And so, I googled writing classes in NYC, and after torturing AI to compare classes across the city, I paid USD 370 for Gotham Writers Workshop’s Creative Writing 101 six-session course. (I know it’s expensive but forgive this rather mild manifestation of a quarter-life crisis.) From the end of September until the second week of November, one would find me attending night classes every Monday from 6:30 pm to 9:30 pm. I attended all but one class, when I had to travel for work.

I committed myself to using pen and notebook for the class—no laptop, no AI em dashes and tapestries and autocorrects. The masochist in me wants the struggle with raw ideas, submitting myself to the excruciating exercise of trying to write creatively after work. (A quarter life crisis, indeed.) Well, let me tell you that it’s not the best time to wring good writing out of oneself, for I would always run out of words to describe my vision. The writing prompts during each class were exercises in creativity, but more specifically, real-time grappling with finding the words and getting unstuck.

The classes also involved struggles to understand my handwriting because it had degenerated so much that even I could not read it. My cursive handwriting used to be better, less messy. My fingers used to handle the pen for hours writing words and numbers but now they could not last a three-hour class without throbbing. I would always be so tired after every class, but somehow, I would come out of the Gotham building feeling fulfilled and proud of myself. On one of the nights, I even took my time to linger at Bryant Park, looking at the people chatting, with brightly lit Manhattan buildings in the background. The fountain looked romantic that night. New York is not a romantic city—that’s Paris—but I couldn’t help but feel the romance of the night.

A month after my last writing session ended, here I am, ruminating on whether taking that creative writing class when my partner and I had just moved to this city was a good idea. I was spreading myself too thin once again. I was sacrificing something while juggling so many things at once, and I probably should have prioritized other more pressing adulting things than the classes. But no regrets, it was starting a new life in a great city with a bang. It was living day by day when 2025 being the christened year of uncertainty, almost beating 2020. In any case, it was a good decision to do it before wintertime because I don’t think I have the tenacity to attend the classes when 4:30 pm already felt like 7 pm. In any case, I am happy that I have about 10 pages left in my Midori A5 notebook and that I have already bought its replacement. It was a mini full circle moment. I bought it in 2023 at Kinokuniya near Bryant Park and picked up the new one at the same store.

After sketching my thoughts for this blog in my handy-dandy notebook and before typing it on my laptop, I took a walk and passed by a ceramic studio in midtown. It was a full house, and the people there seemed to concentrate intently on forming their pottery pieces. They were molding something with their hands rather than tinkering with their phones. Some of them were probably on a date or with friends. In general, creative classes are a way to meet acquaintances who share the same hobbies. It’s good to meet people who share the same hobbies because you immediately have things in common. I am excited to share this blog with my writing classmates at our upcoming meetup before Christmas.

Whenever I want something quick and easy, I scan the fridge and pantry and turn to ChatGPT: “We have x and x in the fridge, what can we cook out of it?” Sometimes I have an idea of what I want: “make me a recipe for chicken with olives.” Other times I just want to check if my taste buds are onto something: “do canned oysters go well with bibimguksu (Korean spicy cold noodles)?” For the record, they do, and it was fantastic.

This way of cooking helps me use up what’s on hand and cuts down on waste. One time we had leftover frozen shrimp, and I had a vague idea to make shrimp patties. ChatGPT helped me with the recipe, suggesting a mix of spices such as smoked paprika, celery salt (why we have it in our cupboard is a mystery), and pepper. That one was a hit and tasted like something out of a seafood shack.

Before ChatGPT, I mostly relied on recipe websites, which on my dinosaur-era iPhone meant lag and endless scrolling to reach the ingredient list. Now I quickly paste the recipe link into ChatGPT and ask it to summarize. Many times, I ask it to tweak the recipe to match my pantry or my cravings. It is also great at suggesting substitutes for any ingredients I am missing when cooking. It will convert ounces (those uniquely American measurements) into grams or adjust servings. Cooking feels lighter, more like entering a food rhapsody than following rigid instructions.

I’m still warming up to AI’s voice features, but they do make sense in the kitchen. No more washing my hands after typing a prompt, then washing them again to keep chopping. Another good tip is creating a dedicated recipe folder in my ChatGPT account. Having a folder makes it easier to return to my go-to meals. I also ask AI for kitchen cleaning tips. In fact, while I was writing this, my partner asked me to ask AI how to get rid of the food smell in the microwave.

AI is also helpful for meal planning. I’ve asked it to design recipes that are iron-rich or cholesterol-friendly. I wouldn’t replace a nutritionist with AI, but I do see value in complementing professional advice with tailored, real-time meal ideas. AI has advanced enough that it can explain calories or nutrient breakdown of a dish – Regina George wouldn’t be fooled so easily – and even suggest pairings for a more balanced meal.

But I am not outsourcing everything to the Cloud. Human involvement in food is still essential. I personally like going to the grocery store (I get my steps, too). I like browsing seasonal produce and noticing how food tastes best at its natural peak. Tomatoes in summer, cabbages in winter. I like browsing our cookbooks and scrolling food reels for inspiration and ideas.

At the same time, experimenting with and learning about food is so much easier now with AI. I have no excuse. By asking AI what’s in season, I’ve become more aware of the food cycle. All this reminds me of a meme that I read a while back: when they say make AI useful, this is what we mean, help us with our household chores, and not take our creative jobs away. Help us be better cooks.

Of course, I wish I were having these conversations with elders back home, but I think this is the adjustment we make, living in the “modern” society. The human joy of preparing, sharing, and learning about food is surprisingly amplified with AI.

Antifragility is best defined by Taleb’s description of Hydra:

Hydra, in Greek mythology, is a serpent-like creature that dwells in the lake of Lerna, near Argos, and has numerous heads. Each time one is cut off, two grow back. So harm is what it likes. Hydra represents antifragility.

Antifragility means gaining from disorder and chaos. If someone gains more from random events or shocks, they are considered antifragile.

I shared this concept of antifragility with a friend who then told me that her partner in fact craves uncertainty, embraces shocks, and sees them as an opportunity to thrive and grow, embodying antifragility. He can quit his current job anytime because he knows he will quickly find an alternative. Hint: the person works in security and is always out in the field. How can I achieve that mindset? Right now, I feel like I have all my cards laid bare, no aces, no leverage, playing against the gods of chance with nothing hidden in my palms. No optionality.

The jobs market in the United States is painfully dynamic. And the first mistake is to assume that any corporate job is stable, especially in this economy rocked by trade wars, actual wars, dramatic heads of state, and potential superintelligence on the horizon. Taleb wrote that it’s better to be earning from trades that expose you to known downside risks (entrepreneurs, taxi drivers, or prostitutes) with rare but high upside events, than fragile jobs, cloaked in an illusion of stability but could easily be taken down by economic shocks or technology changes.

Moving from a fragile disposition to an antifragile one means going against the norms. It first requires reducing exposure to negative black swans and the things that don’t serve you (learn to say no) and hunting for antifragile things that have stood the test of time aka Lindy (classical books, religious teachings, coffee) because they can teach us the most.

Tiny experiments and barbell strategy

Then, the next step is best explained by another book, Tiny Experiments, which advises having an unabashed trial-and-error mindset. Author Anne-Laure Le Cunff, a trained neuroscientist, recommends starting a project you’re curious about, sticking to it for some minimum time, and then evaluating it for feedback.

Declare a tiny experiment goal:

I will [action] for [duration].

As for myself, I commit to writing at least one Substack post per month this 2025. The concept of tiny experiments also connects to Taleb’s “Barbell Strategy”: one end is a high-risk, high-reward pursuit, and the other end is a lower-risk/ stabilizing work. Kafka and Einstein both had sinecure jobs while writing The Metamorphosis and the Theory of Relativity. We don’t have to go all in at once, but we need to act on our curiosity. For me, it hammered home the importance of securing a more stable visa.

Look for optionality

Optionality means positioning yourself for outsized gains from favorable, even if rare, outcomes while limiting your downsides. In the book, Taleb recounted the story of Thales, an Ancient Greek philosopher, who got tired of wealthy friends mocking him: “those who can, do, and others philosophize.” Ouch. To prove them wrong, Thales made a small down payment to reserve seasonal olive presses at a low cost ahead of the harvest. When the olive harvest turned out to be bountiful, demand for olive presses surged (favorable outcome). He leased them out on his own terms, made a fortune, and then – like a badass – went back to philosophizing.

The system vs. the individual

Antifragility of a collective or a system can come at the expense of individual components. The antifragility of the restaurant industry rests on the individual restaurants being exposed to risks, many of them may not survive in the long run. The antifragility of Mother Nature rests on our mortality. Which is why Taleb wants some badge of honor, a hero’s treatment, for failed entrepreneurs. Because even the failed ones contributed to the economy’s health. Taleb points to such entrepreneurial spirit as the best asset of the United States.

Taleb also discussed “skin in the game” in the book, which is one of the most used phrases he popularized. Those who don’t bear the consequences of their decisions lack skin in the game. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It adds an ethical dimension to the pursuit of antifragility. But adding that ethical dimension on top of everything else we need to consider when trying to establish, advance in, or pivot a career can be overwhelming. As a soothing balm, I think turning to things or tiny activities that let us breathe for a while can help. Those that bring joy and let us appreciate the moment until we find our Ikigai. It could be a nice cup of pour-over coffee. It could be a blank page of a notebook waiting to be completely scribbled on and smudged with ink. Slow down, crazy child.

I wish I had read Antifragile sooner, maybe at the start of my career. Then again, this crazy period might just be the perfect time to get equipped with antifragility skills. I am drawn to the ideas because I see cracks everywhere. Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold. Volatility is normal. Randomness is part of life. And the more we are exposed to uncertainty, the more we can adapt, and find ways to domesticate it. That should be the case, right? It must.

He had measured my index finger before buying it and downloaded the Oura app onto my iPhone, making sure everything was set up so I could wear and use the ring properly. Oura ring tracks your daily health, like an Apple Watch, but unlike a bulkier watch, you can wear the waterproof and lightweight ring on your index finger all the time; a ring is easier to wear while sleeping. Oura ring gives you your readiness score for each day, from 0 to 100, based on your previous day’s heart rate variability (HRV), body temperature, sleep duration and quality, stress levels, and physical activity, all measured by the ring’s small-but-mighty sensors.

I was skeptical at first and did not want to waste precious brain cells figuring out how it all worked. Common sense tells you to move every day, eat the rainbow, sleep well, and you do not need a ring to remind you of those. The natural next step is perfectly captured by Nike’s ad slogan, Just Do It, or Britney’s words of wisdom, You Better Work, B*tch. But four months in, I am the person who makes sure to wear the ring whenever I have errands to run, because that means I will get some steps in. And those steps need to be logged and tracked – hey, they increase my physical activity score!

I am the person who checks her Oura app every morning. “Your readiness score today is 79; your resting heart rate continues to be elevated. Make time for short, restorative breaks throughout the day,” the app advised. I would connect the dots: elevated heart rate, it must be the wine I drank yesterday. Today I should probably eat dinner earlier and say no to that late-night noodles. I should avoid drinking wine for the rest of the week.

My partner and I first noticed the ring when our friends, who are also a couple, visited us from Singapore, wearing matching black rings that looked thicker than typical wedding bands, about half an inch wide around their index fingers. They both said these rings help them stay active, to balance the long hours that they spend glued to their laptops. In sweltering Singapore, instead of the air-conditioned metro, one of them said he walks about 30 minutes from his office to his home every day to get in his steps.

My partner grew curious about this powerful ring, and after conducting his own research and reading Reddit reviews, he insisted on both of us getting Oura. Whenever I get together with peers my age, health and fitness always find their way into the conversation, among other topics. We exchange health tips with our friends. Cue in Carrie Bradshaw’s voice, I couldn’t help but wonder: am I becoming that friend who always talks about wellness? Are these signs of quarter-life scaries finally kicking in?

