This blog is full of sh*t

This is the official blog of an obnoxious oxymoron who unbelievably and unfortunately exists in this world.

[akocomyk]

Wanna know more about me?

Here are some interesting tags to guide you with your reading:

#My Life • #My Books • #Thoughts • #Toxic Shit • #712ThingsToWriteAbout • #Omyk Covers

Annual Recaps:

10 Most memorable moments of my year

10 Best books I've read for the year

Other interesting posts

[akocomyk]

What if mawalan na lang ako ng pake?

[akocomyk]

Kaya minsan mas okay na lang umuwi eh

Araw araw na lang, you have to live in someone else’s rules.

[akocomyk]

Hmm Miss Universe Philippines’ format this year is quite weird.

I mean I get it, they’re trying to deliver something new. And somehow this new format would give all the candidates more chances of being included in the semifinals for as long as they worked hard for it.

That said, I’m not sure if I’m keen on posting my predictions this year. 😂

[akocomyk]

Gusto mo kong magsalita.

Gusto mo kong maintindihan.

Tapos pag nagsalita ako, di mo nagugustuhan naririnig mo.

[akocomyk]

I had a very interesting run this morning.

With running being in full bloom for a lot of people lately, it’s pretty common to see runners on the road or sidewalk wherever you go. And as a runner myself, I usually bump into a lot of them during my runs.

It’s Sunday today, which means it’s LSD day for me. I was aiming for a 16K finish as part of today’s program.

Nothing new with my route—it’s the usual: Greenfield > Kapitolyo > BGC > McKinley West > McKinley Parkway > Ayala.

So what made it interesting?

Well, there were a few runners going the opposite way who greeted me “Good morning,” or gave a simple nod and smile.

Upon reaching Kalayaan Bridge on my way to BGC, I ended up running near three other runners. I was a few meters ahead, but one of them—who was faster than the others—caught up and started a conversation.

He noticed I was wearing the Ayala Philippine Marathon singlet.

Turns out, he was there too—but he ran the full marathon. I only did the half. He asked if I joined the Milo Marathon a few weeks ago, and I said no since I had another race the week after.

The 21K Milo Marathon was a qualifier for the National Finals, and he said he made it through by finishing at 1:46—just ahead of the 1:50 cutoff. He asked for my age and mentioned that for my category, the cutoff would’ve been 1:40. He even said he knew how much work that would take.

And honestly, that’s one of the reasons why I skipped the Milo Marathon qualifiers—I’m not at that 1:40 level yet. My current half marathon PR is 1:52.

As I ran further and reached University Parkway, I bumped into Romeo, one of my running friends from QBE. This is a pretty usual encounter for us since our weekly routes overlap there.

Then, around 32nd, I passed a huge running group along the sidewalk. One of them was Gem—another runner from QBE.

And then… yeah.

No one else I knew after that. Just random runners I passed by, acknowledging me, and me acknowledging them back.

I don’t know… there’s something about that.

How you can be running your own pace, chasing your own goals, but still feel connected to everyone else out there doing the same thing.

[akocomyk]

It’s quite interesting how life moves, really.

For more than ten years, this blog of mine had been an integral part of my life. It was my online journal—a diary that felt safe for everyone to see.

But now… I barely write here. And when I do, it feels more like an obligation, mostly because I still want to keep certain personal traditions.

Nevertheless, my absence here can be attributed to many things—most of which are quite positive.

Back in my previous jobs, I had a lot of thoughts in my mind that I just couldn’t shake off, and the only outlet I had was this blog. In terms of work-life balance, it became a huge part of the “life” side.

As a matter of fact, in my last job before this one, our management heavily advocated work-life balance, and it came to a point—especially during the pandemic—that my life felt more interesting than my work.

But now… it’s different.

Think of it like work and life have been integrated—they coexist in harmony.

In a way, it’s still balanced. The difference now is that much of what I enjoy in my personal life also exists within my work environment.

Yes, I tend to stay at the office longer than I need to—more than the usual eight hours—but it’s not all just work.

I spend time rehearsing—singing, dancing—or going on runs with my running friends.

And speaking of friends, I now have more than enough people to talk to about whatever’s on my mind.

Add to that the fact that I’m in a happy and stable relationship.

So instead of turning to this blog to write everything down, I now have people in my life who care deeply, who listen, and who can actually give me the comfort I need.

I do feel a bit of shame leaving this blog behind when it used to mean so much to me—almost like I’m abandoning it just because I’m already living a full life.

But still, if I can, I’ll try to write here once in a while. Maybe some weekly reflections? I don’t know.

