lost and loving it

Number Games

2006-06-06T23:37:00.000-07:00

It's been quite some time since I last posted... The office has blocked this site from our pcs and this is the only time I've ever had access to non-office internet - and that's because our electricity was about to be cut off! To make the long story short, I had to do a fastest shower in the west thing and run to Meralco to pay our electric bill. It's a good thing our landlady can be quite the charmer... She asked the guy who came to cut off our electric supply not to do it since it was the first time it happened. She explained how we had different schedules and it was kind of difficult for us to find the time to pay, blah, blah... Which gave me enough time to run - in this melting heat - to the nearest Meralco office... Whew! Close call...

That's what I love about close calls. They make you think. This is probably the most exciting thing that's happened to me this month - I forgot. There was that incident last night. My boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere and I got reamed - not my fault, though. I seem to be a very convenient target for her rants. I don't mind. At least, I know that I'm just a sounding board.

I never thought I'd become a corporate lackey. I always thought I'd be doing something different. Different how? I have no idea... Back in high school, I was the arty chick. I was a writer and I wrote and directed our multi-award-winning play. In college, I took up this unknown course Comparative Literature... But now? I'm a corporate lackey. It's all about the numbers...

Hercules

2005-11-10T01:12:00.000-08:00

When I was a high school junior I watched the Disney movie "Hercules" with my friends. What I remembered most was the moment I can point to as the start of my propensity to memorize all the memorable movie lines I can and to use them as often as possible.
A guy friend was sitting next to me. The only reason he sat next to me is because he wanted me to be a buffer. This girl he liked (also another friend) sat to my left and he sat to my right. I don't think he saw the movie at all - except towards the end. If you've seen Hercules (and have a memory for lines - like I do), towards the end of the movie the hero asks Meg (the heroine, in Greek mythology Maegara) why she did what she did (jump in front of a falling massive column that would have pulverized Hercules) and she answers, "People do crazy things when they're in love."
It's a gag-worthy moment for those of you who hate sentimental mush. But I remember it most not because of the line, but because my friend (the guy) said under his breath, "Yeah. People DO crazy things when they're in love."
Okay. Back in high school, the concept of love wasn't as foreign to us as when we were in elementary. Gone were the days where we defined love as God. Or like a rosary, filled with mysteries. We started going beyond its slum- (or slam? in more ways than one) book definition.
With the advent of Dawson's Creek, we sort of learned that love wasn't all that pretty - although it had a pretty good soundtrack. We kind of had an idea that love entailed sacrifices and it's not all butterflies in your stomach (which I always thought was another gastric attack). Some of my friends have gone through the drama of getting dumped through a badly written letter or more ceremoniously, in public. I know of one classmate who drank gasoline when his girlfriend broke up with him. According to rumors, when the girl found out about it (as our high school was pretty small) she told him that he should have drunk muriatic acid instead. Pretty helpful, wasn't she? After that incident (the whole "friendly advice"), he was thought to have gone to our unfinished third floor to jump to his death. I have no idea if he ever did.
And after having endless conversations about the L-word over coffee, beer, and Tequila in Starbucks, cramped boarding houses and on the rooftop with a jacuzzi I wonder how it took most of my friends 4 years to realize that the idea of love we had when we were in high school never included strength. When you're 16, it seemed as if they were two mutually exclusive ideals. I used to think people who actually WANTED to be in love were wimps. Something along the lines of what that girl in "Hitch" said: "Relationships are for people who are waiting for something better to come along."
I have always been portrayed (by friends who know me best) as the strongest person they know. These are people who saw me cry when Bambi died. These are people who tease me the next morning because they heard me crying when I was reading a romance novel. These are people who grew up with me (in various stages) and saw me shed tears when I read that the stickers PS I Love You can be both Palm Springs I Love You and Paul Strobe (amazing! I still remember the name!) I Love You.
All those tears and I was still strong. I never cried when it counted. I don't cry in grief or sadness. Loneliness is an alien concept to me. I have an answer for everything. I kind of believe in the idea of soulmates and destiny - but only because I like the movie Serendipity. I make bargains with the universe using my love life or rather, the chance that I might have one as a chip.
So what prompted me to write something that spanned 2 hours of my life when I was in high school to a conversation I just had with someone who shall remain nameless? It's this supposed idea of strength. Does it really fall flat in the face of love? And here I thought I was going to be a convert to the Albus Dumbledore philosophy that love is the power that the Dark Lord knows (or has) not?
I just had to insert an HP reference... sigh...
And so in closing, I guess I had the answer (wrong or right) all along. "A hero is not measured by the size of his strength, but by the strength of his heart." Hmmm.... Gives you something to think about some more.

Encountering Paolo...

2005-11-03T10:19:00.000-08:00

I was walking around Powerbooks (which disappointed me for the first time because I left without buying anything...) when I saw a display featuring Paolo Coelho's new book. I forgot the title. It was a love story - as all stories are, I think. It was about a married couple. They weren't your conventional married couple. They had worlds outside of their marriage. The thing is, the wife disappeared and then the husband searches for her. He meets this guy who may or may not have been the wife's lover... See, that's where I have a problem with it.

I'm not anti-marriage. I think it's a commitment that should be made by people who are so damn sure of living with this person for the rest of their lives - come what may. I don't condone cheating. And you only cheat when you're in a committed relationship. What could be more committed than a marriage?

I guess I'm too idealistic to read a novel that deals with adultery. I swear! I'm a literature major and I've read all the books required by my professors, but I always dislike the ones that deal with adultery. I have this predisposition of not liking the story when it deals with subjects such as adultery and unfaithfulness. I'd rather read a gory graphic novel.

That's the biggest sin for me - more than murder, rape, treason or thievery. It's a betrayal of everything you hold dear. It could drive you to murder, rape, treason... (thievery as well?) I've never had anyone cheat on me (seeing as I was never in a relationship). But the idea evokes such complex emotions that I don't even want to analyze.

That's why I'm into friendships. Not the kind you make when you meet someone new. The kind that started when you were kids until adulthood. I'm more into friendships than family (my parents are my friends as well so...) It's kind of difficult to cheat on a friend.

How do you cheat on a friend? Not by being friends with someone else. Because it doesn't work that way. When you become friends with someone else, that someone else becomes friends with your other friends (unless, of course, they hate each other on sight). It's an open relationship with no opportunity to cheat.

Sometimes you go for years without contact save the occasional email and text message, but the moment you see each other, it's like - well, meeting an old friend - because you are meeting an old friend. Almost all the grudges and the fights and the cold shoulders are not forgotten, but forgiven. They're chalked up to things you're going to rehash as funny memories.

Sigh. I miss my friends.

