Another One of Them Days

It’s a sobering thought, when you find yourself confused, helpless, and alone, and you realize there's no one you can turn to for help. Sure there are people you can call, and you might even reach out, but it’s the jarring awareness that there isn’t that one person who is top of mind for you to call when you’re down in the depths and struggling to make it out alive.

I’ve had these episodes before. It starts with a knot in the chest, like a vise slowly tightening, and I find myself fixed on a spot on the wall, forgetting everything else I was supposed to be doing. Then the dark thoughts invade my brain; I try my best to hold them off, but they come in waves, inundating my consciousness. And before I know it, the tears come, hot and fast, and the tightness in my chest becomes unbearable. Sometimes I feel like I’m levitating, and I’m looking down at myself, crying for no apparent reason, and I can’t help but add insult to injury—I tell myself, ‘What a wuss! What a pathetic loser who can’t keep it together, drenching your t-shirt with tears that don’t even mean anything.’ It’d be laughable if it wasn’t so tragic.

 

You’re looking for comfort; a moment’s relief from the debilitating pain inside that doesn’t even have a name.

 

That’s when you try to take control of the situation and realize that what you need is to share these feelings with someone, to direct these emotions outward and maybe find comfort in the words of a friend who will understand. I‘ve read enough about these things to know that it’s always better to let things out. I think that’s how I know that things aren’t terminal for me. Yet. There’s a tiny part of my brain that’s still trying to “handle things,” and the logical thing to do is to talk to someone about whatever it is you’re going through.

 

And that’s when it hits you. You make like the Ghostbusters and ask, ‘Who’re you gonna call?’ Yes, you do have friends, but you know they have problems of their own and you don’t want to be a burden. It’s embarrassing to bring this up to your close friends, especially since you can’t even articulate what’s happening even to yourself. You start going through your friends list and imagine the conversations you’ll have with each one. You know what they're going to say, so why bother?

 

You interrupt this little episode when you realize you have somewhere to be. You pull yourself together enough to get dressed, drive to your thing, plaster on a smile and go through the motions of behaving like a functioning human being, pretending like there’s nothing wrong. For a moment, you actually believe that you’re past the episode, and that you’re actually feeling a bit better. You finally made it through another one of these things.

 

But it’s not that simple. The chest pains start again while you’re driving back home, and a few tears escape no matter how much you try to dam your eyes. By the time you get home and plunk yourself down on the couch, you slide back into the darkness and you’re full-on bawling your eyes out again. The t-shirt you were wearing earlier hasn’t even dried and now it’s wet again.

 

This time, I’m grateful to a new friend I messaged to ask if we could meet. She had plans, and of course, I didn’t want to impose, but she suspected something was up and she called at just the right time. We have only known each other for a couple of years, which is far less than my other close friends, but I knew she was the right one to talk to because of her expertise in this area. She is not my therapist, but she knows and understands enough about these things that I felt comfortable opening up without fear of being ridiculed, shamed, or that I’m burdening her with unknowable drivel.

 

There are no easy answers, that much I also know, but opening up about the things eating me up inside was enough for now. I couldn’t hide the lump in my throat and the way my voice croaked trying to hold back the tears, but I also wasn’t actively trying to; it was a therapy session that allowed me to express myself without feeling guilty. It didn’t fully release me from the demons still swirling around in my head, but it was enough to afford me temporary relief and sanity.

 

 

 

Achieving 'Santosha' in an AirBnb in Madrid

Interviewing Liza Soberano in the streets of New York

The AirBnB I booked in Madrid was quite a ways off from the city center, but it was the only one I could find that had free parking. Thanks to the kind folks at Lexus, I had a car for the rest of my stay in Spain after the work part of my trip was done, but that meant I had to find a place that not only had all of the usual things (near restaurants and a supermarket, affordable, and highly rated), but that also had a place where I could keep the car safe. 

 

Inma’s place was just what I was looking for. The room was adjacent to the homeowner’s place, in a building that was along a tree-lined avenue. It was a studio room with a comfortable bed, a small dining set-up, a lounge chair, a fridge, and a regular toilet and bath. And, of course, parking right outside. It was just right for a solo traveler, and one who was visiting Madrid for the first time. 

My AirBnb in Madrid

With Inma, my AirBnb host in Madrid, right outside her apartment

From Inma’s place I was able to go on a drive to the ancient town of Segovia, about an hour away, and go back a couple of times to Madrid's heart to visit the Prado and the Reina Sofia Museums. Having a car definitely helped me save on transport costs, but it also caused me some minor anxieties. (Like, how do you even find parking in the city?)

