Later this year, I decided to challenge myself to live more slowly. The decision, which started as just an idea, came to me randomly after I watched a YouTube shorts from one of the few channels I’m subscribed to. 

Honestly, before coming across the "live slowly" practice, I had tried similar approaches countless times in the past, and I failed every time. It was always easy at the start because the idea itself was motivating, but as time went on, my biggest enemy turned out to be consistency. Whenever I felt tired, I’d subconsciously and reflexively reach out for my phone, as if it had become an extension of me—a habit so deeply ingrained that it was far harder to break than I had anticipated. So, when I decided to try it again, I was worried I’d fall back into the same pattern and end up with the same disappointing outcome. And, to be honest, there were moments when I did. When that happened, I’d guilt-trip myself and feel like a huge disappointment. I would even go as far as hating myself for not staying consistent. However, during those tough moments, I realized I needed to stop being so hard on myself. Instead of seeing my slip-ups as failures, I started viewing them as reminders that I could pick up where I left off. I understood that to make the practice consistent, I had to turn it into a habit. But I also had to accept that I might be tempted or fall short along the way. Sure, I could be disappointed in myself or even frustrated, but I had to remember that giving in didn’t mean giving up. Missing a day didn’t mean I couldn’t try again tomorrow—and that’s what really mattered. That’s where I went wrong before: every time I failed, I’d let guilt consume me and decide to stop altogether. Looking back, I realize I only liked the idea of living slowly, but I wasn’t truly committed or disciplined enough to stick with it.

Now, I appreciate the process so much more. I’ve learned that I need to let go of the idea of perfection. I have to allow myself to fail but also to stand back up afterward. It’s okay to feel disappointed, as long as I bounce back. Slipping up shouldn’t be an excuse to stop permanently. Instead, I remind myself that there’s always another day to start over. I guess that’s the reason why I’ve been relatively successful since I started doing it. It took a lot of maturity to learn how to be gentle with myself. And gentleness, I’ve realized, is one of the essential ingredients for embracing a slower way of living.

Living slowly is actually subjective and doesn’t literally mean moving at a slow pace. It’s about finding your own rhythm and living life with focus and intention. This involves decluttering everything you no longer need and keeping only what adds value to your life, your time, and your well-being.

By doing so, you ease your perspective and quiet your racing thoughts. It gives you a clearer view of the bigger picture and helps you recognize the things that truly enhance your life.

(side note: you may check this playlist to know more about "slow living.")

As the year comes to a close, I’ve reflected on four important "D's" I’ve learned in 2024, particularly after embracing slow living. Here they are:

1. Decluttering & Donating

All this time, I thought the idea I had about "decluttering" was accurate, until I learned it was only partially correct when I binge-watched her videos on the subject. I used to think that the act of literally throwing your old stuff away—without much thought—was already decluttering. I remember seeing the term online, perhaps in an acquaintance's IG story, where it was mentioned. Although I believed I looked up its meaning, I didn’t fully understand it at the time, as I was only fascinated by the definition I found on Google. The word itself sounded endearing, and I didn’t put much effort into understanding it beyond its literal sense.

So, when I watched her videos, I learned that "decluttering" isn't just about "throwing things away," but rather a therapeutic process. It's about stepping back a little to gain a broader perspective—like looking at your room from a distance. Then, you walk toward your closet, open each drawer, and reveal the piled-up clothes. You stare at them and decide, as you scan each item, whether you still need it. If you’re still using it, then you need it. If not, ask yourself: Is it wearable? Can it be donated? If yes, donate it. If not, maybe you can repurpose it—perhaps turn it into a rug or something useful. If it's beyond repair, that’s when you can throw it away.

Decluttering isn’t just about the physical action; it’s a thought process. It involves asking yourself what you can donate or dispose of. This assessment helps you measure the value of things in your life and whether they take up too much space—whether in your closet, your room, or your life in general. By letting go of some things, you create room for new things, or simply more breathing space, making your environment easier on the eyes.

As the creator said, "Decluttering is not just an act of minimizing, but a way to carefully edit our lives."

Last August, I did my first major decluttering. It took me about three days to finish everything—from sorting through house clothes, outgrown PJs and shorts, discarded shirts, outdated jeans, to other old items. In total, I donated five boxes and two bags to Caritas Manila, Inc., our chosen charity.

