From One Writer to Another: An Interview with a Newspaper Columnist

After more than a week of working from home, I’m now struggling to pry myself away from my laptop after official office hours.

So instead of mindlessly browsing the internet on a Thursday night, I made myself clean up my Google Drive where I found, much to my amusement, a transcript of my 2013 interview with the Newspaper Columnist behind Sun Star Cebu’s Matamata weekly column, Mayette Tabada.

The year was 2013, and I was on my senior year in college majoring in Linguistics, Literature and Professional Education. Our Journalism class teacher gave us a very interesting assignment: to write a feature article on a local writer of our choice.

I wasted no time writing an email to Mayette Tabada who, aside from being the teacher-slash-writer I aspired to be after college, also happened to be my high school friend’s mom.

From: Nicholette Jeanne Legaspi <X@gmail.com>
Date: Wed, Aug 28, 2013 at 4:51 AM
Subject: Hello Mrs. Tabada! I'm a friend of Carlos
To: <X@gmail.com>

Hello Mrs. Tabada!

I hope the subject of this email was able to catch your attention.

My name is Nicholette Legaspi.

I'm a fourth year Linguistics and Literature major of the University of San Carlos.

I'm a good friend of your son Carlos--though perhaps not as good a friend as [X] (if you get my meaning, ha-ha-ha). 

I wouldn't presume to be talked about by your son, but I don't doubt that you've heard of Lifeline--our high school barkada dating back to prehistoric Sacred Heart School-Jesuit batch 2010.

I am hoping that the last 6 lines would score me an online interview with you and your writing.

Aside from being an aspiring writer, I am tasked to write a feature article for journalism class. Yours was one of the names that popped up during our class' first week discussion on the major newspapers in Cebu.

And I thought, "This woman looks familiar. Hey, that's Q's mother!" Q is a fantastic middle initial, by the way, and I took a liking to calling Carlos that since wayyy back. 

But I'm getting too far ahead here.

May I interview you for my features article in journalism class? I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing, but my article isn't really going anywhere out of the classroom. It's just for a features writing exercise. I thought, "Why not make it big? Like Mrs. Mayette Tabada big!"

My journalism teacher's still a bit starstruck with you. She said her final grade in journalism when she was a student was based on getting her article published on a SunStar section you used to edit. And you published it somehow. And she got a flat one.

I think that's about it. I shouldn't write long emails to busy people. 

If you agree to give me an interview (please? please?), I'll send you 10-15 questions then you can answer it in your own good time—but hopefully before Sunday night. That's when I have to come up with the features article. 

P.S. Here's a photo of some of the Lifeliners. I'm the only girl in attendance. And Ian and Rasleigh and Charles and Carlos and me and Laurence and Robert. We gave Carlos his first bike lessons that day. I hope he's been improving.

Cheers Mrs. Tabada!

I could see 21-year-old me bobbing up and down while writing that email. The email was dated 28th August 2013 (a Wednesday), and I had the nerve to set a deadline for my requested interview by Sunday of that same week. In my hurry to press send, I even forgot to sign it off with my name (rude, me from the past!)

While rereading all this nearly 8 years later, it got me thinking, “Would I have responded to that email from 21-year-old me?” It sounds pretentious, I know. 8 years hasn’t exactly turned me into half the writer Mayette Tabada is, but I’ve become a professional writer in my own right now. I take pride in that (sometimes way more than I should).

Mrs. Tabada, bless her heart, not only replied to my email, but she also did so within hours after I sent it and agreed to an email interview.

I’ve decided to publish the full transcript of that interview here on my blog, so aspiring writers (myself included) can learn from Mrs. T’s timeless wisdom.

Mayette Tabada <X@gmail.com>	
Fri, Aug 30, 2013 at 11:29 AM
To: Nicholette Jeanne Legaspi <X@gmail.com>
Hi, Nicholette

Please scroll below for my answers.

All the best with the feature writing.

God bless

Mayette 🙂

Q1. What is it like to be a weekly features contributor for Sun Star? 
Do you ever feel pressured about keeping up a certain reputation of your writing self?

A: I've been writing the Sunday editorial page column, "Matamata," since 2001. I cannot be sure but I was assigned to write the Monday editorial not too long after, still in 2001.

After resigning as editor of Sun.Star Cebu and Sun.Star's The Cebu Yearbook, the column and editorial are my only regular weekly commitments. I'm used to meeting my weekly deadlines as I already have a schedule and routine for researching, writing and editing these two articles.

Writing the column and the editorial puts different demands on me as a writer. The editorial is the editors' stance on a social issue. So I take on a perspective that best represents the editors' analysis and interpretation. I usually use the third person point of view, but sometimes lapse into the collective "we" to emphasize that it's not one person but the Central Newsroom editorial team expressing views in the editorial. 

The column is more personal. While I have to focus on a subject that concerns readers, writing the column is more spontaneous as I don't have to wear other people's hats. I can articulate my views while providing information that I've checked to be true and accurate, being fair to other perspectives, and contributing to public discussion.

On keeping a reputation as a writer: I try to be authentic in whatever I do, which includes writing. If one is honest with oneself and one's reader, it's easier on everyone, specially on the writer. One doesn't have to keep up appearances, an image, a facade. One can write without fearing the reader's rejection or acceptance, which can also bedevil writers. That's not to mean that the reader is not important. Writing is an attempt to connect with a reader or readers. But as with all relationships, it's best to be who you are and hope that someone will like you just the way you are 🙂 Remember that line from the movie about Bridget Jones?

Q2. What are the perks of being a Sun Star features contributor?
 Do you get free lifetime newspaper subscription?
 Do you get one of those "Media" IDs to gain entrance to big social events?
 Do you get to meet famous celebrities? If yes, who?

As a contributor of Sun.Star Cebu, I get a byline (your name following the headline or head or title of your article) and an honorarium. The latter is fair by industry standards, and it's always nice to get paid for doing something you like. The byline offers greater psychic reward. It's a sign from your editor that he or she acknowledges the work you've done. When the contribution is assessed by your editor as minor or contributory, instead of a byline, one gets a tagline, your name or initials placed at the end of the article, not below the head.

I have a press ID that's issued because I also go on assignments from my editor/s. A press ID is not a "free pass" to events. From its name, the press ID identifies the holder as a bonafide member of the newsroom. It is worn to inform the public or news sources that a reporter/ editor/ columnist/ photographer/ newsroom staff is on coverage and should be treated as a news professional. In this way, a news source is reminded that a press ID holder will interview him or her "for the record," quote what he or she says, take news photos, etc.

I only use my newsroom ID when I am covering an event for a Sun.Star assignment. When I am in an event as a private person, I don't use the press ID. So statements or information given during these occasions are treated as private confidence. I cannot use this for an article unless I ask the person's permission to do so.

What I'd like to emphasize is that a press ID is a responsibility and thus, not to be abused for personal profit or advantage.

Since 2000, when I joined the Sun.Star Cebu Central Newsroom, I've met many memorable persons, not always famous or infamous. The ones I respect and like most dislike being in the public eye. On the other hand, some news personalities are revealing, too. They're human beneath the veneer.

Q3. How long have you been working for Sun Star? 
When did you start?
 What were the positions you held before finally landing on Matamata?

I joined SSC in 2000 as a special reports editor. I was an employee of the Sun.Star Publishing, Inc. until 2004 and 2007 when I resigned to teach full-time at the University of the Philippines (UP) Cebu. (I resigned twice.) While editing and writing special reports, I was managing editor of The Cebu Yearbook. For a year or so, I was writer then editor of Weekend, SSC's Saturday magazine.

Now I'm no longer an employee of SSC. I contribute the weekly column that is published on Sunday, editorial that is published on Monday, and some features that are assigned to me by the editors.

Before joining SSC, I wrote a Sunday editorial page column, "Fisheye," for Cebu Daily News. CDN publisher Eileen Mangubat was the first to ask me to write a column.

Q4: Why Matamata? 
Can you talk about the name of your weekly features section?
 Did you come up with "Matamata" yourself?

"Matamata" is Cebuano for an estimate, an approximation. I chose the word because it stands for a particular standpoint or view. The columns are my "take" on persons, events, issues, etc. It's one of many possible interpretations of a subject. 

The choice of the name continues the train of thought in my choice of "Fisheye" as the name of my older CDN column. The fisheye is a special lens that distorts the subject being viewed. When one interprets a subject, the insights are unique and true only for this particular viewer and may not be so for other viewers. That is why "Matamata" stands for my views only.

One of the quirky interpretations I've heard from readers is that "Matamata" is a play of words of my name: "MAyette TAbada" 🙂 It's not. I'm not so in love with my name, I would chant it.

Q5: The titles of your articles are very catchy. How do you come up with them?
 Do you already have them in mind even before writing the actual article?
 Do you usually add them before or after you finish writing the article?

The title, like the last line or paragraph, usually pops up. If the writing goes well, the article writes itself. I spend more time, sometimes a week, thinking of the first line. And then I might change it because the article that's finally completed doesn't need the line anymore. There are many writing tips that are practical and effective. For instance, writing the first line and last line so that there's a sense of coming full circle. I like this approach. However, when I write, I don't think of the rules. I am having a conversation with myself or with a reader. And some things fall in place. Or, if the going gets tough, I rewrite and rewrite so I have an article I am happy with at that moment.

For columns and editorials, my editors set how many characters with space. I nearly always overshoot. I edit before passing my work to my editors.

Q6: In "Reading Water", you wrote about the recent series of flood in Manila. How does your life in Manila affect your Cebuano writing identity?

I'm a person of very fixed loyalties: I like to write at home; I like to write in a certain spot at the dining table of my home; I like to write at a certain time; etc. Having to move to Manila has put me off-kilter. Yet, because I write for a living, I dip into this anomie of being a displaced person and write from here. When one is out of place, one pays more attention to the surroundings. I've learned that after more than a year of living in Metro Manila.

