BEYOND THE BIG SKY

Just got home from doing the Medya Noche groceries in Estancia. As a troubled 28-year old, the only thing I bought were obviously: rice, soap, two wine glasses, 10 bottles of Smirnoff Mule, and a bottle of Moscato. Happy New Year to me, I guess.

I apologize for the delayed update (I am saying sorry to me, because I know I’m probably the only one who gives a shit about these updates). I ended up drinking my problems away last night at the annual Bonenkai (忘年会) with my coworkers, despite still being a bit feverish. I had a fun time tho, so I’m not really complaining. Hopefully I would be able to construct legible sentences and make sense of whatever it may be that I would love to put across out here. That said, being able to vent out yesterday means less stuff to process for this blog, so I hope I could still write something worthwhile (Edit: I reread what I wrote and lol I wrote A DAMN LOT).

‘Nuff said. Time to write updates.

Currently wearing:
I’m fully clothed! I’m in my tiny home office while writing this, currently wearing sweats and a hoodie, also have a blanket on my lap (I’m blasting the AC at 19 degrees atm it’s so frickin cold, but since I’m in my comfort clothes, I feel amazing)

Doggy Updates:
Chandler celebrated his 1st year being here in the Philippines, while Sawyer celebrated his 1st Christmas with the family. He seemed lethargic and tired the whole time we were at Lola’s until I realized that I haven’t really seen Sawyer in broad daylight in the past month because of work! He was asleep for the most part, and I forgot how that was supposed to be normal – puppies need to sleep for like dozens of hours a day. I am wishing to find time to unwind and just chill with my babies during the new year holidays.

Songs of the week:

• Ready / Problems – Boy Pablo
  I hate how this song is just etched into my body calendar whenever the holidays hit. Boy Pablo is literally my sleep paralysis demon since the winter of 2019 (not my worst, but probably my loneliest Christmas). Warflashbacks to when I was pining for someone and I asked her if she wanted to go see Boy Pablo live when they came to Manila… she said she had plans so it didn’t happen, only for me to find out she went with someone else 💔 I’m not easily hurt but damn that was like, OUCH. People come and go. Feelings are felt, then they disappear. 2019 Winter left me in a train wreck but I’m at that point in life where I’m thankful that it’s done and dealt with – and weirdly, thankful that it even happened.

• 7 Things – Miley Cyrus
  Entirely Patricia’s fault. So when we were kids, Patricia was absolutely OBSESSED with this song. I wasn’t a Disney Kid but I did know Hannah Montana (I was a NatGeo/Discovery Channel kind of kid, Channel 38 and Channel 44 respectively on SkyCable), so guess what happens when the cousin you are most tight with sings this song literally into your ear nonstop for days on end? I could sing this song on the karaoke blindfolded because I was Pavlov-ed by this bitch. Just to be clear, I still don’t like this song (I prefer her more edgier songs like FU with French Montana), but yeah, this too is a song engraved into my being (against my will).

Reliquia – Rosalia
Finally, some actual good music I could wholeheartedly recommend. I would just like to remind everyone: Lux by Rosalia is by all means, the best album of 2025, and nothing even comes close. Sonically cohesive, lyrically tasteful, cultured, multi-layered; it was kinda like Rosalia wanted to impregnate everyone who listened to this album via immaculate conception. The religious thematic of this album really gives this ethereal and otherworldly feel to it as a whole (as if the fact that this album contains like a dozen of languages isn’t an impressive feat in itself already). Of all the songs, for some reason, Reliquia was the one that stuck out to me the most. I like being whiplashed into an adjacent dimension; that transition nearing the end of the song is so fucking nutty and I can’t get enough of it.

Twilight Zone – Ariana Grande
Okay, this song was added just a mere twenty minutes ago, I had to make a separate segment for it because it kinda won Pop Base’s Top Album of the Year just today, winning over Rosalia’s Lux by a very small margin. Honestly, this is a timeline I’m fine living in. I did say that Lux was the best album of the year – but I never said it was my favorite. Twilight Zone was my number one song played this year on Spotify and I have no regrets about it. There’s just something about it that scratches parts of my brain in such an irresistible way that I always have to pause and digest it whenever I listen to it. In pop girl terms: it’s like Blackiana Grande was singing a song written by Adriana “Cuntiana” Venti, with the cadence of Glinda The Good. Triple Platinum in my bedroom. Also, Max Martin produced this song: the same guy who produced The Life of A Showgirl. Max… get behind me and I will protect you, because damn, your favoritism kinda shows.