I wasn’t expecting it to feel this good to do these kinds of tasks. When I started decluttering my things, I felt physically exhausted, yet oddly fine with it because I was genuinely enjoying the process. At one point, I became so engrossed in sorting clothes, categorizing them, and folding them neatly into boxes that I didn’t realize I had been at it for more than three hours straight. My stomach was growling, and my body wanted to collapse onto the tiled floor, but I didn’t want to stop because my mind wasn’t as tired as my body. Seeing everything scattered on the floor, with boxes wide open and bags waiting lifelessly to be filled, I felt motivated to clear it all out. At the same time, I wasn’t in a rush—I was perfectly at ease with taking my time to go through the process.

It truly felt rewarding to do this every once in a while. The fact that I could enjoy it while also helping others made it a win-win for me. Now, I’m decluttering again. It’s not as much as before, but there are still items I feel would be better donated than left to sit in our closet, taking up space.

I’m looking forward to sending these items to the same charity. In our own small way, we’re able to extend a bit of help to those in need, and that thought alone brings me so much joy.

If you wish to donate as well, please find their contact details below for your reference, along with additional notes:

Address: 2002 Jesus Street, Pandacan, Manila

Contact Numbers:

• 09298343857 (Viber)
• 09054285001
• 02 8243 7171 to 72

Email: donatedgoods@caritasmanila.org.ph

Additionally, I made a separate donation of old books I had, which I dropped off last October (or possibly late September) at Ayala Triangle. You may check this link for more information.

2. Digital Detox

It was from her that I first learned about "Digital Detox." The moment I heard the term, I was immediately convinced to try it, simply because it sounded so therapeutic. "Digital Detox" — maybe it’s just the alliteration, but the term really resonated with me (haha, whatever, Thea!). It only took one video on the topic to convince me that I needed a digital detox. To practice slow living effectively, I realized I needed to build a healthier relationship with my phone as my next step.

I started by setting up a screen time limit. If I hadn't added this widget to my home screen, I wouldn't have known how much time I was spending on my phone each day. After checking my data, I was shocked to discover that my average screen time was around 6-7 hours, and sometimes even 8 hours a day! Realizing that I was spending about a third of my day in front of my phone—mostly doomscrolling through social media—made me feel bothered and embarrassed. That realization hit me hard, sparking a sudden rush of determination to make a change, slowly but surely, one step at a time. So, I set my screen time limit to 6 hours. Of course, it wasn't as simple as just setting a target for how long I wanted to use my phone. I had to change my habits and the way I used my phone. This included uninstalling apps that I could live without, like Twitter, which I used to open instinctively whenever I was bored. For the apps I decided to keep, I made sure to declutter them digitally. I limited a number of friends and followers on my accounts, archived posts to clean up my profile, unfollowed Instagram pages that didn’t align with my interests, and unsubscribed from YouTube channels I no longer enjoyed. Then, I deleted messages across all my communication apps and organized my emails by creating labels for easier filtering. I also unsubscribed from newsletters that were just filling up my inbox. Finally, I went through my photo gallery, deleted unnecessary pictures, and organized them into albums and sub-albums to make everything look tidier.

Honestly, everything felt exhausting. I even caught myself wondering why I needed to do this when I could simply leave things as they were. But I knew I couldn’t. I realized that these small steps were important to embracing the practice of slow living. Over time, my screen time decreased to just 5 hours a day, and there were even rare occasions when I used my phone for only about 2 hours. It was incredible, and I felt proud of myself for taking on the challenge and succeeding.

Since becoming more mindful of my screen time, I’ve realized just how much time I actually have—a lot—and how much of it I can spend on things other than endless scrolling. There’s so much more to life than screens. Life isn’t in the phone; it’s in what’s in front of you when you look up, away from the screen’s light that strains your eyes and keeps your fingers scrolling. Since reducing my time hunched over my phone, I’ve begun to notice and reflect on the things I had ignored, neglected, missed out on, or forgotten. When I look up, I see books I can read, notebooks I can write in, and my pet, whom I can bond with more often than before. I’ve rediscovered the moments when I’d simply sit in silence, getting lost in thought, and unexpectedly finding inspiration for my next piece of writing. I’ve also returned to a life where I jot down striking lines from the books I read. When I felt bored before, I’d search for ways to fill the time, often ending up creating something meaningful...and I want this to happen again next year.

