What are we willing to do for our planet? Well, for starters, we’re willing to play in the dark.

Sharing our Lego-building hour for Earth Hour 2012!

My first Lego inspired by 1 of the Top 3′s on my Travel list: Alexandria

As some of you may know, one of my best girls is the Communications Officer for World Wildlife Fund Philippines, and one of her biggest projects since she started working for them is this year’s Earth Hour. This is why it was extra special for her and for all of us who love and admire the fruits of her labor!

It was imperative that we support the cause, but not only because we know someone directly involved in it, but also because we completely believe in leading sustainable lifestyles. Our imaginations are not big enough to conceive a world that can no longer sustain our children’s children—much more, our grandchildren’s children. So we always try to remind ourselves and those around us that the little we can do now, may not be so little after all.

Earth Hour Across the Globe

Earth Hour is a worldwide event celebrated annually on the last day of March. Its goal is to raise awareness on climate change by turning off non-essential lights for an hour. This year on March 31st, two hours before Earth Hour found us having dinner, still contemplating what we can do to participate in the event. Living in our part of the world meant that 8:30PM still wasn’t dark enough to sit on top of a hill to watch the city switch off. That was cute and romantic, but deep in my heart, I didn’t think it was a great idea.

I didn’t want to be disappointed just in case awareness was lacking in our city—eagerly expecting my Calgary to switch off—especially since I felt there was not enough fanfare in the city for its massive support. I was going to participate nevertheless, and I’m lucky to have a boyfriend who agrees that the causes I support are also worth supporting. Saves him the hassle of a heated debate, maybe? But still glad he indulges these little passions of mine!

Less than an hour before Earth Hour, on comes my Eureka! moment. We could build Lego in the dark. Why not? We love Lego anyway. It will be a good excuse to play with our kiddie toys, not that we really need an excuse to do so. So off to Walmart we went.

Rushing home we grabbed some candles and set up our Legos, and had our simple but special switch off in the basement. Little but still meaningful.

It wasn’t too long before I realized it wasn’t such a brilliant idea. It was already tough for me to perceive colours in the dark, and I have perfect vision! But my four-eyed partner in Lego-building did not utter a single word of grievance—so I felt worse, but was very much grateful that he seemed happy to be sharing this experience with me. Migraine or no migraine.

It made both of us very aware of how much we depended on light, much more electricity. It was second nature to hit the lights when we were trying to locate a missing piece or trying to see which colour is which, but surrounded by so many candles we reminded ourselves that for sixty minutes, we had to make do with our candlelight. It is sometimes too easy to take what we have so easily and so much of all for granted.

Here are our masterpieces, products of Earth Hour 2012:

His

 Hers

Now that you’ve turned off your lights and played in the dark, what else are you willing to do for the planet?

Congratulating Sophia Dedace for a very successful super project! Here’s to more amazing care bear programs to come!

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I don’t watch a lot of concerts. You can tell because I refer to them as something “watched,” not “gone to” or “seen.” Because I consider them as luxury, concerts are on a must-see basis: saved for only the best and the brightest. You know? Incubus, Philharmonic Orchestra, Backstreet Boys? Okay, we can deny all we want—but we know that at some point in our life, we all thought they were the coolest and the cutest. Yes, I’m talking to you, kids of the 80s and the 90s.

Here’s a band we can never be embarrassed about.

When I first moved to Canada in 2009, Coldplay had a one night concert in Calgary. Suddenly in the centre of North America, there was the realization that I now had greater access to “foreign” bands—and we all know what happens when things are too accessible. Our chances of taking things for granted increase exponentially. So I let the moment of purchasing a ticket pass, until the night of the concert came and I was stuck at work with no scalper for my salvation, while everybody was enjoying life in technicolor.

When I missed them again last year, there was no chance in heaven I was going to miss them for the third time. So almost half a year ago I already had it on my calendar complete with a reminder alarm: Buy Coldplay tickets. 10AM sharp. Third time’s a charm!