I guess I’ll just let it flow when it does.

[akocomyk]

I don’t think this would come as a surprise to anyone who’s been following this countdown.

It’s the essence of this list.

More importantly, it’s the essence of my year.

If I trace back the beginning of my running era, its roots go back to 2023. That was when I started waking up at around 5:00 a.m. and running roughly five kilometers. I was using my sister’s Huawei Band 4 to record my runs—and if I’m being honest, they weren’t even full runs. They were run-walk sessions: brisk walking for the first kilometer, running for a bit, then walking again when my legs couldn’t manage anymore.

When my sister got her first iPhone and Apple Watch, she handed down her Samsung Watch to me. That became my new running companion. Back then, it took me around 40 to 45 minutes just to finish a 5K.

Running was something my first ex and I shared. He’d run up to 10K in the afternoons as I did mine in the mornings. When we broke up, I lost the motivation to keep going. I wasn’t sleeping well, and waking up early felt impossible.

I tried bringing the habit back briefly in November, then again in December. December 26, to be exact. I remember that day clearly. But that story has already been told here—and it belongs to the past.

In 2024, I bought a Xiaomi Redmi Watch 3 with a quiet intention of reviving my running era. It was also meant to replace the Samsung Watch, which had already broken down.

But I still didn’t run.

Around December, I noticed I had been slowly gaining weight. I attributed it to the lack of physical activity after our dance competition trainings ended.

Then on December 14, a package arrived addressed to Nikki. He asked me to open it, saying it was his Christmas gift for me.

Inside was a Huawei Watch Fit 3.

He remembered a time when we were at a Huawei store in Ayala Malls Manila Bay and I casually mentioned wanting to go back to running. Around the same time, Tita Rosalyn—my father’s wife—gave me an On CloudMonster pair of shoes. I took that gift as a sign.

I didn’t wait for the New Year of 2025 to start a “new me” or revive the “old me.”

On December 18, I did the first run I ever recorded using the watch Nikki gave me.

At the start of 2025, I had the idea of joining the Milo Marathon. I was ecstatic when I found out it would be held in March—I had gotten used to it being scheduled mid-year. Nikki was fully supportive and wanted to join me.

That’s when we started running together, training for our first race.

After finishing my first 10K at the Milo Marathon, Nikki suggested we join more races—at least one every month.

The next one I signed up for was the 10K of the Santé Barley Trilogy Run Asia’s first leg, where I clocked my first sub-1.

Then came the second leg.

Then the third—both just around 50 seconds shy of another sub-1.

After that third leg, Nikki casually said,

“Baka gusto mo namang gawing 21 ‘yan sa finals.”

I wasn’t convinced. My 10Ks might have been fast for casual runners, but my perceived effort was still around a 6 or 7 out of 10.

Then my best friend Wilma told me otherwise.

We visited her one day after she gave birth to her daughter, Yelly. Since she’s also a runner—one who completed the longest distances in last year’s Trilogy—I told her about my hesitation.

She responded instantly and excitedly, “KAYA MO ‘YUN!”

She reminded me it was only August. I had until November 9 to train.

Her older brother chimed in, “Maniwala ka sa doctor na bagong panganak.”

So… I registered.

I asked ChatGPT for a training plan and started increasing my weekly mileage in September. My LSD runs got longer.

I joined the weekly running clinics organized by Runners PH at work. And it’s nice to have them as my friends because I suddenly had informal coaches who could guide me on my training—other than also serving as taga-budol for any running gear.

I don’t know what running does to people, but they are some of the chillest and most positive individuals I’ve met in QBE.

When the week of the National Finals arrived, I was already on my taper week. But weather forecasts showed a typhoon approaching Luzon that Sunday—the day of the race.

Organizers said they were still coordinating whether the race would push through.

I was, of course, hoping for the best. I wanted to believe the forecasts on Windy saying the worst of the typhoon won’t come until the middle of the day, probably when all runners have crossed the finish line and the event is done.

At around 2:00 p.m. on Saturday, the day before the race, the announcement dropped.

The National Finals were cancelled.

No rescheduling.

No alternative date.

Everyone would still receive their entitlements.

And I was so devastated. I mean, I’ve already planned my meals for that Saturday—carbo loading, proper nutrition, and all that. We’ve even booked an AirBNB closer to the venue so that we didn’t have to stress about booking a transportation.

I saw posts online, some of the runners from other parts of the country have already arrived in Manila. And then there were also posts from runners who are organizing their own community runs to compensate for the cancelled race.