3. Decompress

2024 has honestly been so cruel to me. I went through a lot this year and found myself back in the same pit of loneliness. Everything came at me all at once, and I was on the brink of giving up again. This year, for the first time, I hated myself for how I looked. Whenever I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, all I could see were my blemishes, dark spots, acne marks, textured skin, dead eyes, crooked teeth, and lips that always seemed to refuse to smile at the world.

To uplift myself, I sought solace in hoarding cosmetic items to conceal my imperfections, which had never been insecurities before. I also started intermittent fasting in hopes of becoming skinnier, thinking those outfits I saw online would suit me better if I lost weight. However, I wasn’t happy doing it. It felt like torture—a punishment I imposed on myself. I skipped breakfast every day and limited the amount of rice I ate. While I did lose some weight, I looked sad... and old. The situation at home didn’t help either. Every day, I woke up and sighed, bracing myself for another day—unsure if it would be peaceful or filled with anger.

Of course, the situation didn’t drastically change when I started living more slowly. I still have the same messed-up family dynamics, plagued by old issues. I still dislike how I look, and I still sigh whenever the thought of living like this hits me hard. However, I realized that I had to climb out of this pit unless I wanted to be consumed by the darkness. It’s a scary place—no one wants to be there—but sometimes, you’re trapped there against your will. The way out isn’t going back to where you entered; you have to go through it to find the exit.

I’m not sure if I’ve found the exit yet, but I’ve tried to navigate the darkness until I glimpsed slivers of light. I was reminded of an essay I once wrote about allowing ourselves to feel emotions other than happiness. It doesn’t mean we should settle there and drown in them. Yes, there are other emotions, but we shouldn’t embrace them so deeply that we prefer them over happiness. So, despite the heaviness, I started dragging myself out almost every weekend to have fun—even if it was just by myself. I went to the cinema alone to watch movies. I visited parks to read and observe people. I started listening more to my body and realized that the best diet for me is having a healthy relationship with food. Ultimately, what helped me the most was finding ways to decompress.

Yes, 2024 has been cruel to me, but it has also been fruitful. Looking back, I see how much I’ve grown this year. I found myself in many uncomfortable, even cringy, situations because I decided to finally put myself out there. I became brave enough to live for myself, even though it was so incredibly hard. I learned to take bigger risks without dwelling on whether the outcome would bring big rewards or not. Essentially, I allowed myself this year to let loose—to free my thoughts and intentions, to prioritize myself, and to be kind, gentle, and more forgiving toward myself.

4. Discipline

I mentioned earlier that my biggest challenge whenever I decide to start something is consistency. Honestly, I can declutter and donate, do a digital detox, and decompress whenever I want—but the real question is, can I sustain these habits without discipline?

I believe the reason I’ve been relatively successful in adopting slow living is my discipline, which stems from the goals and motivations that inspired me to start in the first place. This discipline has kept me grounded whenever I begin to veer away from the path I should ideally follow. To continue practicing the first three lessons I’ve learned, I need to place even greater emphasis on cultivating and reinforcing this discipline.

This is something I intend to carry with me into the coming year and beyond. My goal is not only to sustain it but to continue mastering it in the years ahead, ensuring it becomes an integral part of my lifestyle.

The deliberate, laborious effort to stop myself from doom-scrolling on my phone allowed me to spend my early Saturday afternoon watching Woman of the Hour.

Initially, I had been searching for another horror movie, but none of the recent releases seemed appealing enough to satisfy my then-picky watching appetite. Running out of options, I decided to check Woman of the Hour on Letterboxd, hoping some spot-on reviews might convince me to give it a shot.

And they did. (I could practically hear their evil laughter.)

I vaguely remembered seeing something about this film on Twitter—it was based on real-life events, and the man at the center of the story was indeed a psychotic serial killer. That was all I knew going in, apart from the persuasive nudges I got from Letterboxd. (For the record, it didn’t have a stellar rating, but hey, 3-something stars is an achievement in its own right.)

The movie opened with a scene where a woman, looking slightly awkward as she struck some hesitant poses, seemed unsure of where exactly to direct her gaze. Offscreen, a man spoke to her from behind his camera lens. They were alone in an open field. At first glance, if you had no prior knowledge of the plot, you might have thought the setting was perfect for a romantic introduction between the characters. The field was vast—so expansive that from a distance, they would have looked like dots. The wind blew gently, and the sun felt almost within reach, its warmth bronzing the skin. In short, it was a picturesque spot, seemingly ideal for a romantic date.