In many unexpected ways, this interlude has been good in honing me as a person and as a writer. I realize what I took for granted when I was in Cebu. As a writer, it's dangerous to take things for granted. So being unsettled has made me realize how much of a Bisdak (Bisayang Daku) I am. And not, as they say among the young.

Q7: In "Viral VS Electric" and many of your previous features articles, you have written about the real world. As a reader, do you also prefer the real world portrayed in non-fiction? Or are you equally a fan of fiction?

I prefer to read fiction. Yet, I've learned to read non-fiction. Twenty years ago, I couldn't read/finish a book of non-fiction. Then I entered a newsroom and have had to straddle these two worlds. Both are necessary. Non-fiction is a tool, necessities of my profession as a writer and teacher. But fiction is my passion. It's the one for which I keep a shrine burning at all hours 🙂

Q8: In "Electronic Dreams", you mentioned your preference for pen and paper over digital writing. Do you also prefer to write your features articles on paper before encoding them on the computer? 
What is your take on digital writing especially with young, tech-savvy writers?

I have to compose with a computer. I write by hand personal letters, notes, etc. When I was on the field and could not use a computer, I've composed an article by hand. It's tedious to read and edit so I prefer to beat deadlines with a computer.

Since I've been schooled traditionally, I compose and rewrite and polish before uploading or emailing. I am definitely of the old school; I prefer to finalize an article before sending it off to my editor or uploading it for readers. I wouldn't go out with my zipper down. That's why I feel I should check grammar, spelling, etc. before asking anyone to read me.

Q9: In "Friendzone", you mentioned that your two sons have opposing views of the phenomenon. Carlos views it positively; Juan doesn't. Are you Team Carlos or Team Juan?

I'm on both teams. I'm not saying this to be political. I like listening to young people. I'm amazed to raise two unique individuals who are opinionated and articulate about their views. A lot of my columns are takes or take-offs from conversations with or concerns raised by my sons. I learn a lot just by listening to them or interrupting with a seemingly harmless comment that immediately gets a lot of reactions from the boys

Q10: Why do you think you don't shy away from disclosing personal information (such as your age, your husband's name, your children's names etc.) in your articles, when other writers prefer to use pseudonyms?
 Does it have something to do with being honest to your readers?
 If yes, how important is being honest to one's readers?

I am proud to be the mother of Carlos and Juan and wife of Roy. In Cebu City, my column gets read by family and friends. Since my sons are distinctively different, I make it a point to say who is who. Now that I am in Manila, I find myself writing more and more about my husband as he's usually the one I hang out with.

On the other hand, I am conscious that the news hole (or the space that contains an article) is also public space. Thus, by relating my experiences and insights as mother of my sons and partner of Roy, I am also trying to connect with other mothers, parents, spouses. The personal is political.

I cannot write the column from an impersonal, distant perspective. Some journalists prefer the old-school rule of not entering the picture. Others, specially in the age of blogging and Web 2.0, feel that the personal standpoint is a legitimate launch pad for journalism.

As I've written, "Matamata" is all about my perspective. Thus, for an interpretive or interpretative kind of article like a column, the "I" is essential.

Authenticity is the "voice" that makes writing connect with readers.

Q11: Do you sometimes feel that writing for a newspaper "limits" your creativity due to its K.I.S.S. (Keep it short and simple) principle?
 Will you ever write a novel as an extension to your great ideas?

My editors, Pachico A. Seares and Cherry Ann T. Lim, taught me and still impress on me that writing is powerful when it is free of clutter. For news readers, specially in the age of digital information, concise and substantial are still what one must aspire for in journalism.

Yet, I also want to try my hand at longer and different genres of writing. I've tried to write history and learned a lot from my mishaps and adventures. I hope I'll have a chance to write a short story soon 🙂 A novel: wow! I'm open to anything.

Q12: What is the greatest advice you can give to the University of San Carlos' Linguistics and Literature majors?
 What should we do now?
 What course can we take to develop our writing after graduation?

I'm not good at giving advice without knowing some specifics about the other person. But for fellow writers, I suggest: read, write, read, write.

With Web 2.0, you don't even have to go through editors to publish something you wrote. On the other hand, having your article reviewed and accepted by editors disciplines you into writing for an audience, even writing for a living.

Don't wait until you graduate to write. Write now. Write for yourself. Then take the plunge and get others to read what you wrote. We grow as writers when we hear feedback from readers. Whether they like you or don't like you, having an audience is better than talking to oneself.

Reading is necessary for writing. I started to write in high school because I ran out of books to read during summer. So I wrote stories I wanted to read. Even now, I read when I'm stumped and feel I cannot write a thing. 

Most important, live. Krip Yuson told me when I was in Dumaguete as a Creative Writing fellow that I would write someday, not immediately but later. I was young then. I thought he meant that I would acquire the confidence to write. Looking back at my 20something self then, I realize that I could not have written then as I am writing now. It's partly concerning experience, confidence. But it's also about the hits and misses, failures, disappointments, false starts, missteps, triumphs, fun, discovery, exploration. We write because we've lived. The grace of being human is being able to connect, wanting to connect. 

Q13: How does it feel like to be back in school as a student after many years of teaching?
 Exactly how many years have you been teaching?

On the plus side of studying again after teaching for nearly three decades, I have to read and write without having to check and grade papers. My teachers and subjects challenge. I'm grateful for the opportunity to learn from a new field of learning, a new school, a new setting. It's also always nice to be around young people because of their energy, enthusiasm, passion. Nearly all of my classmates and teachers are younger than me so sitting with them, not facing them (in the usual teacher's podium), is a revelation.

I began teaching after graduating from UP Cebu. I think this was in 1986/87. I've been teaching, full-time, part-time, as lecturer, up to 2012, when I went on study leave for MA Journalism in UP Diliman.

The downside of studying in UPD: I miss my boys, my dog, cats, books and whole life back in Cebu. 

Yes, I had excellent material for my journalism class assignment, so I took a page from the wonderful Mayette Tabada and wrote a feature article entitled, “The Sunday Eye” (you know, because Mata is Filipino and Cebuano for ‘eye’ and her weekly columns were published every Sunday).

The Sunday Eye
	

Sun.Star Cebu personality Ma. Theresa Angelina “Mayette” Q. Tabada is best known for her Sunday column Matamata. “Matamata is Cebuano for an estimate, an approximation. I chose the word, because it stands for a particular standpoint or view.” She also quipped, “One of the quirky interpretations I've heard from readers is that Matamata is a play of words of my name, MAyette TAbada. It's not. I'm not so in love with my name.”	

Aside from being the woman behind Matamata since 2001, the 48-year-old is also a Monday editorial writer and special reports contributing writer of the same newspaper. Her recent projects include editing internationally-marketed finance and economics modules for the Germany-based PV Multimedia Inc. and co-writing the town histories of Alegria and Badian as commissioned by the Provincial Government of Cebu and the University of San Carlos. Mayette Tabada’s curriculum vitae is a staggering eight pages when in high school, I simply knew this wonder woman as my good friend Carlos’ mother.

Now on leave from her teaching position at the University of the Philippines (UP) Cebu to finish her master’s degree in journalism at UP Diliman, Mayette Tabada agreed to be interviewed via online correspondence in a thread I titled “Hello Mrs. Tabada! I’m a friend of Carlos”.

What is it like to be in the weekly opinion and editorial for Sun.Star Cebu? 

Writing the column and the editorial puts different demands on me as a writer. The editorial is the editors' stance on a social issue, so I take on a perspective that best represents the editors' analysis and interpretation. The column is more personal. While I have to focus on a subject that concerns readers, writing the column is more spontaneous, as I don't have to wear other people's hats.

What are the perks of being a Sun.Star Cebu contributor?

I get a byline and an honorarium. The latter is fair by industry standards, and it's always nice to get paid for doing something you like. The byline offers greater psychic reward. It's a sign from your editor that he or she acknowledges the work you've done. I also have an issued press ID, because I go on assignments. A press ID is not a "free pass" to events. I only use it when I am covering an event for Sun.Star. What I'd like to emphasize is that a press ID is a responsibility and not to be abused for personal profit.

The titles of your articles are very catchy. How do you come up with them?

The title, like the last line or paragraph, usually pops up. I spend more time, sometimes a week, thinking of the first line. There are many writing tips that are practical and effective. One example is by writing the first line and last line, so that there's a sense of coming full circle. I like this approach. However, when I write, I don't think of the rules. I am having a conversation with myself or with a reader. 

In "Reading Water" (published on August 25), you wrote about the recent series of floods in Manila. How does your life in Manila affect your Cebuano writing identity?

I'm a person of very fixed loyalties; I like to write at home. Having to move to Manila has put me off-kilter. Yet because I write for a living, I dip into this anomie of being a displaced person and write from here. Being unsettled has made me realize how much of a Bisdak I am. 

In "Electronic Dreams" (published on August 11), you mentioned your preference for pen and paper over digital writing. Do you also prefer to write your features articles on paper before encoding them on the computer?

I have to compose with a computer. I write by hand personal letters, notes, etc. When I am on the field and cannot use a computer, I have to compose an article by hand. It's tedious to read and edit, so I prefer to beat deadlines with a computer. 

In "Friendzone" (published on June 17, 2012), you mentioned that your two sons have opposing views of the phenomenon. Carlos views it positively; Juan doesn't. Are you Team Carlos or Team Juan?

I'm on both teams. I'm not saying this to be political. I like listening to young people. I'm amazed to raise two unique individuals who are opinionated and articulate about their views. A lot of my columns are takes or take-offs from conversations with or concerns raised by my sons. 

Why do you think you don't shy away from disclosing personal information in your articles, when other writers prefer to use pseudonyms?

I am proud to be the mother of Carlos and Juan and the wife of Roy. In Cebu City, my column gets read by family and friends. However, I am conscious that the news hole is public space. Thus, I am also trying to connect with other mothers and spouses. The personal is political.

What is your advice to the University of San Carlos Linguistics and Literature majors?

I suggest: read, write, read, and write. Don't wait until you graduate to write. Write now. Write for yourself. Then take the plunge and get others to read what you wrote. We grow as writers when we hear feedback from readers. Reading is necessary for writing. I started to write in high school, because I ran out of books to read during summer. I wrote stories I wanted to read. Even now, I read when I'm stumped and feel I cannot write a thing. And most importantly, live. We write because we've lived. The grace of being human is being able to connect and wanting to connect.

As if the Sunday Eye needed to prove her awesomeness further (which, frankly, needed no further proving), she actually wrote about our unorthodox interview in her Matamata last August 31. “How to Catch a Writer” was a call for her fellow established writers to give the young pen-dawans a chance. In a follow-up email, Tabada explained, “Many students complain that many older, more established [writers] rarely answer… I wanted to express my views that this is a small world and we should do what we can to make this world a bit nicer…  I cited you to show that it can be done, getting a subject/interviewee's attention and engaging in a mutually beneficial conversation that can be shared with others.”

That’s right! She mentioned my full name on her column that week, and that 31st August 2013 Matamata column entitled “How to Catch a Writer” is still available on Sun Star Cebu’s archives here: https://www.sunstar.com.ph/article/302577/Lifestyle/Tabada-How-to-catch-a-writer

I had since attempted to reach out to writers I admire, and some of them even wrote back like Lisa See (the author of “Snow Flower and the Secret Fan”) and Danu Morrigan (you’ll have to look her up yourself).

The takeaway? As Mayette Tabada rightly said, “This is a small world, and we should do what we can to make this world a bit nicer.”

Binge-Watching Bridgerton: A Scandal-icious Take on Jane Austen’s Beloved Tropes

Is it just me, or is there really something about finding out that people from hundreds of years ago shared our morbid fascination for drama and scandal?

Say for example, when you see a painting of Henry VIII (online or in a museum).

You don’t immediately draw the connection between his court scandals and wife-murdering tendencies, not when he looks so composed and regal in his royal portraits.

Yes, old-timey paintings and black-and-white photos reveal very little behind the un-smiling faces of their subjects.

But the truth is, those people (some of whom may even be our direct ancestors) share many things with us 21^st century folks – morbid fascination for drama and scandal, included.

I imagine this is why I (and many people on the internet, it seems) was able to binge watch Bridgerton in one or two seatings.

I was even more impressed by its original take on Jane Austen tropes. The familiar social scene of London (and even a passing mention of Bath) with all its desperate young debutantes and their even more desperate mothers, eligible bachelors, class segregation, etc. etc. were reimagined for today’s audience with more cultural and gender diversity and inclusivity.

As a matter of fact, the show’s leading couple is multi-racial; Daphne Bridgerton is played by British actress Phoebe Dynevor, and the Duke of Hastings is played by the British-Zimbabwean actor Rege-Jean Page.

A large part of the show’s appeal is the two main actors’ electrifying chemistry. Phoebe’s Daphne had a passing resemblance to Emilia Clarke’s Daenerys Targaryen in Season 1, both scene-stealing beauties with personality to match.

Rege’s Duke of Hastings was definitely a nod to late pop culture phenomenon, Prince’s mysterious charisma and oozing sex appeal.

If that weren’t enough, most (if not all) the supporting characters’ colorful personalities added layers of depth to an otherwise predictable romantic comedy plotline. The Bridgerton Mentionables include the disembodied voice of Lady Whistledown, Lady Danbury, Anthony Bridgerton, Lady Featherington and Queen Charlotte. Other fan-favorites include Penelope Featherington, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton, etc. etc. They were good, don’t get me wrong, but they weren’t always able to walk the fine line between Regency Era-Londoner and 21^st century actor playing a period drama, as opposed to the Bridgerton Mentionables who did a fantastic job at suspending their audience’s disbelief all throughout the 8 episodes of the first season.

And while it’s too soon to find out if the show will be renewed for a second season, there’s certainly plenty of material for the next 7 seasons or so. Netflix’s Bridgerton is based on Julia Quinn’s 8-part Bridgerton Book Series, which features one Bridgerton sibling’s romantic adventures per installment.

I imagine a full season around Anthony Bridgerton would be a treat, but I can’t say the same for ‘boring’ Colin Bridgerton and ‘rebel without a cause’ Eloise Bridgerton. One can only hope their characters will be recasted, because their Season 1 performance was lackluster to say the least.

Of course, I’m no movie critic. I’m merely channeling the scathing remarks of Lady Whistledown, the show’s ‘invisible but all-seeing’ narrator. I had hoped they would keep her identity under wraps till the final season (a la Gossip Girl), but alas, they revealed who she really was at the end of the final episode, leaving more questions than answers, though less of “I’m more intrigued. Tell me more!” and more “Wait, that doesn’t make any sense!”

All in all, Bridgerton was highly entertaining. If you can stomach another predictable romantic comedy plotline for 8 hour-long episodes (I know I can), then you’ll fall in love with this period piece, complete with 18^th century Versailles-inspired costumes, string quartet renditions of today’s chart-topping pop songs, and of course, a ridiculously attractive and talented cast to boot!

Homebody Review: Nutricook Rapid Egg Cooker

About a month ago, I was catching up with a friend online (the only COVID-19-proof way of catching up with friends these days), and she asked me if I was still blogging.
I said no, because like a responsible human being, my daily routine is now composed of home-office-home (excepting weekends when it’s home-home-home all the way).
Then she suggested I blog about staying home, and I thought, “Why not?”
Perfect timing too with the arrival of my new Nutricook Rapid Egg Cooker.

Source: Mumzworld | Link: https://images.app.goo.gl/v8KuLBxF3AFFm7vx8

Now, you might be wondering, “Why would anybody need an egg cooker?”
It’s as easy as boiling a pot and leaving the eggs in there anywhere between 15-20 minutes, right?
Wrong!
When you live with 10 other people and share 1 kitchen stove, you can go months without eggs for a weekend breakfast.
So my decision to order an egg cooker was not born out of ignorance on how to cook eggs or laziness or compulsive online shopping disorder, but rather out of communal-living necessity.
I need my eggs asap!

Source: Gifer | Link: https://images.app.goo.gl/omsiQfsvesieBtj5A

Now that I’ve justified my purchase, let’s get on with the product review.
Nutricook Rapid Egg Cooker, as the brand name suggests, is made by the same company as Nutribullet (one of the top blender manufacturers these days).
Am I a brand-conscious person?
Not really.
I’m more of a value-conscious person.
While shopping for a sports blender, I did consider Nutribullet because of all the positive reviews online, but I also work in advertising, so I know how bandwagon mentality works.
I ended up with a lesser-known brand called Sencor (which merits another review on its own — but I digress).
Back to Nutricook, they sell a range of electric cooking products from smart pots to airfryers to airfryer-oven hybrids, all of which I would definitely consider buying, though not right now.
The Nutricook Rapid Egg Cooker, on the other hand, costs a fraction less than the rest of the Nutricook range at just AED69 (according to the price listed on their UAE website).
I ordered mine on Noon.com for AED58.
Compared to other Brand X Egg Cookers, Nutricook Rapid Egg Cooker is “expensive”, but it also comes with a lot of neat features and accessories, which I will now be getting to:

1. It’s versatile. It doesn’t just make boiled eggs but omelets and poached eggs (whatever that is) as well!
2. It comes with fool-proof accessories. It includes an egg tray which fits up to 7 eggs, an egg bowl which fits up to 3 scrambled eggs and my personal favorite: a measuring cup with water indicator based on the number of eggs you cook and how soft or hard you want them cooked. Genius!

Source: Nutricook | Link: https://images.app.goo.gl/teezUdFHWCi9ZgBK8

3. It’s compact. You’d think with all these accessories, this product will take up a lot of room but nope. It’s incredibly compact and sits comfortable beside an electric kettle (another must-have).
4. It’s quick. I mean, it is called a “Rapid” Egg Cooker, but it doesn’t just cook fast, it cleans fast as well. You only need to rinse a handful of accessories and wipe the cooking base and you’re done!
5. It makes the perfect eggs every time. I made boiled eggs and omelets (I don’t eat poached eggs), and they all came out well-cooked inside and out.

The usual concern with these “smart” cooking devices is, “Does it taste the same as stove-cooked eggs?”
Afted all, you’re shelling out (hehe pun) between AED50-70 on this thing, when you can just use the pot you already have in the kitchen.
The Nutricook Rapid Egg Cooker is not a necessity, strictly speaking, but when you do have one, you can’t live without it.

Source: Nutricook | Link: https://nutricookworld.com/product/egg-cooker/

A Vaccine for Normalcy

By now, more than half of this year has been disrupted by a pandemic I purposely chose not to write about… until now.

I did not want to add one more voice to the collective cry of helplessness the world over.

Never has the saying, “Misery loves company” been more true than today, when the news — and our news feeds — are bombarded with bad news after bad news.

On my part, I was as exhausted hearing about the unending stream of bad news as I was with the unfounded optimism of certain people.

It’s complicated, and most days, I avoid both extremes by retreating in my own company, where I can lose myself in books.

Last night, one of the main characters in the 12-part series I am reading really spoke to me when he said, “You can’t just be reading books all the time and leave the writing of them to others.”

Well, I’m not here to write a book.

I’m simply here to put my thoughts to writing, which now seems a lot harder to do, because for the past 8 months or so, I’ve been living one day after another with very minimal thinking about the future.

(I hadn’t intended to sound so bleak, but I sound bleaker by the second.)

Anyway, a video struck me today, and at risk of sounding like I’m promoting somebody for money (which I’m not), I will not mention his name.

