New York, the city that never sleeps, is devoid of people on the streets today. People are home, nervously boarding up windows and stocking up on bottled water and canned goods in preparation for Hurricane Irene. I’m not so sure what to make of the situation myself, as I come from a place where typhoons occur on a regular basis and week-long class suspensions aren’t unusual. I’m a tempted to say that shutting down the train (for the first time in over 100 years) and pre-hurricane evacuations are a little over the top, but then I realized that this is what sets places like the U.S. apart from developing countries such as the Philippines. The only thing is that I wish my country could afford to be paranoid, but we don’t have the resources to de-clog streets and prevent floods, much less evacuate millions of people who refuse to be displaced.

With all these hurricane-related thoughts, I dug up an essay I wrote for the Inquirer right after Typhoon Ondoy:

Thoughts from a half-submerged house 
By Bianca Consunji
Philippine Daily Inquirer

Last updated 07:27:00 10/03/2009
“I’M NOT so sure, but I think I just saw a turtle swim past me.” This was the first thing I told a friend when I called him up.

“Where are you?” he asked. “Get back inside your house!”

“I am inside my house,” I replied. “I’m knee-deep in water, and it’s looking worse every minute. That turtle that just swam by is from our fishpond outside.”

“What?” he said, stunned. “Then why are you even talking to me now? Go somewhere safe!”

“Right now, the house is the safest place for me. I’ll die if I head out in this weather,” I said. “And to be honest, things are so terrible, I just saw a frog ramming desperately on our window, trying to get shelter from the storm.”
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So, another article in Inquirer out today. If you’re here because of that, thank you! I’m posting the original one (which is slightly a little more.. jokey) than the final edited version here. Go buy pork shoulders and have your fill of porky goodness now!

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My credit card is currently on hiatus. If I could encase it in block of ice the way that Becky Bloomwood did in Confessions of a Shopaholic, I would—but we don’t have space in the freezer.

The thing is, I’m normally a debt-wary person who avoids impulse shopping. Trips to sales are usually planned in advance, with a set budget (okay, maybe I’ve deviated a little) often supplemented by gift certificates. But one text message a few months ago made me discover a whole new world of consumer spending: Groupon sites.

‘Groupon’ actually refers to a brand, locally represented by Beeconomic.com. But people generally use the term to refer to sites such as DealGrocer.com, CashCashPinoy.com, Ensogo.com, and the like. A modern-day version of clip-out coupons, the sites offer discounts or freebies when you purchase a voucher.

But back to the text message that changed my spending habits. Cyrille Soenen, chef of Restaurant Ciçou, sent me a message promoting their tie-up with CashCashPinoy about a foie gras degustation meal with two glasses of wine. It was almost ridiculously priced at P999, a 71-percent markdown from the original price of P3,500. The menu made me weak at the knees: Marbled Terrine de Foie Gras and Unagi, Duck Liver Ravioli in Cream of Mushroom and Truffle Cappuccino, Mini Duck Liver Hamburger, and Chantilly of Duck Liver, Chocolate, and Coffee Pistachio.

After a moment’s hesitation (it takes me ages to decide on buying anything online, even a measly $5 20-gig Gmail account storage extension), I went for it. The meal was satisfactory, although the ala carte steak my brother had was more satisfying than the degustation meal. Still, I was hooked on Groupons.

Anything and everything

I began checking different coupon sites for deals. Hotel rooms, gadgets, tickets, trips around the country, restaurants, spas, clothing stores—everything could be had for a discount. At the start, most of the deals showcased familiar places that I wouldn’t normally visit unless there was a special occasion (Sofitel’s Spiral buffet was marked down at P1,392 from P2,520), then they started raising the stakes. Resorts such as Bellarocca, The Farm, and Discovery Shores offered sizeable discounts, which hundreds of people snapped up almost as soon as they were posted.

It got crazy around Valentine’s; a friend’s husband purchased a scenic helicopter ride to Tagaytay for P15,600 (securing him a spot on the ‘Gee, Thanks For Making Us Look Bad’ list of boyfriends/husbands everywhere), while another took his girlfriend to dinner on a private yacht—with fireworks, no less.

Suddenly, coupons became cool. No longer a clip-and-save activity reserved for soccer moms and grandparents (“Look! 15 percent off on pork shoulders! Let’s head to the nearest grocery superclub and stuff our freezers with piggy goodness.”), it suddenly became common to share deals with friends (“Hey, I got a really great deal on Pilates classes. Thanks to those coupons, I now have abs of steel.”)

Of course, people also began experiencing Groupon fatigue when the number of sites increased, and the deals got boring. There were more discounts for unknown salons and spas, and less of good restaurants and resorts.

Buyer’s remorse

Time.com recently featured an article on “Groupon remorse,” which discusses the quick rise-and-fall sensation that people get when their “What a deal!” high is replaced with “Why did I buy that?” They revealed that a good percentage of coupons aren’t redeemed, and some buyers don’t read the fine print before purchasing something online. “Mind you, it’s in the interests of both the deal sites and the businesses featured for redemption rates to be as low as possible,” writer Brad Tuttle says. “That’s money earned for no services rendered whatsoever.”