• Bad Things – Cailin Russo
  That Heated Rivalry finale broke me into a million pieces, and glued me back together into a state I never even knew I could attain. Catharsis. Also that Cailin Russo needle drop was just perfect. *chef’s kiss*

Notable meals:
I cooked Pork Sinigang at Lola’s place for Noche Buena (upon Patricia’s request)! Bruh I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten anything decent in the past couple of weeks but JEEZUS did that shit hit like pristine crack forged in the helms of deep Mexico.

Last night, I had a client meeting at L’Entrecôte in BGC Burgos Circle. It’s been a hot minute since I had a nice dinner so I had a blast with the food. We ordered the steak, which was pretty savory. I liked the sauce too. Escargot was okay, but I have had better. But that fondue tho… was amazing. We also got white wine, but our client chose the bottle for us, but that was also amazing. I dunno if it was because I haven’t had fondue in years, but man, that had me foaming at the mouth.

Meatwise, I would say I like the steaks here better than Dr. Wine? But not to the level of I’m Angus along Malugay. All in all, pretty satisfied with the food, and the ambience was great as well (as a person whose gadgets are all in dark mode, a dim lit setting will always be highly appreciated). Will I come back? Maybe. But perhaps to try some of the other dishes on their menu. Ran straight to Ipponyari for an inuman with my officemates, then we headed to iPong to culminate the night with some more drinks and some Beerpong. Solid night that made me somehow relive what my usual nights used to be – and perhaps a potential glimpse of what my nights could be if I work my way through it.

Recent musings:

A lot. I think I need to outline it if I want to compartmentalize my thoughts properly.

Patricia. Heated Rivalry. Bisexuality. Français. Montreal.

I read what I just jotted down and that’s one fucking lineup right there. But it’s crazy because it’s pretty much the gist of it.

The past week since my last post has been both physically taxing yet emotionally gratifying, and I have no other way to properly describe it.

I guess one of the biggest things that contribute to that would be Patricia. Patricia and I were inseparable as kids – I mean, we are the first grandchildren of our family. Hello…? I also wasn’t named Patrick just because. But due to chaotic circumstances, Patricia and I lived very very different lives. She was always flying around since her dad was a pilot, and when she finally found a place to stick her feet on the ground and stay put, both of us were already consumed by the life that comes with being someone who is barely making out of their twenties. It’s crazy how I can say that Patricia is one of the people I am closest with yet we probably only message each other once every couple of months, or make a call thrice a year if we are lucky. But whenever we’re together – man, it’s kinda like we never even parted ways.

Patricia came home to the Philippines this year to represent the PH National Women’s Rugby Team for the SEA Games. The Volcanoes put up a decent fight but was unable to secure the medal. I was so heartbroken for their loss, but at the same time hopeful that the team that was put together quite haphazardly still had room for improvement in terms of their coordination. They could definitely bag medals the next time around. When the team disbanded after the SEA Games, Patricia didn’t really have a reason to stay behind. She could’ve easily just decided to go back home to Ottawa (I probably would’ve done this, since you know, why would I willingly stay here in the Philippines?) but she chose to celebrate the Christmas Holidays with us – and I couldn’t be more grateful that she did. On Christmas Night, after every one left and it was just the two of us outside, Patricia and I spent like 5 hours just catching up with each other. No filters, no censorship, nothing held back. Just pure genuine connection and communication. And it is probably one of the best moments that happened to me this year. We talked about important stuff, we talked about stupid stuff. We talked about the past. We talked about the future. We talked about babies, and sex, and people, and family, and identity. I have never felt more strongly that I was craving, yearning for conversations with substance like this – those long intimate chats that stimulated me to no end. Definitely one of the best Christmases I had in recent years for sure – and not just because of Patricia.

Truth be told, I probably have never had a normal Christmas in the past decade, or something besides this one. Either I had to fly out just to be with family or something terrible was happening to me… it’s a ridiculous list, really:

• 2024: Too busy to celebrate due to Lolo and Lola’s wedding being held the very next day (uber hectic, zero rest and had no time to unwind)

• 2023: Early stages of diagnosed depression (was so out of it)

• 2022: Spent it alone. Because I hated everything.