Suffice it to say that he released a video about a possible COVID-19 vaccine now in Phase 3, which could very well mean that we’re closer to… normalcy.

That we should be excited to return to the “old” normal, as opposed to the so-called “new” normal we are living in.

Who would’ve guessed that in the year 2020, despite mankind’s relatively greater and far more exciting achevements and breakthroughs in recent years, our collective excitement would revolve around a Vaccine for Normalcy?

This is possibly the greatest irony of all.

This is what we’ve become when we are reminded that none of our achievements since the dawn of civilization mean anything, if we can’t even survive a virus so small it’s invisible to the naked eye.

For most people, this is a tragedy, because they’ve built their lives in a delusion of security and near-invincibility.

To them, this pandemic has been a slap in the face, a bucket of ice cold water, a reality check that they are just like everyone else.

For others, there is still goodness that can be salvaged from this tragedy.

It’s a humbling experience.

Yes, we are all just like everyone else, and that’s not necessarily a “bad” thing.

Suddenly, it’s a whole lot easier to deny ourselves things which many people are deprived of.

It opens a room for self-reflection, thoughtfulness, and a sense of responsibility to others.

This is not unfounded optimism, it’s the ability to see things from a different perspective.

A few days ago, a string of tragedies unfolded across Lebanon, India and it even hit close to home, in Ajman in the UAE.

It drew out so-called prophets of doom heralding the apocalypse as we know it, but dig deeper, and you’ll find that behind each tragedy are stories of humanity at its finest.

When we finally do find the Vaccine for Normalcy, let’s do ourselves and the future generations a favor by not diluting it into an opioid that lulls us back to a sense of false security.

Positively Medieval: A Day Tour of Old Cairo

Previously, in Part 1 of my Larger-than-Life Luxor series, I blogged about our almost 1-hour ordeal to secure round trip sleeping train tickets at Cairo’s Watania ticket office.

Having traveled all the way from Tanta to Cairo, my husband and I made the most of the day by making a trip out of it in the section of the capital where neither of us had ever set foot on (but heard so much about): Old Cairo.

From Ramsis Station, we took the metro to Mar Girgis Station, where we were immediately face-to-face with the great dome of St. George’s Cathedral.

We visited the Coptic Museum.

Walking past the seemingly endless galleries of Coptic Christian artifacts: paintings, sculptures, Liturgical dresses, Biblical manuscripts and even grave markers.

We ended our tour in an open courtyard.

Where we asked a friendly museum guide for directions to Sts. Sergius and Bacchus Church (Abu Serga).

As if dating back to the 4^th century wasn’t impressive enough, legend has it that Jesus, Mary and Joseph themselves spent 3 months there to escape the power hungry (and blood thirsty) King Herod.

No Jesus-loving Christian can pass up the chance to visit the Holy Site, especially one whose last attempt to embark on a Holy Land pilgrimage was thwarted.

According to legend, Jesus, Mary and Joseph made several stops across Egypt as seen on this map outside Abu Serga

So I wasted no time dragging my somewhat hesitant Muslim husband to the general direction of the Coptic Museum guide pointed us to, until we found a sign leading us further down an alley lined by souvenir goods and religious items left and right.

When we reached the entrance of the church, a few policemen were stationed outside and questioned the newly-arrived Muslim man why he and his Asian female companion were interested in visiting the church.

The police are always on the alert, because Church bombings are not unheard of in Egypt.

“My wife is Christian,” my husband said and presented our passports and marriage certificate (where our religions are stated).

Once inside, we saw centuries-old storied wonders:

An underground well from which the Holy Family was said to have drunk from.

A cavern beneath the main altar where they lived.

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And a pillar that shed blood in the late 60s until the Coptic Pope prayed before it.

A tour guide gave my husband 2 vials of Holy Oil blessed by the relics of Sts. Sergius and Bacchus on our way out.

Next, we went further down the alley to visit the Ben Ezra Synagogue, where the Baby Moses was believed to have been rescued by the Egyptian princess.

Source: Sawa4Tours

It was the first synagogue I ever visited, but I was told that it was unique from others, because it was originally built as a Coptic Church.

It was beautiful – so beautiful, in fact, that I thought it was shameful not to allow tourists to photograph the marble interiors.

Back on the metro, we got off Cairo Citadel’s nearest stop, Sadat Station, and took an Uber the rest of the way there.

The Cairo Citadel was built in the 10^th century by the famous Saladin to guard against the Crusaders.

Naturally, since I was more familiar with the Christian side of the story, I was more than a little intimidated by the fortress up on the hill.

Our Uber driver dropped us at the foot of the hill, which meant working up a sweat (and it was wintertime!)

One entry ticket gives you access to all the mosques and museums inside the Citadel.

Unfortunately, the Police Museum just north of the gate was closed that day, so we headed straight for the iconic Mosque of Muhammad Ali.

Built in the mid-1800s, it was modeled after a mosque in Istanbul, which made you feel like you traveled to two places at once.

We were met by two teenage boys at the entrance who fitted our shoes with plastic shower caps (and let me just say it was extremely uncomfortable to have a child do this for me).

Mind the plastic blue shower caps which somehow matched my thermal jacket

My husband and I stepped inside the mosque and were in awe of everything from the great dome and chandelier to the intricate carpet beneath our feet.

Outside, we had a marvelous view of Cairo in the late afternoon, equally enjoyed by other local and foreign visitors such as ourselves.

We continued to walk around the Citadel and visited the Royal Carriage Museum, which displayed some antiques from King Farouk, the last King of Egypt.

Dunch (or linner) was at a very special KFC at Cairo’s Dokki District (corner of Al Sad Al Aali Rd and Boulos Hanna Rd).

Check out the Kentucky bucket meal behind the delivery bike

At that time, my husband and I were just about famished after traveling since 6 in the morning, and I needed my weekly fried craving fix.

We just so happened to be in the neighborhood and decided to pop in the nearest KFC which (surprise!) employed people with speech and hearing disabilities.

The food was your typical KFC fare (and by that I mean DELICIOUS!).

We go piping hot dinner meals served with the staff’s friendly smiles and a “Thank you” in sign language.

Each weighing 3 fried chickens heavier later, we took another Uber to the tallest building in Egypt: Cairo Tower.

We visited at night but by day, this is how Cairo Tower looks like (Source: Earth Trekkers https://images.app.goo.gl/uxQGCAHty824G5aJ6)

We bought non-express tickets, which meant we had to wait for our turn to ride the elevator to the viewing deck.

Only 10 people were allowed to ride the elevator at any one time, so we had to wait for quite a while.

Fortunately, it was early January and there were all sorts of entertainment on the ground floor, including a Christmas tree complete with Santa’s sleigh and a camel ride (which I didn’t take – after my unpleasant first experience in Giza three years earlier).

When our numbers were finally called, we were sardined inside the lift with 8 other people – plus the lift operator.

I wouldn’t recommend it for people with claustrophobia.

I myself imagined a glass lift, but no such luck.

It was a steel metal case, and we all had our necks sticking out, eager to get the hell out (I had it the worst being the shortest one there).

It was such a relief when the elevator doors finally slid open, and we all got to take in some fresh air and a 360-degree view of Cairo at night.

We short people have a greater appreciation of  views from the top than most people

Now, I have a slight fear of heights, but the viewing deck was safely fenced on all sides, which made me feel extra secure as I leaned in to take in all that view.

Lights twinkled from skyscrapers and football fields, and I imagine one would have been able to see the Giza Pyramids too had we come in the daytime.

My husband said he had always wanted to go up the Cairo Tower but thought it would have been sad to come all by himself.

True enough, we were surrounded by couples and families with not a single solo flyer in sight.

It would have been even more romantic if the weather wasn’t so chilly, which it was in early January, so before long, we decided to head down.

Imagine our surprise when we were met by another long queue – people also had to wait for their turn to take the elevator down.

Half an hour later, we were finally home free.

We still felt a bit bloated after all that fried chicken, so we decided to walk a little further, past the ancient Zamalek tree at Al Borg Street.

Further down Gezira Street, past El Andalos Park, and before we know it, we were halfway across Kasr Al Nile Bridge.

Within walking distance of Sadat Station.

Does anyone know what this beautiful building near Sadat Station is?

We took the metro back to Ramsis Station and bought tickets for the next train home.

As a 1,000-year-old city, Cairo may seem comparatively “younger” than the rest of Egypt, which is one of the earliest civilizations in the world, but Cairo still has more than its fair share of history, having seen dynasties and foreign occupations come and go.

It’s a modern-day metropolis and historical site at the exact same time — and a must-visit for all.

 

 

 

Larger-than-Life Luxor Part 2: Temple Running on the East Bank, Tomb Raiding on the West Bank

Karnak Temple, Luxor

Thousands of years before Cairo became the capital of Egypt, there was Luxor (or Thebes, for all you history buffs out there).

Having had a near-reverent regard for the city, I didn’t know what to expect on our arrival.

I had imagined being transported back in time to the golden age of the New Kingdom, but was surprised to see typical modern-day downtown sights, alongside ancient monuments.

Luxor Railway Station

Not to mention great mobile phone reception and high-speed wifi for ‘Grams on the go.

My husband and I spent two days there, most of which were spent exploring five of the most popular sites, while the rest was spent lazing in the West Bank of the River Nile.

Day 1: Karnak Temple, Luxor Museum and Luxor Temple

Karnak Temple

Once dedicated to a local deity, the cult of Amun-Ra grew with the prominence of Luxor.

He became increasingly more important during the early Middle Kingdom, and his name survives to this day alongside other famous Ancient Egyptian Gods: Osiris, Isis and Anubis, to name a few.

Today’s surviving structure of the Karnak Temple traces its origins to the 18th Dynasty, but underneath its surface lies several more layers of older temples, dating as far back as the 12th Dynasty.

At its Golden Age, Karnak Temple was one of the most important religious and intellectual centres in antiquity.

