CRISTY IN THE CITY

Recently, I have been drawn to the quiet, almost cinematic beauty of slice-of-life vlogs—women living alone in woodland cottages, tiny apartments, and thoughtfully curated spaces in picturesque places like Tokyo and Stockholm.

There is something deeply comforting about the way they move through their days—softly, intentionally—as if even the most mundane routines are worthy of attention.

One creator who has especially inspired me is Paola Merrill, also known as The Cottage Fairy. Through her gentle storytelling, I’ve come to realize that romanticizing life is not about where you are, but how you choose to see.

Because the truth is, you don’t need a charming countryside cottage or a perfectly styled home to live a beautiful life.

Even in the busiest cities, even in the most ordinary circumstances, there is always something soft to hold on to—something quietly magical waiting to be noticed.

As a small city woman, I’ve learned that it is entirely possible to curate a life that feels inspired. A life where ordinary moments feel just a little more meaningful.

Here’s how I’ve been romanticizing mine:

Pinterest has long been my sanctuary. I joined it back when it was still in beta, and over the years, it has become a collection of dreams—images curated from artists, writers, and dreamers across the world.

At home, I make a conscious effort to create a workspace that uplifts me. I surround myself with things that spark joy—meaningful artwork, handwritten notes, and small details that bring comfort (thank you, Marie Kondo).

These tiny choices quietly transform an ordinary desk into a space of inspiration.

Finding Quiet Escapes Within the City

I’ve also learned to rediscover my city in a softer way.

The newly renovated plazas and public spaces have become small sanctuaries. On certain afternoons, I take a walk, find a quiet bench, and listen to my favorite playlists on Spotify.

In those moments, I gently tune out the chaos of the world—and allow myself to simply be.

Returning to Gentle, Old-Fashioned Joys

From childhood to adulthood, I’ve always been drawn to simple, old-fashioned hobbies—sewing, crafting, and creating handmade gifts for the people I love.

These days, I try to weave these activities into my weekly routine. There is something deeply grounding about working with your hands, about creating something tangible in a fast-moving world.

It reminds me to slow down, even just for a little while.

Nurturing Life, One Leaf at a Time

Like many others, I embraced my inner plantita during the pandemic—and it stayed with me.

Caring for my plants has become a quiet ritual. Watering them in the evening feels almost meditative. Watching them grow and thrive serves as a gentle reminder of resilience—of life continuing, even through difficult seasons.

Finding Kindred Spirits

Romanticizing life becomes even more meaningful when shared with others.

I’m grateful to have found friends who appreciate slow, mindful living—people who understand the beauty of small, quiet moments and the joy of simply being present.

Living Through Stories and Faraway Places

I’ve always been drawn to art, history, and the gentle romance of different eras.

The world of Jane Austen, in particular, has always captured my imagination—its softness, its quiet elegance, its attention to detail.

Travel has also played a role in shaping how I see life. Experiencing cultures like Japan has allowed me to step into a different rhythm—one that values simplicity, mindfulness, and beauty in the everyday.

And somehow, when I return home, I carry a piece of that perspective with me.

Choosing a Soft, Seasonal Lens

At its core, romanticizing life is an act of intention.

It is choosing to see beauty where others might not. It is slowing down, even when the world feels rushed. It is finding poetry in the ordinary.

Even if I live near the equator, where seasons do not change as dramatically, I have learned to create my own sense of seasonality.

In my own little world, it is always spring—and sometimes, a quiet, golden autumn.

Final Thought

You don’t need to change your life to make it beautiful.

Sometimes, all it takes is learning how to see it differently.

• Fresh oyster mushrooms, shredded
• 1 piece tomato, chopped
• 1-2 tablespoons olive oil 
• 1/2 cup broth
• 1 piece small onion, diced
• Minced garlic
  
• Sprig of parsley
• Dash of mushroom powder
• Salt and pepper to taste
  

I can't believe that I'll be turning half a century next year. Any Gen-X woman who has lived through the halcyon days of the 80's and 90's is probably amazed at how fast time flies. We definitely have come a long way since the days of black and white TV, Flinstone chewable vitamins, Rainbow Brite and rotary landline phones. Now that the retirement years seem visible on the horizon (eek!), I can't help but wonder where the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness has taken me. Maybe it’s time to calibrate my happiness meter.

Despite the pesky patches of grey hair that graze my hairline and occasional knee pain that jolts me as I alight from a bus commute, I come upon the realization that the meaning of happiness takes on a different shape when one grows older. I have become a version of my grandma who was known for loving the shallow pond of happiness (mababa ang kaligayahan). 

I'm out of the rat race and just living life on my own terms. Hence, I no longer see any sense in becoming happy only when certain conditions are present--when I get that dream vacation or when I purchase that fancy, big ticket item. Happiness doesn't have to cost much, or it can even be free. 
The joy in mundane things. This is the small but certain happiness that Haruki Murakami describes in his collection of essays, Afternoon in the Islets of Langerhans. Happiness is a pile of freshly ironed laundry or an ice-cold pitcher of Cherry Kool-aid. Happiness is being able to pay your bills on time. Happiness is a cat fed on time. 

Until then, may happiness, small and big find you when you least expect it.