• 2021: Mock Christmas because family was attempting to cover up the disaster that was last year’s Christmas, also broke up with my covid gf (we were together for a year, i liked her a lot and its sucks how we had to break things off)

• 2020: WORST CHRISTMAS EVER (to be discussed)

• 2019: Dumped (by Boy Pablo girl), dazed (started to proactively question my sexuality), and forgotten (mom and sister forgot that it was Christmas so I had to spend it alone at home, the flight to Japan that I was on almost crashed due to technical malfunctions and had to make an emergency landing hehe… the fucking cherry on top).

Most might have a lot of questions about some of the stuff written up there but I, respectfully, refuse to provide context regarding said stuff besides the ones I’m about to share my thoughts on.

I suppose this should be the part that would tie in to Heated Rivalry. Okay, I did not expect that this fucking gay hockey show would rock the continuum for me in such a monumental way. Yeah, sure the TV and film junkie in me thoroughly enjoyed the way the show was shot and produced (I really really did!) and the way the narrative flowed due to Jacob Tierney’s writing and directing was truly a spectacle to behold… but a show can only do so much in terms of reaching. It’s the viewer experience that will decide how far media can permeate: how you choose to react to the content in front of you, or how much you feel about meeting it halfway will ultimately decide how effective the medium was in conveying its message. And Heated Rivalry, for lack of better word, rawdogged me like a coyote in heat until I was reduced to nothing but a puddle of my own slick.

I find it baffling how people belittle sex so much when so much of our daily lives are easily affected by it. All the more in pseudo-religious countries like the Philippines who loves declaring how religious it is, but always in propaganda but never in practice. The story of Shane and Ilya’s relationship is told for the initial part, mostly through their sex, and how it evolves with it. People are so eager to dismiss the show and call it borderline pornography when in fact, the season’s best episode has zero sex scenes at all: and I think that says a lot about the state of the world’s culture right now.

I personally see myself in so many of these characters, queer identity aside. Why? Because these people, despite having their queer identities being an integral part of who they are, do not let that determine who they are. Shane being of Asian descent, gay, autistic, socially awkward; and Ilya being Russian, bisexual, orphaned, emotionally burdened – these things can be used to describe them, but they do not fully define who they are. People are so quick to put labels on others so they are easier to put into categories, so much so that they forget that we are… people, and it’s really depressing to think about sometimes.

I have been thinking about that final episode a lot. Narrative wise, the best scenes in that episode were Ilya telling Shane he’d marry Svetlana for the citizenship, or the confessions, or that line “She would have loved you… like I love you.”

But the scene that’s burned back in my brain is the one where Shane comes out to his mom. Because that shit felt like being showered with a million bricks. Seriously, what was Canada cooking with that? Watching coming-out scenes in media has never been a fun experience for me, and perhaps for good reason. But this one… boy, did it really hit the mark.

Let me paint a funny picture: Christmas Day 2020, you are having a wonderful Yakiniku dinner with your family in Kyoto, one of your favorite places on Earth. You all had a couple of beers. The food is amazing. The banters were flowing. Then all of a sudden – your sister accidentally outs you by asking you if you’ve been seeing boys recently, which throws you out of left field in a way that makes your field of vision blur. And then you notice your mom throwing you a look of contempt you have never seen from her before. It was mostly disbelief, but you see it – the disgust, the regret, the disappointment in her eyes. And stuff were said, like really really painful stuff, ones that you wouldn’t expect would even come from her.

And then you just move on. As if that night never even happened in the first place.

My mom keeps insisting that there is really nothing to discuss, sometimes even dismissing that she never said any of the things she said: but the ax forgets and the tree always remembers. There was a naive part of me that actually thought it was going to be okay regardless, but man, you really can’t underestimate the powers of a conservative and religious asian mother.