Perhaps the woman thought so too.

However, this idyllic setup quickly unraveled. What initially seemed like a romantic encounter turned into something far more sinister. Being alone with a stranger in such a remote location turned out to be the opposite of romantic—it became a predator’s opportunity. After some seemingly sweet talk between shots, the tension shifted. The man suddenly grabbed her neck with the force of someone gripping a bottle. Startled, she pulled away, slapping his hands every time he attempted to tighten his grip. Despite her resistance, she lost her balance under his strength and fell to the ground. Seizing the moment, the man carried out the very plan he had from the beginning. What happened to her became the recurring fate of other victims throughout the movie—except for one: a young aspiring actress who narrowly escaped becoming his next target.

Sheryl wasn’t particularly happy with how her audition had gone. Her mood didn’t improve when she ran into her "acting coach" in the hallway outside her apartment unit. She greeted him briefly, hinting that she wasn’t in the mood for a long conversation. However, the message clearly didn’t register with him. Oblivious as he was to her cues, he matched her pace and attempted to strike up a conversation anyway. By the time Sheryl made it inside her apartment, her phone rang. Distracted by the call, it was too late for her to properly dismiss him, and he managed to roam around in her space. The call brought unexpected news—she had been invited to be one of the contestants on a televised dating game. While it wasn’t the acting break she had hoped for, her friend assured her that this could be her chance to finally be "seen." Reluctantly, she agreed, not realizing that this opportunity would lead her to becoming a target instead of a star.

He erupted after a prolonged silence, during which neither of them seemed willing to break the tension. In the back of my mind, I thought: What the hell? He was the one who made her uncomfortable, so why was he acting offended and asking her to leave? The rule was simple—she didn’t want to. Despite that, it was Sheryl who felt obligated to salvage the situation and save his face. He had twisted things to make her feel as though she was at fault for being uncomfortable with his advances—advances she didn’t welcome because she simply didn’t want to. Feeling the weight of the situation, Sheryl reluctantly agreed to go for another round of drinks. The scene then cut to another moment, and we found her back in her room. As she got up, we caught a glimpse of someone sleeping next to her—it was her acting coach.

Throughout the film, the story jumped between Sheryl and Rodney. For Sheryl, we saw glimpses of her preparation for her upcoming debut on a live dating show. Meanwhile, Rodney was on his quest, capturing women through his camera—taking pictures and, ultimately, taking their lives. Their separate paths finally collided when they both appeared on the dating show, marking the moment their lives became fatally intertwined.

The dating game went on as scripted. As instructed by the male host, Sheryl felt like she had no choice but to play the fool and smile all the way through. She read the questionnaires like a puppet, reciting them word for word, sticking strictly to the material as if she was only there to highlight the wits of the candidates. As the game rolled on, we met the first guy, who looked out of place and nauseous; the next one, who was cocky and full of himself; and finally, Rodney. Among the candidates, he seemed to have the best handle on himself, charming the audience with his way with words, earning collective "oohs" and a raised eyebrow from Sheryl.

During the taping, other things were happening in the background. Across the stage, the audience pit was filled with people eagerly watching Sheryl search for a match through a set of boring, pre-prepared questions. However, there was one lone figure who did not appear to be enjoying the show.

Laura had come to the televised dating game with her boyfriend and a group of friends. Expecting a typical show, she never imagined she would find herself quivering with fear at the very sight of one of the contestants. But she was sure—Rodney was the same man who had murdered her best friend, Alison. And yet, here he was, walking free, even trying his luck in a televised dating game. How was a serial killer roaming around so freely?

Unable to bear the sight of him, she walked out of the studio, her boyfriend chasing after her. But instead of offering support, he dismissed her fears, insisting that she must be mistaken about the third guy.

When a woman gathers the courage to confide in you about her fear, you ought to believe her. Dismissing her is the same as dismissing all the women who have been brutally killed by men like him. Furious and speechless, Laura dismissed her boyfriend in turn, yelling at him to get out of her car. Despite her terror, she mustered the remaining courage she had and went to report Rodney. However, the officer she spoke to wasted her time, making her wait for the show's producer, only for her to discover that the name given to her belonged to the janitor.

Meanwhile, during the second commercial break, Sheryl had a brief chat with the makeup artist. A little push from her was all Sheryl needed to finally decide—it was her time to shine. She took control of the dating show, leaving the male host on the periphery. If she was meant to be looking for a match, she refused to be just a tool to stroke the contestants' egos. She would not simply stand there and read the questions like a robot. She had come on the show just like the male contestants—for screen time. And she deserved the same spotlight.

