Just Around the River Bend

It’s been almost 3 years since I stepped out of the hallowed halls of the university. I’m on the “third leg” of my career path, averaging 9.33 months per employer – with each from totally different and seemingly unrelated industries. Sometimes, I wonder what the hell is wrong with me. But then I look around and I see others in a pretty much similar situation. So I think I’m still normal, save for a few loose bolts and screws hanging around there somewhere.

It’s probably the idealism wearing off, or should I say crushed by the dead weight of reality. Whereas in my student years, I was but a mere spectator and a critique of the real world, now I am in it, struggling against losing what is now left of my so-called idealism. Boy, when reality looms large right in front of you staring at you in the eye, it is just so damn hard to keep a straight face.

They say it’s the natural order of things. I’ve heard countless of testimonies from people who once took the journey to Utopia and have fallen off course. That should have been enough to leave me utterly disillusioned. But as one wise colleague of mine pointed out, we should still carry idealism in our hearts, this time without the illusions. No pretensions, no trimmings, no frills. Our world is an imperfect one – and we’re all well aware of that. We just have to accept reality as it is. And should we have the opportunity to make it better for ourselves and for other people, the truly idealistic will grab every chance to make a difference.

My first three years in the corporate world have been nothing short of erratic but everything’s just a blur to me now. Either I’m temporarily suffering from a case of short-term memory loss or I was too wrapped up with the cares of this world. I’m glad to note though that I have stayed with my current company for more than a year now. Still, I’m far from being relaxed. People born in the year of the tiger like me are known to be restless and unpredictable. Well, it’s going to be another “let’s wait and see” year for me, like it has been for the past years. If anything but a consolation to the unforeseeable future, I’d like to take comfort in my favorite lines from the song Just Around the River Bend (Pocahontas) by Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz:

What I love most about rivers is, you can’t step in the same river twice.
The water’s always changing, always flowing.
But people, I guess, can’t live like that. We all must pay a price.
To be safe, we lose our chance of ever knowing.
What’s around the river bend. Just around the river bend.
I look once more. Just around the river bend.
Beyond the shore. Somewhere past the sea.
Don’t know what for.
Why do all my dreams extend just around the river bend?

I was planning to round up the year that was but I thought it would be better to leave behind things that are better off in the past. In a nutshell, the previous year made me think and re-think about love, faith, career, and most especially friendship. Whatever those lessons are, it’s for me to dwell on and safe keep, at least for now. And while all my dreams extend just around the river bend, I’m gonna have to live in the now with tomorrow in mind, taking my chances and giving it my best shot.

The nth shot at life

A tiny flicker has been lit. It doesn’t matter now how many wrongs we’ve made for the past 365 days. A fresh start is right ahead of us. A new chance. A new hope. And the single most significant question of the time, almost a resounding battle cry, is: What can we do to make those wrongs right? 

I just love the New Year. For me, it does not stand as a mere occasion that I have to perfunctorily celebrate just because the whole world tells me to do so. Let’s just say I’ve come to appreciate New Years in a special, personal way… 

Not too long ago, I was failing one after another, even in what seemed like the simplest tasks. I was utterly dejected, forlorn, and lost and every inch of me slowly flowed down the drain. I almost envisioned myself walking in the hallmark of failures, like it was my destiny to be there. The only thing that gave me my last string of confidence was the New Year and the hope that it always brings. I know it sounds really cliché and unoriginal. But when you’re there spiraling towards the bottom pit of hopelessness, you have to hang on to every last piece that gives you strength. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t even be here right now. 

The New Year reminds me that no matter how bleak and desolate life seems to be at the moment, we will always find the light. It may take some time though. But with the right amount of patience and positive thinking, you will find it in the most surprising places. Up to this point of writing, the New Year has never failed me. I don’t mean to say of course, that I never committed any failures since then. I am still as imperfect as I was 5 or 10 years ago. But I’m learning my lessons well, one year at a time. And with every year that comes and goes, the New Year always throws back a challenge at me, tauntingly saying, “So, Imperfect One, what are you going to do right this time?” To which, I would just smile and say, “Just wait and see. You might be in for a big surprise.” 

Happy New Year everyone. Cheers to a full, promising year ahead!

22 and counting

Hi guys! You’re cordially invited to my advanced birthday celebration tomorrow at Lamesa Grill in SM Northwing, 7:00 PM. Please don’t spread the word. Limited seats only.

I’m now officially and irrevocably 22 years old. And unlike before when you really had to torture me before I would admit I’m older, this time I calmly handled with poise what others would consider as tragedy. As a matter of fact, I welcomed my birthday as soon as the clock struck twelve. I celebrated my birthday a day in advance. Instead of 08/09/08, I celebrated it on 08/08/08 – not that I’m superstitious. But it was the perfect day to celebrate, what with the UP Cebu Cookout rocking at the UP Cebu Grounds. The few chosen guests who were close friends, my brother, and his girlfriend and soon-to-be-wife were all available that day. And that was a Friday. What more could the birthday girl ask for?

I chose to celebrate my birthday through a nice dinner. Celebrating it on a beach with family and friends seemed impossible with the erratic schedules my call center friends follow, so dinner was the next best thing. I chose Lamesa Grill on impulse because I started “planning” 5 days before my actual birthday. But I knew I made the right decision when we checked out the place. I totally fell in love with it! The shell lamps that give a soft glimmer to the dark night were a beauty. The bamboo blinds and the wooden fixtures that adorned the place gave it a Filipino accent. I certainly didn’t mind having to trade the beach for a place such as that. It’s a pity I didn’t take more pictures of the place but I swear on my knees, everyone should try it out. The food is fantastic. The service is superb. The crew kept asking if we enjoyed the food and if we needed anything else. Actually, their customer relations skills were excellent, even short of them spoon feeding us. It’s a bit pricey but it is just lovely.

You be the judge if we committed gluttony that night. Our table was laden with pinatayong manok, pork belly, lad apahap kinulob (a kind of fish – don’t ask me further, we ordered it because Mark was recovering from skin allergy), sinigang na salmon head, mixed seafood ala gambas, seafood rice, leche flan, and buko macapuno rumble. But is this gluttony? We were just enjoying good food. I would have wanted to take pictures of all the stuff we ate that night but I didn’t want to look like a total nerd, going around the table and taking pictures of every dish served.

The crew of Lamesa Grill found out that it was my birthday celebration so they embarrassed – I mean, surprised me by singing a rather loud Happy Birthday song and gave me a cassava cake with a candle on top. Awww, that was really sweet. Joining me that night were Mark, