opened up the world of fashion and beauty for me. As in the kind that one can make a living out of. That's why I call her my mentor.

2. Marie's sister, Maya, became my first boss at Seventeen, where I interned for four months and eventually got hired as an editorial assistant.

3. I stayed in the magazine for years and eventually became beauty editor. At 24! And a freelance makeup artist.

(Take note, Marie is also a full-fledged makeup artist. In the beginning, I got weirded out for wanting to pursue the same thing, but what she said truly touched and encouraged me and warmed my heart: "There's lots of room for everybody." To this day I still maintain that same outlook when people approach me for advice.)

4. Five years after that summer, I became beauty editor of Cosmo! I got to travel the world and fully enjoy life as a magazine editor.

So you see, if that whole Team Rejection didn't happen, if I never got so heartbroken as to avoid my friends and flee to a faraway place, I would have never had the opportunity to train with a new climbing partner—whose influence extended beyond scaling walls. If it weren't for Marie, I would have never heard about freelance styling, beauty editing, or fashion sitting.

I have other stories to share in relation to finding reason and light in every setback. It would fill too many pages, but if any of you are going through a tough time, or if any recent development doesn't make sense at all, don't fret. This includes losing a job, breaking up with a boyfriend, or discovering a betrayal: It all leads to something wonderful and amazing that will knock your socks off.

Just wait and see.

Part of this month's Cosmo Series, fourth of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph.
(Image Courtesy of http://allmoviephoto.com)

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Short Shorts

I'm so thrilled that shorts have finally climbed the fashion tier and are now considered stylish. I was just browsing "Haven For The Hip And Fashionable Set" at Cosmo.ph and found it wonderfully refreshing that what I wore in college is now considered in vogue.

You see, being a student in the 90s, I was surrounded by peers who wore button-down tops, designer jeans, and heeled loafers. I, on the other hand, went to class in shorts, t-shirts, and sandals. I know I've gotten flack for this in the past, for my informal way of dress. At one point, one of my guy college orgmates pointed to my outfit—a Sesame Street baby tee borrowed from a roommate, red checker shorts I've had since highshool, and leather Birkenstocks—and said:


"That's what you wore today, like everyday that's what you wear?"

I was embarrassed, but what could I do? That was the time I knew nothing about shopping, and didn't really have the resources to arrive decked to the nines in school. Besides, my outfits were COMFY and I felt my aesthetic made sense.

Another fashion faux pas I remember was wearing a Giordano striped piqué collared tee and pants to a movie premiere, when all the girls were wearing little black dresses. I'll be forever thankful to my friend Henry, the members' committee head, who kept me company during the movie and made me feel at home amidst the sea of slinky semi-formal wear.

It's ironic though, if I wear the exact same outfit today, and then pair it with killer heels and maybe a gold lamé belt, I wouldn't feel a notch self-conscious at all. In fact, I know I'd feel fierce and fasyon (I just read earlier that men's trousers are supposed to be trendy this season; also, I started wearing piqué and collared shirts again last year).

During my magazine years, I came to realize that I tended to overdress because of this underlying fear of being ridiculed for not being outfitted well for any occasion. Eventually I snapped out of this and actually started going to events—and to the office once I found out it was okay—in shorts and easy tops (see Cosmo beauty ed Nicole's cute tank-and-denim combo); of course paired with good footwear and accessories. These days, I'd like to think I've struck a balance between my choices in casual and event wear. I now dress by mood and follow my own fashion(able) pulse.

Part of this month's Cosmo Series, second of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph

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Weekend Beauty Buys

 

Ready, set, shop!

At my former job as beauty editor, I got to try out new products at quite a fast-paced rate. I had a bottomless supply of lipstick, mascara, skincare products...you name it, I had it in my drawer, or in one of the huge plastic bins under my desk (which also spilled to the side of my cubicle). It was a constant challenge to keep everything organized and accounted for.

These days, it's not so hectic in my personal beauty department. I write a weekly lifestyle column for a newspaper I love (and the only one I had ever wanted to work for since college; an esteemed professor had the utmost respect for this publication and it just rubbed off on his students). The pace by which I work now is gentler and more languid, and the best part is getting to work in pajamas and squeeze in naps when I hit writing roadblocks and need a breather.

The downside to this is that my body clock is really skewed.

Anyway, I just found out about BeautySak.com and browsed its contents. Not sure how these products hold out, but they're quite fun to look at:

1. Molton Brown Blu Maquis Fine Liquid Hand Wash, $25

I recently visited my friend Niña's apartment and her bathroom was filled with colorful bottles that perfectly accented (and decorated) the all-white interior. A handful of them were Molton Brown shower gels.