I’m not sure what time tickets started selling, but whatever it was, I had it down. For some reason on the day itself my sister and I found ourselves on the road, en route to our Saturday classes, with my mobile phone having great difficulty purchasing tickets. Three hours later, when Ticketmaster seemed to be working again, the seats we got were the best seats left. As you can tell, they’re so far from up close and personal. Our eardrums were put to the test, but I bet they too thought it was all worth it!

Five seconds in, when Mylo Xyloto started prepping the crowd for the party of the night, I felt so many emotions all at once. Was I excited? Happy? Amazed? I felt like screaming and crying at the same time. Or perhaps, that was exactly what I was doing, in between trying to sing and taking all of it in. It was so surreal to hear them live! The talent, the energy—both so palpable and magnetic. You have to be insane not to realize what great performers they really are.

It’s the kind of happy that doesn’t need a lot of words, but does well with a lot of singing. They played the classics: Yellow, The Scientist, Fix You, God Put A Smile Upon Your Face as well as the predictable: Viva La Vida, Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall, Paradise. But I’d have to say Us Against the World was my concert favourite.

It’s so close to the way they sang it at last year’s Glastonbury Festival, and for all of you wishing and hoping to see them sometime soon, here’s a quick preview:

Word of advice: see them with someone you love! Happy to have shared this with my sister Isabelle. As a super Beatles fan, all I ended up saying at the end of the night was that there’s really something so terribly wonderful about the British and the #4. 

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As part of my Holy Week reflection, I wanted to share my biggest weakness with all of you–especially since I have a feeling many will be able to relate with it and who knows? Maybe we can overcome it together. A weakness shared is a weakness weakened, don’t you think?

If you’re guessing sweets, food or a 70% off sale at Zara and Pottery Barn–I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. Those were a close second and a close second and a half though–and in the spirit of being real, I must admit I’m currently a slave–for you? Nah! But to nothing other than well-done scallops in Dijon cream sauce. Ooh la la, mamma Mia! I seem to understand Adele more deeply each time I have it. My hands, they’re strong, but my knees are far too weak!

Before I elaborate unstoppably about my love for seafood, let me clarify what I’m trying to achieve here.

Real Over Perfection

I firmly believe we bring more people closer to God by being real than by being perfect, because real is infinitely more relatable, and perfection, not so much.

What’s real?

To me, real is very simple. It’s heartbreakingly honest and gut-wrenchingly sincere–without being rude, insensitive or judgmental. Real can be respectful and this, my dear friends, is the kind I’m drawn to. What you see is still what you get, but not in an in-your-face, allow-me-to-step-all-over-you, insert-profanity-here type of way. It doesn’t have to put others down to bring itself up.

So in no way am I advocating that we should air out our dirty laundry for the world to smell and see. Decency and privacy are values I believe in, and nine times out of ten, I’m not wont to post my personal problems online. I haven’t done that since I was 16. Maybe 18. Okay, maybe 23?

What real isn’t

Kidding aside, it’s great to be true to ourselves and to others all the time, but being real also doesn’t give us an excuse to act like infants nor does it give us the right to treat anyone poorly, regardless of how poorly we are treated in return.

Thank you to Melo A. for sharing this photo.

The Big One

My biggest weakness is rejection. When I can’t understand the reasons for it and especially if I personally would never do it to anyone else, I have a very difficult time letting it go. I strain myself trying to understand what I had done wrong and then kill myself racking my brain for what I could do to make things better: what else, what more, what now.

Although I’m only deeply affected by rejection when I am rejected by those I really care about, I’m afraid my people pleaser days are not over. I seem to think it’s purely up to me–to keep at it, to push, to persevere in improving circumstances–almost out of a sense of responsibility, because that is the Christian thing to do. It’s almost like I forget that it’s also Christian to let things go.

The funny thing about my big weakness is how closely related it is to perfection. At its heart is the desire to control, the belief that everything can be made right by holding on to the reins.