This Oura ring, a symbol of my broader health concerns, has become part of a recent lifestyle shift in my early 30s. I never thought I would be this interested in tracking my biometrics, but after dealing with recurring back pains during my period, learning at my 2024 annual checkup that I had a slightly elevated bad cholesterol, and just facing my 30s, plastered on my forehead in blinking LED lights, all of these combined became effective wake-up calls. I have finally internalized the need to take care of my health.

My partner felt these similar health concerns when he turned 30, and mused, “How did our parents quietly handle their body aches and woes?” I remembered the smell of Kwan Loong medicated oil in my parents’ bedroom. The older you get, the more you uncover the quiet, unassuming amazingness of your parents. In the United States, where health insurance terms read like a labyrinthine word puzzle that my brain refuses to register, I could no longer afford to disregard my health. This is the only highly industrialized, high-income country without universal health care, with per capita health spending twice that of its OECD peers, while at the same time having a lower average life expectancy. This is the country where calling an ambulance is an absolute last resort for fear of exorbitant charges.

Now I understand why in DC, where I currently live, so many people are running at different times of the day, in different seasons, and even on the coldest or the most humid days you will see runners. There are memes about this unwavering dedication of runners in the city. I laugh when I see those memes. But last Summer, I too joined a run club and ran a 5K while my other runner friends did the more serious DC Half Marathon. In 2025, my partner and I plan to participate in the Cherry Blossom ten-mile run. We have already planned to run more next year, joining the complimentary beginner’s running program of the Cherry Blossom race, kicking it off by running on a beach in the Philippines over the holidays, something my 20-something self would have rolled her eyes at.

Caring more about personal health extends to becoming more conscious of how our surroundings affect our health. Visiting the Philippines in December 2023, after three years of being in the US, the first thing I noticed was how gray Manila looked, not just from all the concrete, but also from the dust and air pollution. My partner kept noticing the smell of diesel in the parking spaces. I was hyperaware of the pollution at the time because I was writing about lung cancer in the Asia Pacific for my work, and aside from smoking, air pollutants are also a contributing factor to increased lung cancer risk.

Air pollution is the reality of many cities in growing Asian economies, and Manila is no exception. The pollution has become more salient in my eyes, cars and SUVs everywhere on the road belching out smoke, the lack of parks and outdoor green spaces, the subway that will help ease congestion under construction for years now. The grayness was not as salient to me earlier when I was working in Ortigas, Metro Manila years ago, walking along EDSA Boulevard (a major thoroughfare in the Philippines known for its horrendous traffic but also for the People Power Revolution), and climbing up the Shaw Boulevard Metro Rail Transit station, beside a sea of bumper-to-bumper cars, honking at each other as drivers tried to save seconds from their commute.

A lot of our approach to health in the Philippines is bahala na, going with the flow, after the fact, not preventative, and not with foresight. In my perhaps naive optimism pinned on Gen Z, I see hope in their outspokenness and questioning of the system. I saw younger people strolling around a fountain in BGC (a relatively new, mixed-use development in the Philippines that we often compare to Singapore). Apparently, run clubs are now a thing, with a dual purpose as a substitute for dating apps, and I think things are changing incrementally, not just in me.

I lament and complain, but I also take advantage of the cheaper health services in the Philippines. I got my dental and eye check-up the last time I went home. Health care services are still way cheaper in the Philippines compared to the United States. The tropical greenery in the provinces and the garden my family built in our backyard are calming, soothing for the mental faculties, and the wet markets are a daily source of fresh food that is hard to find in the supermarket-dense United States. Looking back, I wish I had eaten more of my mom’s paksiw na bangus, milkfish cooked in vinegar with ginger, garlic, chili peppers. Freshly caught fish is hard to come by in DC. Farmer’s markets in the US are unaffordable to the average salary worker. I talked about the salience of dust and pollution, but on the flipside, I also miss out on the more affordable, healthy food when I am far away from home.

