Why Write Now?

While meditating, deep in theta state, a voice told me to put pen to paper and trust the words to flow.

I had spent hours on my laptop writing my first post.

“Are you writing an article?” my husband asked.

“No, I’m on Substack. I’m starting a newsletter, but it’s more like journaling for me. It’s therapeutic.”, I reply. He walks past me, with an energy of disbelief.

“What’s Substack?” he continues, thinking I’m wasting my time yet again on another silly hobby.

“All the writers I like are here! Leandra Medine, David Lebovitz, Deborah Robertson, Mafalda Makes. You can start a subscription and some subscribers even pay to get access to exclusive content.”

“You think people here would pay for that?”, he asks incredulously. I shrug silently. I mean, I haven’t thought that far, I was just enjoying the process.

A few hours later, he pops in. “Are you still on Substack?”

“Yes. The words won’t stop flowing.”, I defensively explained. “I did some meditation yesterday, and I heard voice saying, ‘Start writing. Put pen to paper and the ideas will follow.’ So I’m doing it.”

“Have you been possessed by William Shakespeare?” he blurts out. The tension breaks and I laugh. Of all the references, why not Joan Didion? Why William Shakespeare? So old-timey.

I can’t blame him for wondering why I started writing again after what feels like centuries though. For the last five years I couldn’t bring myself to write, he had given up on encouraging me. I would submit stories to Isha Valles of Preview.ph and Cheche Moral of Inquirer Lifestyle when inspiration would strike, or to Trina Boutain of Vogue Philippines when she asked, but to write freely for my own platform, I just couldn’t. I had a prolonged case of writer’s block when it came to topics personal to me. Here’s why.

In 2006 I started a blog, Manila Fashion Observer, to document my “observations and obsessions” on well, fashion. It was widely read at the time, then again, these were the early days of blogging when there were only a handful of sites to read if you cared about fashion and shopping. I had no intention of being a “blogger” but in the thick of documenting the stuff I wanted to buy, I was suddenly one. Maybe because I fancied myself more as a writer (I wrote finance stories and some personality features for Lifestyle Asia assigned to me by then editors Celine Novenario and Juana Manahan prior to starting the blog so I was a published writer to begin with), it did lead me to write a biweekly column of the same title in the lifestyle section of The Philippine Star, thanks to Cecile Zamora aka Chuvaness. She invited me to write for the section under her helm - On The Radar, and together with the late Grace Velasco aka @Divasoria, Sarj Stoeckl aka @Frauzaftig, Keri Zamora and a few others, we would alternately contribute stories that would come out every Sunday.

We all had a good run until the section folded up. But I continued doing writing work for fashion and lifestyle magazines like Preview, Metro Magazine, BusinessWorld High Life, and even publications like Surface Asia in Singapore and Expression for American Express Thailand. These I enjoyed, not because the foreign magazines paid reasonably well (S$400 for a 2000 word article) but because even if the local ones paid peanuts, I enjoyed researching assigned topics, getting insights from my interviewees and writing the story. Seeing my name on the byline was just an added thrill.

Meanwhile blogging was sucking the life out of me. By 2011, it became an industry and by 2014 I was burnt out with blogging. This was around the time I was basically just forcing myself to write out of a sense of responsibility, except if I really liked the product or I was helping friends spread the word about their work, then the words would just tumble out and magically make sense.

I mean you had to deliver if you’ve signed a contract where you promise event attendance, a blog post, an IG post with a link of your post in your Twitter or Facebook Page in exchange for Php30,000 to Php50,000 (cash and/or ex-deal). Blogging had become so lucrative, anyone who had access to the Internet even if they did not have a good command of grammar, could publish one. It’s democratic, but it also had become too noisy and unfiltered. I remember the outrage then on unethical bloggers who would wield their blog to get free meals in hapless restaurants. This was not about the joy of writing anymore, for most, it was a commercial enterprise. Reputation-wise, bloggers got lumped together as entitled freeloaders, which was not fair as there were many who weren’t. In short, blogging got baduy (or “cringe” as my kids would say).

What was then a creative outlet for people who loved to write about their interests or just keep an online diary, had turned into something that did not resonate with who I was and what I valued in life. What’s the point of spending hours editing and polishing your work when the baseline expectation was to just copy-paste the press release? Being a “blogger” then is like being an “influencer” now. It was not about the substance of one’s work but the number of views you could get (in IG or Tiktok parlance, the number of followers one has, never mind if most were bots or bought or both). I was raised with an internal compass for integrity and I couldn’t play in this environment.

To be called a “blogger” was excruciatingly cringe and embarrassing for me, and I was considered one. Others may happily label themselves as such, but my soul couldn’t take it. My soul hates being put in a box and conveniently labeled as something it’s definitely not. I did not seek out to be a blogger. I just wanted to write about things I like!

On Instagram, I found a reprieve. I could write and share my thoughts, although not in long form. Very few would have the attention span to really read on such a tiny screen. Eventually, just like blogging, it no longer matched my energy. I was now being thought of as an “influencer”. Even if I would never pout at the camera, dance for likes, or wear a bikini just to show that, “Look! I still have a flat tummy after three kids and a miscarriage!”. Sure, I sometimes would post an outfit, but I would never point out brands a la Tik Tok (“Gucci - points to shoes, Zara - points to pants, Hermes - points to belt, Gucci - points to top…”). I am not into trophy hunting, I care about heritage, history, and long term closet sustainability. I could sense energies from an Instagram post and I was not going to play into the low vibe, narcissistic, inflated ego energy rewarded there.

It was in these disjointed realities that I lost my inspiration to write. What’s the point of writing with substance when people would rather follow a girl in a bikini, especially if she was pretty or busty? Would people care about my considered thought process in choosing the perfect white t-shirt, when they are so easily impressed with screaming logos? You could say I got disheartened. In an arena where boobs, beauty and big brand logos were the main gladiators, I had no weapon to wield. My energy was at odds with the algorithms. (Let me clarify, I have no judgment on those with boobs, beauty and love big logos. I would love to have boobs too, I am happy with the face God gave me, and I respect those who earn honest money to afford luxury goods.)

My Instagram captions were now performing at a 5th grade level, that when I look back at old articles I wrote pre-2012, I can’t believe I wrote them myself. The words were beautifully expressed, they seemed to be written by someone else.

Where did these words go to die? Or are they just in limbo, suspended somewhere waiting for redemption? I don’t even know if I can write about clothes and designers now as eloquently inspired as I used to. Do I even care about fashion as much anymore? I realized, I haven’t stalked Vogue.com the way I used to watch out for Style.com runway updates since they transitioned to Vogue Runway and that was way back 2015. Like the Little Mermaid who traded her voice for legs, I lost my own voice shilling fast moving consumer goods.

My problem then was I didn’t have boundaries when I was blogging. I didn’t know how to say no. I mean, I did say no to brands or products I never would have bought anyway like red hotdogs or baby formula, but I could have said no when asked to write about things I didn’t really care much about like toothpaste, instant coffee, or powdered milk. How did Manila Fashion Observer become Manila Grocery Observer? I had traded my soul for money, that’s how. So my soul started withholding the words to get back at me for being cringe.

Until that fateful day they all came back. Spurred by a voice that came to me in the throes of theta. This time around here on Substack, inspired by writers with substance, I promise to do my soul right. We’ll only talk about what is truly soul-stirring and worthy of being archived - I already have a pipeline of topics would you believe? I can’t believe it myself! So here I am warming up, explaining why I decided to make a comeback in writing and I promise I will get to the meat of the matter soon. (Why am I even doing a lot of prefacing? I need to meditate on this.) I promise to stick around, just please don’t call me a “Substacker”. Oh and let’s pray this platform won’t get baduy. LOL.