 

In the evenings, though, I chose to stay in my little room, read a bit or watch a film or two on Netflix or Disney Plus. It would’ve been easy to go out and look for a party, maybe grab a few drinks with a bunch of strangers, but I realized that, without somebody goading me into getting dressed and pushing me out of the door, I just didn’t have the energy for a night out on the town. I just wanted a quiet night in and enjoy the convenience store dinner I got for myself while watching Scream VI or something. 

A trip to Marawi was a life-changing experience

With military escorts in Marawi

 

Moderating a panel at this year's BUILD Startup festival

I'm very proud to belong to this team

It was while I was in bed eating ice cream that the realization hit me: there I was halfway across the world, traveling by myself in a strange new place, comfortably watching a ridiculous slasher flick on a laptop with my tummy full and waiting for the sandman to summon me to dreamland. Except for a couple of minor things, everything in my life up to that point felt exactly “in place.” Like the choices I made along the way paid off and I caught myself in a moment where things were exactly where they should be. Now I understood what Michael Grates (Ben Stiller) was talking about with Lelaina Pierce (Winona Ryder) in Reality Bites, when they went on their first date and they were hanging out in the back of his BMW convertible listening to Frampton Comes Alive!

 

The thought scared me a little bit. I wasn’t used to that feeling, when nearly every aspect of my life was working out and I literally couldn’t think of anything else that would make things better. And of course, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something big and bad was waiting in the shadows, just waiting to announce itself and ruin everything.

Walking around Las Vegas

Running around Cartagena, Spain

Walking around some more in Mumbai, India

Living in a place like the Philippines, where complaining is almost like a national pastime, it’s difficult to truly feel contented—about your own situation, and the one people around you find themselves in. Sometimes the issue is legitimate, like you’re hungry and you don’t know where your next meal is coming from, or you’re exhausted from the commute to and from work you literally don’t have time for anything else but sleep and wake up to do it all over again the next day. Or you discover a lump in your chest or the back of your neck that seems just little bit bigger than it was the last time you felt it a week ago. 

 

Sometimes it’s a little less serious; a nagging feeling that something just isn’t right. Like when you leave the house and just know you forgot to turn off the light or the fan in your room. Or you suddenly remember an argument with a classmate or co-worker from years ago and you just thought of the perfect retort. Or you’re thinking about the report you need to work on or that meeting with your boss tomorrow.  

Meeting Chris Carabba was a big check mark in my career bucket list

Chatting with Bruno Major was also nice

It was my fourth time to watch Damien Rice perform live

 

It could be a million other things that’s causing you actual sleepless nights. But when things align, and you unexpectedly find yourself comfortable, satisfied, and at peace—with the people around you, the stuff you have, and yourself—it’s worth celebrating, or, at the very least, acknowledging, particularly for someone who’s lived most of his life perpetually encumbered by various forms of anxieties. 

 

My desire to immerse myself fully in this unfamiliar state led me to learn about the word santosha, which is the Sanskrit word for satisfaction or contentment. Essentially, santosha is “the observed ‘serenity,’ of being ‘totally satisfied, not desiring anything other than the fundamental.’” Other definitions of the word (according to Wikipedia) include: 

 

- the state of neither taking too much nor taking less than what one needs, one of contended optimism.

 

- the habit of being able to accept circumstances one finds self in, without being upset, of accepting oneself, and of equanimity with others who are balancing their own needs as they share what they have.

 

- in cases the environment is one where one is forced to listen to a painful speech or someone's anger, Santosha is the serenity of accepting it completely as an instructive and constructive message, understanding the other, then detaching oneself and patiently seeking reform and change in one's environment.

Hong Kong is always fun

I was happy to have made it to Austin for the first time

Iced coffee cheers to Tokyo's Shibuya crossing

This particular quote, from this yoga site, resonates with me: “Santosha or ‘contentment’ doesn’t mean idly sitting back and relinquishing the need to do anything. It simply means accepting and appreciating what we have and what we are already, and moving forwards from there.”

 

This year, I was reminded of the age-old lesson that what life reflects back to us is often heavily dependent on our own perspective and what we put out there ourselves. When we zero in on the problems and the things that go wrong and we allow ourselves to believe that we’re engulfed by nothing but crises and difficulties, that’s exactly the environment we find ourselves in. Conversely, focusing on the good things we have—family, friends, the basics of living a comfortable life, and a sense of purpose—we start realizing just how good we have it. Santosha.

