Of banana boat rides, wine toasts and super friends

July 10, 2015

In the middle of my crazy schedule, I found the time to fly to the Bahamas and vacation with my crew. I don’t always go on banana boat rides, but when I do, it’s with my homies LeBron, DWade, Melo, home girl Gabrielle and hubby CP3.

banana boat

Best banana boat ride ever.

We also toasted to a great NBA season ahead! After all, none of them won the ring last year, so they need all the luck that they can get.

But shit, sorry, I was too busy fiddling with my phone.

wine toast

Epic wine toast!

Seriously, they should come down as the most amazing band of brothers in the NBA, and I’m hella lucky I actually like all of them–Melo included. I’ve followed and fangirled around for the past few years–Ask me who attended whose wedding, which wife liked hanging out with the other wives, who godfathered whose baby, and I got you covered.

Chris Paul's entourage.

Chris Paul’s entourage.

Wade and Melo at CP3's wedding.

Wade and Melo at CP3’s wedding.

Savannah, LeBron and CP3 at Melo's wedding.

Savannah, LeBron and CP3 at Melo’s wedding.

Chris Paul's wife Jada at LeBron's wife Savannah's bachelorette weekend in Vegas.

Chris Paul’s wife Jada (in pink) at LeBron’s wife Savannah’s (in white) bachelorette weekend in Vegas.

LeBron did attend Wade's wedding!

LeBron did attend Wade’s wedding!

Oh wait, wrong wedding. LOL

Oh wait, wrong wedding. LOL

I’ve always had this dream of seeing them suit up for one team: CP3 at point, D Wade at 2, LeBron at 3, Melo at 4. Now, Blake, can you play five?

Notes: Apologies. Just discovered the wonder that is the pen tool in Photoshop! HAHAHA.


Expectations vs Reality

July 9, 2015

Tonight, I am at the beach house. I find that everything is a mess, but I just don’t have the strength to do anything about it. Not tonight. I open the fridge, pop open a bottle of Merlot and walk out to the front porch. I sit on the slightly damp couch. It has been raining the past few days so everything around me is wet. I set down my glass of wine, and put my feet up. It has been another exhausting week, and my mind finally gave out. The tabs I’ve been wanting to close for weeks finally crashed. My head is blank but I let the sound of the crashing waves fill my head. I stare at the long stretch of beach surrounding my house. It looks pristine even under the pale moonlight, but not as beautiful as when the sun is shining mightily over it and I could see the sand sparkling in between my toes as I my footprints during my morning walks.

I wait. It’s one of those rare times I’m at home and do the waiting. So I fill my glass over and over until I have drained the bottle. That’s my cue to go to bed. It’s late, but I’m still alone.

I walk up to my bedroom and find that like the rest of the house, it’s also a mess. The bed is unmade, some papers have flown because I left the window open all day. But I just walk right past them and lie down on my side of the bed. The pillows are cold. Everything’s cold. But not for long.

I doze off. I find that it’s easier to just fall asleep when you’re mind’s not racing and chasing ideas after the other. This is the dream.

Tomorrow, I will wake up. There won’t be crashing waves, but just the sound of rain violently pounding on the rooftop. I will find myself in a bed too small for 3 people in poorly-painted room. The first thing I will see before my eyes could even fully adjust is an assortment of clothes hanging where it shouldn’t be. Everything’s a mess here, too. Because whichever reality I’m in, mess follows me.

I will be welcomed to a brand new day by the sound of an infant crying, and suddenly all the thousand thoughts that I worked so hard to fend off last night will come rushing right back. This is reality.


Overheard in the newsroom

July 5, 2015

There is something cathartic about cursing the shit out of something.

By now, you all would have noticed that I curse. A whole fucking lot–in my blog posts or in real life.

Imagine this: if Overheard in the Newsroom followed me around in the office and tweeted everything that came out of my mouth, it would probably look like this:


Sports editor going over a story: What the fucking fuck? I can’t understand this paragraph. 


Sports editor complaining about a story: Tangina naman. This again. I thought we already talked about this.


Sports editor getting coffee: Fuck it I’m getting coffee.


Sports editor for no apparent reason: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

That’s my life right there. Don’t ask me to fill a swear jar, please. I’m broke. Anyway, ever since my dad called me out and said that I cursed too much on social media, I tried to tone it down a bit. Hey, the old man has a point. There are kids on Facebook.

But here’s the thing, I am not me without my cursing. I really make no apologies for it. People can go ahead and judge me as a no-good potty mouth, but we all know that’s not true (wink wink, nudge nudge, agree with me, please? LOL). Because there is really comforting about saying “Fuck it, I’m not doing this shit.” Say it with me.


The picky TV geek is in a coma

July 4, 2015

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, I had a chance  to watch TV. I had a few hours to kill and with my backlog of shows begging to be trimmed down, tonight would’ve been a perfect place to start.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I spent that few golden hours in between Elle falling asleep and me needing to follow suit just staring at the ceiling, literally not moving an inch.

So this I ask with all the emotions I could muster: what the fuck happened to you, Celest?