Online coupon sites operate on the same excitement-generating marketing scheme as budget flight sales and limited edition products. It’s the inner competitiveness of people—squirming to get ahead of others for the best buys—that drive them to purchase discounts for items that they or may not need (or even want) just because they’re getting a good deal.

The last purchase that I made on a coupon site was for a buffet dinner for two at a high-end restaurant, only to later realize that its validity was limited to the whole of Lent—coincidentally, just when I decided to give up meat, sweets, and alcohol. I’ll probably pass them on to my meat-loving brother and boyfriend, and chalk it up to experience lest I start depleting my graduate school fund on more expensive meals. Unless, of course, they start putting grad school tuition on discount. Then I’ll be the first to line up, credit card at the ready.

While going over the op-ed pages in today’s Inquirer, something about the Youngblood essay caught my eye. The writer’s one-line bio read, “Carissa Duenas, 29, is an investment analyst considering entry to the Columbia School of Journalism. She works in downtown Toronto.”

Interested, I read what she had to say (I usually just gloss over Youngblood because the writers usually talk about the same things). In the essay “To Be A Dancing Star,” the writer wrote about her application to Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism, but as someone who worked mainly in finance and technology, she was afraid that her work experience wouldn’t be considered relevant. “Why should [publishing's] gates be opened to this outsider?” she wondered.

She went on to answer her own question: “The truth is, it is an honest response to a life crisis, the quarter-life crisis. And I am in the midst of it.”

I applied to Columbia as a result of my own quarter-life crisis (and created this blog, too). My application was driven primarily because I didn’t know how and where to go next. Having started working in publishing at 19, I was on the brink of a burnout, and needed a solid direction. I submitted my application on the day of the deadline, and three months later, I miraculously got an acceptance letter.

Most of my friends (who know the whole story and are tired of hearing me overanalyze it to death) know the story between now and then: I deferred enrollment for a year to think things over and to find a way to raise the funds for graduate school. So here I am, still waiting for word on scholarships and grants, steeling myself to go to New York this year, regardless of what happens. Part of me is scared because I’m deathly afraid of loans, and don’t want to go into debt for a good part of my adult life (especially not after being so careful with my savings!), but I just know that if I don’t go to Columbia, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering about what-ifs.

It’s good to hear about stories like Carissa’s, which make me realize how darn blessed I am to have that spot in the first place. Reading her reasons for wanting to go into publishing remind me of my old students, bright-eyed high school kids who said they wanted to write just because they wanted to inspire. I used to say the same things, but the chip on my shoulder grew into a heavy block that made me feel like Altas himself. I’d like to get rid of that, and simply learn to tell good stories again.

A couple of weeks ago, I was talking to Paolo, another writer who applied to Columbia. “If I ever get accepted, I’m going to spend the next few months not using my brain,” he half-jokingly told me. “I’m going to celebrate and party until I start school.”

In retrospect, I should’ve probably spent more time celebrating instead of worrying, but I can’t help it. Carissa quoted Friedrich Nietzsche, who said, “You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.”

It’s all chaos inside of me now.

Yes, really. And in more ways than one.

I haven’t really written a real entry for this blog since I left Berlin. Coincidentally, I didn’t write anything for Inquirer since I was in Berlin, too. Not that I’m saying that Berlin drained me of any inclination to write, but I’d been sort of drifting around and wondering what I really want to do.

So today, I finally have an article out again in Inquirer, this time on that Meidolls cosplay cafe. It’s been a while since I worked up the motivation to do anything other than write/edit/do shoots for Metro–it’s my day job, after all. But ever since college, when I started writing for 2bU when I was 19, writing for the broadsheet had always been an exercise in initiative and motivation.

'Moe Moe Kyun'

So the other week, while at that Meidolls Cafe with my boyfriend and friends, it occurred to me that it might actually be an interesting place to feature. Not my cup of tea because I know next to nothing about anime (they dragged me along), but interesting for other people nonetheless. So I texted Pam to pitch the idea, she quickly agreed, and I wrote the story a couple of days later. Fast, and surprisingly easier than I thought to do again. It usually takes me longer to do my articles for magazines, but somehow, writing for Inquirer had always come more naturally because I don’t have to be as specific for an audience. Plus, the chances of writing about something zany are higher with a broadsheet.

I’m used to seeing my byline; I’ve been writing and getting published for almost eight years now. For some people who don’t write for a living, it’s always a shock. My boyfriend said it felt good. Seeing the newspaper again with my byline (which hadn’t happened since October last year, when I stopped submitting articles) was strange and familiar at the same time. I took it as a sign to write more, and promptly headed to my room to bang out a blog entry. I’m a little rusty, but it’s nice to be back.

Last night’s popular Twitter hashtag came in the form of #sentisabado, which had people Tweeting about their favorite ’90s moments—and there were many. All the “Dear Diary, Carlo sat beside me today” and “Bahaw, ang kaning lamig” references made it clear that a lot of twenteensomethings spent last night reliving the decade that brought them up.