Posing beside the Maserati GranTurismo at the Asia Pacific launch in Tokyo

I highly recommend going on a sunset cruise in San Francisco Bay

Touristy but also fun: a boat trip along the canals of Bruges, Belgium

 

Of course, I realize that, for the people living hand-to-mouth and those facing struggles too consequential for some of us to comprehend, it’s not as simple as shifting perspectives. Some realities are too great to brush aside or cover up with imagined advantages. But for the rest of us blessed with privilege, I say it’s good practice to actively remind ourselves of the things that make life the amazing, wonderful thing that it is, and to recognize and appreciate it whenever we get the chance. 

I don’t think it’s about sweeping things—inconveniences, unfortunate situations, unexpected disturbances—under the rug or the outright denial of the existence of these mishaps as much as it’s about accepting that these things happen and that it’s up to us how we respond to them. Ultimately, that will determine where we’re headed and whether we can achieve santosha, or catch ourselves in even the briefest moment of absolute contentment and joy.

 

Chatting with my friend Tanya

My PPFriends getting bored while waiting to board a flight

Here we are. not bored, finally enjoying a real, much-deserved vacation

Hanging out at Tanya's place is always fun

Just a quick hop and skip in the snow

As for me, that little moment I had in my AirBnB in Madrid didn’t last for very long. Almost immediately, my brain was overcome with things I had to think about, like work stuff that needed to get done, the long trip back home I had ahead of me (that included returning the car, getting to the airport in time, souvenir shopping), and the beginnings of a stomach acid attack. The pocket of santosha I had was gone, just like that. 

But I was okay with that. My thinking was: I'm grateful I had it, however brief it was. It was one of those don’t-be-sad-it’s-over-be-happy-it-happened moments. I look forward to the next time I experience an epiphany like that. And, at the very least, I thought to myself, I had something to write about in my end-of-year birthday essay.  

Just me and my girl Abby

 

Editor’s Note

Summiting Mt. Sinai in Egypt

I wanted to be a writer since I was 10 years old. I know this because that’s the age I started keeping a journal. I still have those old notebooks somewhere, but I shudder to think what I was writing about back then. (Probably something painfully mundane like what happened at school that day or my latest altercation with one of my siblings).

 

I remember being part of the editorial team of my grade school paper, and then again in high school. Some people have asked if I wrote for the Collegian in university, and the answer is no, I didn’t, and I don’t know why. But I do remember co-writing the banner story for the paper we produced for our Journ 104 class (Newswriting or Newspaper Production, or something like that). It was about the CPDP, or the Commonwealth Property Development Project, which was a hot topic that many students were railing against at the time. ‘Prayer or Presidentiable Only Ways to Stop CPDP,’ UP President Says was the headline. I also wrote a couple of feature stories inside.

Taking Abby for a weekend stroll

 

After university my first job was in advertising because a friend at the time convinced me to join her as she sent in applications to all the big agencies. I got hired before she did, which I felt surfaced feelings of resentment because she was the one who so badly wanted to get a job in that industry in the first place. It was a short stint for me though; I knew next to nothing about advertising (even though it was part of the curriculum in school) and I worked as a junior media planner that involved a lot of numbers and Excel sheets, which I knew even less about. I was outta there in less than a year.

 

I kicked around and did a few odd jobs for a few months—writer for a PR agency, PA for a TV show on a UHF channel, and even a collections agent for a multinational bank (haha)—before landing a job doing grunt work in the news department of a giant TV network. Even then I continued to find outlets for my desire to write. I submitted an unsolicited essay to an editor of the country’s top music magazine and asked if I could contribute; she took a chance on me and said yes. In between extended shifts at work I found time to write CD reviews, attend gigs, and interview local music acts. I also started a blog, which I updated quite regularly with a more grown-up version of those notebook journals from when I was a kid.

I think I made five trips to Boracay this year

Took me a few months to finish this book

I stayed at the network for six years but I knew it wasn’t where I wanted to be, and the job wasn’t the thing I wanted to be doing for the rest of my days. I went through a phase where I imagined myself working in the foreign service and even briefly considered going back to school to study International Relations. And so I quit to work as a staff member of a foreign embassy in Manila. I had a great boss and met some nice people, and the pay was actually pretty decent, but again, the job itself just wasn’t for me.

 

I heard about an opening for an editor for a magazine and decided to try my luck, submitting as sample articles mostly the stuff I wrote for the music title. The salary was less than half of what I was getting at the embassy, but I took the plunge anyway because, finally, I felt this was the job where the thing I wanted to do and the thing that I felt I was actually good at, finally converged. It was never about the money (although having it certainly made things a lot easier).

