WOW. What a ride. The response to my essay about Filipino food as contrast meant so much. Last night, my body was literally shaking because I had never done this before—doing something for myself. I’ve always done it for others, but never for me. And when I finally let it sink in, the feelings washed over me. I cried like a river. No, I cried like a damn flood. Because this? This was me finally accepting that I can receive from myself. Not give. Receive. And let me tell you—this shit hurts like hell. Ha ha ha.

This cry came from the gut. From all the years of telling myself I wasn’t enough. That I couldn’t write. That I needed to sound like some university professor, backing every argument with research papers. But why did I even believe that? I don’t even like reading those kinds of articles! The ones with big words, making everything feel like a lecture. No, I love simple writing—the kind that grabs you by the heart. The kind that makes you feel. If it makes me cry? Ten points. That’s why Nigel Slater, Edward Behr, the late Jonathan Gold, Doreen Fernandez—they all resonate with me. All I’ve ever wanted from my writing is to connect. And the only way to do that? Be me.

Meanwhile, as all these thoughts ran in the background, I was still crying. Like, really crying. So hard I couldn't breathe. And then I noticed something. Vicks. Sitting right there on my bedside table. Vicks fucking Vaporub. So I reached for it, rubbed the balm on my nose, and instantly felt relief. And then—BOOM. It hit me.

WHAT IS IT ABOUT THIS DAMN BLUE JAR?

The very act of reaching for Vicks is actually a ritual if you think about it. And rituals, as we know, are backed by science. They provide comfort, reduce anxiety, and strengthen emotional memory. So even without knowing it, our past ancestors have been passing down this very ritual of care—embedding it into our lives as a subconscious act of self-soothing and love.

This is just a simple act, but these kinds of things are actually present in food too (and I promise we're gonna get to that in future essays).

Filipinos instinctively use their senses to create and store memory. Every important point is touched:

• Scent → The trigger. The first hit. The portal to memory.

• Touch → The ritual. The act of rubbing, the physical connection to care.

• Sight → The proof. That tiny blue jar, always present, always waiting.

So why has Vicks become such a cultural symbol for Filipinos? Why do we swear by it? Why is it our cure-all for literally everything?

Look, we all laughed our asses off when Jo Koy used it as a punchline. Because it’s true. Vicks is basically Filipino medicine cabinet royalty.

• Got a cold? Vicks. Rub it on your chest, back, and—let’s be real—probably on your throat too.

• Crying? Vicks. Clears the nose and soothes the throat.

• Want to fake being sick? Vicks. (We all did it. Don’t lie.)

• As a kid, forced to take a nap when all you wanted to do was play? Vicks. (Yes, I once rubbed it on my own damn eyes to make myself sleepy. Kids, do NOT try this at home.)

So yeah. Vicks is the answer to everything. Ha ha ha. But at that moment, when I reached for it without even thinking—it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Vicks isn’t just Vicks. It’s what it represents.

Vicks is care. Vicks is resilience. Vicks is generational love, comfort, and survival. This is why every Filipino household has one. Consciously or unconsciously, it’s not just Vicks.

It’s a message.

A way to say:
I can’t be there forever, but this? This will remind you that I was.

GAME OVER! I cried even harder. No, I cried the whole damn Warragamba Dam. Because THIS. THIS is how generational love gets passed on. Not just through food, but through little things. Through rituals. Through objects that hold memory.

And for me? Vicks represents my Lola (grandmother).

Nanay Rosing, my beloved Lola, who was always there. Always at the ready with a gentle touch, a soothing rub, a whispered, ‘O i-pahid na ini.’ (Bisaya).

And now we see it. Vicks was never the cure. The love behind it was.

From generation to generation, this is how love gets passed on. Not through big declarations. Not through grand gestures. But through small, everyday things. A jar of Vicks on the bedside table. And this is why it hit me so hard—because unconsciously, I was always looking after myself even when I didn’t realise it. A way to remind myself:

You are safe.
You are loved.

I really loved the book The Power of Ritual by Casper ter Kuile. It's a great reference if you want to dive deeper into how rituals shape our lives, bring meaning, and connect us to something greater.