How We Say Goodbye When Summer Ends

Our retrouvailles marked the end of summer in your city. The city I came to love despite its constant windy chills and random rain showers: in summer. We remembered the couch—with plush pillows and soft blankets thrown carelessly over its surface; something that reminded us of the chaotic beauty of a studio of an artist. We spent so many times snuggling there;…

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On Learning How to Love My Body.

“Have you lost some weight?”  Recently, this was the first thing people said to me–especially if they haven’t seen me for quite a while. Then the follow-up questions soon ensue: Are you on a diet? What have you been doing, are you exercising a lot? Are you a vegetarian now? The fact is, I did lose…

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A Gift of Being.

Even if our only prayer is gratitude, maybe it’s enough. Even if our only ablution is acceptance, maybe it’s enough. Even if our only service is being compassionate, maybe it’s enough. Even if our only invocation is words of blessings, maybe it’s enough. Even if our only offering is non-judgement, maybe it’s enough. Even if…

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About Someone Who Loves You.

One day, you’ll understand that the highest compliment you could ever receive is having someone who is with you; instead of having someone who wants to be with you. PHOTO BY NICO WIJAYA. By then, you’ve learned the hard way: that promises are not that difficult to break, that people don’t always mean what they say,…

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What’s So Good About Goodbyes?

I guess I always knew that the word good and bye don’t just sit together side by side like that for no reason. There must be something good in goodbyes, although I know how difficult it is to accept that–especially if you’re the one who stays instead of the one who leaves. PHOTO BY NICO WIJAYA. So, what’s so good about goodbye,…

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Farewell: An Open Letter to Goodbye.

Dear Goodbye, Sorry for I have been quite unwelcoming (again) the last time around. I mean… I always know that you would eventually come for a visit. I know that on one of those random days, I would hear someone knocking on my door and rush over to open it–only to find you standing there awkwardly, swaying from one…

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Stepping Up To My Plate.

It was late afternoon, and we were sitting at a nook in our Parisian hotel room, looking at a wall fully decorated with beautiful painted plates. “I’m going to eat on that one,” I pointed at a plate with a painting of a cat on it. “Which one would you prefer?” He looked at me as…

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