I wanted to join them, but the schedules they planned didn’t fit with mine. So I asked Nikki if he would be willing to join me… and of course, he would. We’d start at 3:00 a.m., and hopefully finish before 6:00 a.m., when forecasts say there might be some rain.

And we did that. We followed the planned route. From SM Mall of Asia> to Roxas Boulevard> Luneta> Manila> Binondo> Intramuros > back.

And you know what I loved most about this run? It’s seeing all the other runners, wearing the same singlets, passing by saying, “Good morning!” or “Let’s go runners!” It felt like we’re one big community, united by the grief of not having the finals race we deserved and powered by the passion for the sport we love.

That day, I finished as a half-marathoner.

Anyway, Runrio couldn’t get their shit together the week after. They reaffirmed the cancellation, but would give more freebies to the registrants. Then they revoked it the day after and provided a new date for the finals.

I didn’t attend that race. They don’t deserve me or any one of us who ran on the original date.

I already earned my medal.

And I deserved to wear it.

I still run today—more than 1,140 kilometers since that first run I recorded in December 18.

Every medal carries a memory:

my first 10K, my first sub-1, my sub-30 5K, my near misses.

I now use a Garmin watch—heavily influenced by my running friends from work. I treated it as my Christmas gift to myself after a hell of a year.

I was able to do all this because someone who loves me supported me all the way. Supported me so much, he was literally beside me when I crossed finish lines.

In the last three races Nikki and I participated, I broke PR after PR. The effort was lighter—proof that my training had really paid off.

And on a bittersweet note, we no longer cross finish lines together. Now, I wait minutes for him.

He always tells me, “I’m so proud of you.”

From pushing me toward my first sub-1… to letting me go ahead because he can no longer keep up.

Just so you know, I’m here because you cheered me on and pushed me to be here.

And I love you for that.

[akocomyk]

These are technically two separate events, but when I tried to decide which one deserved to rank higher, I couldn’t really make a final choice.

Because at their core, they felt exactly the same.

Bright lights. A crowded venue. Holding my breath with thousands of other people—watching stars do what they do best.

So instead of choosing one over the other, I decided to put them together in one memory: me, fully leaning into being the ultimate fanboy I could be.

I’ve been a fan of beauty pageants since I was in high school—specifically Miss Universe and Miss Earth. One of my fondest memories back then was when I offered to help my classmates who became candidates for Mutya ng San Sebastian, a school pageant held annually during its Foundation Anniversary.

With the rise of pageants’ popularity in the 2010s, so did my fanaticism. My interest eventually leaned more toward Miss Universe and its corresponding national pageant—Binibining Pilipinas then, and Miss Universe Philippines now.

For these pageants, I’ve gone as far as watching the entire preliminary competition, scoring the candidates’ performances, and coming up with my own set of top contenders. I even make my fearless forecast list.

I had never watched a pageant live.

Until 2025.

Since both Nikki and I are pageant fans—although he’s more of a casual fan—we decided to watch last year’s edition of Miss Universe Philippines.

And… yeah. The excitement I felt that night was over the charts. Still, I kept my cool and came into the finals with my pageant analyst hat on. I had my Google Sheets file open and ready for scoring.

Here are just a few thoughts.

I’ve never really been a fan of Ahtisa Manalo—I mentioned that in my fearless forecast blog—but she was already outshining most candidates as early as the opening number. Nikki’s ultimate bet was Wynwyn Marquez—she was positioned next to Ahtisa, front and center, during the opening—I could immediately tell the difference.

Ahtisa earned the highest score from me during the swimsuit competition. I couldn’t believe it myself, but she deserved it.

During the evening gown round, only two candidates truly impressed me. The first was Chelsea Fernandez, who opened the segment. The second was, of course, Ahtisa. The moment she stepped onstage and struck her opening pose, people screamed. I held my breath.

And then she fell.

But she rose again and continued her walk as if nothing happened.

During Q&A, Gabbi Carballo gave the most intelligent and witty answer. But Ahtisa’s response felt the most heartfelt. That wasn’t surprising—she had been answering from the heart even during the preliminary interviews. She wasn’t pretentious. She was real.

And honestly, everyone inside the MOA Arena that night knew who the winner was.

Fuck all the naysayers who only watched from their screens at home.

It would’ve been a total letdown if Ahtisa didn’t win.

That night reminded me why I love being in spaces like that. When the lights dim, when everyone’s attention locks in, when you stop being just one person and become part of a collective reaction.

That same feeling would come back to me later that year—just in a very different way.

In 2023, when my first relationship ended, music became one of my quiet comforts. Coincidentally, my Spotify recommendations leaned heavily toward OPM. One of the bands that immediately stood out was Cup of Joe.

