I Moved To Manila From Bacolod Just To Be A Cosmo Intern—And It Made Me See Things Differently

I used to look at skyscrapers and wonder what went on inside. What do the offices look like? The routine? My curiosity was filled with the kind of subtle brilliance that lived in conference rooms and coffee-fueled mornings. Growing up in Negros Occidental (and now studying BA Communication and Media Studies at UP Visayas in Miagao), publishing felt like a world that existed behind glass—beautiful and impossible to touch. It was something I read about, admired, and dreamed of from a distance. It was never something I imagined was possible to step into.

So when I finally decided to try and reach for it, I knew it wouldn't be simple. I applied twice—a month apart!—through LinkedIn, crafting what I thought were perfect CVs and polishing my portfolio until it gleamed each time. Then I waited. And waited. Weeks passed, and I began to wonder if it just wasn't the right time.

But something inside me refused to give up. Most people would have taken the hint by now, but I was running on a particular brand of stubbornness mixed with desperate hope. I thought to myself, What do I really have to lose? The worst outcome would be no reply—and I was already living with that.

So I did something that terrified and exhilarated me in equal measure—I cold emailed the recruiter in charge of hiring. I wrote honestly about my passion for the company and my willingness to contribute in whatever way they needed.

She replied the next day. Not with an immediate yes, but with interest. What followed were 20 days of follow-ups, additional requirements, and what felt like one of the most intense interview processes I'd ever been through. Each email exchange left me oscillating between hope and anxiety. Was I being too persistent? Not persistent enough? Every day that passed felt like a small eternity.

Until the acceptance email appeared in my inbox.

I literally screamed (in public, no regrets) and immediately packed my clothes. I flew to Luzon with more nerves than my 28 kilograms of excess baggage. Metro Manila was overwhelming in all the ways I expected: fast, loud, and bigger than anything I was used to. The buildings were sleek and imposing, and the Cosmo HQ sat high in one of them. 

They never once made me feel like chasing this dream was too far or too impractical. Still, there were a few things I wish I'd known before flying.

For starters, you really don't need your entire closet—or in my case, six pairs of shoes—because I ended up buying most of my pieces when I arrived (everything was so much cheaper, surprise, surprise). It's also a good practice to budget for everything, like Grab fares on rainy days or impulsive dinners because of rush hour. And someone really should've warned me how commuting could take up a huge chunk of your day if you don't plan your route.

The day before my first day, I spent hours figuring out the most efficient (and cheapest!) way to get to the office. You could say I was too excited. But nothing really prepared me for what came next.

Walking through those glass doors for the first time felt surreal. I wasn't pressing my nose against the window anymore—I had a seat, a supervisor, and a (temporary) employee ID that said I belonged. For the first time, I was part of what happened inside a tower I used to only look up to from the sidewalk.

Being an Editorial Social Media intern was equal parts magical and dizzying. One minute you're drafting social captions about lipstick launches, and the next, you're editing Reels, attending events, or joining brainstorming meetings with people whose bylines you've admired for years. 

My days revolved around content, engagement, and making sure posts went live exactly when they were supposed to. Some mornings started with Instagram Stories, others began with a deep dive into editing. Afternoons could mean filming TikToks, attending concerts and events, or conceptualizing ideas for a meme.

It was a rhythm that kept me on my toes—never quite predictable, but always moving forward. And in that constant motion, I found myself learning how to keep up and anticipate what was coming next.

There's something about seeing your work out in the world—in a caption, a Story, a Reel—that makes you want to strive for more. It teaches you to be concise but clever. To think in formats. To trust your instincts. 

The publishing industry is often romanticized—all the nibbles at launch parties, cover shoots, and entertainment tell-alls. And while there's definitely sparkle in the stories Cosmo tells, there's also grit. What people don't always see behind the pages and posts is the spreadsheet of hundreds of links, the endless back-and-forth edits, the five-word captions that take an hour to perfect. And I had the honor to watch it all unfold right in front of me.

The Cosmo team was exactly as I hoped and nothing like I expected. They were sharp, stylish, and endlessly creative—but also kind, collaborative, and human. I watched them navigate deadlines with grace and lead with a kind of silent authority that didn't need to shout. As someone who used to wonder if "Cosmo Girl" was a type you had to be born into, I've learned it's actually someone you grow into. With work, with heart, and with the right people showing you the ropes.

Perhaps, more importantly, I learned things about myself I never would have discovered in a classroom or from a textbook. I learned that I thrive under pressure, that I have a good instinct for what resonates with people, and that I'm much braver than I thought.

There were a lot of firsts. First time pitching an idea to a real editor. First time writing something that got published. First time staying up late to finish a batch of content I was proud of. First time riding a train with tears in my eyes—not from homesickness, but from something sweeter: the slow realization that I was living a version of a dream I once thought was too far away (literally and figuratively!).

There were days the tasks piled high, but so did the buildings around me. But I didn't fly to Manila just to look up. I came to learn how those stories are made from the inside, how growth happens between Slack messages and 9 p.m. edits. And even on the tough days—the ones when drafts were messy and captions weren't landing—I reminded myself: 

Because when you grow up far from the center, opportunities like this don't always feel within reach. You spend years watching from afar, admiring the polish. The bylines. The power. You don't get to imagine yourself as part of it. But here I was, having the privilege of struggling. 

By the time my internship ended, I wasn't leaving with just a flashy line on my resume. I was leaving with a sharper voice, a bolder spirit, and a deeper respect for the labor behind the gloss.

Now, when I walk past tall buildings, I don't wonder anymore. I know what happens inside—and I know I can belong there too.