This is the life... (sigh)

2005-11-02T21:14:00.000-08:00

It's been such a long time since I wrote anything worth reading... I think I'm out of practice...
There's a song for September (Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day), for October (Fall by Bethany Joy Lenz - the first line goes... It's October again leaves are coming down...) and for November (November Rain by Guns 'N Roses)... so it would be kind of a lie to say that this month snuck up on me. It seems to me that I've been waiting for this month to arrive. I'm not really sure why. Maybe it's because it precedes a certain month that puts everyone in some kind of funk (worse than September) - December.
'Tis the season... for what, exactly? The controversial holiday - Christmas. I'll be spending mine lying on a hammock on a long stretch of beach with no neighbors in sight. My idea of heaven. I can just picture myself: lying on a hammock, typing pseudo-profound stuff on my laptop, Vienna Teng playing in the background, a mug of steaming coffee nearby, the sound of the waves alternately soothing and beckoning, and probably me going bonkers out of boredom.
Spending time alone used to be my idea of heaven - anywhere. It didn't take a strip of sand (seeing as I grew up in an island) for me to float to some idyllic setting in my head. Nowadays, I'm spending too much time alone that sometimes I forget what it's like to be with other people.
Joy (my housemate) and I are the only ones left in the house. We hardly see each other as her schedule varies. We subsist on deliveries (Wendy's, McDonald's, Jollibee, Greenwish, Pizza Hut - even Rice In A Box). We spend our weekends alternately sleeping and eating. How boring. And yet, we are so used to this that we don't find it boring. We think it's just - life.
It's kind of sad... I mean, here we are: single in the city, with jobs (so we don't mooch from our parents anymore), our own place, no curfew... and yet we stay home on weekends with nothing to do. Short of drinking ourselves silly (no go, Joy beats me in almost every drinking game ever invented), we content ourselves with just lamenting the irony of cable TV: no good shows on weekends.

Ah-Choo

2005-09-16T15:18:00.000-07:00

How do you sneeze? Is it a let-it-all-out, spine-breaking sneeze? Or one of those delicate ah-choos? Do people say "bless you" or "gesundheit?" Incidentally, the word "gesundheit" means "health" in German. Do you ever wonder why it's a German word? I mean, why in German? Sneezing is one of the very few universal things and the two most popular niceties that people say are in English (now considered the universal language) and German (would have been the universal language had Hitler succeeded).

It must be a dark day in the creative department of my world to be writing about sneezing, but I really have nothing else to say...

But since I've started this sneezing, let's continue along that vein. How do I sneeze? I let it all out (not the spray of saliva). I actually cover my nose and mouth. This is actually dangerous (not the covering one's nose and mouth, but the let-it-all-out sneeze), especially for those who have back problems - like me (I have scoliosis). My therapist (for my back, not my emotions) says that I should try gently sneezing as I could throw out my back and aggravate my condition (and by aggravate, I think he meant I could die). Death by sneezing... how humiliating. It's probably like drowning in soup - high unlikely, but possible.

September Mayhem

2005-09-13T15:53:00.000-07:00

"Wake Me Up When September Ends"
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends
like my fathers come to passs
even years has gone so fast
wake me up when september ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends
summer has come and passed
the innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends
ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began
wake me up when september ends
here comes the rain again
falling from the starsd
renched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends
like my father's come to pass
twenty years has gone so fast
wake me up when september ends
wake me up when september ends
wake me up when september ends

- Greenday

I don't know what is it with this month that I just can't wait for it to be over. It seems to taunt me with how the day slowly passes. How every moment seems to be so much longer than it normally should be...

Or maybe I'm just imagining things. Maybe I'm just being lazy... Maybe I should just go home.

Red (Does Not) Become(s) Her

2005-08-31T11:34:00.000-07:00

I rarely wear red, but one of my favorite shirts is red. And I'm wearing red right now. Nobody's ever made a comment about the fact that on a blue moon, I wear red. Apparently, nobody now has a name. And let's call him Burns.

He says I don't look good in red. Nobody (aside from Leah, who thinks it's her God-given right as my childhood friend) ever tells me not to wear stuff. And now Burns, who I've only known for about a month, tells me never to wear red because "it's not your color."

I can take criticism as much as the next person - okay, wrong phrase. I can take criticism - constructive or otherwise. I'm not a people-pleaser. I wear whatever I like (mostly whatever I can grab from my closet) and to hell with how I look. I don't put emphasis on appearance because I'm intelligent enough to transcend all that. (WHOOOSH!!!)

But I'm also smart enough to know that most people look at the package instead of what's inside. I'm also smart enough to know that most people don't even bother opening the package.

But I'm a UPian enough (with a medal to boot!) to not care what other people think and go on with what I do so long as it doesn't hurt other people. If wearing red hurts Burns' fashion sense - tough luck. I never changed my outfit even if someone points out that I look as if I have plans to live with hobos. And just to thumb my nose at Burns - I appreciate all the ahem criticism - I'm going to go buy the most garish looking red I can find. And I'm going to wear it on Friday.

The Attack of the Killer Conscience

2005-08-06T10:11:00.000-07:00

I'm getting an ulcer... I never thought I'd be the type of person whose intestines shape themselves into a coil at the thought of ever failing (or disappointing) someone. Let's not involve my parents here. Don't get me wrong: I have no qualms whatsoever making fun of strangers. I even make fun of my friends. (Case in point: one of them has been a subject in this blog) It's one of my evil past times.

But now that I'm employed to convert this evil past time into something productive, it's giving me ulcers. My hands would start shaking at the thought of failing someone. Listening to classical music doesn't help - I think it has largely aggravated my nerves.

Does this mean that I actually have a conscience? Well, I guess I've always had one. I'm not like my friend John who calls himself "Ruthless" all the while letting us, his childhood friends, boss him around. Let's not talk about John yet since he's busy trying to hide his pseudo-romantic life from us (Good luck. We know where the girl lives.)

Yes, I do have a conscience. I'm vulnerable to guilt trips (especially from my parents) and have so far been lucky that none of my friends have deemed to use this weakness against me. The trouble with this conscience thing is that it pops up when you least expect it and when you least need it.

For example, I just found out that I auto-zeroed someone who just miscarried and will be filing a maternity leave. Can you still say CONSCIENCE? Sigh. It's not just a Safeguard commercial. It's that pesky indefinable feeling you have inside of you that makes you uncomfortable. And yes, gives you ulcer.

Wait, ulcer kills, right? That's it. My conscience is killing me.

The Lost Art of Patintero

2005-07-31T04:32:00.000-07:00

It's strange how one simple, stupid, useless, drunken comment can undo two weeks' worth of happiness...

Now that I have finally thought about it - it's not really so strange. I guess there are moments when one straw can break the camel's back. It's just frustrating how everything can fall apart just like that. Maybe I've been so immersed in being happy that I forgot my own mantra: sometimes the sunlight can blind you. I was always careful about not being too happy because there's really no other way to go but be unhappy after that. But because I've resolved to let people in and live my life without the restrictions of my mantras and theories, the past few weeks have been an exercise in letting the new me out.

But the universe has once again decided to do its own exercise of its prerogative to balance itself out. It seems as if it has decreed that no one should have two straight weeks of happiness. And so the wee hours of Sunday morning happened. It's a pity that I made a promise to myself (one that I swore up and down I would never break) to forget my years of perfecting the art of studied indifference - just this once because maybe something good might come out of it and cried in public.

And something good did come out of it. I made some friends. I discovered that I can be a people person. I found out that I can be liked. That I might actually, actually survive in the corporate world with its rules and politics and time-keeping.