If doing the opposite of what the male host expected would make him mad, then so be it. After all, it was a one-time opportunity, and by next week, she wouldn't be there. So she had to make the most of it—by being herself. To be seen meant being seen for who she truly was. The audience erupted in laughter as she took over the show. With her witty questions and side comments, the show became livelier, and for the first time, she felt alive—not just a girl sitting on the other side of the stage, reciting lines.

Let's be real—a man who could speak his mind with a balance of conviction and sincerity was surely a decent choice among the three contestants. And that man was Rodney.

As I checked my watch, I was surprised to see how much time had passed. I was already more than halfway through my wait, which coincided with the end of the dating show. On her way out, Sheryl was approached by Rodney, who had been leaning against the wall, obviously waiting for her. She was taken aback when he invited her to dinner, but she shyly accepted, not wanting to seem rude to someone she had just matched with on television.

At first, everything seemed to be going well—just as it had with her acting coach. That was until Rodney made a remark about "soul" in the middle of their conversation about theatre. The word felt out of place, making her uneasy. When she snorted in response, Rodney did not take it well.

That was when the tension shifted.

Like her acting coach, Rodney's energy suddenly changed. He stopped trying to impress her with his lies—lies Sheryl had already spotted. Unlike before, this time, she turned down his invitation for another drink. Thankfully, the waitress understood her simple shake of the head—a silent signal from one woman to another. It was clear that Rodney was trying to get her drunk. Her suspicions were confirmed when she recalled what the second contestant had whispered to her earlier: "He's an asshole."

What Sheryl experienced is not just an isolated event—it is a universal experience for women.

Women want to stay out late but have to go home early because of men. They cannot walk comfortably at night, afraid that the man behind them might have bad intentions. They cannot wear what they want, limiting their self-expression in fashion because some men take it as an invitation for perversion. And when women refuse men or turn them down, those men’s egos shatter, making them play the victim, guilt-trip women, or resort to something worse—just like what Rodney was planning to do to Sheryl that night.

He wanted to check if she had given him her real number, but when he realized it was fake, he became furious. Even after they parted ways, he followed her—step by step. As Sheryl tried to collect herself, keeping everything under control, she cursed under her breath, pushing down her panic as she hurried to her car. Just as she reached it and inserted her key, he caught up to her. Fortunately, a group of guys emerged from a nearby garage, scaring Rodney away.

That was the end of her story, but another one was still unfolding—Amy’s.

Despite the bizarre nature of some scenes in movies, I managed to grasp Amy’s situation as it unraveled. She had gone with Alcala to a deserted location for a promised photoshoot. While she tilted her head toward the sky, her back turned to him, Rodney lunged at her, sending them both tumbling from a high ground.

When she woke up, she was covered in bruises. Her hands were tied, and her pants were pulled down to her feet. Next to her was Rodney—crying like a baby. She was still alive, and she needed to find a way out. Instead of panicking, she played into the shame and guilt, deceiving him into untying her by pretending to trust him.

As they drove, they stopped at a traffic light. Unlike Sheryl’s silent signal to the waitress, which had been understood instantly, Amy’s desperate, pleading eyes—surrounded by fresh bruises—were ignored by a driver in the intersection. He drove past them. She felt helpless while Rodney breathed heavily, grinning in triumph.

Fortunately, they stopped again when Rodney needed to relieve himself. This gave Amy the chance to escape and report him to the police. Meanwhile, Laura, now accompanied by her boyfriend, attempted to refile her complaint against Rodney. But once again, the officer dismissed her, pushing her further into hopelessness.

Every day, women face mistreatment and violence—at work, on their way home, even in their own homes. Every day, we have to think carefully about what we wear, be cautious about how we speak, and worry that our words might be taken the wrong way. What happened to Sheryl, Amy, Laura, and Alison are just a few among countless cases that are dismissed, trashed, buried, and forgotten due to helplessness. These crimes happened in the 1970s, and yet, women still endure the same dangers today. We still have the same broken system that fails to protect young girls, pregnant women, the elderly, and working women.

This film is nothing new. There have been countless movies depicting the realities of women’s lives, yet society continues to treat them as mere entertainment instead of calls to action.

So, I’ll ask again...

What are girls for?