And this is why I decided it would be a great exercise for me to come clean and loosen my grip just a little bit–or maybe, as honesty makes us ultra vulnerable–maybe it’s loosened a lot. I have always said that I am far more attracted to those who can be true, even if what’s true is embarrassing, or even if it hurts. I thought I’ll try to do the same.

I am slowly making peace with the brutal fact that we can’t always make sense of everything that happens to us. And my friend AA can’t have put it any better: We have to learn to be okay with that. We can ask, beg, and cry, but we would be better off accepting that not everything will have a logical explanation.

I read this Lao Tzu proverb on ate Kaka’s wall and I think it sums it all up: By letting it go it all gets done. The world is won by those who let it go. But when you try and try. The world is beyond winning.

Everybody Hurts

I imagine Jesus couldn’t have earned much respect if he mingled exclusively with the who’s who of society–the richest, strongest, brightest and holiest–those who always knew what to say but rarely translated into “what to do,” those who prioritized sacrifice over mercy, and even those who wholly believed they were beyond error and wrongdoing. No. He must have gained followers because He wined and dined with the scorned, misunderstood, ridiculed and left out–earning the trust and admiration of many, even outside Christianity–because he was real and because he embraced those who were real.

Remember the great Gandhi saying “If all Christians acted like Christ, the whole world would be Christian.”?

Perhaps this is why–while I absolutely love sharing the things that put a stupid smile on my face: the victories and joys that are so easy to be proud of–I also don’t mind sharing the things that break me: those that make me curl up and cry, keep me up all night, and ultimately move me to grow.

Let me challenge you to do the same. There are so many things we can be embarrassed about in our lifetime, but struggling with weaknesses isn’t one of them. Mercy over sacrifice, and it all starts with being kinder to ourselves.

Real people make mistakes, get hurt, get sad, get sick. If machines have down time, if gadgets and gizmos can overheat, get overrun by viruses and crash, why do we expect ourselves to run on 100% 24/7?

Think of the strongest person you know. Think of the nicest person you know. What did Howie Day say again? You know you know it. Even the best fall down sometimes. And what was R.E.M. singing about? Everybody hurts.

Who can better empathize with the hurting than the hurt? Who can better reach out to real people than those who are real? The next time you’re wondering if you should only show your shining side to those around you, remember how you can transform your pain into someone else’s gain. They often say only hurt people can hurt people. Let me start something new: hurt people can help hurt people.

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What’s the single best thing you can do for your health? Get physical! Here’s a short video that may help convince you. And because it’s so much better to teach by example, also sharing my workouts of choice, and why I vouch for them.

But before that, do check out this cool animation. Canadian doctor & professor Mike Evans uses Youtube to prevent future patients from coming in to his clinic. Please watch if you love the people who love you and would want to grow older with them!

P.S. RSA Animate rocks!

That’s it! That’s the answer: half an hour of physical activity improves our quality of life. Simple enough, right? What makes it even better is if those minutes are spent on physical activities we can actually enjoy.

Here are some of my favourites:

BodyPump – A weights-based fitness class created by Les Mills International, Pump has ruled my exercise list for three years now. You’re probably thinking, “Weights? Are you kidding me? I have no intention of becoming a bodybuilder. I like my feminine body!” I like my feminine body too–it’s great to be a girl–and I too don’t fancy myself Ms. Olympia, but what I love is the way it tones. Take one good look at Julie Bowen and you’ll know what I mean.

How about all this Pringle talk saying once you pop, you can’t stop? I’m sorry but I believe it is true. I inadvertently started lifting weights when I was 17, back in university, and only because I was running out of classes to choose from and weights class didn’t seem like a big deal. From there I moved on to join the rowing team, and lifting weights was just part of the warm-up routine. Let me tell you: those years were the years my calves saw their prime. Let’s just say it’s been taking a while to get them back to that ultra-toned point.