A year later, in December 2024, I was traveling again to the Philippines, spending New Year’s with my family, and I was wearing my Oura ring. In a perverse sense, I was tracking how travel upends my health metrics. How bad is travelling for my readiness levels? It was anxiety-inducing bad. I was hitting the low 50s for my readiness score. Oura had an update at the time, predicting if the wearer has signs of potential sickness, putting predictive algorithms to work. And I got a barrage of alerts from minor to major signs of sickness. I am in a Ted Chiang story. I am in a Black Mirror episode, but 5 years before the tech has fully developed.

Recently, I have asked my Oura AI chatbot for trends in my health in the past months, and indeed, I have reduced my average sedentary time from 12 hours to 7 hours. My steps are trending up, and I am scheduling more physical activities in my calendar. My partner, who never enjoyed running, loves his guided runs on the Nike app, where he listens to recorded audio from coaches while he runs. These are just the beginnings of personalized health care, enabled by emerging technologies. What would health tech look like in 5 years? Perhaps it would speak to us gently, interacting with us in real time while we lift or run, recalling our health data from all our devices effortlessly, spewing recommendations, our private assistant, and the ring would morph into something else – a chip? All these reflections on health and daily habits made me wonder about the future of data and the privacy trade-offs that come with it. Is letting go of our data privacy for all these conveniences worth it?

The Lord of the Rings reminded us of the perils of overreliance on a ring, and we could extend that metaphor to all our personal devices. My partner knows me best by giving me this ring. He knows that I am showing concerns for my health and that wearable trackers like Oura work for me, an assistive device to develop good habits. Because we’re so much alike, he got one for himself, too. Eventually, hopefully, both of us will become less reliant on the ring as time goes by, because habits are finally ingrained in us.

I would then like to respond to the voice of Carrie earlier: this is us, optimistically, wanting to be better versions of ourselves, and realizing that it is probably not just us but our generation. And so, we talk about it with friends our age. This ring is thus a commitment to better health, not just for my own sake but also for the people I care most about, including the person who gave me this ring. This post, too, is another commitment device, transferring some of the ring’s power into the power of words. What better way to commit yourself than by putting it in writing and publishing it for some people to see?

There is a noticeable lightness in my feet today, my body feeling less heavy and more willing to move, and my 30s have just begun. In the season of bejeweled rings, Oura ring is our shared commitment to new habits, healthier lifestyles, and overcoming quarter-life scaries.

Note: This was written on an airplane in January 2025. I guess I “raw-dogged” the flight by writing instead of watching a movie, or does that not count? Anyway, I was able to run my first 10-miler in April!

Subscribe now

🌤 Welcome to Head in the Clouds

Hello, I’m Geli, a lifelong drifter in thought. I named this Substack Head in the Clouds, a phrase my mom used to describe me whenever I got lost in thought. It also reminds me of that time when my dad, in his “please take this seriously” voice, told me to focus on the present while teaching me how to drive (I still can’t drive). I nearly steered our car into the rice fields, to the amusement of my siblings. I can’t seem to get my head out of the clouds.

Here, you’ll find a gentle drift of words. Reflections on technology (hence the cloud reference), my uprooted life outside my beloved homeland, the Philippines, and musings on books, ideas, culture, and community. From time to time, everyday hobbies that help keep me grounded, like trying new recipes or learning a sport, will be featured in this space.

1. Why this, why now?

My inner life wants to be heard out loud. I have been wanting to write more consistently. I want to document my observations, and at the same time, learn from the community.

2. What kind of space is this?

This space is for the curious, the tinkers, the thought drifters.
It’s for people who care about grand ideas and personal milestones but also need to eat, rest, and reset.
It’s for those interested in AI and tech, and for those who also believe in books, rituals, and trying new things just because.

3. What to expect?

• 🌐 Essays and reflections on tech, attention, and digital culture

• 📚 Notes from books I’m reading

• 🥣 Occasional recipes and sensory breaks

• 🏃‍♀️ Tiny experiments in learning, movement, or creativity

• 💭 Dispatches from my uprooted, migrant life

4. Come drift with me

If this sounds like your kind of space, I’d love for you to read my content.
Let’s see where this cloud takes us.