2. Kai Nighlight Candle, $22

I've never really heard of Kai Body but it looks interesting. The line has parfum sprays, body butters, but I'm particularly drawn to their votive candles. Back at my old apartment, I lit candles whenever I was stressed out, or just after a long day, to unwind and relax. My particular favorites are citronella, lavender, and thyme (also as burner oils).

3. Liquid Keratin De-Frizz Shampoo, $27

Honestly, whenever I hear the word 'keratin,' Palmolive Optima comes to mind. Remember those commercials in the 90's? And I think my hair was at its smoothest and silkiest, when I was 13—using Palmolive Optima! Anyway, I wonder if this anti-frizz shampoo will give the same silky results.

4. Keratin Complex by Coppola - Thermo-Shine, $18

Since I rarely go to events these days, I no longer do the whole shampoo, conditioner, blow-dry shebang, unless I'm off to a meeting or just feel like it. But what I do notice is that whenever I work in shine serum after towel-drying, my hair looks better as opposed to just leaving it as is to air-dry. I'm still finishing my TIGI Girl Toys shine serum, and when I do, I'll most likely scope the scene for a new one.

Happy weekend internet-shopping everyone!
 

Trapper Keeper!

You know you want one.

I was just over by Elle.com and came across a post on perhaps my favorite school accessory of all time (Elle Undercover "Fashion Week Accessory: The Trapper Keeper" by Johanna Cox). Oh my gosh, I LOVED Trapper Keepers as a student! My mother helped indulge this fixation by buying several of them in different designs, even for herself and for my father (who was starting a journalist career at the time).

I am this close to getting myself one for...oh well, just because! I should probably buy several and have a Trapper Keeper Giveaway here, picking up from the Sharpie Giveaway I held last last month. Oh what fun! Do drop me a line and let me know your thoughts.

The author of the article mentions another 80's school supply icon, Lisa Frank. Admit it: You looked forward to those Balikbayan boxes for those bright, whimsical stickers and folders. To quote from the post in which Cox notes the usefulness of the Trapper Keeper for the upcoming New York Fashion Week:

"Although no longer themed with Lisa Frank’s acid-trippy unicorns and dilated teddy bears, the TrapKeep is still very much for sale. A Moleskin notebook is fine and nice, but does it come with tabbed folders, one each for Narciso, Marc and Rodarte? Can you slip your day’s invitations into its convenient plastic pouch? Can it double as a seat cushion if your mini goes micro mini upon taking your seat in the front-row? I think not."

True.

Another remnant of my 90s student life is the FILOFAX. I remember pre-schoolyear trips to Regina's and Tickles, where they sold a variety of colors and fabrics, along with a bevy of refills, pockets, and whatever one could insert in every slot.

Eventually and at the turn of the millennium, things got smaller and smaller by way of the Palm Pilot. (I got the Handspring instead in an effort to not have what everybody else had.)

These days, I write everything down on a fuchsia pink Mead notebook and punch calendar reminders on my trusty Nokia phone. Everything else, I email to myself on Gmail.

Now if you'll excuse me for a sec, I'm browsing the Mead website, reviving my long-lost Trapper Keeper fancy :)

Images courtesy of Mead.com

UPDATE 09/09/09: I just won this on eBay! It's the exact same Trapper Keeper design I had from Freshman year in high school :) Thanks, jump-dumpster!

Blogging and Baking

I stumbled upon baking in the same way I stumbled upon blogging: An opportunity (or need) presented itself and I took it.

My first blog, Chocolate Soundboard, started as a literal online journal in 2003. I needed a space to write down random thoughts—like one does on a diary—when I was away from my computer at home (i.e. in between writing articles at my work desk in Seventeen). It was quite the private space I'd intended it to be until I accidentally made it show up on Google...quite a happy accident, if I knew back then how important something like that was nowadays.

Baking, on the other hand, was something I did briefly in college. I was living with my cousins and their parents, and my aunt had the Mrs. Fields® Cookie Book. It was a treasure trove of sweet delights and each recipe was surprisingly easy to follow, and not to mention, naturally decadent. At some point, my cousin and I sold white chocolate chip cookies to classmates (for about a week).

Moving houses, even continents, I just completely stopped and moved on to other pursuits both in life and in the kitchen—until recently when I found myself wielding measuring cups and chocolate chips once again. I did make a few batches of brownies and muffins in New York, but for some reason, cookies trigger different memories and touch a special place in my heart.

Freewheeling

There are two types of athletes: the first kind are the natural-born sportsmen, quick to learn and nimble at any game. The second category are those who have passion for an activity, yet to be good, must endure extensive training. And then there is a combination of the two, genetically-gifted athletes who have the discipline to immerse themselves in rigid practice. I believe they are the ones who make it to Olympic teams, the NBA, and so forth.