Just remember you don’t have to go all out and be the Terminator.

Running – It’s impossible to overrate the runner’s high: it’s truly one of the best feelings in the world! In no way am I a hardcore runner, but for everyone who feels it’s too daunting to run, the advice “pace yourself” is ever useful. Walk, walk briskly, jog, jog briskly, run. This year, as inspired by my marathon-running friend Jon-D Crisol, I’m taking on the New York City Marathon. Ah yes, the greatest perk of not being well-endowed, is that it’s so much easier to run! Yes, I said it. Love your natural beauty, people.

Soccer & Snowboarding

Soccer for the warmth

I didn’t ask for my team’s permission to post their photos, so please try to ignore the photo on the left. But if I can say anything about them and the game, it’s that I dearly love them both! I’m the baby of the team, the one who kept wasting opportunities to score, the one who runs so hard and converts so little, but never in the 8 months that I played with them did they make me feel like I didn’t belong. I always looked forward to soccer Sundays and Tuesdays, and loved soccer even more! I’m sad I wouldn’t be able to play with them in the Spring, but hopefully they’ll still have me when I get back. (This is hinting to anyone part of the team who might chance upon this blog. Hi! *wink*)

Riding for the cold

Okay, here’s what North Americans have to understand. For someone who grew up in the tropics, snow—because we only ever get sunshine and rain—is a pretty big deal. As much as everyone’s so used to skiing and riding on this side of the planet, our side of the planet is used to the exact opposite: the water. Making the big jump from being surrounded by water to being surrounded by mountains, I knew from the start that moving to Calgary meant that I had the chance to make the mountains my very own playground. I couldn’t have lived in Canada and not tried winter sports. It just wouldn’t be right, similar to living by the water and never setting foot on the beach. It would just be a shame. So I did, and I love it.

Hello world, meet the public debut of Matt, my blue-eyed man, with whom I share my snowboarding fascination. We’ve been trying to better our skills more and more, and hoping friends and family who are veterans at the sport can take us on their trips soon enough.

Here’s a trailer for the film “The Art of Flight” with pro-snowboarder Travis Rice. Get a glimpse of what we’re currently passionate about.

I hope this has slightly convinced anyone who’s ever had doubts about the pros of being physically active to begin. Who needs drug-induced highs when you can get endorphins for free?

So, can you limit your sitting and sleeping to just 23 1/2 hours a day?

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A lot of experiences make me cry. Heck, a lot of people have made me cry. Okay, nothing and nobody can make you feel anything without your consent, but for the purposes of this entry, I have cried plenty a waterfall because of persons and events, but rarely because of things.

If you find me staring at the sky with my mouth wide or slightly open and notice a tear or two climbing out of the corners of my eye, I’m not seeing “the light.” Nine times out of ten, I’m simply watching a plane take off, land, or fly by. Yes, planes can have that effect.

I think they’re one of the most beautiful things created by the human race, and are they pretty symbolic! Taking away, bridging gaps, bringing back. Remove the symbolisms–they’re still a sight to behold. How elegant, how powerful, how beautiful! Are you an aircraft snob? I would love to meet you. I’ve never met anyone who can brush off an airplane as “Dude, that’s so retro. Get over it.” It’s simply one of those things guaranteed to make me choke and go, “Wow.” I know I’m not the only one.

To celebrate my love for these mighty planes as well as International Women’s Day, I’d like to introduce you to the newest addition to the Discovery family and the newest and only lady pilot in my life, Kelloggs Tioseco.

I’m not sure where the aviation fascination lies exactly, but I do know it runs deep. I’ve been extremely obsessed with a documentary TV program called “Mayday,” that I insist on taking notes while watching every episode—racking my brain for a way out of a crashing airplane.

I haven’t found a workable solution, so I’ve just been throwing random trivia to anyone who has ears.

“Hey, so, do you want to know what a fuselage is?”

“Did you know that black boxes are orange?”

