It means that no matter what unfolds and no matter how tightly you grip the steering wheel, the sun will keep rising without you, the dust will keep settling around you, and everything that really matters carries on after you’re gone. You’ll be endless. This body you currently inhabit will take on new forms so that the story written in your DNA continues like a Star Wars franchise that just won’t fucking end.

Aside from that disgusting pubic hair story from someone so NOT me, it baffles me how significantly America has woven itself into the culture. The Philippines has 19 official languages, yet American English is the one that is widely spoken. Ancient Filipinos were storytellers, performers, and artists, yet so many of us in the diaspora can only envision professional success in a capitalist framework of “working in an office”. As for beauty standards, it’s the same story from different cultures globally: skin lighteners, nose contouring, you know the rest.

Years later, as my immediate family moved to Canada, the distance between my grandfather and I increased. Even when he too, immigrated to Canada, the barriers between us remained. I was busy being a spoiled, bratty North American and he was busy trying to understand bus schedules, and coffee makers, and snowstorms, and everything else that came with his new life.

So I just stayed still, grateful for this moment. The universe was telling me: “Here you go, you little punk. You still wanna be a brat? Pack your bags, son. To the left, to the left. I can have another you in a minute”.

“Practice gratitude”. OK, but like, how? In a society where I can have everything I want delivered to my door in minutes, how can I be grateful? Wait, tell me after! My UberEats just got here.