Looks like I've spoken too soon. But I'm not giving up. I'm not going back to my shell and hide there just because of some careless remark that probably wasn't even meant for me. The last two weeks have given me something I have never had before: a sense of purpose. Which is funny, when you think about it. Half the time, I was quivering with the thought that I might be doing a scrappy job and I expected everyone to hate me. But they didn't. Of course, now they might hate me.

I don't care about that. But I do care about the people I like - it doesn't even matter too much if they like me back or not. I cannot control how others feel about me. If they decide to change their minds (whether for the good or the bad) it doesn't matter that much.

It's like what happened before that Sunday dawn: grown people playing patintero just because they had nothing else to do. The time that we spent playing that children's game made me realize what I've always known and believed, but sometimes forget: happiness is not a state of mind; it's all about moments.

So I will learn from before that Sunday dawn, but I will treasure the patintero moment. I will keep it in my memories for as long as I can hold off Alzheimer's and go back to it and rehash it whenever a "before that Sunday dawn" happens.

In a way then, I am grateful for that. It was a mixed blessing. It made me realize that while nothing lasts forever, I should cherish the time that it was with me. Whether it be a person or a certain event, just be grateful that he or she was there or that it happened. Whatever thing that has marred it, treat it as if it was a certain necessary evil. The bitter always makes the sweet sweeter - or something like that.

And although they have no idea this blog exists, I want to thank the people who have inadvertently taught me the lost art of patintero - also called The Art of Letting Go.

Boring Me...

2005-07-18T08:21:00.000-07:00

Whenever I'm in my ranting mood - which is every day - I always tell my friends (about the only people who can stand my ranting) that I'm in the wrong business. Customer service is all about being nice. And anyone can tell you that I'm not cut out to be nice and yet I'm here - in the business of being nice. Or so I thought. Some of the people I can't seem to vibe with are in this business. I don't know if it's just me or it's really them, but just for the sake of argument let's say it's them... does that mean I actually belong here?

Am I confusing you? Or am I sounding confused to you? No matter... whichever it is, I'm sure I can work it out and if I can't... does it really matter?

Pardon my haziness. I haven't taken any drugs to make me sound like this. I just sound like this before I do something I usually don't like to do - go to class. Which is fitting because I've never been a good student. I'm smart enough, intelligent enough, but I never seemed to care enough about going to school. I took it for granted. I could give you ten good reasons why I stopped being the achiever I was in elementary school, but it's just gonna bore you. The real dilemma is... I have class in 1.5 hours and I've been absent for three days now. I'm not hating it. It's just boring me.

Now I'm boring me...

Trying To Find Normal

2005-07-16T06:11:00.000-07:00

One of the weirdest things I've discovered about myself the past few weeks is that I can actually become a workaholic. Isn't that scary? Everyone knows that I seem to have an unlimited supply of laziness in me. Now, I find myself worrying about work. I get up at the ungodly hour of 3 am to leave by 4, to travel to the other side of the world - also known as Alabang.

This is not me. But if it isn't, then who is this?

Some pretentious snob who's been parading in my body? Who'd want to be me?

Hmmm... Now there's a thought...

When It Rains... I Go Nuts

2005-07-04T07:18:00.000-07:00

I've never thought of myself as an artist. I can't draw a stickman without it looking like someone tried to stop me from getting him on paper. I can write - but then again, so can anyone with a university education and minimum imagination...

But when I was growing up, everyone around me assumed that I was going to be a writer. I never thought past it until college when I found out that not only does being a writer make you penniless, it's not that easy. The thing is, I've been so used to being known among my friends as the writer, the "intellectual" that the mere thought of becoming a corporate lackey grates on my nerves.

Yet here I am - working for a call center and liking it. What would Semariga and her forest friends think? :) Well, she already thinks I'm a sell-out. Should I remind her that when we were freshmen she got involved in a cult (disguised as a legitimate religious organization)? That when she did join the "movement" she quit after everyone shared with her hoard of chocolates? That she worked for a call center before I did? That when she worked for an NGO in Baguio, she quit when they asked her to sign a contract because she didn't want to commit? That the reason she finally let herself "welcomed back to the fold" is because of this guy she was in love with after 3 hours of intense conversation?

Well, good for her. At least she's doing what she wants to. She said she has found her calling. Much more than I could say for myself. Which is funny: "I found my calling in a call center."

I used to think this was funny, too. You know, being lost. It seemed such an adventure back in college. I was proud of the fact that I had no goals and that for me the future meant the next day. Now, I'm not so sure. With my friend having a baby this November and all my friends from back home married... What's next for me? Am I not hardwired for the real world? Am I supposed to sail through it without being encumbered my responsibilities? Sounds like someone's dream life, but is it mine?

I Muse, Therefore I Am

2005-06-17T05:15:00.000-07:00

There will always be a time in anyone's life when everything seems to be in all the right places, but - there's always a but - you feel as if either something is missing or something is going to go horribly wrong.

Is that what I'm feeling right now? Maybe. Maybe I'm just making conversation with myself because I'm stuck at work (listening to U2's stuck in a moment) without anything to do because I don't have the resources yet.

Has everything falled into all the right places? I don't know. I have a job I don't hate. I have my friends (although one of them has made herself scarce yet again). I have my bickering parents. I'm relatively healthy (for a vampire).

Do I feel like something is missing in my life? Hmmm... I think that for you to feel that way, you kinda have to have an idea about what is it you want. I don't, so the "something missing" part is just that - something missing.

Do I feel like something is going to go horribly wrong? I'm an eternal realist, so the answer is yes.

Another Last Day

2005-06-03T22:32:00.000-07:00

I'm on the last day of my communication coaching. It's been quite an education for me. Everyone else has been telling me that I'll do a great job and that it's pretty easy, but for someone who has never even aspired to be in a supervisory position - it's another thing entirely.

Sure, I love criticizing people. But I was never in a position that I could actually make or break their source of livelihood. I mean, with one recommendation I could set into motion something that would change someone's life. I also know that even before this position, I've already been doing that since somehow we're all interconnected and all that, but believe me, when we talk about jobs - that's different.

I'm not making paimportante or anything like that. I guess I'm just nervous. I don't feel as if I have the maturity to be handling anyone else aside from myself. But I have to grow up and this is part of growing up.

Someone once said that courage is not the absence of fear, but confronting that self-same fear.

(Sigh) Wish me luck. I'm absolutely going to need it.

The Last Day

2005-05-29T21:57:00.000-07:00

Today is my last day here at Enterprise... It's also my last day as a Glacier cow.

Although none of my teammates know this blog address, just the same I would like to express my gratitude. (Actually, they'll see this on my Friendster blog as soon as I post it there.):

Thanks for everything. I know we haven't spent that much time together - especially since I disappeared for about two weeks prior to all my "pre-emptive" strikes and "jinxes". But some say that time is not that much of a factor when it comes to relationships... And that's what I have with you. Not only is this the company where I stayed the longest (a record-breaking 9 months!), this is also where I got my first promotion. Such milestones, though, are nothing compared to the friendships I formed here. Some of us have gone through a lot of ups and downs. Some of us have had moments and some of us just - well, we exist in each other's universe.

