CRISTY IN THE CITY

This summer, my good friend Cathy from the States sent me a packet of Wildflower Mix seeds. I’ve never considered myself much of a green thumb — certainly nothing like my late mother — but every now and then I manage to weave a little garden magic when it truly matters.

This year, it mattered.

I’ve spent the past months tending my mother’s garden, a place she nurtured with such love before she passed a decade ago. I made a promise to keep her lawn alive and to keep adding to her collection. And so, slowly and carefully, I’ve been filling it with new life: Nerium oleander, Sweet Alison, strawberries, a goldfish plant, kumquat, and a Philodendron “Prince of Orange,” among others.

My favorite, by far, is Sweet Alison — a honey-scented wildflower that draws in pollinators and memories in equal measure. Its fragrance always brings Tom Petty’s song "Wildflowers" to mind, one of my cherished garden-themed songs. There’s something about the lyrics, gentle and reassuring, that reminds me that no matter how life unfolds, we all deserve a place where we feel free.

Tending this garden has become more than a task; it’s a quiet ritual, a way of keeping my mother close. And every time Sweet Alison blooms, I’m reminded that we, too, belong among the wildflowers.

The Aurora Music Festival had been on my bucket list for the longest time. The promise of starry skies, glowing hot air balloons, and a lineup of my favorite OPM bands felt like the perfect way to cap off my birthday month. Well, it didn’t quite turn out that way—but honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. A little mud and mayhem is exactly what great concert memories are made of. Just ask any veteran Gen-X concertgoer.

November’s fickle weather had other plans. The festive night I imagined quickly transformed into a muddy, almost-Woodstock-like spectacle that was truly one for the books. By the time I dragged my mud-soaked shoes and hungry, tired, sleep-deprived self out of the CDM Event Grounds near midnight, torrential rains threatened to turn the place into one giant carabao puddle. My tiny folding umbrella was no match. And there was no way the hotel would let me in with shoes that looked like they survived a rice field harvest. So I surrendered. I headed back to my room on the 18th floor and watched the rest of the show from my window—though a telescope definitely would’ve helped.

Strong winds. Lashing rains. Mist swirling like smoke. The entire venue seemed to vibrate as Rico Blanco’s defiant voice pierced through the storm: “Umaaraw, umuulan, ang buhay ay parang ganyan.” Even from my cozy room, goosebumps rose all over. Ah, if only I were 20-something again—still foolish enough to brave the downpour. Petulant youth, you are blessed.

One of the highlights of my weekend wasn’t just the music—it was being unexpectedly upgraded from Fili Hotel to Nustar Hotel. A bathtub with a sweeping view of the bay and fancy French toiletries were enough to revive my worn-out city soul. They even had one of those high-tech Japanese toilets with a warmed seat and ambient glow. For a moment, I was back in Japan. Banzai!

Because of our early flight, we spent the morning exploring SM Seaside Cebu—a circular retail wonderland. First stop: Flying Tiger Copenhagen (finally, something Iloilo doesn’t have). I ended up with a Nordic Christmas décor haul and then picked up shoe covers, and a spare umbrella just in case the skies threw another tantrum. Cebu’s post-flooding worries still lingered in the back of my mind.

Honestly, my mall-rat self wanted to stay longer, but my two-hour-sleep “Tita body” was wobbling around like an exhausted wind-up toy. I was happy enough with my Flying Tiger finds and decided it was best to rest before the concert.

As expected, the crowd was dominated by energetic 20-somethings with a sprinkling of 40-somethings whose default bedtime is, well, 11 PM. The vibe was youthful and infectious. Earl Agustin was a revelation—smooth vocals even with a temperamental sound system. Maki wasn’t the strongest live performer for me, but he was undeniably charming and knew how to hype a crowd. Ben & Ben? Always excellent. Always consistent. Always magic.

My beloved Cup of Joe, though, had a rough start—tired eyes, jet lag, and technical mishaps with their IEMs. I’m expecting a better showing when they bring their Stardust Tour to Iloilo next year. I sadly missed Rico Blanco and SB19 live, but even from 18 floors up, you could feel their energy electrify the stormy night.

Of course, I have a few suggestions for the next Aurora Music Fest. First: please hold it during the summer. The hot air balloons—the festival’s signature charm—never even made an appearance. The food kiosks would’ve been more convenient outside the gates; I spent almost an hour in line for Korean snacks (essentially pastries) while Maki serenaded everyone. Many performers struggled with technical issues, and the sound system was noticeably weak for those farther back.

Eventually, the rain forced me to leave in the middle of Cup of Joe’s set, just as “Multo”—their chart-topping anthem—lit up the night with fireworks. That was my unexpected finale. And despite my list of complaints, I still walked away happy.

Aurora Music Fest Cebu may have been my first and last outdoor concert experience—I’ve accepted that I’m now an indoor-arena girl—but it was unforgettable in all the ways that matter.

I woke up at 9 AM the next day—too late for a morning dip at the pool, since breakfast was already being served. But any concert hangover vanished the moment we stepped into the private Executive Lounge on the 23rd floor for an exclusive breakfast buffet. With panoramic views of the ocean unfolding beneath us, even my groggy self felt instantly revived. I savored every minute of my stay at Nustar Hotel. Truly superb.

After checking out, we asked our taxi driver to bring us to the Basilica Minore del Santo Niño for the 1 PM Cebuano Mass. We also requested the scenic route via the Cebu–Cordova Link Expressway (CCLEX), because why not make the most of the day? In true tourist fashion, we managed to cross all three of Cebu’s major bridges before heading to the heritage district.

The afternoon heat was unusually intense, so we wandered into Plaza Independencia for a breather. Just beside it stood the historic Fort San Pedro and the National Museum of the Philippines–Cebu, where we spent a relaxed half hour soaking in the exhibits and escaping the sun’s glare.

From there, we made our way to Ayala Center Cebu for a bit of sightseeing and an early dinner before heading to the airport for our late flight home.

Overall, Cebu was awesome. Daghang Salamat, Cebu. Till next time!