In the season finale of Heated Rivalry, Shane apologizes to his mom for not coming out to her sooner, but his mom begs for his forgiveness back because she felt like she created an environment which made it difficult for Shane to even tell her: which was such an alien concept to me, because on the very millisecond I had the epiphany that I might not be straight (I was still figuring shit out), I immediately resigned myself to the idea that I would be taking it to the grave. I mean, what’s there to assert? Yeah, sure, boys are cool, but I also still like girls. I could just choose a girl, get married, have kids, and die without telling another soul that I have done things that are very much not straight, and enjoyed it, as much or even more than I have with most girls. Back then, I never had the mental wherewithal to imagine the possibilities outside of the heteronormative route. Maybe it’s because of how I was raised, or because of how afraid I was to even start thinking about it.

That Christmas of 2020, up to this day, is yet to be processed by the people at that Yakiniku table.

Fast-forward a couple years later, when I finally managed to muster up the courage and tell my Lola about what happened, I was just so taken aback because she started bawling out of control. She took my hand and asked me if I was okay, and started to apologize on behalf of my mom. In all honesty, I’m still pretty lost and am still navigating my way through this, even now. I don’t know what I want, nor do I know what I want to happen. So imagine my shock when last week, when my Lola and I finally finished cooking for Noche Buena (our love language is smoking together), she managed to secure a pocket in time where it’s just the two of us (also, this never happens, given how rowdy my family is), and asked me while casually smoking in a puff, “Mag uuwi ka ba ng boyfriend?” The cynic in me immediately told my Lola that it was never going to happen: the hell? in this economic climate? I don’t even think I can bring a girlfriend – or anyone really, back home for everyone to meet. But then it hit me – there is someone in my family who is actually okay with that. It was her silent way of telling me that it’s fine for me to have options, that it was okay for me to choose if the opportunities presented themselves. Despite the disgusting number of homophobic people in my family, here is my 70 year old lola, telling me that she wants to see me with someone and that I deserve to be happy, regardless of who they were. Fuck. I’m welling up just from typing this. It’s actually funny because the second thought that came to mind when I heard her was “Do I even need someone to be happy?” and then I continued to smoke, fighting back the lump forming in my throat.

I suppose this is the reality for a lot of queer people. It was one of those moments where you realize that life could sometimes feel like it is against you – but it is bearable and tolerable because there are people out there who do not care about the constructs of society that impedes happiness from being equally distributed to everyone. All they care about is your genuine happiness. I’m not necessarily looking for a romance like the one in Heated Rivalry. I’m not even looking for romance, period (wouldn’t hurt though if it found me). But making me come this face-to-face with my sexuality (to the point I’m writing a lengthy blog post about it) was not on my 2025 bingo card at all. Heated Rivalry could not have come at a better time in my life. It was immersive cinema for me through and through – truly the Christmas present I never knew I needed.

So yeah, one of my goals for next year is how I could own my queer narrative and how I could make the most out of it. Weirdly enough, the answer I ended up with after a couple of days of reflection was: if you want to dictate your own narrative, first you need to take control of your own life – which is painfully true, and something I had to deal with before even trying to attempt making leaps and bounds with anything else. Sexually, I’m not really a picky person (I do have preferences though, but all it does is it makes me want to step up my game if you check the criteria). But I think I’m the kind of person who could never truly like another fully unless I’m at peace and contented with myself (it sounds so common sensical that I feel embarrassed even typing this).

So far I’ve made efforts in regaining control of my life starting with my diet and with the weight loss. I also became more conscious of my sleep quality. I also realized that I’ve been impeding my self growth by not leaning into my hobbies and interests. I guess blogging is one of the avenues I have strayed away from because gosh, did I miss writing. In January, after dropping a couple more kilos, I plan on heading back to the court and make time for volleyball. I also kind of wanna try playing tennis. Oh! I also started Duolingo (which is so uncanny since I was a prolific Duolingo non-believer). I’ve been taking French for the past week now. I’m not a stranger to French though. As a kid, I have always wanted to learn French because it is Patricia’s mother tongue and I’ve always wanted to be able to talk to her in her most natural state. I’ve taken French classes in high school and even chose it as my elective in university – but sadly, I never really committed enough to be able to fully master it. If ever my French prof is reading this, I am really really sorry for fucking up my finals. We both know I could’ve aced that – which is why I could never look back at my French classes in Ateneo fondly. It actually makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it. So yeah, if all goes well, I am trying to envision myself writing a blog entry for Weekly Unraveling entirely in French by around this time next year. Fingers are crossed.