I fell in love with their songs. In fact, my Top 10 Memorable Moments of 2023 had a playlist—and the top memory’s song was theirs.

Their music never really left my regular rotation.

Then in 2025, they released their debut album. Their song “Multo” climbed to the number one spot on Spotify, and I think I may have contributed to that.

When they announced their next major concert, I went ballistic. I immediately showed the announcement to Nikki, who was very supportive—even though he wasn’t yet as familiar with their music.

I was crushed when tickets went on sale and the Lower Box seats were already sold out by the time it was our turn. We weren’t willing to splurge on VIP tickets, so we settled for Upper Box.

In the months leading up to the concert, I somehow managed to turn Nikki into a fan too. So when the day finally came, we were both sentimental.

I don’t think the organizers planned the LED bracelet distribution very well. The audience had to line up again inside the coliseum, and Nikki ended up missing the first few minutes of the concert because of it.

But when the lights finally went down, none of that mattered anymore.

It was still one heck of an experience. You could rewatch the videos I took and hear me singing in the background—and Nikki’s voice too, who was singing his heart out beside me.

Upper Box or not, I was exactly where I wanted to be.

On track with the stars.

Lit up. Wide awake.

And completely present.

[akocomyk]

Whenever I looked back on the past year and asked myself what could be a top contender for this annual list of mine, I always came back to this memory.

My birthday.

Not for the grandest reasons.

It was the first time I worked in the QBE office on my birthday—it has long been a habit of mine to go to work on my birthday whenever it falls on a weekday. Surprisingly, we even had a team meeting—Mother Jo was there in person while the others joined virtually—and they surprised me with cupcakes from M Bakery. In the middle of the meeting, a delivery rider called me and asked me to claim something.

A bouquet of yellow flowers.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Just warm.

Although I got loud reactions from the team when I got back to the meeting with the flowers in my hands.

That was only the first of many surprises Nikki had planned that day.

He asked me to go home early so we could drop off our work bags before heading out to dinner. He didn’t tell me where. I only found out when we booked our Grab—it was Dusit Thani Makati, and we were going for a buffet dinner at The Pantry.

We stayed for hours. We had red wine. The servers brought out a small chocolate cake.

When we got home and were about to sleep, Nikki handed me one last surprise—building bricks of The Little Prince, a cheaper imitation of Legos.

He thought it’s oddly fitting for someone like me who loves creating things. Something small, thoughtful, and meant to be built slowly with precision.

It was the first birthday I ever spent with my partner.

Two weeks later, on Valentine’s Day, another delivery rider called me while I was at work. Inside the paper bag was a set of Bacha Coffee—another quiet surprise, although very well-appreciated by me who is a coffee lover.

That evening, we met after work at One Bonifacio High Street. When we met, he handed me another gift and said, “It’s your bouquet of flowers.” I didn’t understand what he meant until I opened the box later at Café Mediterranean.

It was a Lego flower bouquet from their Botanical Collection.

I spent the entire afternoon the next day building it. And I couldn’t help but think… Love must not be rushed. It doesn’t burn fast. It was something you assembled piece by piece.

Then came December 21—our first anniversary.

Since it fell on a Sunday, we started the day with a long, slow distance run. After that, we slept through the rest of the morning, woke up early afternoon, and headed to Ayala.

I had been vague about my anniversary gift for him. The only clue I gave was that we needed to go to Ayala Center Makati.

For years, I had a quiet tradition of buying myself a pair of Levi’s jeans every December. I still use the one I first bought in 2018 up until today, as well as the others I got in the following years.

Nikki had always admired my jeans but never bought a pair himself, thinking that particular brand is too expensive. I say it’s a good investment since the ones I have are a testament to its quality.

So that’s what I gave him. He was in utter shock when I led him to the Levi’s section of the SM Department Store.

He loved it so much and wanted to show it off, so he wore it the very next day on his trip to Davao to spend the holidays at his hometown with his family.

For these memories, I chose the PF Fire Virtual Challenge medal to represent it.

Fire doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it just stays lit. To me, the flames of love are eternal, even when only embers are left.

And sometimes, love looks like 125 kilometers and more of choosing each other—day after day, without burning out.

[akocomyk]

One time last year, while we were waiting for the rest of our teammates at a retro-themed diner, my boss—Ms. Jo, whom we all fondly call “Mother”—was having one of those random conversations that somehow turn reflective.

At some point, the topic shifted to my nicknames. I told her about the many names I’ve gone by over the years, and how choosing to use “J.M.” might have had more impact on my life in QBE than I initially thought.