One of my favorite stories that I did this year was when I visited this religious colony in Cebu

A few months later, I was back in Cebu and did a story on the vendors of the hundred-year-old Carbon Market, who claim they were being displaced by the redevelopment project

I stayed in the company for eight years; the first two with a men’s title, and the last six for a luxury and society magazine. In 2015, the opportunity to work for the local franchise of an international business title—which was under a competing publishing company—presented itself, and, although I felt rather safe and contented in my cushy old job, I decided to shake things up one more time.

 

At Forbes Philippines I worked under one of the industry’s best and was surrounded by colleagues who were no slouches themselves (we’re talking award-winning journalists). More than the prestige of being part of the pioneering team of a globally recognized title, it was learning firsthand from industry heavyweights that I appreciated most about that initial foray into slightly unfamiliar territory. Too bad the magazine lasted only a couple of years. But my boss recruited me to be part of a new team that would run Entrepreneur Philippines, and I accepted, if only for the privilege of working with and learning from him even more.

In Bohol, I met Mang Nestor, who is one of the last makers of asin tibuok in the island

Also in Bohol, I met Cid, who runs a blademaking enterprise

 

I interviewed Atom Araullo for this year's Man at His Best awards

But the target has always been Esquire. And given my professional trajectory up until this point, you’d understand why I felt that it made sense that I would end up here. The path may not have been a straight line, but, on hindsight, I’m grateful for all those detours because every single one prepared me for where I am now.

 

To me, Esquire has always been about smart, relevant, and insightful content that actually adds something to your life instead of simply stealing your time. It’s a platform that reflects the interests of a person—man, woman, and everything in between—who is always striving to become better versions of themselves. Heck, this is a magazine that has published works by giants of modern-day literature—Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Carver, Truman Capote, and Stephen King. Naturally, when the magazine made its debut locally, it provided space for the words of our own literary royalty—writers like Butch Dalisay, Krip Yuson, Jessica Zafra, Sarge Lacuesta, and many others.

Vietnam was my first overseas trip after the pandemic

A few weeks later, I found myself going for the first time to New Delhi, India

And one week later, I was walking the streets of Manama, Bahrain

 

I do not claim to be at the level of these distinguished men and women of letters, nor do I fancy myself as some maverick out to change the course of a title that has existed since before World War 2. But I do feel I bring something to this gigantic potluck dinner that so many others have brought appetizing flavors to over the years—a thoughtfulness and sensibility shaped by years in attendant industries, professions, and publications. Everything I studied in school and every job I had before this were all just a rehearsal for the main event. You can say I spent my whole life getting ready for this job and I can only hope I don’t mess it up.

 

To be EIC of a publication today isn’t what it used to be. And, certainly, being EIC of a digital publication isn’t the same as that of a print title. The job description covers much more than developing a content strategy and seeing it through to execution; the basics are there, for sure, but it’s simultaneously much more wide-ranging and nuanced, covering aspects that vary wildly from what an EIC had to deal with 10 or 20 years ago. You don’t need me to tell you how much the landscape of media and the consumption habits of audiences and consumers have changed in the last decade or so, and those pose a different set of challenges—and opportunities—for existing platforms like Esquire. It’s tough but exciting work, and while some days are more stressful than others, the fact that every day is a little bit different than the last  (sometimes a lot different) is reason enough to be grateful. (That I work with a pretty stellar team that could hold their own with some of the best in the business is a very welcome bonus).

Egypt was the trip of a lifetime

And going there with friends made it all the more special

 

Naturally, I acknowledge the furrowed brows and surreptitious stares from those who might question my credentials and scoff at my perceived abilities. But I’d like to think the days of second-guessing myself and crippling impostor syndrome are behind me; or, at least, I’ve brought those down to manageable levels. Besides, if the powers-that-be believe I’ve earned the honor, then that’s all the approval I need. I’ll let my work speak for itself.

That said, I do acknowledge that I stand on the shoulders of the great men and women who have come before me as stewards of this venerable publication and am grateful for the opportunity to take it further. I understand the gravity of this position and not for a second do I take it for granted. My team and I intend to tell more stories that go beyond the painfully mundane and will strive to offer deeper, more meaningful insights on issues that affect Filipinos in the world we live in today. In this iteration of the magazine, the focus is on meaningful storytelling: hopefully the kind that can inspire others to take pen to paper (or fingertips to keyboard), just like I did all those years ago.

 

There’s more to come from Esquire Philippines and I hope you join us for the ride. 

 

Here's to the year ahead

PJ Caña

Editor-in-chief

Esquire Philippines

27 December 2022