I have found and lost and regained friends here. Let's not talk about the one I am so not regretful of losing. Anyway, thank you to everyone. Being in Glacier has been an education I will never forget. To my kwadra-mates: Hans, for the rides home and for more chika purposes (who could ever forget Ivy Violan?); Michael Choy, for making me feel like the ultimate techie I am not; Jacqui, for the food and for letting me drag you to applying with me; Kate, for the irateness and fun drunkenness at Digi (how in the world do you spell that anyway?); and for Mommy Roch, for the DVD and the encouragements. To the other residents of the other kwadras (my apologies to the newbies: we haven't had moments yet): to Malin, the future Mrs. Mendez... wala lang; Rada, Che's very own Jaya - thanks for making me borrow your book and for updating me with your lovelife; Mary, mabuhay ang Stairway addicts; Alfred, ang natitirang lalakeng birhen sa balat ng Convergys - sana mabinyagan ka na. hehehe; Che, haaay... thanks for the Full House moments; Wena, thanks for trusting me with all your secrets; Mommy Bons, for all the kwento. Nindot jud nga naay kastoryang Bisaya!; Mommy Ace, thanks for the encouragements din and for sharing - magazines, life stories, etc... Carl, this is tricky. Well, bro, it's been quite a ride. All in all, thanks for still being Carl - drama and all. And to TL Val: thanks for putting up with all the pasaways.

To Glacier: thanks for everything. I feel the need to repeat this because I know I'll never have this same experience again. You are the greatest people someone like me (read: very lost) needed to encounter. You have been - to date - the most amazing event of my life... I'll miss you.

No More Pre-emptives and Jinxes

2005-05-27T21:57:00.000-07:00

First ever promotion for the first job I held for more than three months...

That should have been my title, but I guess it gave away too much of what I wanted to write.

When I was younger, I fancied myself to be the rebel among my friends. I meant, I was the one person who always stood on the "no" side. Even in high school, my guidance counselor felt that I wouldn't be as lost as the other people in college because going to UP was like going home to the mothership (re: magsama kayo ng mga tibak). Which would actually raise Goldie's hackles had I shared that...

Back to my promotion: yep, I got it... I'm very happy. The salary increase is negligible, but that's not the point. I'm not going to take calls anymore! My God! Can I actually survive in a corporate world? What about my artist's soul? Shall I bury it forever?

Shush! Mag-hunos dili ka!

Going The Saintly Way... Or Not

2005-05-22T04:31:00.000-07:00

Most people use the words "earth-shattering" with annoying regularity. I am one of those people. Usually, what would make my "earth" shatter is some profoundly amazing sentiment expressed by someone I used to consider - up until that moment - a complete and total nimrod.

I'm arrogant enough to believe that despite my "sheltered" status, there's really precious few things that shock me.

But I'm wrong.

Sometimes it still shocks me how callous and - pardon my less-than-creative description - assholic some guys can be. I don't know why I'm still surprised given the fact that I have met and even became friends (not anymore!) some of these entities. Maybe it's because deep down inside, I still believe that people (and I mean everyone) are inherently good and that certain circumstances make them "turn" (in vampiric terminology). Maybe I still believe in the adage "innocent until proven guilty." Maybe... I'm just too naive and don't know it.

And while I am a proponent of always trying to look for the silver lining in every situation, I also believe in the therapeutic effect of wallowing in guilt and in effect, self-absorption. I deem myself an expert of sorts on that subject.

What's my point?

Nothing, really. I'm just trying to work things out for myself. I'm trying to decide on whether I should step down to the level of the protoplasmic creature that mars the face of this planet or maybe I should just go down the saintly way and let it go.

i still believe

2005-03-05T21:42:00.000-08:00

sometimes, i still feel surprised whenever something bad happens to me. not thati've always believed my life to be perfect. far from it. ever since i was a kid,i've been wary of perfection. i believed in the odd practice of not making a babylaugh too much as it would cry later on. i never asked anyone why that was. forme, it was because the universe (i don't know if i called it that at that time) had its own way of balancing things. no one can ever be totally happy all the time. after being happy, one has to be sad. at an early age, i already had a concept of the yin and yang.
and so for this betrayal of sorts to happen to me - well, it was a surprise. itshouldn't have since i already know the character of the person. what i didn't know was that i was an incurable optimist. it never mattered how many times this person has proven to be such an asshole. subconsciously, i still believed that everyone has innate goodness in them. i still do, but that person has made me unforgiving. i have never been betrayed by a friend before. i hold friendships sacred - even more so than love. friendships make me believe in forever. that one made me wary of ever making friends of anyone remotely like him.but the one thing the whole debacle has taught me was to appreciate the friendsi already have. he hasn't hurt my belief in friendship. he has ended our friendship, that's for sure. and i will never thank him for anything that has happened before. this is the one time that i'll never look back on the good times. because no matter how good they were, it will never make up for the fact that it has made me doubt the sincerity of those said good times. although i had fun, i will prefer not to remember him along with those moments. it's better this way than forever berating myself for telling him my dreams and fears. i know that i wasn't foolish and that none of this was my fault.

in the end, betrayal makes you wiser. of course, it also makes you cynical. i'll try not to be. i still believe in a lot of things i used to. i still believe thatfriendship and family - in all its forms - are the most important things in life. i still believe that everyone will always have a bit of goodness in them. i justdon't believe in him, that's all.

all the supposes

2005-02-12T00:52:00.000-08:00

i have this friend... he has this habit of making bets with other people, but mostly with himself about a lot of things... one of the bets included two of our friends. they're a couple with a very shaky beginning and even more dubious foundations. anyway, this friend (let's call him mike - so as not to get things even more confusing than it already is) made a bet with the girl (let's call her lisa) that when mike invites the guy (a.k.a. jake) to a boys' night out, he (jake) would rather go with him (mike) than with her (lisa). of course, lisa accepts the bet and mike goes to work on jake. mike asked him to go out with him and the rest of our guy friends. earlier that day, lisa already asked jake to watch movie with her. at the end of the day, jake asked lisa and mike to postpone their respective invitations.

recently, mike made a bet with himself. let's not call it a bet (since he's making it with himself that makes him even sillier than he is) - let's use his other favorite word: theory. he has this theory about jake and lisa. jake used to have a girlfriend while he was making landi with lisa. and lisa knew about it. the whole time they were making landi, mike would lament how stupid lisa was and how heartless jake was being. he could not believe that there was anyone as stupid and as gullible as lisa so he theorized that there must be catch here...

and just tonight he found out the catch: lisa might be stupid, but she's as heartless as jake. let me backup so anyone else reading this might understand: while the whole landian was going on, lisa also had a boyfriend. but before anything serious went on with her and jake, they already broke up. going back to the present... lisa's ex-boyfriend who we will hide under the name of francis met up with her (quite accidentally on purpose) at an open house. this is where mike believe's his theory has just been made a fact: francis was there with another girl and this promptly drove leah up the wall. she got so drunk that she made out with this we will call derek. derek used to be my crush... good thing i didn't tell mike who derek was to me or he would have seen a pattern...

so what does this tell me about knowing people you've been with since you were 7 years old? that i can still be surprised. that i am still shockable. that in the end, you can never wholly predict what people can do when they think they're in love. the sad part is, i'm beginning to believe in james... (sigh) it's another crisis waiting to happen. and i'm not supposed to know anything about it.

what next?