The last time I went by J.M. was back in college, and briefly during my first job where I worked with two of my classmates. After that, I became “Mike,” and later “Sam”—names people have called me for almost ten years.

When I joined QBE, I decided to go back to J.M. Partly because it required less explanation than Sam, and because I kinda missed being called by that name. So… During my interviews, when asked what I preferred to be called, I said J.M.

Going back to that conversation with Mother, I told her that I never expected that choosing J.M. would bring back the version of myself who was known for juggling everything all at once.

Back in college, aside from being a multimedia arts student, I was also a campus journalist, a choir singer, a cheerdancer, and a few other roles I can no longer remember.

This year felt eerily similar.

Aside from my regular job, I found myself taking on multiple roles at the same time. I was a part of Team Verde and joined various volunteer activities aligned with our sustainability goals. I was part of the Pride Council. I also became an active member of MusiQ, SynQ Dance Club, and Runners PH.

Each role came with its own demands.

Pride Council had its highlights during Pride Month in June. Team Verde initiatives ran throughout the year. MusiQ began with vocal training sessions in May, eventually transitioning into regular rehearsals for the year-end party. Runners PH held weekly running clinics to prepare employees for an upcoming race—employees were all encouraged to join Takbo Para sa Kalikasan–Air Run with the registration fee to be shouldered by our company.

SynQ, on the other hand, barely slowed down. We prepared for our 10th Anniversary concert, rehearsed for the year-end party, and were later invited to compete at the ANZCham Gala Night’s Got Talent competition.

From around September to November, my weeks were mapped out almost to the hour. Tuesdays and Fridays were for SynQ rehearsals. Wednesdays for MusiQ. Thursdays for running clinics. Saturdays were sometimes for volunteer activities. Sundays were reserved for long-distance runs. Some days overlapped. Some commitments clashed. And sometimes, I had to choose one over another.

That’s why I chose the Run BGC medal to represent this track. These were the months when I figuratively—and sometimes literally—ran to BGC almost every day.

I don’t know how I managed to get through it all. But somehow, it paid off.

I broke personal records during TPSK–Air Run.

MusiQ was highly commended during the year-end party, and I even heard people screaming when I rapped the part of “Kapangyarihan” by Ben&Ben featuring SB19—my first time ever rapping on stage.

As for SynQ, our anniversary concert was a success. We delivered strong performances during the year-end party. And to cap off those chaotic months, we won both the Best Costume and Golden Buzzer awards at the ANZCham Got Talent competition.

Looking back, that season wasn’t just about excelling in more than one thing or existing on multiple tracks. It was me realizing that the J.M. my longtime friends have always known is still here—and ready to run again.

[akocomyk]

A few months into 2025, Nikki started talking about wanting to move to a different place. His main concerns were the lack of ventilation in the condominium and the absence of proper pest control in the building. Financially, it also made sense—if he added just a little more to the rent he was paying while sharing the unit with his two cousins, he could already have a place of his own.

For quite some time, he contacted several real estate agents, trying to find the best possible option.

One Saturday, when we both happened to be free, he suggested going on a site visit. One agent offered to show us a mockup unit that day, since actual unit visits were usually limited to weekdays.

Then, almost mysteriously, another agent messaged him and offered a site visit that same afternoon—this time to actual units that were already available.

Before heading out, Nikki gave me a task: to check the network signal in both units we were going to see. One was on a lower floor, the other on a floor higher than the 30th. He preferred the higher floor, mostly because he didn’t want to hear the noise from EDSA.

After seeing both units, though, I ended up voting for the lower-floor one. The signal was better. The balcony view, facing the Ortigas skyline, felt nicer. And honestly, the higher unit triggered my acrophobia and sent my thoughts spiraling in directions I didn’t want to entertain.

In the end, he agreed with me.

The next thing I knew, I was signing papers on his behalf because he couldn’t make it to the scheduled unit turnover. And shortly after that, we were moving our things from Makati to Mandaluyong.

Then came the chaos—packing, moving, cleaning, arranging—and all the drama that came with it. This made it difficult for me to even call the place a home.

But eventually, things eased out. Slowly, we settled in. We still are, actually. And we’re selling off the brand-new appliances and furniture that came with the unit because we already have our own (anyone interested?).

And now, here we are.

A place of our own, where we get to learn more about each other and grow together.

Moving here made everything feel more convenient. We found our go-to places to eat. We could run easily. Good coffee was just downstairs. My office became closer, his commute more manageable. We even found our favorite breakfast place after long Sunday runs. Malls were only a few minutes away.

All of these small things added up, until one day it just clicked—this felt like home.

