I don't remember the last time I wrote something serious.  And I think this post will be serious. And long. and unrelatable. And boring. 

And... anyway. 

Let me start this with our daily scuffle: 

I wake up before 5AM and I only have ten minutes to finish a freshly brewed coffee before Isabel wakes up. But I usually finish a cup down to the last drop at around 5PM. It's obviously cold and more bitter by then. During those sips, I give myself time to think.
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I am silently panicking.

I never thought I'd experience a heartbreak far worse than a break up.

My heart sank. It literally felt heavy when I read the news because I know that once this year ends, my dreams of having a Doc Martens pair is over. Either I buy one now—something this broke ass cannot obviously do. Or do it later (optimistically a year or two from now), and pay taxes, import duties, and international shipping fee that can amount to half the 1460 Classic's regular price—something I am not very willing to spend.

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I grew up in an era where the concept of Wishlist does not exist. In those days, whenever there is an "exchange gifts" during Christmas parties, the giver carries the burden of gift-giving—one that I carried ever since I started high school.

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I was never really a sandal girl. My toes look funny and ugly to be wearing one. But I have always wanted a pair of Birkenstock. They are not exactly attractive but they go well with my manly feet. They are also easy to wear and can go with anything—jeans, shorts, even dresses!

The malls here sell them for more than Php5,000. And each time they go on sale, I would slip one on in hopes that one day I would finally give in and get myself a pair. But every single time, I'd take it off with an expected dismay. Because every single time, it doesn't feel right.

I get it. I pay for the brand and durability. But if I'm paying for something that steep, I would have to pay for comfort as well. At my age, comfort has become my deciding factor for everything. Seats, accommodation, car, clothing, and so on. Apparently, the Birks do not have it. At least, not on the first try.

I settled for different brands that have a similar look to the classic Birkenstock Arizona because they feel much more comfortable. Unfortunately, they didn't last that long.

And then yesterday, strangely enough, I finally own a pair of authentic Birkenstock Arizona sandals. I love them. I've always wanted them. But wearing them for the first time wasn't as magical as it did with my brand new sneakers. (New Balance 574 ftw!) If anything, it was unsurprisingly anticlimactic.

That's Chino, our adopted cat.

I still can't wrap my head around why people worship these Birks (and why I'd still want them no matter how many times I have been let down). I'm on Day 2 of breaking them in and I already want to unlove them. 

But I can't do that to a 5k worth of sandals, can I?

I'm going to stick with it. I'll give it a few more days. Maybe even months. There is a promised comfort and people swore by it. The pain of breaking them in is all going to be worth it, they say.

Source: Birkenstock

I certainly hope so.

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When you become a mom, you take on not just one, not two, not even three, but multiple roles. 

As a mom of a teen, toddler, and baby, I can be a referee, a teacher, a nurse, a storyteller, an entertainer, an event planner, a coach, a caretaker, a driver, a repairman. And if I have the whole day, this list can go on forever. And I am not exaggerating.

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Of course, the whole world has to know.

Because I feel like a domestic goddess after doing such feat.

And just in case it doesn't happen again.

I don't know if there's a household chore more tedious than folding clothes. I would have seizures just thinking about it. Plus, it requires dexterity and a higher degree of patience to perform such simple task—and unfortunately, I do not possess the latter.

I have found ways to avoid folding though:

  1. Cut our wardrobe into a week's worth of laundry and wear the same thing over and over again;
  2. Not wear clothes at all;
  3. Buy a new set of clothes every time.

But of course, there are practical and more acceptable albeit lazy ways to do it too:

  1. If it doesn't rain, we leave the fresh laundries on the clothesline until we use them again;
  2. Dump them into a tidy pile on a couch or a crib and pray they magically fold themselves overnight pluck whatever clothes we need to wear from the respective heap until all clothes are gone. Repeat.
  3. Use hangers on ALL our garments (including the pambahays) so that we could just stuff it right into the closet without the need to fold it;
  4. Hire someone else to do it.

We usually do numbers 2 and 3.

But today, I bravely took out all unfolded clothes in our closet that probably have little house elves living in it. Who knows? The clothes have never seen the daylight ever since they started to become too snug for my swelling tummy two years ago. 

Imagine my delight to find few favorites I have not seen in quite a long time and see some of them fit me again, then the horror knowing how severely wrinkled they have become that I am bound to do another deplorable chore: ironing.

But at least, no creatures were found in it. 

And the clothes have been folded. 

For now. 

Because once I need to go out and try these garments on one by one when I'm having a hard time deciding what clothes to wear for that day only to end up with a plain white tee and a pair of jeans that has been used for the nth time, I'm pretty sure those unselected pieces of clothing will be thrown back into the closet in their unsightly and unfolded state. Whew! That was a long statement but to make it short: it's going to take another year or two to get those clothes folded again. 

Or not.

Yes, I can neatly FOLD FITTED SHEETS now! They say that only monsters can do that. 😆

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You know what I miss right now? It's waking up early in the morning, then enjoying some freshly-baked pandesal dipped in hot coffee while having a little chit-chat with the family... at the beach.

For almost a week, that's how our mornings were spent during our vacation a few months ago.

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At this point, I think I already lost the ability to write. I find it hard to write anything even when there is so much to share the past three months. This is probably the longest time I have been gone—in the blogosphere at least. I would have started this comeback post with an apology for the absence but nobody really notices that, so it doesn't matter.

Anyway, I have gone down the rabbit hole—that is TikTok. And I am still here with no plans of resurfacing soon. I am far too busy watching funny, dancing, and oddly satisfying videos to blog. 

It's crazy how I used to cringe at content made on TikTok and here I am with twenty-seven published videos on the same platform that I loathed so much. Well, what can I say? TikTok saved my life.

In case you are wondering how...

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I know it's already a week late for this. But just in case you are wondering if Jan and I are still okay because I have not posted anything on our anniversary—which is very unusual because I do it every single year—yes, we are okay. Very much okay.

It's just that, I TOTALLY forgot about the date. When Jan greeted me, my first reaction was, "was that today?" Haha. I am always the bad guy in this relationship. Plus, I did not have a single second to spare to write about it.

But to make up for it, I decided to dance to Zack Tabudlo's Habang Buhay.

Click here for full video.
We both have been singing this lately.

🎵🎶 Akin ka na wala nang iba (ha ha ha)
Andito 'ko hanggang sa 'ting pagtanda 🎵🎶

May the 4th be with us.

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