On swivel chairs
For some, the barbershop is a space for self-discovery. For others, a space where identities die. But for me, it’s...
A lot can change in a year
When I left home with two suitcases and my acceptance letter in hand, I was stepping into uncharted territory, uncertain...
Stickers
I exist to be torn—to be wanted, used, and pulled apart at the seams. Like the stickers I left in...
Sincerely yours, Mister Phathupats
As a Kapampangan, Juan Crisostomo Soto’s “Y Miss Phathupats” feels more than just required reading. Over a century old yet...
A nation with no identity
I hated my nationality. Even the mere thought of being a Filipino abhorred me since I was a child. I...
‘Nakababain’
One night, when my colleagues and I were enjoying our drinks outside a café and chit-chatting and communicating in different...