I would like to believe I fall under the second category. You see, as much as my peers from college would tell you I was quite the sporty one—I rock-climbed for a couple of years and have a black belt in taekwondo; I ran and biked on campus—I'm more of a practice-makes-perfect kind of 'athlete.' Plus, I never fared well with team sports like basketball, volleyball, and the like, so I had low grades in high school P.E. And I'm the last person you'd be able to invite to a company sportsfest.
No way.

As much as I am proud of having a black belt in a martial art, let me tell you that I hated every minute that I had to compete, and that I lost all the time. It was also a terrible way to lose during meets because they usually announced it like they do in boxing: The referee holds both your and your opponent's hand and then raises the winner's. Now if you get a truly cruel (well, maybe not intentionally) referee, he'll swing your arm first, as if to declare you victorious, before raising the other person's.

What I did love was the regular training. It was fun and invigorating, until it was time for the last part of the session, which involved sparring. Blech. As for the practice-makes-perfect part, a black belt in Taekwondo usually takes two years to complete, I did mine in four.

As for climbing, I come from a family of mountaineering enthusiasts. And THAT is why I have no interest in trekking and exploring uncharted peaks. In my teens, I disliked being dragged along to "fun" climbs. I had a nightmarish experience being taught how to pitch a tent, and all I could remember was how NOT fun it was for me.

What I did enjoy and explore on my own with friends is rock and sportclimbing. Now, there is a difference between mountain and rock climbing. The former entails, well this is my very shallow reason for not wanting to have anything to do with it, packing an enormous backpack and spending the night up in the mountain with no bathrooms and basically breaking your back lugging your haul (although these days, you can actually get porters to help you out).

That small speckle on the wall is me.

Rockclimbing on the other hand can be done indoors and if you do decide to take it outside, with a little trekking you find a rockface, climb it, and go home to your own bed afterwards—warm shower and all.

Going back to my athletic theory, I never liked competing; I simply enjoyed the activity. Although climbing competitions were gentler and less painful than getting short of beat up in Taekwondo.

I'm now getting into inline skating. You may notice a pattern of my inclination to non-threatening and non-competitive activities. I'm still learning to balance and glide on my rollerblades, and padding myself head to toe with protective gear. I like that I am able to think and roll with the wind without having to worry about who's winning or who's ranking first.
Just me, my thoughts, and my wheels.

Skates and pads images courtesy of Amazon.com

Blast from the past

When I started spending summer at my mother's almost 10 years ago, I brought with me several items. To name a few: a Sony Walkman cassette recorder (a Christmas and birthday gift from my dad which was pretty neat back then because it had a plug-in microphone and customizable features), my first laptop (it weighed a brick), climbing gear (I was an avid sport and rockclimber back then), and clothes I wore throughout college.

As Mom—the one who basically took care of my wardrobe needs as a vain kid—left for the States middle of high school, by the time college rolled around, my wardrobe was at its most streamlined. When I remind her of those years, she gets really sad and refuses to listen any further. So in the last decade or so, she's compensated by buying me one too many things.

During her first trip back to Manila after being gone five years, she noticed I looked "yagit" (a Filipino word meaning really, really poor) which broke her heart. Immediately she took me on a shopping spree that practically lasted her whole vacation. (I still have underwear from that shopping trip.)

Anyway, she saved some of my old clothes—mostly T-shirts—from those years and a couple of days ago, I unearthed the contents of the box. So I'll share them with you.

I had a Mickey Mouse T-shirt fixation that stemmed from a high school crush who wore a vintage one at a party. I was a senior and he was a freshman (or sophomore?) at the university. I never really got to know him, but the Disney shirts outlasted my crush on that guy.

If there was one thing I distinctly remember wearing during freshman year in college, it was this Seventeen top from Cinderella. It just went with everything! Plus, it was a hand-me-down from my mom.

If you asked people who knew me back in college, they would say I was perennially clad in shorts and Birkenstocks. The particular piece in front is a Collezione "skort"—a bottom piece that looks like a skirt outside but is actually a pair of shorts underneath and from behind. Clever, eh?

This shirt was special because I got it on my family's first trip to Pearl Farm in Davao and my first time to ride a plane ever—at 17 years old! Anyway, I had another shirt with the print, Durian Republic. Years later I would meet the owner of the shirt company, who now owned a famous coffee shop in the south called Blugré.

Like I've mentioned earlier, I was an avid climber. And this is a tank from a national sport climbing competition I'd joined in Cebu. I have wonderful memories of those years and to this day my palms get sweaty whenever the subject of rockclimbing comes up.

