Topshop top / DIY jeans / Charles & Keith bag / Zara boots
I like the idea of driving to the northern outskirts of the city — to find yourself in a quaint town that’s abounded by tourists and locals yet is never consumed by the bustle and the noise. To be enveloped by the dramatic change of scenery of mellow suburbia where trees paint the sky, the air feels cooler and the sunsets are slower because it isn’t overshadowed by the rise of concrete and billboard ads. To get lost while contemplating on lunching at an authentic local diner or a commercialised fast food joint that feels considerably closer to home all in the name of a traditional road trip.
Among the many things I like about the north is stopping by Clark — a town with establishments sprawled in between hectares of quiet nature and beautifully decaying, architectural abandonment. A 90’s time capsule at its finest where an obscene amount of tract housing, discoloured wallpaper, wooden chair rails and vivid exterior colour choices add to the town’s charm. Anyone who’s anyone would feel entrapped by this suburban dreamscape and easily fall into an uncharacteristic idle state. I would know. I’ve spent my first weekend of the year willingly waking up in the morning for a cup of coffee, doing leisure groceries on a daily, taking more scenic walks than car rides and sleeping before midnight. And as much as a change of routine is always refreshing (and I felt less groggy than I do back here in the metro), there comes a point where the staycation can only be enjoyed for a short while because I start to long for the faint sound of traffic outside my bedside window.