All articles filed in waityxbookbed

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla I wake up this morning in a bathrobe. The sun is already high in the sky and the breeze from the open terrace windows feels hotter. It must be nearing noon, I think. But the heat I feel has nothing to do with the sun or the breeze. It has everything to…

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla After lunch, I change into much more comfortable clothes and walk to the resort’s Meditation Sanctuary. It’s an open-space where masses are held, a space designed to help people find peace and quiet. The quiet part is easy enough to find. In fact, every space in Bellarocca is a quiet refuge. It’s…

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla I’d like to think that I’m a workaholic. I may have a problem with the occasional—okay, constant—tardiness but given that I live near the office, I am often the first to arrive and one of the last people to leave during the work week. My boss, Joey, didn’t have the heart to…

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla Last night was a complete disaster. After the play, Collin and Matthew invited Denver and me to a round of drinks at some restobar along Jupiter Street. I politely declined after way too much urging from Collin. In the end, I had to say that I’m meeting someone else after the event,…

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla I sense change, like how you can smell a thunderstorm before it hits. Matthew’s calls became less frequent. And then the calls became text messages. And SMS became chat messages. The blanket of bliss I’ve long carried with me started to lose its purpose—as if the worries inside of me are too…

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla If I have to eat one thing for the rest of my life, it would probably be truffle butter. 71 Gramercy’s warm brioche slices with truffle butter are to die for. I gladly eat the entire platter Matt offers me when we reach his condo in Parañaque. Despite the catfight, the magazine…

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla The press invite comes like a notification on Facebook messenger, like a message from someone who doesn’t care if you already made plans for that particular day. The press invite arrives with the same aura as the editor behind it—mysterious and demanding. Matt’s magazine launch is set on a Friday night, the…

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla “Of course, it means something to you,” Tristan says. “You’re a girl.” I must look even more confused because Tristan takes a deep breath, walks towards me behind the counter and refills my glass. “Look, Kit. He’s a guy. Even if he tells you how much he likes you, that doesn’t mean…

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla On a scale of 1 to 10—with 10 being the highest—I deserve a 20 rating for being a wretched friend. I ended up meeting Matthew that night, leaving Tristan at the party with all the other beautiful people in his life, a life that I could be part of if only I…

by Kath C. Eustaquio-Derla Tristan’s car smells like him. Brand new. The same thing can be said about his hair. Gone are the messy locks. Tonight, his long curly hair is neatly tied in a sexy man bun that even I, as a woman, can’t pull off even if it takes me the whole day. He…