2005-02-05T01:42:00.000-08:00

one of the most infuriating things i'm always asked (especially by my parents) is "what are your plans?" and i guess i infuriate them right back when i say, "what plans? i don't even know what my plans are for tomorrow."

i'm not playing coy or even trying to be a smart mouth. i really do not know any plans for my future. and by future, i mean five years from now. sure, there are a lot of things i want to do - what i want to be. i want to study abroad. i want to be able to walk the streets of Paris - a la Vivian in Lovers in Paris. i want to be able to go to Greece and walk among the ruins... there's really are a lot i want to do, but as of the present they are not feasible. so, i really am telling the truth when i tell my parents that i do not have plans for my future. what i just listed above were my dreams... are plans and dreams the same?

notice the lack of a dream of a family of my own... at that age, most people would probably be thinking of settling down: getting married, having babies, buying their first house, going through their first separation, finding out they're gay...

at this point in my life, the last thing i want is a life-changing event... well, unless it's a lifestyle-changing event like winning in the lottery... or my parents winning in the lottery... or the marcoses giving me a share of their ill-gotten wealth... or if my recurring dream of my finding a bagful of rolled thousand-peso bills comes true... unless any of the above-mentioned happens, i don't think i'm up for any change as of yet...

so, what's next?

i don't know and that's just fine with me.

another new year's eve...

2004-12-31T23:33:00.000-08:00

this year... i'm not spending new year's eve at home, toasting the coming 365 days with wine on one hand and the other rubbing my eyes. i'm at work; taking calls from American callers... the system is down and we're actually taking orders manually.

it's not so bad. every time we hear the fireworks from outside, people would start groaning and bemoaning the fact that while everyone else is probably in their homes, getting ready to celebrate the new year, we're busy working - or at least some of us are...

this is the life of a call center agent. as i said, it's not so bad. the starting salary is better than most jobs out there. the culture is like being back in high school (this is actually good if you didn't have quite a hellish time back then). although corporate citizenship is espoused, the camaraderie of people reminds you so much of high school. you and your officemates go out at lunch together (at 2 am) and leave the office together (at 7 am). you have team buildings in out of the way places and romances and fights are formed...

but i digress. we were talking about the new year...

actually... this new year is about being where you are... just be present. just stop being so forward looking all the time. the best things in life happen when your head is in the present. at least, that's what i'm learning...

happy new year! it's the year of the boar...

The Tale Of The Fuschia Bag

2004-11-29T22:35:00.000-08:00

I have a fuschia bag. There's nothing special about it. It's a knock off Nine West from Tutuban but it carries certain memories. It was the last thing I bought with my first salary from my first serious job. It was also a symbol of the start of a turbulent friendship that would challenge my insanity. In a matter of less than three months, we've gone through the whole gamut of soap operatic situations. I've lost count of the second guesses I've done in regards to them. I've gone through dozens of cds and found each song "relatable"...

And now I go back to the bag. Its zipper had been threatening to go mental on me for quite some time now and even surrendered once or twice, but I've always managed to bring it back from the dark side. Last night, while I was celebrating the rediscovery of old friendships, the zipper finally gave up. I looked at the extent of the damage, made half-hearted attempts to fix it, but in the end I, too, gave up. The morning after, I realized what the broken bag meant to me: hastily formed friendships that went through tests before it was ready. The friendship wasn't a knock off like the bag, just haphazardly formed. The foundation, if there ever was any, was unclear so the slight bumps became road blocks...

I found a space between the edge of the bag's tab and the zipper's lock. I carefully tugged it to the edge and just as carefully pulled it down. The zipper closed and my bag was fixed. Maybe, just maybe, the friendship would be mended as my bag had been. After all, that bag has been thtough a lot in such a short time. Much like the people who bought it.

Contemplations on Complications

2004-11-07T15:07:00.000-08:00

I used to wish that my life would be like the tv shows that I watch and the books that I read... as they say, truth is stranger than fiction. I have to agree. Nowadays, my life is filled with plots and intrigues that should be left on scripts and the pages of tagalog romance novels. I'm not complaining. It makes for a great conversation piece with my other friends... Wait... Sometimes it seems to me that I have no other friends aside from the ones who are in this soap operatic situation I'm in, but the truth is I do. They aren't sucked into that vortex yet. And I'm not sure if I want them to.

I still want a few boundaries in my life. I want my friends not to be so friendster-like because it makes my world feel so much smaller. But in the end, there really is nothing much that I can do to stop it because in my heart of hearts, I want a small world. A world where I can navigate easily - where I am sometimes the bida, but never the contrabida. Sometimes I sit on the sidelines and watch the world go by - but never in silence. I can never be silenced (unless it's with aligue).

Anyway, I live with complications now. They're my housemates, they're my friends... and you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way...

Sometimes You Just Have To Be Ok

2004-10-26T04:52:00.000-07:00

There are times in life wherein things can go so bad and stuff can hurt you too bad. But then again, there will be times that you have to ignore that they do that... and then again, there will be times that you have to accept that they're part of your life.

Am I even making sense? If not, then I make no apologies. Little in my life right now makes sense. And you know what? I happen to like it this way. Because the less things make sense, the more I tend to analyze them and the more I get confused... And confusion often leads to a lot of realization...

Is it getting too much like a friendster account? Well, it's a good metaphor while it lasted... The problem is, I can't seem to sustain it...

Let's leave this for another day...

2004-10-10T05:20:00.000-07:00

There are times when you have certain ideas pooled in your head about a certain event that hasn't even happened to you...

For a while now, I've been dreaming of going on a road trip... It doesn't matter where we would actually be going, what matters is what happens during the road trip. If people were locked inside a moving vehicle, tensions will arise and of course, they will have fun... At least that's my theory.

Yesterday's road trip was not what I had in mind... First off, I felt as if the two closest friends I have on that trip were mad at me. Well, at least I thought they were because they weren't talking to me... And we had an excess baggage who just refused to be unloaded.

After all the drama (which I refuse to elaborate), we actually got to EK. And in the end, I was wrong. It's not always the journey that matters. Or what happens during the journey. Sometimes it's what didn't happen and getting to where you wanted to go. Once you get there, things will straighten out on their own, you will have fun, and you will cherish the moments even after they've faded from the photographs or your clothes will have dried from the soaking you got. The ride home will be exhausting and you will sleep inside the van, heedless of the stench you smell either from yourself or from your friends. But it doesn't matter. You will scratch off the moodiness of the ride to EK as the result of a sleep-deprived, frustrating night. And you will realize that you are so damn lucky to be doing the things you're doing with the people you're with.