Long after Luxor’s importance declined, with the capital city being shifted to the Delta, Karnak Temple continued to be expanded by Greek rulers such as Alexander the Great and the Ptolemies.

Entrance Fees:

• Locals: [To be updated]
• Foreigners: [To be updated]

*Foreign spouses of Egyptian nationals can avail the local rate by presenting their authenticated marriage certificate.

Luxor Museum

Luxor Museum Exterior by day — we visited it at night (Link: Isida Project)

Have you ever been to a museum and seen some display pieces lying around seemingly forgotten and unaccounted for?

Well, not at the Luxor Museum.

The gallery on the second floor — the photos I took inside do not do this place justice (Source: Nile Cruise Egypt)

Our AirBnB host-slash-guide had dismissed it as a place “not really worth seeing,” but I was really glad we visited it anyway.

The museum houses a “small” but fine collection of artifacts uncovered in Luxor itself, from statues and weapons to jewelry and 2 royal mummies: King Ahmose (left image below) and an unidentified Pharaoh (right image below).

Each display piece is carefully placed and well-lit, complete with descriptions that would give tour guides a run for their money.

Sekhmet, the Ancient Goddess of War

King Akhenaton (hey y’all, jaw line check)

Not to be overlooked is the New Hall.

Its entrance is hiding in plain sight, just to the right of the main entrance.

Once you go through the narrow, whitewashed passageway, you’ll find yourself surrounded by life-size statues of gods and kings, discovered as late as 1989 during an excavation in Luxor Temple.

Amun and Mut, the revered deities of the Ancient Theban Cult

Entrance Fees:

• Locals: [To be updated]
• Foreigners: [To be updated]

*Foreign spouses of Egyptian nationals can avail the local rate by presenting their authenticated marriage certificate.

Luxor Temple

By day, the outer walls of Luxor Temple stand in sharp contrast against its 21st century surroundings.

A mere “pile of rocks” in the middle of Downtown Luxor, where souvenir shops, hantoor (horse-drawn carriages) and fast food chains abound.

But by night, when the ancient walls are bathed in lights adding a curious air of mystery, Luxor Temple once again takes center stage.

Where Karnak Temple is wide and sprawling, Luxor Temple is long and narrow.

Amazingly, the two temples (which are quite a distance away from each other) are connected by an avenue of sphinxes (but was closed when we went there).

Luxor Temple was once dedicated to the Theban Triad: Amun-Ra, his consort Mut and their son Khonsu.

Amun-Ra and Mut

In ancient times, Amun-Ra’s statue in Karnak Temple used to be carried in a grand procession once a year to be united with his wife in Luxor Temple.

Inside the heart of the temple, the Holy of Holies

Today, Luxor Temple’s central location makes it an ideal place for locals, not just tourists, to hang out too.

Entrance Fees:

• Locals: [To be updated]
• Foreigners: [To be updated]

*Foreign spouses of Egyptian nationals can avail the local rate by presenting their authenticated marriage certificate.

Day 2: Valley of the Kings and Temple of Hatshepsut

Valley of the Kings

Our first stop on our second day in Luxor was the famed Valley of the Kings.

Located on the West Bank, it was just a few minutes’ drive from the AirBnB we were staying at.

I was initially concerned about the crowd of tourists already gathered there at 10 a.m., but once inside, I realized that there were more than enough tombs for us to explore without feeling claustrophobic.

Of the 63 known tombs in the Valley today, only a few are open to the public at one time, as a rotation system has been introduced to protect the tomb walls from further deteriorating (from tourist perspiration of all things!).

Even from the security check, the friendly security guys already gave us recommendations on which tombs to explore (labelled KV 1, 2, 3 and so on).

And since our combined knowledge of Ancient Egypt didn’t add up to much, my husband and I decided to go with their Top 3 recommendations.

A regular entrance ticket gives you access to 3 tombs of your choice (so long as they are open on the day of your visit).

Some tombs have additional entrance fees, Tutankhamun’s included, but I still thought it was something that shouldn’t be missed (despite it now being emptied of its famous treasures).

When you pay for your tickets, there’s also an option to pay a minimal fee for a wagon transport — take it!

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You’ll need all that energy to walk from tomb to tomb (that sounded morbid), so you’re better off reserving energy on the wagon trip where you can sit, relax and take in the view of pink limestone mountains left and right.

Spotted: Egyptologists in their natural habitat

The wagon can only take you as far as the main gates to the Valley.

From there, another security check, before you’re forced to surrender professional photography devices (including GoPros).

If you’re friendly to the security guys at the main gate, they’ll be happy to draw you a rough sketch of the tombs you want to visit at the back of your ticket.

Speaking of tickets, keep it handy, because you’ll be asked to present it at each tomb entrance, where a watchman punches a hole.

Inside the tombs, you’re either free to run up and down the planks (if they’re empty) or be herded by tourists on both directions.

Mind the perfectly manicured finger! We met a lovely tourist from Greece who offered to take one of our few couple shots at the Valley (we didn’t even need to ask!)

Where there are tourists, there are always locals looking for ways to make a living (like the man clad in traditional jalabiya on the background).

They’re excellent historians (and photographers too!) — just don’t expect them to offer their services for free ! So it’s better to ask a fellow tourist to take your photos instead of hiring a “professional”.

The further you go underground (and some tombs stretch quite a long way), the cooler the air gets.

Trying my best to smile and not get freaked out by the broken sarcophagus of a possibly escaped living mummy here

Most of the tombs had already long been looted or else their contents were transported to museums around the world, so they felt “empty”, save for the surviving paintings on the walls.

Inside the reportedly cursed Tomb of Tutankhamun

But some felt a little strange, made you think if all those talk of ancient curses had some grain of truth in them.

Inside one of the tombs we visited, there was a tunnel that was fenced, supposedly because the tomb construction was supposedly never finished.

But as to what lies beneath is shrouded with mystery.

You can see it behind the sarcophagus on the left photo above.

I couldn’t even stand in front of it for a full minute, because it gave me the heebie-jeebies.

One of the tombs we visited was none other than the Boy King Tutankhamun’s.

Even though I had high hopes for his tomb, it appeared relatively less grand than the other tombs we visited, but perhaps it was only because there was very limited space opened to the public.

Still, it was worth seeing King Tut in the flesh.

After a 3-hour tour of just 5 out of 63 tombs in the Valley, we were ready to call it a day, but there was still one more stop on the day’s itinerary.

Entrance Fees:

• Locals: [To be updated]
• Foreigners: [To be updated]

*Foreign spouses of Egyptian nationals can avail the local rate by presenting their authenticated marriage certificate.

Temple of Hatshepsut

I remember learning about Hatshepsut in high school.

You don’t find many examples of outstanding female rulers back in her day, so the image of a powerful Pharaoh (and not merely Queen) stayed with me right up to the day I was finally able to visit her mummy at the Cairo Museum.

She looked smaller and frailer than I imagined.

So nothing prepared me for her monumental temple a few minutes’ drive away from the Valley of the Kings.

Set in a spectacular natural ampitheater, the Temple of Hatshepsut was truly fit for a King in life.

But apparently not in death, because Egyptologists located her mummy elsewhere in the Valley of the Kings.

The temple complex is a long way away from the ticket counter, so again purchasing a wagon ticket is recommended.

Save some energy for all the mandatory stair climbing to get to the top.

While the design itself is spectacular, it’s the temple’s architecture (partially hollowed out of rocks) that makes it truly a natural and man-made masterpiece.

Entrance Fees:

• Locals: [To be updated]
• Foreigners: [To be updated]

*Foreign spouses of Egyptian nationals can avail the local rate by presenting their authenticated marriage certificate.

We ended our tour of Luxor by watching the sunset on the Nile River.

Larger-than-Life Luxor Part 1: Planning an Epic Journey on a Realistic Budget

Temple of Hatshepsut, Luxor

Note: In no way does this post promote travel during this time at the height of the global COVID-19 pandemic. Rather, I’m reliving some wonderful travel moments early last January and eagerly looking forward to a time when we can all safely leave our homes once again and begin new adventures.

Valley of the Kings, Karnak, Luxor… even a passing glance at the priceless artifacts at the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities will tell you that most, if not all of them, were unearthed from Luxor (the very site of Ancient Thebes).

On my first trip to Egypt three years ago, my husband and mother-in-law took me on a day tour across Giza and Cairo, which was great fun, but also something I would not advise other travelers if only for the lack of time.

A huge chunk of the day was spent in Giza alone, visiting the pyramids on hantoor (horse-drawn carriage), horseback and camel-back.

This was followed by a more-than-an-hour drive through the heavy Cairo traffic, with just an hour left until the Museum of Antiquities’ closing time.

We proceeded directly to the Mummies Gallery and Tutankhamun’s Gallery, with only a passing glance at the rest of the displays, but more than enough to pique my curiosity for Luxor.

So on the lead-up to our second trip to Egypt, I made my husband promise to take me there, even though he was more keen on revisiting the resort town of Sharm El Sheikh.

(It’s beyond me how an Egyptian could have so very little interest in history, especially one as proud as his own.)

There are buses, trains and even airplanes from Cairo to Luxor.

It’s only a 1-hour trip by air, but tickets cost at least double than those of buses and trains.

Since my husband and I were in Egypt for 3 weeks, we decided to brave the 10-hour land trip aboard the Watania Sleeping Train.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with sleeping trains (it was a first for me too!), it’s exactly what it says it is: a train with sleeping cabins.

Just don’t expect a 5-star hotel experience — but we’ll get to more of that later.

My husband visited the Watania Sleeping Train website and nearly had a heart attack seeing the rates.

*Rates as per the official website only and may vary on the day of booking.

My husband tried calling the 3 contact numbers listed online, but only one of them was working.

The customer agent informed him that spouses of Egyptian nationals can also avail the same local rate by presenting an authenticated marriage certificate.