Our home.

And before I forget: the first race we ever joined after moving in was the Sunnies Run at Ayala Triangle. We joked that if we hadn’t moved yet, we could’ve just walked to the venue from our old place. Our Grab car couldn’t even get close to the race village because of the road closures.

Funny how life works like that.

[akocomyk]

When I was young, I thought Baguio was a land of dreamcatchers. I was fascinated by them the moment I learned about these protective charms, and I remember being completely enamored the first time I saw one—when my sister suddenly came home with a dreamcatcher from Baguio.

If I remember correctly, I’ve only been to Baguio twice before this trip. Once during the SPAM National Convention, when I attended as an official delegate of our college paper, and another time for my best friend’s wedding.

I was never there just to travel.

Never to slow down.

Never to simply be in the city.

So when my relatives started planning an overnight family trip to Baguio last year, I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic. I was worried we might already have a scheduled volunteer activity or a race that weekend. I also wasn’t sure if I could bring Nikki along, since we were only renting one van and the capacity was limited.

I let them do the planning. At some point, I almost completely forgot about it.

Until my sister messaged me a week before May 24—the date of the trip—asking if I was going. I asked if I had been included in the headcount, and she said yes.

So… yeah. I didn’t really have an excuse not to go.

I only asked if they could pick me up at our condo in Makati so I wouldn’t have to rush back to Cavite on a Friday night, since they were planning to leave by 1:00 a.m. Thankfully, they agreed—my place was along the way anyway.

Before heading straight to Baguio, we made a short stop at the Manaoag Church in Pangasinan. It was one of my great aunt’s wishes. She’s old now, and quite frail. We stayed only for a few minutes—just enough to take some photos and buy souvenirs—before getting back on the road.

When we finally arrived in the City of Pines, our first stop was the Lion’s Head along Kennon Road. From there, we made our way further into the city and had brunch at Café by the Ruins.

We visited the usual Baguio staples—Camp John Hay, Mines View Park, and the Good Shepherd Convent to buy their infamous ube jam. I wanted to get their lengua de gato biscuits too, which I still believe are the best I’ve ever tasted, but they had already sold out by the time we arrived.

That night, we had dinner at SM Baguio before trying our luck at the night market. I didn’t end up buying anything. It was too crowded, and I didn’t feel like staying long.

The next day started with lunch at Good Taste Restaurant—another Baguio institution, known for the long line of people waiting outside. The servings were generous, which I suppose is what draws people in. But as someone who loves cooking, I didn’t find anything particularly special about the flavors.

Our last stops were the Bell Church and the Strawberry Farm in La Trinidad.

And I just want to say—that strawberry ice cream from the farm was one of the best strawberry ice creams I’ve ever had.

This trip wasn’t about checking places off a list. It wasn’t about chasing anything, either. It was about going somewhere without an agenda, and realizing that sometimes, rest doesn’t announce itself loudly.

Sometimes, it just tastes like strawberry ice cream on a cool afternoon.

[akocomyk]

I may have a knack for doing a lot in one weekend. I guess that advice from a psychology professor back in college—“Seize the day”—has been ingrained in me.

Anyway. This March 15–16 weekend felt like everything I loved happening all at once.

It was the congregation of three things that I love: books, music, and running.

First was the Philippine Book Festival 2025 at the Megatrade Hall in SM Megamall. If you’ve been reading this blog series of mine every year, you might remember that in last year’s list, the 10th Pin (signifying the tenth most memorable location) was the World Trade Center Metro Manila—and one of the events held there was the same book festival.

This was my second time attending, and god, there were so much more people. Crowds were gathering everywhere, and there were queues in different areas, waiting for turns to have books signed. It was uncomfortable for me.

But I kept my cool and stuck to my usual principle when entering book fairs: find something that interests me, instead of looking for a specific book I already have in mind.

Ricky Lee, renowned screenwriter and Filipino National Artist, was doing his talk by the time we arrived. I wasn’t starstruck—this wasn’t the first time I’d seen him. As a matter of fact, the first signed book I ever owned was by him, Para Kay B.

When I browsed the booth selling his books, I bought two: Lahat ng B, the sequel to Para Kay B, and Kalahating Bahaghari. I would’ve wanted to have my copies signed too, but the line was too long—and we still had a long day ahead.

Another author who sparked my interest was C.J. Edmunds, an indie author who wears many hats, but highlights his Tales of the Dark District series at his booth. What drew me in were the rainbow flags displayed there. On top of that, he was very accommodating and genuinely enjoyed talking to people interested in his work.

