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Continue reading →: Could have been a Nepo Baby
Yes, I am the son of a DPWH engineer. But my father was different. In the early ’90s, when Pampanga was battered by lahar and infrastructure projects were in demand, he could have profited from it. Instead, I saw him return bribes, ranging from baskets of mangoes to…
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Continue reading →: ‘O Sole Mio, Puta!
I got out of an arranged date because of an emergency call, which sounds noble until you realize I would have used almost anything. A flat tire. Sudden diarrhea. A national crisis. I am that person who hides behind work because work is clean. Work has protocols. Work has measurable…
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Continue reading →: Across the River, Eros
When I was younger and still believed in love, I went through a failed love affair so dramatic, I half expected Zeus to intervene. I didn’t write to win anyone back. I wrote to figure out what the hell had just happened. And because apparently, when I’m heartbroken, I speak…
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Continue reading →: Komorebi
This piece was written for the souvenir program of the 52nd Philippine Board of Anesthesiology Conferment Ceremonies. It draws inspiration from the ceremony’s central theme—Komorebi, the Japanese word for sunlight filtering through trees. This served as a metaphor for resilience and quiet hope amid adversity. Composed during the height of…
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Continue reading →: They Stood when the Tears Spoke
I used to roll my eyes at those chick flick moments, you know, when the protagonist delivers a soul-stirring speech and the crowd magically rises in a standing ovation. I always thought, yeah right. In real life, that’s the part where I either zone out or whisper snarky comments to…
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Continue reading →: Medlife Crisis: Reflections from the Edge
I took a different route to work today. Drove past my old med school and saw myself again—walking those streets, hopeful and wide-eyed, thick glasses slipping down my nose, white uniform stained with blood and sweat, lugging around books and transcriptions I barely finished reading the night before. I…
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Continue reading →: Quarter Past Tito
It’s just 9:15 p.m., but my mouth keeps betraying me with yawns so wide they could swallow my coffee mug. I drained the last drops from the coffeemaker, hoping caffeine might sharpen my brain enough to absorb CNN’s latest update on the North Korean-American conflict. No luck. These days,…
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Continue reading →: Table for One, Plus Everyone I Work With: An Introvert’s Horror Story
It’s been a while, and yes, life has happened: loudly, unexpectedly, and all at once. I’ve finished residency training and now serve as chief of our department. If you’re into Grey’s Anatomy, think Miranda Bailey, but quieter, less dramatic, and with fewer monologues. I’m also wrapping up the final exams…
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.