A Curious Case

I’ve successfully embarrassed myself way past my teenage years by ’fessing up to an old crush how “heartbroken I felt” when he took up with my cousin (1o years ago) and wondered if he liked me the same way back when we were “hanging out” as friends (five years ago). I’d explained that over the years, I had just gotten more and more curious, and craved some level of closure that should have been addressed a long, long time ago.

Perhaps it’s the journalistic streak that has gotten me in hot water one time too many. But I also thank this unwavering curiosity and desire to just know—even when the answers are obvious—that I now have this beautiful and amazing and unbelievable thing going on with the man I’m with.

'Journalism' case in point: A year ago, when I felt like giving up on our long distance relationship, I dealt with the doubts and what-ifs by thoroughly researching the subject matter, interviewing people who had left town and broken up with their respective partners. I’m not going to divulge the juicy tidbits of their relationship decisions, but I’ll share with you the results. Making a relationship work, far away or not, is a decision you make. And the distance is just something you deal with, like a trait or personality quirk, and it shouldn’t encompass all the great things that made you get together in the first place.

As much as I can’t stand getting all cheesy and relationship-y while blogging, (after all, this is supposed to be my “professional” writing space… although that is contradictory because a blog is some sort of online diary) I know I have so much to be thankful for, and need to acknowledge all the marvelous things in my life and stop whining, stop comparing.

Go back dreaming. And start believing.

Image source: http://www.first.lib.ms.us

Rock 'n Rain

As you know I'd spent Friday night watching the Goo Goo Dolls Live in Buffalo concert dvd (a recording of their July 4, 2004 homecoming gig). Many articles and reviews have been written marveling at the band's seamless performance and professionalism—
considering the unexpected DOWNPOUR smack in the middle of the show. Johnny Rzeznik's perfectly tousled tresses instantly transformed into a soggy mop of rockstar locks—still cute in my opinion, in a way only someone famous could pull off.

Thoughts of electrocution came to mind, followed by envy for those who'd witnessed the musical spectacle (and yes, Rzeznik's sexy crooning, flirty gazes, biceps and all). Among several favorite scenes and songs, one worth noting is the part where Rzeznik peels off his drenched black tank, wrings it, and flings it to the crowd. Cut to the next scene, he is singing "Acoustic #3" while the rest of the set is now covered in plastic. Bassist Robby Takac joins him in "Broadway," and you get shivers down your spine as you watch stagehands frantically uncover the drum set, and drummer Mike Malinin enters in PERFECT CUE right after:

"...see the young man sleeping in the old man's bar/
Waiting for his turn to die..."



And the band—plus the crowd that stayed put and braved the storm—roars back to life! *SIGH*

Speaking of percussionists with awesome musical timing, I read an interview of Dave Grohl from the Foo Fighters a while back. Apparently, he had been a drummer prior to becoming band leader, and he still thinks of himself as a drummer at heart. To paraphrase, he said something about how cool it is being the drummer because all the psycho girls go for the lead vocalist, and the decent ones go for the other band members. Cute. Click here for a tongue-in-cheek, funny interview of Malinin—who runs ultra marathons when he's not touring with the band—and see clearly how the people at the back really don't mind being un-cool, and therefore become the real cool ones by default.

As I watched the rain pour in the video, and see clearly how the band was totally performing in their element, literally and figuratively immersed in the moment, I got reminded of a particular 'rainy run' from back in college, at the height of my sportclimbing days. I was on strict curfew and only had a few hours after school to swing by the climbing gym, and squeeze in a workout with friends (in the guise of a late afternoon "class").

We usually drove to U.P., parked the car where the mountaineers hung out, and did the whole route along the campus outskirts. On one particular day—this I remember distinctly because I wrote about it in my journal, back when blogging was still unheard of, if not non-existent—in the middle of the run, it started raining: nothing like a dainty drizzle, but fat, globs of water loudly splattering on the pavement. And instead of halting, we all savored the cooling drops on our tired muscles and sweaty backs [hydro-massage anyone?]. Perhaps it was the adrenalin rush, we all ended up running back to the climbing gym, as we were way too soaked to hop back in the car. I still remember the feeling: the excitement, the light-heartedness, the euphoric spring in our step, which I relished as I rushed to make it home on time.

Going back to the Goo Goo Dolls, "Iris" was on heavy rotation that year. It was 1998, I was 18, oblivious to rest of the world, naive. Back then it was all about simple pleasures, good coffee, good music, enlightening conversations, conquering cliffs, surf trips, classes. There was no career to worry about, no beauty desks, no New York plans, and definitely no London dreams.

One day I'll put on my running shoes again, and try to recapture that wonderful familiar feeling.