Didn’t TV use to be my life? Every chance I got, I watched. TV used to be my escape. You could insult me and say, “Dude, you’re really overreacting it’s just TV.” But here’s the thing, it never was for me. TV was life. It was passion. It got me through the rough days. It transported me to places I wanted to be when I Hated where I was. It got me through heartbreaks. It got me through the worst part of raising a newborn–the sleepless nights. TV was there. TV was best friend.

And for me to just give up on it without a fight, is just sad and incredibly inconsiderate of me. What’s even sadder is I couldn’t give the decency of a logical explanation. But honestly, even I am stumped. Hundreds of episodes sitting there unwatched, headed to waste.

But there’s really no point in resucitating something that’s not responding any longer. Tonight confirmed something, I’m ready to give up on TV for now.

Here’s to hoping somewhere along the road, I get the surge of energy to go chasing after you, TV. I’m going to love you back, one episode at a time.

(Though the picky TV geek in me is a coma, this blog, however, will continue to live. At least if you can call one blog post per every two months as living.)


Save Me

May 17, 2015

The TV geek in me is dying a slow, painful death.


A working mom’s job is never done

May 17, 2015

This appears on INQUIRER.net’s Love.Life. I celebrated my first ever Mother’s Day last week. Imagine that!


There is nothing easy about being a mother. It is the toughest job in the world. The difficulty is further amplified when you factor in running the sports channel of the country’s most respected news website. It is like raising two kids of the same age at the same time—only both live in separate houses, separated by a long, patience-testing commute.

You really have to love and be in love with both to make it through one day.

Every day is a circus act; I navigate tightropes on tiptoes trying not to fall but end up failing anyway. I try my hardest to never fail at both, but sometimes I tend to trade the craziness of one for the solace of the other. The sides are interchangeable, but there is always that heavy feeling of guilt whenever I find comfort in the chaos of chasing deadlines on a frantic news day than dealing with my fuzzy, inconsolable daughter. It is easier to doll yourself up casually than to settle for the endearingly disheveled look of motherhood. While those moments are few and fleeting, the guilt always finds a way to creep up on me.

I guess that happens when you become a mom at 25, when I’ve been everything but prepared, when just a few months before I stared at a stick bearing two faint lines, in total shock, all I had thought about was my career.

That’s my life there. And this is my story: Getting pregnant early threw me for a loop. I had been careless at a time when I had been nothing but carefree. My bank account wasn’t ready for costly pedia visits, let alone for a secure future for my daughter. I wasn’t able to steel myself for years of soiled diapers and incomprehensible crying because it really wasn’t part of my plan. I didn’t think I was ever going to be ready for the enormity of raising a child.

But you never really know what life-changing truly means until you’ve held an infant in your arms and have someone so delicate and innocent depend on you for survival. Being a mother changed me, and the landscape of my life. In a snap, I went from a career woman full of dreams to someone willing to throw all that away just to be at my daughter’s side when I’m needed, which is basically all the time.

Months after I’ve come to terms that I was indeed giving up chase for the life I wanted for the life I was dealt with and ultimately accepted, an opportunity for me to enjoy best of both worlds—to continue living my dream as a sports writer—presented itself. I couldn’t say no, even if it meant the end of morning playtime and afternoon naps with my little princess.

Yes, I reentered the workforce because I still wanted it. I craved for the rush of the meetings, the thrill of covering a sporting event. But this time, it wasn’t just about that. When you’re a mother, it’s never just about you anymore. I said yes to the job, to the long hours, to the behind-numbing commute to Makati because I wanted to be able to provide her the kind of life I didn’t have.

Read the rest of this entry »


Facial Hair Glory

April 5, 2015

My love for men with facial hair isn’t a secret. It’s all over my web feeds. Just look at how I obsess over Stephen Amell every day. Though my lust, uhm, love for him goes beyond his stubble. Have you seen those arms?!

Back to the point.

Honestly, there’s nothing sexier than a man with perfect five o clock shadow. Pretty boys don’t have a space in my heart, rugged looking men with slightly unkempt facial hair, however…

Anyway, where else can I find these men to swoon over when my partner can’t grow a`decent beard to save his life? On TV, of course. Through out the years of I’m extensive fangirling, I have come up with a list of men whose hotness levels are through the roof just because of, you guessed it, facial hair.

Patrick Dempsey. Derek Shepherd in Grey’s Anatomy. My original McDreamy. Perfect hair all over.

Matt Bonner. Neal Caffrey in While Collar. Aside from being just absolutely fucking handsome, the occasional scruffiness just kicks everything up a notch.


Johnny Galecki.  Dr. Leonard Hofstadter in The Big Bang Theory. I don’t think he’s ever worn a beard on the show, but I saw him with full facial hair glory in one of his cameos in Entourage. Even the geek got hotter.

Justin Baldoni. Rafael Solano in Jane the Virgin. My god. He’s charming as hell!

Adrian Grenier. Vincent Chase in Entourage. Vinny’s no pretty boy, if his curls are any indication. The stubble just makes him even more appealing.

Stephen Amell. Oliver Queen in Arrow. No explanation needed. He’s perfect.


Did I miss anyone?