Contemplations of Abandonment

2004-10-06T17:27:00.000-07:00

There was a time when I really had a way with words. I made them into fantasies of a life I knew I could never have. And by fantasy I mean out of this world. Only I knew it existed. But that was when I was so much younger. I didn’t know I’d be living in a world of my own making, too.
Oh, I know what it sounds like. It’s not unique. Everyone lives in a world of their own making – or so they would like to think, but the thing is sometimes it's easier to live in somebody else's world...
Maybe I really am coming down with something because I can't make sense of half the things I'm writing. I'm also on the verge of throwing a hissy fit, but then I realize, there's no one to witness it and so it becomes an exercise in futility. A hissy fit loses its redeeming value when there is no audience...
Sometimes we all think life is a little too harsh on us, but the truth is how could it be anything else? It doesn't know how else it should be. We don't teach it to do anything to us or for us. It's like a slot machine. We put in our coins, pull the lever, and the rest is up to this crazy thing called fate.
I used to disbelieve in that, fate. It seemed as if it were an easy way to explain things away. It's as if it was a shortcut away from thinking and to oblivion. But oblivion is good - sometimes, especially if you're going through a lot - or nothing, it all depends.
Like right now. I have better things to do with my time than waste it here in an internet station, tapping out nonsense on this public computer. I should be home, studying for the exam tonight or at the very least sleeping.
I'm not feeling any better and my mood is starting out crappy. I better get home before I ruin this day for anyone else. See ya!

I Am Bisaya, Hear Me Roar!!

2004-08-16T00:32:00.000-07:00

When I was a college freshman, I had this heavy Visayan accent whenever I spoke Tagalog. Adding to that is my atrocious memory for remembering grammatical constructions such as umalis is past tense and aalis is future tense. As my room mate (a girl from Zamboanga who spoke impeccable Tagalog) once told me, “Namumutaktak ka ng ‘mag.” (You’re full of ‘mag.’) Every sentence I uttered was, “Mag-alis muna ako ha? (To me this meant, ‘I’m going now.’) O ba’t nandito ka pa? Di ba magnood kayo ng TV? (In Kristina-speak this was, ‘Why are you still here? I thought you were watching TV?’)” It was embarrassing not because the Tagalog speakers were mocking us (actually, only a few of them were doing that), but because they said we sounded cute and from that point on they would continually ask us to speak Tagalog just so they could coo and gush.
‘Andito si Kristina. C’mon, say ‘Are you going now?’ in Tagalog.’
‘Um, mag-alis na kayo?’
Laughter.
Eventually I and the other Bisaya people got tired of being unpaid, impromptu stand-up comics for out dorm mates. Although we continued to speak Bisaya with each other, we knew we couldn’t do the same to the Tagalog people. So we spoke English. It seemed that we just couldn’t get things right. When we started speaking English, they called us coño (which actually means a bad word in Spanish, but in UP context it means a person who speaks English with a certain accent and is usually rich). We weren’t by any means rich, but because we spoke English with a lot more confidence that they did (those P1-per-Bisaya-word sanction we experienced from elementary to high school paid off) we were coños.
It wasn’t all oppression and cruelty. As Bisayas are known for their charm and friendliness (I and my friends come from the City of Friendship, Tagbilaran no less), we won the Tagalogs over. No more mocking of accents – they actually genuinely found it charming. Our dorm mates constantly hound us into translating various phrases.
“How do you say ‘I Love You’?”
“Gihigugma ko ikaw.”
“How about ‘You’re ugly’?”
“Bati ka ug nawng.”
Pretty soon, the Bisaya people became the most popular in the dorm. We were also the dominant pack. Approximately 75% of the residents in my freshman dorm were from the Visayas-Mindanao area. We were no longer the brunt of jokes; we were the BPIH (Big People in the Hall – as in Kalayaan Residence Hall) which was great, although it was kind of strange since we felt that we were becoming walking phrasebooks. We were also the prime source of those wonderfully appropriate curses the people were hurling at the opposing team during the sports fest. It didn’t matter that they had no idea what they meant, but they had a grand time yelling those words until they were hoarse.
Being Bisaya in Manila certainly has its advantages. We always lord over the fact that while most of the Tagalogs spoke only dialect, we spoke at least two. Then there is also one pertinent information: we have the best beaches anywhere in the country. And we’ve also traveled farther than they have – well, except those who constantly go out of the country for vacation. For the people who came from the far-flung provinces of Visayas and Mindanao, we arrived in UP either by ship or by plane.
We were far from being the Masters and Commanders of Our Side of the University, but we held our own. From being the runts of the bunch, we emerged to become a force to be reckoned with. Of course, it helped that during our freshman year the advertising congress was held in Cebu. So everyone – the non-Bisaya most specially – kept on asking each other, “Donat, bay?” It was as if that was our answer to Budweiser’s “Wassup?”
As I reminisce on what it was like to be a Bisaya in Manila, I can say this: stand tall, stand proud. BISDAK kami!

Taking Time To Stop And Smell The Street Signs

2004-08-16T00:11:00.001-07:00

When I was job-hunting, I gathered enough details to make up an essay about getting lost. Back then, it used to be such an adventure for me - getting lost. It was as if I was exploring unchartered territory. I wasn't irritated easily. I thought it was funny everytime I circle around a block and still not find the tallest building there. I was even secretly proud of the fact that while some people have a lousy sense of direction, I had none at all.

Maybe it's part of this annoying thing called growing up, but I'm not all that amused about getting lost anymore. Especially not in a place where I've stayed for the better part of 5 years. I get irritated at the slightest delay and have become pragmatic about being late: if they forgive me, great. If they toss me out, it's not meant to be.

I didn't even notice that change of attitude until I came across my unfinished and unedited essay about the art of getting lost. And it sort of saddened me that I was growing older, but not growing up. I don't want to be the kind of adult kids shun away from. I don't want to be surly and boring and... so stereotypically adult.

After reading that article, I wanted to be the person who wrote that essay. I wanted to be the person who still thinks that getting lost is an art. Because that person had a sense of humor. That person had fun. That person had a life.

I know that I cannot stave off growing older. It's a fact. It's the growing up thing that I'm having a little trouble with. I know that it entails taking responsibility... actually, that's all I can remember about growing up. I'm sure there are others, but I know it doesn't mean losing one's sense of humor or being a year-round Scrooge.

Now, if only I can discover the art of getting to a place on time...

