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Continue reading →: All Aboard the SituationShip
“The cruise is 40k lang.” I would not have been so concerned if this statement had come from anyone else. Unfortunately, it came from my gay cheapskate friend from Ayala Alabang, whom we shall now call Chastity Botham. Until that moment, Chastity had developed the habit of measuring everything I…
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Continue reading →: The Coffee Grinder, “Add to Cart” and the Sacred Heart
I got myself a vintage coffee grinder. Yes, grinder with an “e,” not the hook-up app. (Although, frankly, a machine with a built-in Grindr would have made mornings more interesting.) The grinder was a compromise in the ongoing cold war between me and my interior designer. I wanted an espresso…
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Continue reading →: The Tita Files: Life, Lactose, and Things Hindi Masyadong Matamis
“Masarap siya, hindi masyadong mata…” I slowed down and lowered my voice when I realised what I was about to say, particularly because I was saying it in front of my much younger gay bestie. “…matamis.” He immediately laughed at the trentahin in me. He heard the hesitation, the careful…
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Continue reading →: The Cheapskate from Ayala Alabang
“Will you pay for the breakfast and coffee of a poor fellow like me?” he asked, giving me his most shameless puppy-dog eyes. I rolled my eyes and said, “Fine.” Normally, I would have resisted on principle, but this was Apple Pay’s first day in the Philippines, and as the…
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Continue reading →: Memories in Christmas Jazz
It is September in the Philippines, which means Christmas has already begun its slow takeover. Somewhere out there, Mariah Carey is being ceremoniously thawed from the Arctic ice, and “All I Want for Christmas Is You” has started leaking through every available speaker. I went to the mall the other…
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Continue reading →: When an Ugly Shower Curtain made me Cry
Apart from the photo album, my tita who was sorting through my mom’s things handed me an ugly green shower curtain. It had butterflies and white lilies printed on it, the kind of design you only buy when you are in a rush or when the store has nothing else…
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Continue reading →: How Puzzle Pieces Come Together
I once picked up a single puzzle piece and wondered where it was supposed to fit. On its own, it looked ordinary, just a weird shape with a bit of color. But a puzzle never makes sense one piece at a time. You only see the beauty when everything comes…
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Continue reading →: Before Mom, After Mom
My mother sat on a chair, wearing her green duster, inside a cozy bungalow that felt achingly familiar. Her graying hair was combed away from her face, revealing the wide, familiar plane of her forehead. I knew she had cancer. The knowledge sat quietly between us, like another person in…
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Continue reading →: Green Bones
When the funeral coordinator turned over my mother’s ashes, she handed us a small packet of fragments. For a moment, I thought they were implants I had never known about. She told us they were green bones. It is rare, she said, and many believe it to be a sign…
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Continue reading →: The Last Breaths
I had just stepped out of work when my mom’s caregiver called. Her voice told me everything before the words even landed. I rushed home. I walked into the room and saw my mother taking her last breaths. And here’s the cruel part: I’m an anesthesiologist. I spend my life…
ETHER DIARIES
controlled breaths | uncontrolled thoughts
Hello,
I’m Macoy Cruz
Macoy is, ironically, my professional name. Before residency, there were probably only two people who actually called me that. Then I had to get my name embroidered on my residency white coat. It cost ₱9 per letter, and I realized it would be cheaper if I used a nickname I barely used.
So I did.
People who knew me before residency would occasionally hear someone call me that and look confused, like, Who is he? People who met me after residency, meanwhile, would be like, Who is Mark?
I was diagnosed with depression in 2018. It has relapsed a few times since then.
Most of the time, you probably wouldn’t know. I still go to work. I teach. I see patients. I answer messages. I buy groceries. Life continues looking remarkably ordinary even when, internally, it doesn’t feel ordinary at all.
Writing became one of the ways I deal with that. It forces me to take whatever has been circling inside my head and put it somewhere else for a while.
Sometimes I understand it better afterward.
Sometimes I just make it funny.