And that we can reserve our seats online using a credit card or by visiting their office at Cairo’s Ramses Station.

Ramses Station, Cairo

We decided to go with the second option and planned a day trip to Old Cairo while we were at it (upcoming blog alert!).

We took the 7:20 a.m. train from our home in Tanta and arrived in Cairo at 9:00 a.m.

Already the Watania Sleeping Train office was packed.

What’s worse, even when we secured our priority number, most of the newcomers just went directly to the ticket counter.

The booking agents didn’t (or couldn’t) do a thing about it and just kept serving 2 or 3 people at a time.

One lady lost her temper when the booking agents informed her that all tickets were sold out for the dates she had reserved over the phone.

Forty-five minutes later, we finally left the booking office with 2 round tickets of our own, costing us a total of EGP 2,400 (EGP 600 one-way — not EGP 400 as per their website).

Still, we counted our blessings, since I was able to avail the regular EGP rate instead of the USD rate.

Tip for spouses of Egyptian nationals: Don’t forget to bring your original marriage certificate to avail the discounted rate!

Traveling from home to Luxor consisted of 2 separate train rides: 2 hours from Tanta to Cairo and 10 hours from Cairo to Luxor — a total of 12 hours on the road, one way.

Needless to say, getting there is an adventure on its own.

Ramses Station at night

My biggest concern was finding toilets (proper sanitation — secondary).

Thankfully, both Tanta-Cairo and Cairo-Luxor trains are equipped with toilets, which may not be the cleanest but are certainly usable.

Peeing in a moving train, however, takes a certain amount of skill, so I kept my toilet trips to the bare minimum.

Source: https://www.businessinsider.com/overnight-sleeper-first-class-train-egypt-2019-1

Our Cairo-Luxor sleeping train left the platform a bit later than the 9:20 p.m. schedule.

Source: https://www.seat61.com/Egypt.htm

My husband and I made our way past the narrow corridors to our cabin, which at first looked like a regular 3-seater, but actually had “hidden” features like an upper bunk bed, a sink, a table and a medicine cabinet — the little things that make long journeys more pleasant.

This is the best photo I could find online, but our cabin was slightly different. For starters, we had a 3-seater instead of a foldable table in the middle. Source: https://wataniasleepingtrains.com/ticket/index.html

Insider information: Some male passengers pee on the sink, instead of making the bathroom trip. You’ve been warned! Image source: https://www.emotoursegypt.com/en/sleeping-train-in-egypt

Our dinner trays arrived at around 10:30 p.m.

 

 

By then, we were famished and ready for bed, but the food exceeded our simple expectations.

We had beef stew, potatoes in tomato sauce, Egyptian rice with vermicelli, a dinner bun and a slice of orange cake.

Then it was time for bed.

As a safety feature, only the cabin attendants are equipped with a special kind of screw driver to open the upper bunk bed.

An adjustable ladder was also provided for easier access.

Each bed is provided with one pillow and a surprisingly cozy blanket, enough to keep you warm from the powerful AC.

The bed was comfortable enough, but it’s the engine noise that prevented me from getting a good night’s sleep.

An hour before arriving at Luxor, the cabin attendant came in with the breakfast tray: three kinds of bread with cheeses and jams and tea — no coffee.

Since I couldn’t stomach anything besides coffee before 9 in the morning, I traded my breakfast tray to my husband for an EGP 15 cup of 3-in-1 coffee.

Tip for non-breakfast people: Eat breakfast on the train! You’ll need all that energy to explore Luxor, especially if you’ve got limited time — and budget (good food can be hard to come by).

We had booked an AirBnB on the West Bank before arriving.

Now, because I wasn’t very happy with the place, I won’t be mentioning its name.

I will, however, mention a few pros and cons, so future travelers like yourselves will know what to look for (and avoid), if you do book a place on AirBnB at Luxor.

Pros:

1. Great value for money. We only paid around USD 42 for 3 days and 2 nights (inclusive of cleaning charges) and had a spacious ground floor studio all to ourselves: 2 bedrooms, a private washroom (with heater), kitchen (with washing machine), dining area, a majlis-type salon and a terrace. We also had access to the rooftop balcony overlooking the Nile River.
2. Excellent location. We opted to stay at the West Bank, close to the Valley of the Kings but far from the main downtown area (down side: lesser dining choices). But since the place was only 3 minutes’ walk from the ferry station, crossing the West Bank to the East Bank and back was a breeze (quite literally).

Cons:

1. Shady host, money-grubbing “services”. We first met T outside the Luxor Train Station. We had pre-arranged to be picked up and brought to the AirBnB place for an additional EGP 100. Expectation: A comfortable car ride to the accommodation. Reality: A 5-minute walk to the taxi stand, a 5-minute taxi ride, followed by a 15-minute ferry ride to the West Bank with all our bags in tow. That was just the beginning. Shortly after we settled in, T pitched his “tour” services with classic fear-based marketing. “There are all sorts of scammers and tricksters in Luxor.” He conveniently left out the part that he was one of them and happily took EGP 1,000 (for 2 “full-day” services) from us less than an hour after we arrived.
2. Unsolicited investment proposals. Imagine yourself sailing across the Nile, taking in that marvelous Luxor scenery — but your tour guide just would not shut up about his plans to build a themed AirBnB with you as his primary investor! Thankfully, I was spared from T’s dubious investment scheme, but my poor husband (his fellow Egyptian) wasn’t. Even long after my husband told him we didn’t have that kind of money, T persisted by asking if we knew any potential Emirati investors who would be interested in — get this — financing a property under T’s name.

It was the right place with the wrong kind of people.

Tip for AirBnB users: Read the reviews, and I mean each and every review, not just the overall ratings.

I did make it a point to read them before booking, most of them being positive, but only the most recent one being negative.

It came from an American/European tourist who gave a subtle warning about the host’s additional services/rates.

Because hers was the only negative review, I figured it was just a language issue my husband and I wouldn’t have to face, because he’s fluent in Arabic.

Wrong!

It’s just too bad I didn’t take a screenshot of that lady’s review, because a few days after our own awful experience, her review was taken down.

Convenient, huh?

A walk, taxi ride and ferry ride later, we finally arrived at our AirBnB.

Having agreed to pay T EGP 1,000 in exchange for his “full services” for 2 days, he gave us an hour and a half to get ready before taking us to the first leg of our tour: Karnak Temple.

Imagine our surprise to find another tour guide, waiting for us outside our door.

“I’m K. T has to be somewhere else today, but he’ll meet you later tonight at Luxor Temple.”

(Cue eyebrow raise)

Our brand new tour guide K walked us to the ferry station and helped us aboard the ferry manned by a barefooted teenage boy.

Having landed on the East Bank, the three of us walked to the entrance of Karnak Temple.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of Larger-than-Life Luxor series!

P.S. Don’t worry! It gets better. We didn’t let our “tour guides” spoil the rest of our trip.

To the Man I Owe More Than Life Itself

It’s been almost a month since I woke up to the sound of a Messenger notification early on a Sunday morning.

It was from my dad.

He said he was at one of the hospitals in Cebu.

My first thought was that he was hospitalized, and I was afraid.

Little did I know that it was so much worse.

My Angkong* was gone.

(* Angkong is a Fukien term for paternal grandfather)

Had I not been sitting while reading dad’s message, I would have been knocked down to the ground.

An overwhelming sadness and pain and yes, even guilt, struck me so suddenly and forcefully that it took me a while to come back to my senses to light a candle on my little altar.

My Angkong was gone.

A flashback of all my memories of my Angkong, from early childhood to the last time I saw him, a little over 9 months ago.

“But he was still fine!” a voice screamed inside my head.

I refused to believe it.

It was my first visit after more than 3 years away from home.

He didn’t speak to me when I took his hand and pressed it on my forehead (what we Bisayas call amin and what Tagalogs call mano po). 

As a matter of fact, he didn’t so much as look as me as he fixed his unreadable gaze at my husband, who I had signaled to amin him as well.

I figured that either Angkong had finally succumbed to the forgetfulness of folks his age (98), or else he was still angry with me for leaving home without telling him.

At that time, when I had decided to move to Dubai indefinitely, I kept it within very close circles, excluding my own Angkong.

I have come to realize how awfully stupid it was of me to do so.

In all those 3 odd years, I was haunted by the fear that he would pass on before I got the chance to return home.

Fortunately, he was very much alive and well that day.

Unfortunately, he was (probably) too angry to speak to me.

My uncles and aunts broke the silence with customary pleasantries, most of which were directed at my husband, whom they only met for the first time.

Meanwhile, Angkong remained stone cold before finally gesturing to his nurse that he wanted to go to bed.

My brother and I followed him to his room, where he settle on his rocking chair.

Only then did he start to get chatty.

It turned out I was wrong on both accounts: Angkong‘s mind was as sharp as ever, and he wasn’t angry with me (well, at least not so much as to stop talking to me).

In his fluent but clipped Cebuano, he asked me question after question about my husband — how old is he, what’s his job, where is he from…

My flashback was interrupted with the same voice inside my head. “But he was still fine!” 

All my memories of him were still so vivid.

I could not believe he was truly gone.

It just wasn’t the same as losing Amah* 15 years ago

(* Amah is a Fukien term for paternal grandmother)

I was only 11 then, and what few memories I had of my Amah are now even more faded with time.

But with my Angkong… losing him was a terrible blow.

I was thousands of miles away from home, and it made the loss so much worse.

To be helpless and to be quiet about it, because to everyone else, you’re just one more person grieving and doing ‘nothing’ about it.

So I sent my dad the most consoling messages I could muster, all the while burying a tumult of emotions deep inside me.

And then, off to work.

The sun was shining outside.

I couldn’t believe it.

The world went on as though nothing happened.

“Doubtless the sun will continue shining long after your time comes.”

On the train, a woman scooted over so I could take the last seat available.

I restrained myself from hugging her.

