SARI WILL SEE YOU NOW

I REMEMBER YOU

Those were the first words Sari Yap said when I entered her room. I’d applied in MEGA years before, back when the internet was the Internet and no one was ashamed of Yahoo! Mail. I was so nervous for my meeting with Sari that I’d asked sartorial advice from my mom, my titas, all my friends and an ex-boyfriend. The interview went well despite my clammy hands and vigorous, unnecessary nodding. Perhaps Sari saw something beyond the jittery figure because she sent me home with a job offer that day, one that I didn’t accept because I was a terrible twentysomething, full of misplaced self-confidence and self-loathing. I had many friends in the industry, which was then full of Gucci Gangs and a rave mentality—work hard, but party harder. My gut told me I would lose myself in a storm of entitlement and precociousness.

The second, Managing Editor