Tag Archives: jamie santiago

So we beat on, boats against the current…


Sometimes I like to rewind to a couple years ago, and think about me then and me now. It always trips me out. I look at this picture now, and I forget that 6 years ago (This makes me feel old), this was almost a dream-like, unobtainable desire.

Well, it’s been almost 2 years, and at times I feel like it’s only been 2 months and other times I feel like it’s been 5 years. This past couple of years have really been a whirlwind–consisting of mostly amazing times though some admittedly turbulent. There are no words, or pictures, or particular memories that can sum it all up for me. There are only feelings and thoughts that  are sufficient enough for me.

I don’t even know how I’ve managed to survive doing everything I do. From being a college student, to working 2 jobs, to interning for great company, to working hours and hours, to staying up all night, to forgetting what happened the night before…

Within these years, I’ve done things that I thought I would never be able to do. I’ve taken chances I never thought I’d take, I pushed myself to the edge, I’ve felt extremely happy, sad, angry, stressed and every other emotion you could think a 22-year-old girl could have. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve never felt more alive.

We’re at that change where things are constantly in a state of influx, and it could either be very scary, or very exciting. Or a little bit of both or somewhere in between. I think amidst the academic prestige at Berkeley, the piece of advice that has resonated the most with me was to this embrace change and uncertainty during our 20s. There’s nothing more boring than having your entire life planned out in front of you.

I’ve learned that there is no equivalent to hard work. I’ve learned that some people are meant to succeed, while others are not. I’ve learned that sometimes, people don’t know what they’re talking about. I now know that the idea that the older people get, the more mature they become is completely false; there are “adults” who will forever remain adolescent. I know that sometimes there is no right or wrong answer–there is no black and white. I’ve learned a lot, but I still feel like there’s tons out there to learn. My thirst for knowledge is unquenchable.

I like looking back and seeing where I was then, and looking at the present, and imagining me in the future.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.


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Home and the Holidays

The house I grew up in was tucked in a little suburban neighborhood on a cul-de-sac. The street was called Fig Leaf Court. I remember it being a tan color. But I remember when we painted it yellow with forest green trimmings. I was born in that house; I remember all my fondest childhood memories being in that house and in that neighborhood, and I remember the the placement of every single room, the kitchen, and living room like it was yesterday. The thing I recall the most is this black and white couch that wrapped around the living room, and the little gap between the couch and the wall in the corner that we would always hide in. I don’t know why I remember that particular detail. My family moved away from that house when I was 11 years old.

I’m 22 now, and my family has been living in their present house for about 11 years.

Up until this very day, I still continue to have dreams that occur in that house. No matter how old I am in the dream, no matter who is in the dream, no matter what is occurring in the dream, I always seem to have dreams that are set in that house. If I have a dream that occurs in my room, it will almost always be the very first room I grew up in.

I don’t know why.

It’s not that I don’t love the house my family lives in now. I spent a majority of my life here. But there’s something about my old house–how it embodies my childhood, the memories of growing up, nostalgia–that I can’t seem to forget about it. It’s always there in my head. It’s a reoccurring dream. It’s my fortress.

About a year and a half ago, I moved away from home. I moved to a house in the east bay, with hopes and excitement of never looking back. It wasn’t until the week that I moved out of that house that I began to have dreams about the house I was living in. I live in a new place now, and I don’t seem to dream about it at all.

Now, I’m living in my humble abode in Temescal/Oakland. I’ve been here for 4 months. Though I still wake up sometimes, forgetting where I am, I feel at home. My oldest house still reappears in my sleep, but I’ve already had several dreams about this place.

Who knows how long I’ll be here? All I know is that I’ve never been more excited to make memories here.


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Filipino Food

Every time I’m crammed with work or almost losing it because I am overwhelmed with my busy schedule, I usually either want: one, to sleep an entire 24 hours, or two, to devour about two plates of Chicken Adobo and rice. When I come home from a long day from school or work, there is nothing I wish for more than to see some cold leftover Beef Steak and white rice sitting on the dining table, or a silver pot full of Sinigang waiting for me on that kitchen stove. There is nothing I want more. I want it more than Moose Tracks ice cream, Chinese food that has a 4.5 star rating on Yelp, Thai food from my all-time favorite restaurant, and more than pizza even.

Now, I know a lot of you are probably thinking, “Filipino food isn’t even that good.” Let me just say: Chances are you probably just ate some shitty Filipino food that wasn’t homemade or from a food truck or from some “Filipino cultural festival event.” But let me also just say: You’re also partially right. Filipino food is not the healthiest of foods (fact) nor the tastiest (objective), but for some reason, it’s something that I’ll always be craving.

When I lived at home (by “home,” I mean with my parents), I didn’t even care for my parents’ cooking. I ate it because I had to. I actually preferred eating anything other than Filipino food because I would get tired of it. But now, I find myself trying to learn all my mom’s recipes (no matter how mediocre it turns out), getting excited whenever I make a trip to the nearest Asian Market that I can’t pronounce, calling my mom to ask what ingredients to buy, and loading on my Dad’s dinner leftovers whenever I visit Sacramento.