It took exactly 17 minutes to reach the metro station closest to the office… and even less to map out a plan inside my head.

“I’ll go home no matter what.”

And I did.

After settling the matter with my bosses and my husband, I booked a flight home that Thursday evening.

This was even after I learnt that Angkong’s body was to be cremated that Wednesday — two days before I was scheduled to arrive in Cebu.

Quick recap: first, I wasn’t there when Angkong died, and now, I wouldn’t be there for his funeral as well.

I think at that point, it was already established that I was a failure of a granddaughter.

But I stood by my decision to go home anyway.

Come Wednesday, on the very same hour of Angkong’s funeral (1 p.m. Cebu time, 9:00 a.m. Dubai time), it rained.

I was on the bus to work, dressed in black from head to toe (in the absence of all-white mourning clothes in my closet), and I stared out the window at the strange coincidence.

It was only later on when I found out from my dad that it did not rain in Cebu at the funeral.

Maybe Angkong trying to tell me something?

He has over 25 grandchildren, many of whom are now married with children of their own (his great-grandchildren).

I was far from being the distinguished grandchild.

However, I do remember one instance shortly after graduation when I had visited him alone on a weekday, without the usual hustle and bustle of a weekend family gathering.

I was waiting for one of my uncles at the living room, when Angkong woke up from his nap and decided to take a light stroll with his nurse.

After greeting him with an amin and explaining why I had come, he smiled and told his nurse in Cebuano, “My granddaughter here is a teacher. She is very kind.”

I was genuinely touched.

Until that moment, I had always had a vague suspicion that he only knew me by my name and as the daughter of his youngest son.

Maybe he did know who I was!

Angkong had a peculiar habit of doing a headcount so to speak, each time we had a family gathering.

After all his children and grandchildren took their turn to amin, he would then proceed to ask where the missing family members were — and he never missed a single one up till the very end.

Maybe he too noticed I wasn’t there on the day of his funeral.

Maybe Angkong really was trying to tell me something.

The following day, Thursday, I headed straight to the airport after work, beginning a near-24-hour journey home (including the 6-hour layover in Hong Kong).

Dad picked me up from the airport.

For some time, we did not mention Angkong.

We spoke about inconsequential things about our now separate lives.

I asked him to drive us to one of my favorite restaurants growing up for a late-night dinner, all the while waiting for him to open up.

When dad finally spoke, my sadness was renewed.

Each person experiences grief in a different way, even though they lose one and the same beloved person.

Dad spoke about the day Angkong died, how he rushed to the hospital but never making it on time, how Angkong’s lifeless body was transported from the hospital mortuary to the funeral parlor to the memorial chapel and finally to the cemetery beside our beloved Amah.

All in the course of a few days, not even a full week!

The great old man who swore to his wife on her death bed that he would always care for their grandchildren and children, who lived each day for the next 15 years to fulfill his promise, was finally at rest.

The day after I arrived in Cebu, I spent the morning meditating in the Carmelite Monastery and that afternoon, dad and I visited Angkong at the cemetery with fresh white flowers in tow, as well as a single white Forever Rose, placed beside his final resting place, to symbolize my eternal gratitude to him who I owe more than life itself.

Soon after, my uncles, aunts and cousins arrived in droves.

The Seventh Day “ceremony” for Angkong began with the offering of his favorite fruits and, of course, his favorite orange soda.

Then his first-born son, my uncle, lit two incense sticks and bowed reverently three times before his grave.

The rest of Angkong’s children followed suit, by order of birth.

After my dad, the youngest son, performed the ritual, we the grandchildren took our places.

And finally, the great-grandchildren, the two daughters of Angkong’s eldest grandson.

Then us “kids” were ushered out to burn two boxes’ worth of Chinese paper money for the dead, while the “adults” prayed the Divine Mercy inside the mausoleum.

It was fairly simple — at first.

We has drop paper money inside the burning cauldron in twos or threes, making sure the fire did not go out.

But with over 15 grandchildren and great-grandchildren (that wasn’t even all of us) clamoring around the little cauldron dropping in paper money, it was bound to get chaotic.

At times, the flame would rise up dangerously, and at other times would die out completely, so we had to start the fire again and again.

After the last paper money was burnt to ashes, we joined the “adults” back inside the mausoleum to close the ceremony.

Our cousin from Hong Kong took each bowl of fruit and bowed three times before the grave before putting them inside a bag to bring back home.

After all the food offerings were packed, my eldest uncle lit two incense sticks and bowed three times for the last time.

We waited for the last two incense sticks to burn out for our “permission” to leave.

While waiting, we chatted in hushed tones and were reminded about the novena at Sacred Heart Parish later that evening.

With a few hours to spare, I asked dad if we could retrace Angkong’s final journey.

Some people believe that it is “bad luck” to return to these places.

But I believe in my heart that having made the long journey home to pay my final respects, despite the urgent work deadlines, financial constraints, etc., was a “sign” from Angkong.

He wanted me to be there, superstitions or not.

So dad drove me to the hospital where we stood outside Angkong’s room.

He described the events in vivid detail, so I could almost picture them happening before my eyes.

He took me outside the gate of the hospital mortuary, where the security guard asked if he could help us.

Dad explained the situation to him, and the security guard was gracious enough to let us stand there for a few minutes, while dad continued his story.

Next, we drove past the funeral parlor where Angkong was taken to be embalmed.

The mood inside the car was somber, until I saw an unmistakable print ad outside the funeral parlor, advertising an “environment-friendly, one-hour cremation”.

It’s fast!

It’s sustainable!

And it’s just a tiny bit inappropriate to grab one’s attention.

With still one hour to spare before the novena, I asked dad if we could grab a snack at Doming’s ngohiong, another one of my childhood favorites.

We arrived at Sacred Heart Parish early, so we took at peek at the Our Lady of China memorial chapel.

I was grateful nobody was there.

We attended Mass with the whole family, followed by the Novena which I was to lead that night.

We then proceeded to Tao Yuan for a family dinner, with the “kids” in one table and the “adults” in another.

The multi-course meal was served on a Lazy Susan, so that if I closed my eyes for just a minute, I could almost imagine Angkong with us, urging us to eat more.

The conversations flowed, most of which were nostalgic in nature.

We took turns sharing our happy memories with Angkong.

How he used to scare his nurse about the Buddha statue in his room, which would apparently walk on its own at night.

How he laughed at the wife of one of my cousins for lighting her joss sticks upside-down the very first time she made an offering in front of Amah’s shrine at home.

How he joked on his hospital bed that he was so old, he was nearing 200 years old!

All this led us to speculate, albeit inappropriately, whether he would pull a prank on us that night, the seventh night since he died, which was believed to be the night his soul would return home.

I half-wished he would, if it meant seeing him one last time.

It reminded me of a passage from Benedict Groeschel’s “Arise from Darkness” (which I have been reading and taking great solace in).

“Another source of grief is the mysterious dark door of death, the shadow of death, the decay of the body, the silence of the grave, the utter lack of response on the part of the dear one who has died… for the vast majority of the living, death is a dark corridor down which a dear one has passed into silence.”

Angkong certainly has been silent.

And I can only understand it to mean he’s finally at peace.

On Sunday, I asked dad to drive us to the cemetery after lunch.

This time, it was just the two of us.

Sundays were always special to Angkong.

He always loved seeing the whole family come together, and it was only really possible on Sundays when there was no work and no school.

I thought that it would make him happy to see us visit him on his favorite day of the week.

I spoke to him in silence, begged his forgiveness for coming too late, and asked him to watch over me on my flight back to Dubai the next day.

I too found peace.

On Sunday, I bid farewell to the dead.

On Monday, I said goodbye to the living.

My unexpected journey made me think about the precious little time each one of us have to live.

If I regret not spending enough time with my Angkong for all his 98 years (which is unusually long by today’s standards), what should I do today to make the most of my time with my living loved ones who may not even make it to the age of 98?

On my return flight to Dubai, I looked out the airplane window until the last flicker of light from Cebu faded in the distance.

And along with it, my family, my friends, all my loved ones.

I can only hope to see all of them alive and well the next time I come home.

The same way I had wished to see my Angkong again when I said goodbye to him last February.

But I too late…

I arrived in Dubai on Tuesday morning.

I had promised my bosses I’d report back to work on the same day of my flight, but it was easier said than done.

On the train ride from the airport to my flat, I entertained the thought of calling in sick, but another thought crossed my mind.

My Angkong.

I imagine that look of disapproval on his face, if I so much as use him as an excuse for my laziness.

When I was a child, I remember when my parents would excuse us early from a Sunday evening family gathering, so that I could finish my homework for the next day.

I would amin Angkong to say goodbye, and he would look sad for just a moment, before patting my hand reassuringly and letting me go.

He understood why I had to go.

Over the years, he and I would repeat the exact same farewell gesture.

Up till the last time I saw him.

Angkong always understood.

And so I steeled myself.

I went to work, if only to honor the memory of Angkong and the legacy of hard work he left behind.

 

The Royal Diaries: Mementos of a Childhood I Never Had

I was pretty close to shelling out USD110 (plus taxes) on Ebay last week.

The latest object of fixation?

A set of 20 hardbound books – the complete collection of The Royal Diaries Series.

Taken from the Ebay listing

Have you read it?

Because I have yet to meet another person who has.

It was one of the first – if not the very first – books I read that compelled me to write without apologies.

They came in the form of adolescent diary entries that dated back to the summer before 5^th grade, the summer before transferring to a co-ed school after spending my first 6 school years at an all-girls school.

The written outputs of that tumultuous age were, by no means, a work of art.

I remember rereading them a mere 3 years later and found them shallow, immature, yet mildly entertaining (if you enjoy pre-teen dramas centering on a girl who likes a guy who has a friend who likes that girl — phew!)

Nevertheless, that was where this whole business of writing started.

