I who love to be astonished

Lessons from 2024 and notes on my brief trip to South Korea

It is incredible to me that only hours ago I was in Busan, South Korea, enjoying a bone broth soup for late lunch with my family at the Gimhae International Airport. Then, before I knew it, it was time for the farewell hugs—see you soon, ingat sa biyahe—that, despite plenty of practice the past few years, never gets easier. With my carry-on trolley bag and backpack, I breezed through security checkpoints and long, brightly-lit terminal hallways in Gimhae, then Incheon, Seoul, then Harry Reid International Airport in Las Vegas. Suddenly I am waiting at gate D41 for the final leg of my long journey home to Austin—because, yes, the United States is home to me now too, a fact that surprised me when an immigration officer stationed by the US citizen and Permanent Resident inspection line greeted me with welcome home.

Astonished is the feeling that seems to glow from my body when I think about this past week and the rest of my 2024. Let me begin with the impulsive decision to travel to South Korea, which I made on a whim on the tail-end of November so I could spend Christmas with my family. The trip takes over 20 hours and 3 flights one way, so by the time I’m heading back home, I will only have just begun to adapt to Korea’s time zone. It is a grueling, inefficient journey—I lose two precious PTO days just traveling—but one I am glad I had the opportunity to pursue.

As I get older, Christmases will continue to look different in both welcome and sad ways. For most of my life, noche buena was celebrated with my family, cousins, and neighbors packed in our small house in Mandaluyong, playing loud games and always eating earlier than we planned. I always looked forward to this time of year, to the warmth and laughter of it. Already the group thinned these last few years as relatives moved elsewhere, to other provinces or abroad, passed away, or began to celebrate with the new families they now also belong to. I’m part of that now; my last Christmas in the Philippines was in 2021, and with the recent death of my grandmother this year, the glue that held the family firmly together during the holidays is gone, and things will never be the same again.

A kind of sadness, yes, one that no one is spared from, but from that tenderness grows new, equally beautiful things, like creating new traditions with other loved ones, or traveling abroad for Christmas Eve, something we don’t normally do. Like most families, my parents, siblings, and I don’t have much in common, in truth. But traveling—and the dining and shopping that comes with that—is our common ground.

At Gyeongbokgung Palace

Together this past week we explored the port city of Busan, a place I had first heard about through the 2016 hit Korean zombie flick. We indulged in plenty of good food (Korean barbecue and fried chicken, fresh seafood, sot bap, honeycomb ice cream are some favorites), walked the length of Haeundae Beach and several nearby markets, shopped at souvenir and skincare stores (hard not to do in Korea), visited the Gamcheon Culture Village, and even had some tea at ZM-ILLENNIAL, formerly Magnate, the café owned by the father of Jimin from BTS (I’m a huge fan!). We even made a two-day trip to Seoul via train. In the big, glittering capital, which appeared to me like a vision of what Manila in the future might look like, we explored the grounds of Gyeongbokgung Palace (outside of which pro-Yoon mobilizations were ongoing when we visited), and walked through the streets of Myeongdong, Hongdae, and Gangnam. A day is barely enough time to really know a place, much less a metropolis like Seoul crawling with the usual city traffic and crowded public transport, so going from place to place took a significant amount of time. Still, astonishment. That I was in a new country for the first time, one that, in the span of just a few weeks, impeached both their president and acting president; one that has touched my life even before I set foot on its soil through music, food, literature, and film; one that now lives in my memory as a place that once generously held my family and I, even if only for a brief period of time.

At Haeundae Beach. Photo taken by my sister, Lia

Beef bone broth soup at Gimhae International Airport

Between my visit to the Philippines last February, Slovenia in May, and South Korea this past week, I have been on a total of 17 flights. 2024 also marks my second year of living in the United States, and the first time I published a chapbook, did a writing residency, and adopted a cat. More than ever, I felt myself truly at the helm of my life. Strangely, what all this taught me is to nurture my capacity for awe. To continue to feel astonishment. How can I ever stop marveling at the fact that so many interesting realities exist, and that I have had the honor of glimpsing into these fascinating, strange worlds? How can I when human ingenuity, acts of kindness, and the innocence of animals continue to thrive, even with so much horror, so much violence? Or when the meaning of home only continues to grow, like roots stretching wider and deeper into the earth? Or when, reuniting with friends or family I’ve been separated from for months, I find us all in the midst of seeking our purpose, creating genuine joy, and being of service where we can?

I tell Michael about this revelation over our morning coffee, and he reminds me: it takes practice. That it does; I see clearly how easy it is to be jaded, to regard the world with indifference, boredom, or suspicion. I have felt myself beginning to hold these feelings for the everyday, and in observing them I felt parts of me turning to stone. Ah, but I refuse. I refuse everyday. My bones are strong but flexible, and my flesh soft and alive in its goosebumps and wounds. Regarding the world with a curiosity we have mistakenly relegated only to children, I practice being electrified by wonder. God, that teapot. That cleverly designed packaging. The warmest smile I had ever seen.

I head into the new year with fewer plans than the year before, but with a surer sense of self. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I know better what I am capable of. My planner is largely unmarked, but I built it from scratch myself. There is some trepidation, some worry that I should scramble last-minute to set ambitious goals to drive me towards a fuzzy vision of growth or success, but I think I have learned my lesson, finally. Knowing how to push myself is important, and this I have honed through years of self-discipline, but knowing how to follow what pulls me is just as vital. It’s not as simple as following what I want; I already do that in small ways, like going on trips or pursuing relationships or saying no when I want to. The pull is much deeper, this energy that balances must and desire. It cannot be unheard once I hear its sound, cannot be unseen once I’ve gotten a glimpse. When I find it, I will want to do nothing else—but to feel for the pull takes another kind of practice. A focused openness to the world possible only with an unwavering sense of self. Finally, I think I am there, ready to be ferried forward by a force both from me and beyond me.

I press my ear to the ground, close my eyes, and listen.

May fortune and fortitude be ours this new year,

Street in Myeongdong (left), in Hongdae, under the lightest of snow (right)

---

Notes

1. Whenever I visit a new country, I make it a point to read a book by one of its writers around or during the time of my visit as a way of connecting a little more intimately with the spirit of the place. When I visited Slovenia, I read In/Half by Jasmin Frelih, Burning Tongues by Aleš Šteger, and of course, Tomaž Šalamun. In Seoul, I bought three books at the Kobo Book Center: The Vegetarian by Nobel Prize winner Han Kang (devoured this in a day), Your Utopia by Bora Chung, and The Underground Village by Kang Kyeong-Ae.

2. I also continue to read Philippine literature, and have been particularly moved by these works I read just this past year: Isabela by Kaisa Aquino, possibly my favorite Philippine novel; But for the Lovers by Wilfrido D. Nolledo, written in one of the most delicious prose I had ever read; Glossolalia by Marlon Hacla translated by Kristine Ong Muslim, for its explosive, biblical navigation of possibilities and paradoxes, and the first Filipino book I have a bilingual copy of; Arasahas by Jaya Jacobo and its English translation by Christian Jil Benitez, a poetry collection abloom with the liminal, as beautiful and chimerical as the tropics it draws from.

3. Regarding the push and pull, I was inspired heavily by this fantastic essay by Sindhu of Kindred Spirits. She put into words the same feeling I had been working to unravel for myself these past few months—what a gift.

4. Thank you, friend and reader, for being here and reminding me always that writing is not solitary. That it may move you the way it moved me to write it will never be anything short of a miracle. Thank you to the paid subscribers who believe in my work, whose support allows me creative liberties within and beyond this newsletter. I strive to honor that gift every day. See you all next year.