Tagalog Romance Novels: An Undermined Filipino Discovery

2004-06-28T03:30:00.000-07:00

I was a Comparative Literature major back in college. I studied theories on gender relations, gay literature, popular culture, feminist writings and what have you. My classmates spouted Propp, Derrida, Lacan and Levi Strauss (before I shifted to CL, I thought Levi Strauss was the founder of Levi’s, not a theorist). Although I was not left floundering (our library closes at 12 midnight so you can guess where I stayed when I didn’t have money to go out of the campus), I just couldn’t get myself to the same “high” they would be when discussing the parallelisms of Deconstruction and the ideas of binary opposition.
But like the makahiya, I had my natural defense mechanism. Whereas the aforementioned plant would curl up, I joked. Whenever one of my classmates asks, “Hey, do you know who Derrida worked with on this and that theory?” I’d say, “No, but do you know Martha Cecilia’s latest book in her Kristine series?” Believe me when I tell you that saying that invariably saved me from betraying my semi-ignorance. Especially when I accidentally read the name Homi K. Bhaba as Bhomik Bhaba.
We were training to become academics. We read ‘serious’ literature. But there are times when those tend to overwhelm even brilliant minds such as my friend Maj’s and mine. Our other classmates turned to partying, others mountain climbing. Maj and I read Tagalog romance novels. Not only are they wildly entertaining, they also challenge the extent of one’s imagination. Can you picture seven brothers – all unbelievably gorgeous complete with charm, physique plus wealth and breeding – falling in love with uniquely beautiful, virtuous women in succession over the next seven months or so? Did I also mention that these seven brothers have their own estates and possess ridiculously expensive luxury cars? Oh, they also own islands – each of them. Pretty unbelievable, right? The answer would be yes, and that would be the reason why they’re such good reads. They’re so highly entertaining – the whole storyline removes you from reality better than a George Lucas move could.
And for a Bisaya kid in Manila, it’s a great language teaching tool. I can understand Tagalog all too well. I mean, I do watch Tagalog movies and television shows. It’s the speaking that gets me. Anyway, reading those books aloud (with an audience so that they can correct your pretty ‘baluktot’ tongue) certainly helped me in the speaking department. Going back to said novels, they are undoubtedly one of the best “inventions” of the Pinoy mind. They’re pretty cheap, considering all the things you get out of them: inspiration, amusement, what else… Oh, and the validation that the Filipino indeed is worth the exasperation we all feel from time to time. After all, for the price of an economy e-load you’ve lived somebody else’s up and downs without the heartbreak (although one may be moved to tears, depending on the plot) and therapy sessions. So go ahead and educate yourself on the fine art that is the Tagalog romance novel. Give yourself a break from the telenovelas and practice literacy. Who knows? It might inspire you to write your own love story – made up or true to life; your choice.

Such Are The Signs...

2004-06-28T03:23:00.000-07:00

Living in Pasig City has its convenience. I ‘m near Ortigas – the business district away from Makati. From the house I share with two other college friends, I’m about five minutes away from Libis – party central, a ride away from two major malls: Robinsons Galleria and SM Megamall. And speaking of Megamall, therein resides my ground zero (e.g. ‘ground zero’ is Douglas Coupland’s Generation X term for the place wherein you’d like to be in the event of a nuclear war): Powerbooks. It’s like a big library with the latest music piped in. Whenever I have free time I usually go there just walking through the whole store first. It’s as if I have to breathe in the sense of welcoming that I feel there. Then, I go to the shelves where they store the romance novels. I find it easier to read them in Powerbooks. On the average I can read a thick romance paperback in under an hour so before lunch time I would have read about 2 and a half novels.
The one time that I went there I was looking for a book by a particular author. Strange, I thought, that I couldn’t find it where it was usually placed. Then I turned around and found it piled under the shelf with the heading “Science Fiction and Fantasy.” Odd, I thought, as I pulled the opened copy and went to my usual seat. Then I got to thinking: this novel is about a tall, dark, handsome man born from a privileged family and graduated from a prestigious school. He is charming, smart and does not kick dogs. The heroine is a feisty, witty, well-educated woman. Far from being classically beautiful, she is red-haired, green-eyed and is usually found trading snide remarks with the hero. The hero is intrigued with this woman who dared oppose him. After all, with that face, that body and that bank account – what woman in her right mind would go against him? But this woman does. To make the long story short, after much beating around the bush and a diabolical plot that almost kills both of them, they become lovers and sail off into the sunset – with a ring on the woman’s finger, of course .
Which brings us back to the reason why this book was found under the Science Fiction section. Maybe the previous reader got too tired and placed it there. Maybe a guy browsed through the book, found out it was a romantic story and ditched it in favor of the newest Terri Pratchett. The point is, it is pretty significant – not to mention funny – to find a story of love side by side with stories of make-believe worlds. It seems to begging for analysis, or is it just me?
The book’s placing might have been accidental, but it recalls several overheard conversations on how love is becoming obsolete or if not that, unnecessary. What ever happened to “What the world needs now is love, sweet love”? Do people still believe in the mysterious facets of love? Or more to the point, do people of my generation still subscribe to the ideals portrayed in romance novels?
To answer the question, I asked my friends (hardly a number representing my generation, but I’m working on a pseudo-theory here, not one for the Nobel) if they still believe in love. The best place for this discussion - at least for us - is not somebody’s apartment with cans of beer lying around and the people are half-sloshed to make any sense, but where else? A coffee shop. There is a certain ambience that a coffee shop provides when one wants to discuss simulated intellectual conversation. Somehow it feels as if everyone’s a little relaxed and the history behind a coffee shop (brings to mind Hemingway and other American expatriates in Paris, buying coffee because it’s all they can afford, shooting off ideas to add on to their future Pultizer- and Noble- Prize winning works) seems to force people to be a little more profound than they usually are.
It’s 11 pm and we’ve ordered our over-prized, whipped-cream-masked-coffee. We start talking about how we never thought to get where we are right now, when roughly 9 to 10 years ago we were wearing uniforms and our foremost thoughts were that of waiting for the recess bell to ring and dreading dismissal because for some of us, it was our turn to sweep the whole classroom. Now, look where we are. Sitting around in a coffee shop at this ungodly hour, no parents to supervise us and not even worrying if tomorrow is a school day. Then for some reason the talk goes to how in this group four of us are single. The Attached One, as we will call her, offers no insight. She says “It’s probably not your time.” The two Heartbroken Ones disagree. “What? And it was our time to get hurt?” The other two Uninitiated shrug, preferring to listen rather than talk about themselves, for once. Attached says “You know what they say, ‘Relationships are like taxis: there when you don’t want one and nowhere to be found when you need one.’” Heartbroken One replies, “Hah! Who needs it?!” Heartbroken Two responds, “It’s societal pressure. That’s all there is to it.” One of the Uninitiated leaps at the thought and counter “So, you’re saying that society pressures people to have someone else?” Before HT can answer, the other Uninitiated person in the table responds “Of course. We were all reared to believe that no man is an island. And although bridges have been built, it’s still unthinkable for said island to survive alone.”
All in all, it was a fascinating conversation. It should be. We closed the place at 3 am, all still feeling the caffeine buzz that set us back a hundred bucks or so. We never really reached a conclusion as to love and what-nots. During the taxi ride, I was thinking whether I had answered what I had asked myself at the bookstore: does my generation still believe in love? So, I turned from the window and poked my sleepy seatmate, Heartbroken One. “Hey, do you still believe in love?” She appears not to have heard me, so I sighed and went back to pondering the city lights. I figured that I was not going to get any answer, when nearing the bridge that connected our part of Pasig to Ortigas, HO said, “Love? In all its complexities, glories and heartaches, it is still the one reason why we’re all paradoxically sane and insane.” I smiled. I knew going to a coffee shop would dig up the mushy poet in my otherwise taciturn friend. I saw “The Sign” that marked the alleyway into our house, turned to her and smiled. Wait. “So, that’s a yes, right?”