It all began with a book which, at that time, I had no idea was part of a 20-part series.

All the books in The Royal Diaries Series listed in chronological order on Wikipedia

That book was “Anastasia: The Last Grand Duchess” by Carolyn Meyer.

I saw my cousin reading it one day on our way to voice lessons and asked her if I could borrow it.

She said I could, on the condition that I’d have to read it very fast, because she had to give it back to her friend.

And read it fast I did.

I was already a huge fan of the 1997 “Anastasia” animated movie but hadn’t known that Anastasia was a real person (and that Dimitri wasn’t) and that she and her whole family were shot and burned in acid.

After reading about her brutal death, I had a haunting nightmare where I was led down a dark basement, felt actual bullets penetrate my body and was still conscious when my murderers buried me alive.

To say that the book made an impression on me is an understatement.

I decided to start writing about my life in a diary too, even though I felt frustrated that I only had boring, “peasant” things to write about.

About a year later, I found “Cleopatra VII: Daughter of the Nile” and “Marie Antoinette: Princess of Versailles”, also from the Royal Diaries Series as evinced by their near-identical hardbound covers.

I was 12 and begged my mom to buy them.

But she said I could only have one.

I ultimately settled on “Cleopatra” (a foreshadowing that I would marry an Egyptian, perhaps?)

What I loved most about the Royal Diaries Series is the interplay between history and fiction (which remain my two greatest loves).

And the fact that the authors chose the princess’ teenage years made it so relatable – well, to a certain extent.

I was still just a teenager who could barely afford to buy a book.

So when I chanced upon the Ebay listing last week, I was instantly transported back to my teenage years, albeit 15 years older but hey, at least I’ve got a proper bank account now.

To my disappointment, the Ebay seller did not ship to Dubai, so I had to keep looking for another seller who did.

All this searching led me to a website for free book downloads.

With just a few clicks, I had the complete Royal Diaries Series in my laptop.

I finished “Catherine: The Great Journey” over the weekend and am now in the middle of “Kristina: The Girl King”.

Considering this series was written for kids ages 8-13, it’s not exactly difficult reading material.

Still, I take more time than what is strictly necessary, because I like to do some background research on the characters – a “luxury” I could not afford back then in the age of dial-up internet.

Would I still buy the hardbound set given the chance?

Definitely!

They’re mementos of a childhood I never had, and they played a defining role in who I am today: avid reader, struggling writer and all.

TOOTIMETWOTIME: My Second The 1975 Live Experience in DXB

One of my  earliest posts on this blog was dedicated to The 1975.

It was early 2015.

I was a struggling high school teacher, fresh out of the university.

I couldn’t quite fit in my new environment – not with my more seasoned teaching colleagues, and certainly not with my students despite the relatively small age gap.

Which is partly why The 1975’s music appealed to me.

They sang about love, sex (I mean literally, it’s their actual song title), drugs (and called it Chocolate).

Meanwhile, I was single, was never even remotely close to experiencing ‘first base’ and of course, squeaky clean: no drugs, not even a cigarette.

Despite the total lack of commonalities with their lifestyle and mine, I was still drawn to their music.

I felt things when I just put on my earphones and let myself drift away from the humdrum of my own lackluster, conventional existence, while they laughed in the face of societal norms.

That, and their music is just so damn catchy.

So much so that I purchased a ticket to their first big concert at the Mall of Asia Arena without blinking.

Never mind that it was a good 1-hour plane ride away from Cebu and that I had to rely on the charity of my high school friend.

It was impulsive, reckless and totally kickass.

I had never felt so ALIVE!

The live performance lasted about an hour and a half, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, feeling it, and reliving it.

Inspiration nagged me to write about it and so I did, typing away in a class full of high schoolers taking their final exams of the year.

Fast forward 4 years later, a thousand miles away from home, 1:14 on a Saturday morning, I’m still up, writing a blog about my second The 1975 live experience.

It was surreal.

The first one was almost like an out-of-body experience, where I said to myself, “I’ll remember this moment ‘til the day I die!”

The second one was, “I never thought I’d live to see the day this would happen to me again!”

And for good reason.

The 1975 is provocative, whereas Dubai is… traditional.

Dubai frowns on anything that goes against religion and society (which are practically one and the same).

The 1975 constantly challenges them, going so far as to write a song about the “Antichrist” (raising a lot of Christian and Non-Christian eyebrows alike) among other controversial, sometimes subversive topics.

So when my agency colleague told me that tickets to their concert were going on sale at 5:00 p.m. last June 12, my first thought was…

But there was an actual countdown to when the ticket sales would go live.

Once again, my old impulsiveness, recklessness and kick-assery resurfaced.

5 o’clock on the dot, I booked two front-row, left-side-of-the-stage tickets to the greatest, most underrated band of this generation.

From June to August, I pored over the song lyrics of “A Brief Inquiry into Online Relationships”.

Source: Wikimedia

Studied each song, stanza and line, going so far as to read their analyses.

A quick look at their 2019 setlist showed that they were also playing some of the best songs from their previous albums, so I reviewed those too.

Source: Setlist.fm

There was clearly an artistic evolution from their “Chocolate” days to today’s “Love It If We Made It”.

Like many artists these days, they’re now using their platform to raise awareness on issues we are all guilty of just scrolling past our social media news feeds.

Much as I admire the maturity they’re bringing into their music, I also can’t help but feel their older songs were ‘catchier’.

Despite that, The 1975 will always be my favorite band, and having seen them perform live (and sounding as good as their studio records), I was counting the days ‘til the concert on August 14.

It was a Wednesday.

We had only just gotten back in office after a 5-day Eid weekend.

I turned to caffeine to shake off the holiday hangover and knock off one job after another with the goal of leaving the office at 6:30 p.m. sharp.

After changing to a flashy outfit of matching rainbow sequin top and headband and shiny pink track pants and bomber jacket, my colleague and I left at 6:30, dropped off our bags in her car and hailed a cab to the Coca-Cola Arena.

We reached 5 minutes before 7 and waited in line for more than half an hour before the gates opened a little past 7:30.

By then, we had endured mindless discussions of tweenagers at our backs, ‘blaspheming’ the good name of The 1975 by comparing them to a Justin Bieber concert they apparently attended.

In front of us were two heavily made up Filipino girls, one of whom was practically only wearing a bra.

It was a motley crowd, not a huge turn up, but a lot more than I had expected.

I was especially amused at one elderly Saudi man in full kandura, accompanying his teenage daughters in niqab.

Kudos to the loving supportive father, whoever you may be!

After 7:30, the line started to move.

We had to be inspected for anything that should not be brought inside the venue, selfie sticks included.

I had just the one, a black foldable one that fit in real nice with my fanny pack, so that when the security lady asked me to open my bag, she just took one not-very-good look at the inner contents and let me through.

One neon orange wristband and escalator flight later, we were standing in front of the concessionaire stand and the official merch pop-up store.

While waiting in line to get our hands on some merch, my colleague and I discussed which shirt we should get and ultimately decided on the black tee with The 1975’s first album artwork in front and a list of the 2019 tour dates and venues at the back.

Each one cost AED 130.

I had always regretted not getting one in Manila (I think they were priced at PHP 1,500 then), so this time around, I just swiped my card without a second thought.

Woot woot

Then we made a beeline for the concessionaire stand to get Cokes and chicken tenders (which were surprisingly good and not outrageously overpriced at AED 30 – with fries on the side).

And off we went to the main arena to find our seats.

It was huuuge.

Said to accommodate 17,000 people at one time, 5,000 of which can fit in the bowl floor area.

The bowl floor area was mainly divided into 2 by metal barricades (and Herculean security guards): the Golden Circle Standing and Regular Standing.

I passed the time munching on my deep-fried dinner, setting up my phone and soaking up the general excitement.

A few minutes after 9 o’clock, the band emerged from backstage and kicked off the show with “Give Yourself A Try”.

That’s Matty jumping off the platform where George was playing the drums

Note to fans: This is Matty’s #1 favorite The 1975 song to date (followed by “fallingforyou” and “Paris”).

Very early on into the show, Matty made it clear that he had earphones on with people on the other side (concert organizers) telling him what not to do like cuss or discuss region-sensitive topics.

Nevertheless, some of his songs really did call for a bit of cussing, and he still touched on his LGBTQ advocacy.

“Sometimes I just try to help more than I have the power to actually help and sometimes it gets me in trouble,” he said, tearing up in the process.

“I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I just want us to identify as humans and not as groups of individual, different people.”

Closely followed by a tearful apology of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it seems indulgent for me to cry like this” and using his shirt to wipe away his tears.

“I’m just doing this out of love and I’m sorry if I ever said anything.”

But that wasn’t the end of it.

Towards the latter half of the concert, Matty gets off the stage to give an unidentified fan a hug.

It took sometime for the camera to focus and project what’s happening on the screen.

Enough time for me to think, “Is it even going to be a woman?”

Well, it wasn’t.

It was a male fan and it wasn’t a hug but a kiss on the lips.

Needless to say, we were all left as SHOOK as he was.

Some of my favorite concert moments were “She’s American”, “fallingforyou” (of course), “It’s Not Living If It’s Not With You”.

During the first of the 3-song encore, around the end of “Chocolate”, I saw the security guys opening the barricade to the Golden Circle area.

My eyes nearly fell out of my sockets.

I nudged at my colleague and told her to take the lead.

We went down before anyone else in our row did, very nearly got into trouble with security because of my smuggled selfie stick, got stopped for a good 30 seconds before we were allowed in the Golden Circle while “Sex” played on.

Thanks to my colleague’s persistence, we got an incredibly close view of the band and were there for “The Sound”, jumping up and down at Matty’s command.

Pure adrenaline rush.

Absolutely magnificent.

Un-effing-believable.

Now the question on everyone’s mind, “Will they be allowed back in after Matty’s act of defiance?”

Even Matty’s asking…