Aside from this, I think I probably smoked an entire pack of cigarettes just this weekend thinking about my future. I’m turning fucking 29 next year. That’s just fucking crazy, man. I was thinking about what I want for myself, and what would bring me the most joy in the years to come. I choose to believe that I am by nature a very independent person – I know how to take care of myself (better when I’m in a good head space), but generally, I can get shit done all on my own. Living alone here in the Philippines though, has really not been giving. I’m hopeful that there will be a massive shift in the way Filipinos’ think about society in the near future – the youth are really taking the initiative in changing the necessary narratives, and it brings me so much joy when hearing news about it. But a part of me is telling me that I deserve to be happy now, because even if the Philippines is heading towards a better direction, the day it will truly come might not even be in my lifetime.

Over the past month, I have started to look into countries which I could use my working holiday visa on. In Japan, people are eligible to apply for said visa until they are 30 (until their 31st birthday), so I basically have only a year left to prepare for this. Moving away from my entire family (my mom and sister are in Japan, and everyone else is in Quezon City) might seem like a reckless idea, but I kinda feel like it’s the surge of energy I need to power push through my thirties. There is something that deeply excites me when I ponder on the concept of living in a new city, just me, and complete strangers everywhere. It makes me think about the people I will meet, the experiences I could have – and how those interactions will change me as a person. I’m not new to the struggle of keeping the wolves from the door so I think I won’t mind the extra hustle. I think I was conditioned by my upbringing to make more than what I actually work for, so that to some extent, I could provide for my family that always seemed to be struggling. So it’s really refreshing imagining a life where all I need to worry about was paying the rent or keeping my dogs healthy. Sometimes, I daydream about waiting tables at a restaurant or being a barista working at a cafe, or helping out on farms to collect produce, or running on production gigs with small film houses, just to make ends meet. No expectations. No pressure. Just living life in the moment. Damn. *moaning noises*

The idea of having roommates I vibe with, or having a core group of strangers in my immediate proximity I could navigate my late twenties and early thirties with sounds like music to my ears too. Dreaming of that here in the Philippines is kinda difficult because a lot of people here can’t even afford rent due to how bad the people are treated wage-wise. Not only that, most Filipinos generally tend to gravitate towards staying with their parents, so realizing these ideas here is quite tough to begin with; I have no other choice but to scratch it off the list. I really don’t know what to say, man – it’s kinda like what I’m looking for isn’t here in Manila or in Tokyo, and if I have the means to explore outside of my comfort zone and look beyond, I’m actually down with making massive changes in my life to go find it.

So far I have looked into multiple cities: Melbourne, Brisbane, Manchester, Brighton, Liverpool, Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto. These cities were high up on my bucket list. I know the list is very… white, but I don’t want to struggle too much with communication barriers since I don’t really have much time left in me to be worrying about learning a new language. Initially, I was really torn between England and Canada, but when I weighed my options, I think rather than being rude-polite with Brits, it would be more me-coded to be polite-rude with Canadians. So with that in mind, since I’m also taking up French, a French bilingual city like Ottawa or Montreal sounds the most optimal, no? Also, it’s massive that Patricia lives in Ottawa. As much as I would love being close to her though, it wouldn’t give me the full immersive experience of truly living alone if I was only a few minutes drive away from her. So… I guess, Montreal? I’m planning way ahead of myself so all of this is pure hypothetical, but you guys can’t even fathom the amount of endorphins I’m getting just from typing this down.

I think it is best for me to stop here. I guess, I’m just a bit overwhelmed, given that the year is ending and I got to reflect on so many things over the course of a weekend. I am praying that next week, I could be more braindead and my next entry would be a tad more vanilla, rather than trauma dumping and oversharing (like how I relate with Shane Hollander, in the way that my first ever rimming sesh was from a blonde Russian chick who had a fetish for pegging guys when I was 19). I feel relieved after being able to get a lot of stuff out of my chest, though. Writing this honestly felt so therapeutic, and was probably the slate cleaning I needed before heading into 2026. I hope everyone who managed to finish reading this has terrific new year holidays ahead of them (especially since you just had to sit down and read the plethora of compiled bullshit that was this blog entry).

Bonne Année, y’all. See you guys next year.