“Would you like me to enumerate reasons as to why ice is very deadly for an airplane? Yes? No? Well, I’ll tell you anyway because it just might save your life. You see, when ice accumulates on an airplane, it will have increased drag, increased weight, and decreased lift. So make sure you ask the powers that be inside the cockpit to de-ice.”

A sneak peak into more of my notes:

If you love “Mayday” (also called “Air Crash Investigations” in the UK, Australia and Asia and “Air Disasters/Emergencies” in the US) the way I do, then you’ll love “Mighty Planes.” A Canadian original just like “Mayday,” “Mighty Planes” is a spin-off of the series “Mighty Ships,” and premiered barely a week ago. The premise is as it sounds. They feature amazing planes that go on extraordinary missions to faraway lands. So far they’ve aired two episodes: one about “Orbis,” the world’s one and only flying eye hospital that services developing countries and another about “Martin Mars,” the world’s biggest seaplane that helped put out the biggest fire Northern Mexico has seen in a century.

Soon I’ll have more trivia for my unsuspecting airplane seatmates. They’re lucky if I let them nap.

Many have wondered why—if I’m so interested in airplanes—I haven’t considered going to flight school. Not that it’s never been considered—20/20 vision has its perks—it’s just not what I believe I’m called to do. But I do know someone who is called to do exactly just that: FLY!

Thank you to Kelloggs for allowing me to steal your photos! She didn’t know what I was stealing them for, but she let me anyway. Surprise!!!!

Meet Kelloggs Tioseco, a former blockmate of mine back in Ateneo. She is one of the sweetest, cutest, least vain, most guileless I know (Perfect for the name Kelloggs!) that people couldn’t believe she wanted to be a pilot. She just didn’t seem to fit the serious, straight-faced stereotype, being one of the bubbliest and jolliest girls in school.

It’s been four years since we graduated from university, and this year, after how many hundreds or thousands (must confirm with her) of flight hours, she did make her dream a reality. Still bubbly, still simple, still very much herself, but now a legitimate, licensed, instrument rated commercial pilot.

It was difficult not to tell people about her. “One of the sweetest girls I know has become a pilot!” I was so happy and so proud of this girl, I even concocted her future children in my head, saying things like, “Kelloggs’ man is also a pilot. How cool would it be to be one of their kids and say, ‘Yeah, my parents are both pilots.’” Those kids are instantly the most badass kids on the block.

It always warms my heart to see people succeed, no matter what gets in their way. Parang pakiramdam ko successful na rin ako? Ano ‘yun? Successful by association?

I will always be a fan of those who remain true to themselves while chasing after their dream, and especially once they finally make all of it come true.

Congratulations again, Kelly! I can’t wait to fly on one of your flights. Thanks for proving the sky’s the limit!

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Let’s face it: Greece has enough bad going for it. The second bailout in less than two years, anti-austerity strikes that have thousands of Greeks pulling hair and gnashing teeth, and an impending default looming above their Hellenic heads—there’s no question they can use a break.

And because it’s been half a year since I went on my solitary Greek adventure, I figured there’s no better time to give them the good publicity they so terribly need, and I—believe it or not—so willingly extend.

Dreaming of Homer, Socrates, and your everyday Papasparta? The souvlakis, moussakas, gyros and baklavas?

Sharing some of the things I learned on my Greek adventure and answering some of the most common questions I got asked upon my return.

Question # 1: Why would you go alone?

Actually, I never got asked this question, but since it was the first one I had to ask myself prior to planning, I thought it was very strange that no one else did.

Perhaps those who know me well know nothing is too insane for their mental girl—quoting my exasperated mother, “You are too adventurous for your own good,” and those who don’t know me well enough look at me and think, “Ah, dude, you can tell, she’s a total dorky loner.”

I take no offense at both opinions—after all, why would a sane, tiny girl go all on her own—to a country whose language she doesn’t speak and where not only does she not know anyone, but where civil unrest is imminent?