My pantry is stuffed with the packaged powders that make Filipino food easy to make “in just a couple steps!” But it just isn’t the same. There’s just something about going back home and eating a nice homemade Filipino dinner made by your Mom or Dad.

Filipino food reminds me of home. It reminds me of how my friends always used to tell me that my parents’ house smelled like rice, and I could never tell. It reminds me of my parents. It reminds me of every single huge family party I’ve ever been to. It reminds me of the Holidays. It reminds me of my childhood. It reminds me of my birthday parties. It reminds me of my little brother and older sister. It reminds me of family.

I texted my Mom last night “I want Sinigang,” and after she basically told me to make it myself (as she always does), she told me she loved me and to take care of myself. There is nothing that can replace a mother’s comfort or her homemade cooking. It’s impossible.

I hope that one day, when I have a hard-headed, angsty teenager who moves away for college, she’ll miss my own homemade food.


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East Coast. August 2012.

My very first time in the City and the East Coast. Suffice to say I fell in love. I love you Cali, but I might have to leave you someday for New York.

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Summer so far

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How I Like My Men

Most girls would answer the question “What’s your type?” as tall, dark, and handsome. Okay, maybe not. But that’s the typical answer that comes to mind. Nowadays, it’s not even about that. I guess you can say it’s about what kind of clothes he wears, what color are his eyes, “swag” (You will never catch me using that word, ever.), Does he have good hygiene? Does he have nice hair? Is he my style?

I’m not going to lie. I get tired of the played-out plaid shirt or v-neck, kind-of-slim-jeans, and vans/some-expensive-shoe-you-bought combo that guys have nowadays. Hey, guys, A little more creativity would be nice?

I recall watching this old 1940’s film not too long ago and wondering why more guys didn’t dress nicer. Even the poor people in the movie were dressed more gentleman-ly than most guys today. Why?! How I wish I were a woman in the 1940s-50s because the were able to ogle over men like this:

Marlon Brando

James Dean.

A style icon who introduced the staple denim, white shirt, and leather. His look quite possibly started the fitted, classic-with-an-edge look. For example:

Zac Efron (post High School Musical, thank god) in GQ

James Franco. Probably the closest thing we’ll ever get to James Dean.

Gossip Girl’s Chuck Bass (Ed Westwick) He may be a douche, but at least he dresses like a gentleman? If you’re an avid gossip girl fan like I am, you’ll know he is perfect.

Shia Lebouf. I kind of fell in love with him after reading his profile piece in DETAILS here.

Arthur Kulkov. Favorite J. Crew model (of course)

Chace Crawford. (> Zac Efron)

Francisco Lachowski’s hair.

Joseph Gordon LevittLeonardo DiCaprio via the 1990s. (as Jack Dawson)

This guy’s not so bad.

This guy’s not so bad either.

This list can go on. Okay, so this is coming off to be pretty vain and superficial. But first impression/looks are what reels a person in, right? Don’t get me wrong, above all, a guy should be respectful, level-headed, honest, sweet, romantic, and (insert any other virtuous word here), but I like my men classy, for the most part.

These are my do’s and don’ts for guys:

DON’T wear flip flops. What’re you thinking? No one wants to see your hairy toes. Save them for the beach.

DO have some variety. I get tired of v-necks and skinny jeans.

DO wear things that fit you properly. Emo boys, enough with the girl jeans! For the most part, it’s not flattering. And it is also unecessary to wear shirts/pants 2 XL.

DON’T wear Ed Hardy. No need for explanation.

DON’T think that buy expensive clothes makes you look cooler. Abercrombie and Fitch rips you off and gets like 300% profit for shitty quality.

DO smell nice.

DO get hair cuts. Clean is better than scruff.

DON’T solely shop at Urban Outfitters. Not saying I don’t love UO.

I am in love with the timeless look. And it’s not even hard to do. My dad’s an old man, and he still loves the classics like Ralph Lauren and loafers. For starters, maybe you can tuck in your button-up from PacSun and add a belt. Or roll up your pants. Or get a nice haircut. Or wear a watch and good man accessories (like so). Or wear desert boots or Sperry Topsiders instead of Vans.  Or go into Arden Mall’s (for all your Sacramento citizens) J. Crew and ask for Thomas or Daniel. Or start reading GQ magazine.

I don’t know much about men’s fashion. Maybe can Daniel and elaborate more. But I do know that classy is key. Being a gentlemen also means dressing like a gentlemen. When you grow up into a man (if you aren’t already), hopefully you won’t be wearing cargo shorts and plaid shirts the rest of your life. So why not start now?

(More eye candy on my tumblr)

❤ Jamie

If you like this you should probably follow them because they’re the inspiration behind this (I suppose).




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