1996. When I was 10 years old, I saved portions of my allowance for weeks to buy my first cassette tape: the Spice Girls’ first album. The day finally came when we were going to the mall and I had the exact amount to buy it. I actually wasn’t feeling too good that day, but my low EQ ass didn’t want to wait another week to get my beloved Spice Girls, so I forced myself to go anyway.

At the mall’s department store, my family spread out to do our own errands. I was in cold sweats by the time I handed my money to the cashier. As she wrapped up my coveted treasure, I lost control of my body and felt my colon relax. Instantly, a mix of relief and terror washed over me.

Yes, that’s right, I shat myself in the mall.

The cashier was still stapling the receipt to the bag when I snatched the package from her hands and ran off.

After frantically searching the department store for my mother, I found her and told her what happened, with big, fat, embarrassed tears rolling down my hot face. I could feel my underwear still warm and almost leaking. Calm and in control, she took my hand and immediately made a beeline for the nearest ladies’ toilet and stuck me in a stall. “Stay here and wait for me, I’ll be right back,” she said.

While on the toilet, I cried thinking how dumb I was to let this happen to me at that age, and even worse, I was paralyzed with the absolute fear that my big sisters were NEVER going to let me live this down.

Before I could spiral any further, I heard my mom’s voice call out. When she entered the stall, she was carrying a bottle of water and a new pair of underwear. With her signature efficiency, she cleaned me up, got me changed, wrapped and discarded all evidence, and before I knew it, it was like nothing ever happened. There was no scolding, no lecture, no laughing, not even a snicker. She didn’t add to my humiliation. And most of all, without me having to ask, she said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” And she kept that promise. We went home and my sisters were none the wiser. It was always our secret – until now of course.

I bring this up today on her 70th birthday because it is such a snapshot of who my mom is as a person and a mother. She is someone who can be trusted to keep a secret – no matter how small and trivial – and she believes everyone deserves dignity – even a little kid with poopy pants. She inspires me to do the same for my own daughter when she’s inevitably in a (pun fully intended) crappy situation. Whenever I hear a Spice Girls song, I always remember that day.

Election season is upon us and I for one am dreading it. As much as I can’t wait for the president’s term to be finished, the slog over who’s going to take over is going to be the ugliest one yet. This season brings out the worst in everyone, myself included. I hate it.

I am tired of anger. I’d probably be much happier looking away and building my little life here. But if there’s one thing we can learn from the past 35 years, it’s that apathy – more than corruption – is what makes our system broken.

Sometimes when I’m homesick, I pop in my OPM playlist and it gives me the sense of comfort you get when you feel at home. This music always takes away any loneliness.

The other day, Odin and I were blasting some old college band tracks in the car on the way to the supermarket. These were songs by our friends from university, the ones we’d support by going to their gigs at local bars while drinking not-so-cold beer. I checked the list of band names on the playlist and wondered out loud, “Wow, how many of these bands are still active?” I think I counted two.

Surveying the list, I thought about what those band members are doing now. Some are freelance creatives, some are running their own companies. Some went to pursue MBAs and do well in the corporate world. Some are financial advisors selling insurance. Many are now parents. Everyone grows up eventually, priorities change. It’s just wild to think that some guy in a suit out there, managing teams or other people’s money, once put out a rock album with his friends back in their twenties.

It got me thinking how my own life turned out. I’m not where I thought I would be but I also don’t think I did too bad for myself. On my 18th birthday, I jumped in a country club pool in the middle of the night in my underwear with some friends and got chased out by security guards. At my age now, I find my greatest joys in tending to my rose garden on a sunny day.

Change is good. The best days of my life are always ahead of me. But I love how young and dumb and naive we used to be, thinking we could fly into the sun.

Day 106.

It’s been a little over three months since I last felt any semblance of normalcy but I think I’ve finally adjusted to this.. unfamiliar state of things. Which is weird considering in the last three months, I lost a job, I’ve been secluded in my apartment, and a vicious pandemic continues to ravage humankind.

Things were hard at first. There were days when I was unable to get out of bed, nights when I couldn’t sleep until the sun came up. It’s only been a couple of weeks since my sleep cycle went back to normal hours. I constantly feared for the safety of my family in the Philippines. There’s barely any good news to wake up to these days. Not to mention I’ve probably gained a hundred pounds from all the stress eating. The constant barrage of suffering near and far was overwhelming that many times I just felt frozen.

In January when the bushfires were happening in Victoria, I remember how ridiculous I felt at my desk at work while there was haze outside my window. It feels exactly like that everyday now.

Things eventually got too much.

I was consumed by worry over the safety of my loved ones. I was consumed by anger over all the injustices this pandemic had unmasked everywhere in the world. I was consumed by frustration over people who still refuse to take this seriously.

I stayed in that hole for sometime until I was too exhausted.

It got to a point where it felt ridiculous and futile to be killing myself over things that were out of my control.

No amount of worry made me sleep better. None of it brought me peace. And it’s human to lament in the midst of suffering.

My favorite pastor Tim Keller has this quote I always go back to:

If we ask the question ‘why does God allow evil and suffering to continue?’ and we look to the cross of Jesus, we still do not know what the answer is. However, we now know what the answer isn’t. It can’t be that he doesn’t love us. It can’t be that he is indifferent or detached from our condition. God takes our misery and suffering so seriously that he was willing to take it on himself.

These days, I do what I can with what I do have control over. 

Being responsible to not contribute to the spread of the virus. Catching up on books, podcasts and shows. Donating to causes. Getting at least eight hours of sleep. Speaking up against oppression. Growing a plant. Helping out my curly community. Going out for fresh air and walks in the park. Volunteering at our church. Learning to bake bread. Being thankful. Getting involved but not consumed.

One thing I’m learning to do again is create. And I guess that’s why I’ve decided to pick up writing again even though I’m quite rusty at it (I mean, my writing is all over the place in this entry alone). Just make something. Even it’s just for myself. Even if people don’t like it. Make it anyway.

All of this isn’t really much and on a lot of days, it doesn’t feel like a whole lot of difference, but it sure beats spending the entire day in bed.

This dark time will pass eventually, but until then…

All photographs by me. Just a few glimpses of my life in isolation during a pandemic.