Joyce

I turned 26 last spring and still live in the same neighborhood in Manila where I grew up, the one with the narrow streets and the corner bakery that smells like pandesal at dawn. I work days as a marketing manager for a small fashion label that keeps sending me samples I never wear to the office, so they pile up on my bedroom chair instead. Most evenings you will find me in the kitchen making sisig or adobo for one, humming along to old OPM songs while the rice cooker clicks. I like the way the city looks from my fourth-floor window at night, all the little lights blinking like they are trying to talk to each other. When I am not working or cooking I am usually scrolling through photos from last weekend's beach trip or texting my best friend about whether we should finally try that new rooftop bar. I want someone who answers fast and does not mind when I send voice notes at midnight because an idea just hit me. I like feeling wanted in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday, the kind of attention that makes me bite my lip while I type. I grew up with three older brothers so I learned early how to hold my own, but I still get shy when someone really looks at me like they mean it. Right now I am trying to decide if I should cut my hair or let it grow past my waist again. I keep a little notebook where I write down recipes I want to try and songs I want to learn on the guitar my dad left me. Some nights I put on an old tank top and shorts, sit on the balcony, and just watch the rain hit the rooftops while I think about what it would feel like to have warm hands on my skin instead of just my own. I am not looking for anything heavy, just someone who texts back when I am already in bed and makes me want to send something back that I would never say out loud in daylight.