STAY WARM

I don’t like feeling cold. It’s just not for me.

I read somewhere that the end of 2025 is not about making elaborate plans or life goals, it’s not about pushing, or growing or thriving … but about surviving.

Can you see it? Can you feel it? It’s 2026. It’s just around the corner. The darkest day is yet to come, and yet just the thought that the days will grow longer again fills me with a glimmer of hope.

Delusion, I know. So many more weary months ahead. Sunlight is not a guarantee. We do what we can to survive.

I feel there is a part of me that is fading. I held on tightly for so long, this identity kept together with glue and tape and a few nails. A gentle smile to hide the insecurities, the shame of feeling ignorant, inadequate. Stay quiet and no one will know. It’s the easiest way.

I imagine it’s a shift that most people experience but no one talks about. The body refuses to move as quick, jump as high. The creak in my knees as I climb the flight of stairs to my apartment is a daily reminder of all the pliés I’ve done, all the stages I’ve danced and performed on. The body keeps score and every kink is a reminder of where I’ve been and what I’ve done.

I don’t like feeling cold. It’s just not for me. It’s my excuse for not going out these days. Three times I have skipped going to parties that I’ve bought tickets for because I couldn’t see the reason to leave the house. Have I reached my threshold where clubbing and raving no longer makes sense to me? The joy of missing out is starting to make sense to me. I’m not ready to throw in the towel just yet, but maybe I’m shifting towards a new me, someone who goes out seasonally, who celebrates each season with a party.

There are too many DJs, too many lists, too many “best track to close a set with” “best techno track of 2025” “best house party of 2025” “best underground DJ of 2025” “best DJ you’ve never been heard of yet” “best festival of 2025” “best DJ software” “best radio show” “best producer software” …. the best of the best of the best. I surrender. I can’t keep up. I don’t want to. I don’t care anymore.

The new me is cranky. He gives less fucks (or at least he’d like to think so). I’m not always so nice, so caring. Because that’s what we are us, Filipinos. So beautiful and caring and nice, right?

I had a woman on a dance floor chat me up once and she said she used to work on cruise ships where most of the staff was made of Filipinos. “Filipino men are so nice,” she said to me, “but I could never date them. They’re so meek.”

Our global brand is Caretaker. The beautiful wife, the thoughtful nurse, the best cleaner, the empathetic listener, the saint. That’s how we make our money, how we create our self worth. We care for other people’s kids in the Western world to send the green back home, to give money to children we will never see grow up. This is what success looks like in our culture.

The world’s universal love language is dollar signs.

Don’t mistake the quiver in my voice for timidness. You don’t scare me. I’m just not used to advocating for myself, for my ideas. I don’t know this new voice, this new me. The tears may threaten to pour out of my eyes but it’s only a sign of passion that has laid dormant. I’m don’t need to be coddled, I want to be heard. You think tears signify weakness when I know it means the opposite.

There are chapters in one’s life and I can see now that one is closing. Once upon a time, not so long ago, the world flipped upside down and we are all still reeling from the repercussions of that. I used to feel like an impressionist painting. Now I’m a pointillist figure.

But I dissolve, solving nothing, knowing that I know even less (what a beautiful mess). When people leave their human form their souls rearrange into something else. But so do ours. My molecules float somewhere in the ether trying to rebuild bonds, to feel whole again. Grief is not something you get rid of, it’s something you just live with. No one tells us this because we pretend we don’t die.

But it’s this truth that makes life so precious, so full. Every inhale and exhale starts to feel like a fucking miracle.

I have dreams of books I want to write, parties I want to go, places I long to see. I wonder how Freddy and Bas are doing. I think about friends I haven’t seen in decades and I wonder if they think of me.

I want to do well in this next chapter. I want to find peace within myself. I want to like myself more.

But later, later. For now I just want to see the end of this year, feeling proud of myself for how far I’ve come.

Mainly, I just want to stay warm.