High School Revisited

2004-06-24T22:40:00.000-07:00

Maybe it was no accident that my high school graduation song is the Hunchback of Notre Dame’s theme, Someday. The song sings of hope, that someday indeed, things can be different – will be different, can and will be better. I wonder how many of us realized that when we sang it the day we officially left high school. Has “someday” arrived for some of us yet?
Having had two pseudo-reunions, I had no chance of asking this of any of my classmates. Something always held me back. During these reunions, there’s a feeling of camaraderie that was absent back when we were in high school. People ask each other how they’re doing knowing that back then, these same people only talked to you to ask if the teacher had indeed said that there was an exam scheduled for today. Maybe I am being a tad too harsh. Some are genuinely interested in how the other half lives, but I can’t help but think if these reunions are a way to touch-base to the time when things were not as complicated as they are now. Of course, I can’t fault the organizers for that. I wanted to somehow recreate that time, too. High school was like a preview of this period known as “The Time Of Your Life”. But only if you weren’t miserable that time.
Generally speaking, here in the Philippines high school was not the worst years of our lives. Even if one wasn’t popular or had few friends, it wasn’t the torture frequently portrayed in Hollywood movies. Sure, all the awkwardness and the mishaps of adolescence seem to be packed in four years, but it happened to everyone so we all had pretty much the same entries on the “Most Embarrassing Moments” List. Some were jocks (basketball, volleyball), some belonged to the popular crowd (the requirements were pretty vague, but I knew you had to know the lyrics to the top ten songs played on MTV), some were in the fringes of the popular crowd, and some were just there. In a population of 75 in the graduating class, we pretty much knew everyone else. But of course with callowness of youth, there were times that some had to be excluded to make room for the popular ones. I don’t think we were terribly cruel when we were young. Or maybe I just didn’t think that we were and that we really were. As they say, teen-agers are the cruelest creatures in the planet.
Looking back on all those years, they seem to be so far away from who we are now. Of course, I can’t speak for the whole class. Some of us have settled down and became adults. Some of us are still a little bit lost – trying to find our way around this big, bad world. Maybe that’s it. When we were in high school, we used to think that the world – our world was so small and we couldn’t wait to get out of it. And then came college. It was pretty scary, but exciting too. For some of us, it was a chance to start with a clean slate. For the others, it was there for us to continue what we had begun. But for all, it was another adventure. And we sure didn’t come out unscathed.
The first sem break I came home, everyone was in a dither trying to organize what could pass for a reunion. A lot of people attended, but not a lot has changed. We all had fun recounting how college treated us. Everything was still new and we had not encountered anything life-changing. Yet. The following school breaks were not occasions for reunions anymore. It seemed as if reminiscing about high school took a step back to actually living the life we already had. College had either overwhelmed us or we were actually doing a bit of growing up and wanted to leave high school behind.
To me, it looked like they were people who went out of their way to prove that they were adults. In the end, it just proved that all of us still needed a lot of growing up to do. I guess high school makes you realize that yeah, you had fun three-four years ago, but life goes on. And it can’t be necessarily bad.

Have You Seen Me Lately

2004-06-23T22:21:00.000-07:00

At my age, my mom gave birth to me. At 22, I’m still trying to find my place in the world. Fortunately, I am blessed with parents who understand their only child’s need to be confused. Of course, it does not exempt them from wanting me to be the best I can be. They don’t pressure me – no whispering in my ear when I sleep – nothing like that. They simply drop hints here and there how I should make use of my easily spent (and my parents’ hard-earned money) education. The thing is I don’t exactly have the most practical degree in the world. I’m pretty handy around computers, but I can’t program one. The extent of my knowledge in repairing a computer is banging on the CPU so I don’t think I’m going to be such a success in that department. I’m pretty good with numbers; I can add, subtract, multiply and divide in my head with accuracy. Then again, so can a number of people. I’m absolutely terrified of calculus and back in college, I once cried during an advanced Trigonometry exam. I’m happy to say that I passed that exam, but it put me off any kind of mathematics that I shifted to a liberal arts course the following semester. While I don’t quail at the sight of blood or entrails, I just don’t see myself as a nurse (with their long hours and bed-pan duties) or a caretaker (I can hardly take care of myself).
So what does that leave me? A career in media or the arts. With the advent of artista searches, maybe I should join one. But then, I’m too old and I don’t think I can toughen my face up to sing (very badly) and dance (mediocre at best) in front of a crowd. I don’t have stage-fright – far from it. I do have boo-fright. Thankfully, I have never been booed off a stage, but I’ve seen some of my enterprising friends trying to put a brave face in front of hecklers. Scratch a career as an artista off. My organizational skills are confined to my hapless managing of my own schedule with the help of my trusty cell phone’s alarms and my hastily scribbled in folio. So that makes me such a terrible manager then. As for being an artist, I can’t draw worth anything even with a gun held to my head. Exhibit A, in college when I was shopping for a course after my ill-fated foray into Economics. I had the audacity to apply for admission to the College of Fine Arts. The University of the Philippines Diliman has produced some of the country’s inductees into the National Artists of the Philippines. And there I was, armed with my newly-borrowed serious artist-looking palette, brushes and pencils. I was standing outside the building where I was to go in for a talent test. One thing kept playing and rewinding in my head, “What talent? What talent? What talent?” I opened the door to the room and saw the professor telling the students to draw the muddy shoe on the table taking into consideration the light… I high-tailed it out of there as fast as I could. Nope, there is no such thing as the fine artist in me. Then there was the College of Mass Communication. I was in a Dawson’s Creek high. I wanted to become a film director. Several courses there and I realized that, nope. I’m no director. I can be bossy, but I can’t be creative on command. I can’t summon visions. My brain is not overflowing with creative juices.
After college-hopping, I ended up in the College of Arts and Letters. This March I graduated with a degree in BA Comparative Literature. Before you can ask, “What’s that?” the easiest way to explain it is that it’s a liberal arts degree. We study literature from all genres and – you know what? It’s not exactly a science so it’s quite difficult to explain what it is. Suffice it to say that it’s a pretty interesting study. But once you take it out of the academe and the sheltering walls of the university, it’s going to get lost in the crowd of the really practical degrees. It may impress some people for a while, but after its new-ness palls I’m left with a dilemma – what am I going to do with my life?
I’m a very big supporter of taking things one step at a time. This always worked for me when I was in school. It puts everything into perspective – everything that threatened to overwhelm me. It’s like a military strategy: regroup and rethink tactics. I was able to do my schoolwork and still have the kind of fun some people only see in movies. I went on road trips while writing notes on my paper due the next week. My friends and I brain stormed ideas over coffee and onion rings at a roadside café. I could watch a movie and make that a jumping point for my report. However, in the real world I’m floundering. I’m faced with a problem with which I cannot ask other people’s help: do I take any job that comes my way or look for something that makes use of what I was trained to for?
While I’m contemplating that I’m hitting the Internet and newspaper for want ads. At age 22, I’m still looking for myself. No one will ever see her, but me. In the meantime, my parents are waiting in the wings, wringing their hands in anticipation of what their daughter will turn out to be. Thank God for them.