So I bought two of his books: Sojourn (which he described as a sort of prequel to the series) and Take Me Now, the first book of The Dark District.

I hated Sojourn. It had tons of narrative issues. And it seemed like C.J. had his own rules when it came to quotation marks.

After my boyfriend and I decided we were done with the festival, we went home, changed clothes, and headed to our next destination via train—the Metropolitan Theater for Johnoy Danao’s first concert celebrating his 25 years in music, “Liwayway at Dapithapon: Ang Musika ni Johnoy Danao.”

When we arrived, my sister and our friends were already queued at the entrance, and the organizers had just begun letting people in. This was the first time my sister and her closest friends met my boyfriend.

Entering the theater gave me an eerie mix of excitement and awe. The building had only been restored and reopened in 2021, so you can’t help but have some creepy thoughts inside your head.

We got seats in the Loge area, overlooking the audience below, with a clear view of the stage.

This was the second time I heard Johnoy Danao perform live—the first being a much more intimate session at a café in Naic, Cavite. Still, listening to him was mesmerizing. I sang along to every song I could and reacted way too strongly to all his spiels. At some point, I thought Nikki might already be embarrassed that I’m his boyfriend.

That’s just me fanboying, you know?

After the concert, we went home immediately, trying to get as much rest as possible before the next day’s race.

We only slept for about two or three hours, and before we knew it, we were already at the concert grounds of SM Mall of Asia.

The race was the first leg of the Santé Barley Trilogy Run Asia series. After finishing my first 10K the previous month at the Milo Marathon, Nikki encouraged me to try finishing another 10K in under an hour.

He didn’t give up on me. He pushed me—literally. Every time he felt my pace slowing, his hand would land on the middle of my spine, pushing me forward.

And the result? My first sub-1 10K, finishing at 59:41.

I did that with a mild case of shin splints on my left leg just days before, which thankfully didn’t act up on race day.

One of the official hashtags of the Trilogy Run Asia series is #RunningForLove.

And I think that perfectly sums up this weekend—running for the things that I love, running with the person that I love, and letting myself experience it all at full volume.

[akocomyk]

When I found out that the Lov3Laban Pride March in Quezon City would be on June 28, my first concern was that Runrio’s Pride Run was happening the following day.

Regardless, I thought to myself, “Kaya ‘yan. Laban lang.”

I asked my boyfriend first if he’d be okay with it. We had already registered for the run before we knew the Pride March schedule—last year, the two events were a week apart. Earlier on in our relationship, he had already mentioned that he wanted to join the Pride March with me.

So he said he was okay with the back-to-back events. As long as he was with me.

Even though joining the Pride March wasn’t new for me—this was my third—this one felt extra special. I was heavily involved in the planning for our company’s delegation, since I am a member of the Pride Council. That said, we did everything we could to make sure the employees who volunteered had a good and enjoyable experience.

It was exhausting. Coordinating, checking in on people, making sure things went smoothly—especially from our group’s end. But thankfully, the march pushed through without any major problems. Even the weather cooperated—almost as if the clouds waited for us to finish before pouring down heavy rain.

After the march, my boyfriend and I went home as soon as we could.

Ironically, the rain wasn’t as cooperative the next day.

When we were about to leave for the Pride Run, it was raining at almost monsoon levels. Booking a ride became difficult, and by the time we arrived at the venue, we were already several minutes late. The 5K runners were being asked to proceed to the starting line—we were running 10K.

So yes—Pride Run became the only race where we missed the gunstart.

I didn’t make any new PRs that day. But it was the first time I was featured by a photographer, thanks to the pride flag I wore as a cape. More than the pace or the timing, it was a run that meant something—not just for me, but for a community that only wants to be seen and respected for who we are.

Looking back, the whole weekend felt like one long run on Mario Kart’s Rainbow Road—bright, colorful, slightly unhinged, with some koopa shells and slippery banana peels here and there. There were no perfect conditions, but we didn’t fall off either and stayed long enough to finish everything. And honestly? I’ll take that finish.

[akocomyk]

As a member of the Australia-New Zealand Chamber of Commerce Philippines, our company sends delegates to their Monthly Members Meeting. On May 15, QBE co-presented that month’s event, which took on a more hands-on format through a Sustainability Expo and Terrarium-making Workshop.

Since the meeting centered on sustainability, members of Team Verde—QBE GSSC’s sustainability committee—were invited to join, with two of us selected to participate in the terrarium-making workshop. I was one of them.

To be honest, there really wasn’t anything particularly special about the meeting—other than that workshop. It was facilitated by Brian Dimarucot, founder of Moss Escape, a local business known for handcrafted moss art and terrarium workshops.