You may think it’s wonderfully awesome or you may think it’s freakishly demented. And because I’m borderline amazing and borderline insane, it was simply perfect for me.

Why not go alone?

Don’t get me wrong, there are places I would rather visit with someone else: the whole Italian peninsula to name one. (Saving that for my honeymoon, folks!) But I also believe life is too short not to conquer our fears and dreams when we still can. So—to Greece I went.

Question # 2: Was it expensive?

Even with all humility aside, the answer is no. Granted, I was flying from Madrid, and I found a very inexpensive flight departing from Spain. (How cheap? $125 cheap!) But the homework had to be done, and the booking had to be timed perfectly. Too early or too late can both have me paying a lot, so I had to watch the trend carefully. Painstaking hours spent checking and re-checking flight schedules: it was madness, but absolutely worth it.

Another reason why it was inexpensive was because I had chosen a simple B&B over a plush hotel. My gut and common sense told me that as a solo girl traveler especially in the bustling city of Athens, the closer I am to the locals, the safer I will be. So instead of booking hotel accommodations, I went through my trusted Airbnb instead. I looked for one that suit my needs best—proximity to public transit and wi-fi were a must—and found the one with the most raves and zero naysayers. Zero, I tell you.

In Santorini I stayed at this simple hotel located in the town of Mesaria. Oia (say “Eeeyah”) is the popular choice among tourists, but for an introductory visit, Mesaria was all I needed. You could easily drive from one town to the next on a rental moped or ATV anyway. (i.e. The drive from Mesaria to Oia didn’t take longer than half an hour.)

For backpackers and flashpackers alike:

Athens:
Check out Eleni Matsa’s place via Airbnb. Eleni’s flat is spacious, clean, and felt so much like home! She lets you use the kitchen, the washer and dryer, living room—you’ll have everything you need.

Eleni was a true lifesaver. She gave me very detailed instructions on how to get to her place from the airport—by cab, bus or train—recommending which one was best. (Bus!) She also bought my round-trip Athens to Santorini ferry ticket for me, because I didn’t want to take my chances on the website as I couldn’t read Greek. She even graciously paid the fees for the processing of my travel document because of a myriad of outdated guidelines preventing from having any other choice other than having a Greek bank account wire transfer money. (See story here.) I was so maxed out because I paid for brand new highway robbery ticket and only got to pay her back when I was back in Canada, and she was perfectly alright with that. She was, in a million ways, a lifesaver without a doubt.

Address: Mamouri, Athens, Attica 10439, Greece

Santorini:
Check out Kalisperis Hotel. Michael Lignos is the owner, and what an amazing place he runs! Everything was neat and clean, and they even offer complimentary pick-up from the port to the hotel and back. All you need to do is e-mail him your ETA and ETD and they’ll be right there. He even recommended spots to look at around the island, when to go and where to get a rental vehicle.

Address: Vothonas Mesaria, 84 700, Greece

If I were to come for another visit, I would stay in both places again in a heartbeat!

Question # 3: Now that you’ve done it, do you recommend traveling to Greece on your own?

Absolutely; although I wouldn’t do it again.

I stamped this decision final when I was driving through the cliffs of Santorini. I was riding the ATV I had rented during my stay on the island, driving carefully from Oia back to Mesaria, where my hotel was.

ATVs, or quads as they are called on this side of the planet, are street-legal in Santorini, which was an experience in itself. I was driving alongside buses, trucks, vans, cars, dirt bikes—I found locals were particularly impatient with ATV-riding folks like me. I was just another one of the thousands of tourists discovering their island on this vehicle that wasn’t really a vehicle, and they weren’t too pleased.

I can’t speak for the other tourists, but man, I’ve never driven an ATV through Manila-like streets before—and as I value my life even though it may not be apparent that I do—I was going to drive reasonably, whether you honked that horn at me or not.