A few months ago, I talked about the ’90s commercials that defined my childhood, as well as the junk food that I ate, which were all part of last night’s nostalgia trip. And then people started bringing up ’90s fashion, which made me think of the stuff I used to wear back in grade school. One thing that saved me from complete fashion victim status was parental intervention. Although I very much wanted to get some of the trendier items, like Doc Martens and denim jumper shorts, my parents weren’t so gung-ho about letting me wear them (I did wear a lot of printed leggings though). However, I still managed to wear most of the ’90s trends below.

Which were the ones that you wore?

The quintessential '90s look. (These photos were taken in 2005 as a spoof photo shoot for Inquirer; my friend Katrina was game enough to pose for them. She doesn't usually dress like this, I promise!)

Dresses worn over shirts
It was the early stages of layering when black spaghetti-strapped dresses worn over plain white shirts became popular with girls during the early ’90s (no other color combinations were acceptable). This outfit was worn with Keds and tube socks or clogs.

Tretorn sneakers and Doc Martens were hot

Doc Martens
Every kid had to have a pair of Doc Martens. If you didn’t, you were sent to a corner to shiver over your lack of coolness (myself included). Doc Martens were worn with everything, from dresses to jeans to overalls, and came in a variety of styles and colors. Tretorns were also pretty popular, although in our school, they were also eventually used as P.E. shoes.

Grunge
Blame it on Kurt Cobain and the smell of teen spirit – the early ’90s were dominated by teens with unwashed hair in ripped jeans, flannel shirts and grubby sneakers.

Sunflowers and matte makeup

Sunflower everything
Sunflower hats, clothes, accessories—it was the flower of the decade, if there was ever such a thing.

Statement clothes and accessories
Shirts and necklaces with smart-aleck words and phrases such as ”Whatever,” ”Yeah, right” and ”As if” sold like hotcakes. Also popular at that time were hippie-inspired smiley faces, peace signs, the yin-yang symbol, and flowers. (Statement shirts were pretty popular last year, proof that fashion is always recycled).

High-waisted, tapered jeans, midriff (a.k.a "hanging") top, folded hat.. a classic '90s look

Midriff/”hanging” shirts
Now, it’s all about long and lean shirts. In the ’90s, the closer the hem of the shirt was to the belly button, the cooler it was.

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As a lifestyle journalist, I’ve written all sorts of articles on a rather wide range of topics: food, technology, youth issues, fashion, beauty, etc. There were instances when I knew absolutely nothing about the topic I had to write about; one time, I hied off to Singapore to cover the first F1 night race, something that I had zero knowledge of or interest in. Of course, it didn’t sit well with my Alpha male friends, who would’ve gladly donned a wig, floaty pink dress and heels to be in my place (“You, covering the F1 race?” a friend moaned and buried his head in his hands. “There is no justice in this world.”)

Occasionally, I do get to write about stuff that I really am interested in (food, in particular) and the articles seem effortless because they were more fun to do. Today’s article on pole dancing was one of those; I interviewed CD and Mirell of GirlVSGirl, one of Manila’s pole dancing acts.

I started pole dancing back in 2008, for–surprise, surprise–an article I was working on for Metro (I’ve had to do many dubious things for the sake of an article). After one session, I knew I was hooked. It was a year and a half later than I found myself in a gold Bond girl costume, performing all sorts of tricks that I didn’t know I was capable of on a pole for a recital. I also didn’t know I had the confidence to show my bare midriff to the world (it took a few days without rice to muster up the courage to do it). I wrote another article about it last December for Metro’s body issue as a full-circle kind of thing. Here ya go!

* * * * *

“You—do—what?”

“Pole dancing,” I repeated to a friend, whose jaw had dropped to the floor. “I go pole dancing every week.”

“So I guess the journalism thing didn’t work out, eh?” he said, smirking.

“I do it for exercise, knucklehead. Apparently, it burns up to 400 calories a class, and you don’t look sweaty and gross while doing it—which is more than I can say for your regular basketball sessions.”

“What do you guys wear to your classes?” he asked, eyes widening.

“Hot pants, tank tops. High heels, if we want to,” I replied. “One time, we had a burlesque dancing workshop and people came in with feather boas and vintage hats. We actually have a mirror ball in the studio.”

“Um, d’you think I could sit in for the next class?”

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Hello, readers. Bianca here; I’m guessing you’re here because of the Jason Ivler article, because that’s the only place where my website address appeared so far. Anyway, this site is still under construction but should be fully functional by next week. Feel free to leave comments. Intelligent discussions are welcome, random unintelligible comments are tolerated but ignored. Hope to see you around more–and I promise, this site will look a lot better next week.

This is basically going to be my online portfolio, as well as a forum for feedback. I’ll be posting archived articles as well as photos, old entries (been blogging since 2003, but I went on hiatus middle of last year). But anyway, more on that later. Below is the original text of the Jason Ivler story; it was partially edited and the one that appears in Inquirer is slightly shorter.

P.S. To all Ivler supporters: I do not know Ebarle, I have never met any of them, and no one from the government has contacted me in order to do this article. So do not insinuate that anyone in Inquirer was paid or made to write the article. We have our own minds. And if you can, read the whole article before making any harebrained accusations or illogical comments.

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