Before teaching us the process of creating our terrariums, Brian shared the story behind the business—something he runs with his wife. It started as a passion project and a tribute to their late daughter, Juliana. As a way to cope with grief, he began creating miniature worlds in the form of terrariums—spaces where he could imagine the places his child could be.

So his instruction was simple: create your own miniature paradise.

At first, I thought of my mom, and where she could be. Her tenth death anniversary is coming up this January 5. It was an easy connection to make—grief and loss being something Brian and I had in common.

Before we began placing rocks, soil, sand, and moss into our small glass bowls, we were asked to choose two figurines each. There were many designs—houses, cars, animals, tiny human figures—but only a few copies of each. When we were given our go signal to grab our figurines, everyone rushed to grab what they wanted.

I first picked a figurine of a boy lying on his stomach. When only a few pieces were left, I struggled to think of what could pair with him and still represent my “miniature paradise.” Then I noticed another boy figurine no one seemed interested in taking—this one simply sitting. I thought… why not?

Brian then guided us through the terrarium-making process layer by layer—pumice first, then soil, sand and pebbles, decorative rocks, moss, and finally the figures.

I placed the two boys facing each other, looking like they were completely enamored. At this point in my life, that was my little paradise.

I didn’t even have to explain it to anyone who saw my terrarium. They understood immediately. All they said was, “That’s so cute!”

In this life were everything moves in a blur, it’s rare to be asked to slow down after a workday—to choose carefully, to place things gently, to think about what actually matters enough to keep.

This is why I’m calling this memory The Grounding Track.

Not because it was big or impressive, but because it reminded me how grounding it is to work with what’s in front of you—soil, moss, tiny figures—and make sense of your world one careful layer at a time. Sometimes grounding isn’t about standing still. Sometimes it’s about building something that feels like home—even if it fits the palm of your hand.

[akocomyk]

Let’s call this track The Learning Curve, represented by my 10K Milo Marathon 2025 medal.

The first fun run I ever participated in was a Milo Marathon back in college as part of our school’s delegation. Aside from being a runner, I was also assigned to cover the event as a photojournalist—mostly because I was the only available editor at the time.

From then on until I graduated, it became an annual task for me to both run and document our participation in the event.

No—this memory isn’t about me joining the Milo Marathon again after more than ten years.

Let’s fast forward to where I am now, working as a Multimedia Specialist. Out of all the skills I use at work, photography is one I’m insecure about. It has never been my forte—not even back when I was studying.

So when I was informed that we had the opportunity to attend training courses outside the company, I chose a two-day photojournalism workshop offered by the Philippine Center for Creative Imagery.

Covering events is the most common way photography shows up in my work. It asks for attentiveness more than artistry—knowing when to step back, when to move closer, when to wait before taking a shot.

The workshop was facilitated by Edwin Tuyay—a renowned photographer during the Martial Law era, known for his portraits of political figures (including the black-and-white photo of Rodrigo Duterte featured on Time Magazine’s “The Punisher” cover).

Sir Edwin didn’t dwell too much on technicalities. Since the workshop focused on photojournalism, we also had to work on writing captions—something I was already familiar with because of my journalistic background. More than capturing the right moments, we were reminded that we needed to know our subjects’ stories, and that we had a responsibility to tell those stories well.

One highlight of the workshop was a photo walk around Quiapo, Manila. With photojournalism in mind, we weren’t just tasked to take pictures—we were encouraged to talk to our subjects whenever possible, so we could gather details for our captions.

And I did just that. In my own way. The same way I used to cover events back in college—camera in hand, observing everything, absorbing details, and listening closely to what people were telling me. No notes. Just trust in memory.

After the walk, we were asked to select our best five photos and write captions for them, then present our output on the second day of the workshop.

Since most of my photos were portraits of people I interacted with in Quiapo, I decided to do a loose riff on Humans of New York—calling it Humans of Quiapo. Each portrait came with a caption telling the most interesting story I learned about the person.

During the presentation, I wasn’t sure if what I did would work. But Sir Edwin and my classmates gave positive feedback, much to my relief. One of them even said, “Moooore!”—apparently, the five photos (plus a few extras) left room for wanting more.

Walking away from that workshop, I realized that it wasn’t always about knowing the right shutter speed, aperture, or ISO. What mattered more was the desire to listen, to observe, and to help stories find their way out.

I may not have become the journalist I dreamed of when I was younger, but I’m still a vessel for people and their stories—helping them be heard through the creative means I now have.

Some tracks aren’t about speed. They exist to remind you that growth doesn’t move in straight lines.