It was a thrill driving from one end of the island to the other on this yellow submarine of mine. All I had to do was read a map, drive, beach-hop, sight-see—anyone can get used to that real islander feeling. It was nearly very reggae; all I needed were puka shells.

But through the steep cliffs of this beautiful island, I was going to take my time. I usually try to put up a very brave front; after all, I lived for thrills like these. But this drive surely put my bravery to the test. I was driving carefully when a white pick-up truck behind me unrelentingly honked the horn at me. It made me jerk to my right, which was not a good thing, because the freaking—beautiful but freaking—cliffside was on my right. I could plummet to my death, so I was naturally upset. I pulled over on my left and—not one of my proudest moments, but here you go—called him a lovely butt hole.

This is when you realize that it doesn’t matter if, even theoretically, these Greeks can’t understand the simplest of English sentences, (Because actually they speak more English than the Spanish). but asshole—as a general rule—is a universally-understood word.

He pulled over, got out of his truck, walked over to my ATV, and slapped me in the face. Slapped me in the face! I could not believe it. What full-grown man decides it’s a wonderful idea to hit a foreign girl? (Well, then again, what foreign girl decides it’s a brilliant idea to drop the A bomb on a total stranger?)

I was shocked still, so red, and was on the verge of crying. I had no one: nobody to defend me, nobody to curl up to, nobody to tell me it was going to be okay. I was 10,000 km from home, in the middle of an unfair mess over my travel documents, and for a split second, I thought I was going to fall through the cracks and lose my grip on sanity. A man who was driving a van behind the truck pulled over and looked at me. I shot him with a “What the hell was that?” look on my face, and he looked back and said “I’m sorry. He must be insane.”

In the next second I decided my happiness was my choice, and without crying any tears, I started the engine and continued to drive to my destination. It was pure adrenaline that kept me going. There was nothing to protect me from the elements, other vehicles, a bad fall—but somehow I knew that because I pushed forward, I was going to be okay.

Don’t let this scare you. This Greek adventure is truly one of the best experiences of my life. I believe that everybody can use time and space to themselves—if only to discover parts of themselves just a little better. One hour, one day, one week, one month, across the road, across the city, across the ocean, across the world—it doesn’t matter.

I found that there are things you’ll only discover about yourself when you’ve got no one else to depend on. You’ll trust your instincts more, listen to your needs better, and the choices you make when you’re by yourself can be surprisingly different when you’re with someone else. Somehow I believe they are more real, in the honest to goodness I’m-choosing-for-myself-and-no-one-else type of way.

I love all adventures—the odder, the better, but adventure or not, I’ve never equated being alone with being lonely.

My only tip for solo traveling: Pace yourself.

If you’d rather leap before you look, my hat’s off to you, but I personally like to test the waters. I started with a few hours in Shanghai and Beijing, to weekend trips to Vancouver, to a day trip in Liverpool, and then moved on to the full-on 10-day one-country experience. I can’t help but wonder what solo trip I’ll go on next, but I think the solo traveling will take a break.

Question # 4: So after everything you’ve experienced, would you say you like the Greeks?

It was interesting to learn that while everybody loves Greece, not everyone loves the Greeks. My verdict: save for that man who hit me—hands down—the Greeks will always have a truly special place in my heart.

Eleni and Mike were just two of the warmest Greeks I met on my trip. There were too many of them to count.

Perhaps I looked like I can’t afford anything, because I kept getting freebies everywhere! I got a free souvenir, which I ended up breaking, but I received another one at another place which replaced it (I was only asking them for a glue gun so I can put it back together.), free wine, free entrances—I could have easily named this trip Freebreek, what with the generosity of those I met.

Okay, I don’t only love the Greeks because they kept giving me free stuff, which I couldn’t care less about. It was nice to be pampered, but I absolutely admired their warm hearts.

Everybody knows the country’s having a rough time and money especially is hard to come by. It warmed my heart to know that people freely share whatever they have regardless of how much they have, or how badly they have it. These are the people richest in my eyes.

My favorite Greek in the world is named Jorge.

Jorge owns a shop in Plaka, one of the busiest neighborhoods in Athens. I stumbled upon his shop during one of my walks down the marketplace. It was easy to tell that his hats were of quality, so I got to asking him about them. Even better than telling me he makes them by hand right there in his shop, he showed me how to make a perfect hat. But not before he called over his next door neighbor to buy me a frappe, (Say frahpey), good old coffee with lots of ice, just the way every Greek loves it.

Sipping our own frappes away, we talked more and he took out a box filled with photos—some of him as a model, some of his children—one is a lawyer—and just exchanged stories away. I felt so happy Jorge was getting lots of tourists and hoped to God that he’ll have lots more drop by his shop to purchase something of his. I just wanted the very best for this wonderful man who was so cheerful and so giving.

I know not a lot of people are fond of Athens, but if you do visit—which I hope you would—please drop by Plaka and check in to see George Anagnostopoulos. I promised to send him a postcard, which I did, but I’m not sure if it even made it to him.

Address: 10558 Kidathineon 6, Plaka, Athens

It is for him and for the rest of the Greeks I forged friendships with that my heart always breaks whenever I watch the chaos in Athens on the news, fearing the worst, hoping for the very best.

Debt or no debt, Greece will always be Greece, it will always be on everyone’s bucket lists, and if there’s anything I hoped my own experience will be able to do, it’s this—to let people know that Greece, because of the wonderful people living in it, will never be a hopeless case, and is surely worth the trip, and the wait.

Efharisto, Grecia.

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About eight minutes ago I finished reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close.” (Thanking AA for all her brilliant albeit heart-wrenching suggestions, including this one!)

I can’t tell you exactly when I began reading it without browsing through my planner, or backtracking my Twitter feed, or checking Notes on my phone. (Although I can tell you it’s so good I could have read it in one evening, but of course life got in the way.) For a book that has made such an impression on me, you’d think my brain can afford to file “When Ria started reading Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close” under “Don’t Dare Forget,” but perhaps that’s the main point of this lesson: We eventually forget.

How far back can your memories go?

If seventeen is a reasonable number and I were to travel back to when I was seven, I would recall bits and pieces of 1994–how I insisted I’d get blue eyes and blonde hair once I land in America, how I pointed out the Philippines on a globe and said, “It may just be a dot here, but in reality it’s really, really big,” how I cried from being scared of the Phantom of the Opera and had to step out of the theatre in the middle of the play, how I thought it was a clever joke to hide my classmate’s lunch kit until it was time to go home, how I practiced being on Little Miss Philippines and say “When I grow up, I want to be the President of this country.”

I remember these seventeen-year-old memories mostly because of oral tradition and surviving photos, but sometimes I wish I remember more. Sometimes I wish my family had written down the minutest details of our earlier lives, and as we grew older we’d sit together and read these stories and be grateful for all the changes together.

I remembered this is why I wrote a lot, and why I continue to write today.

I want to remember the things we are likely to forget: the little things, the background, the details, the insignificant that paves the way for the significant. A little more morbidly but more importantly, because I will never know if I can still write tomorrow.

The night before I lost everything was like any other night.
Anna and I kept each other awake very late. We laughed. Young sisters in a bed under the roof of their childhood home. Wind on the window.
How could anything less deserve to be destroyed?
I thought we would be awake all night. Awake for the rest of our lives.
It was late, and we were tired.
We assumed there would be other nights.
I said, I want to tell you something.
She said, You can tell me tomorrow.
I had never told her how much I loved her.
She was my sister.
We slept in the same bed.
There was never a right time to say it.
It was always unnecessary.
I thought about waking her.
But it was unnecessary.
There would be other nights.
And how can you say I love you to someone you love?
I rolled onto my side and fell asleep next to her.
Here is the point of everything I have been trying to tell you, Oskar.
It’s always necessary.
I love you,
Grandma

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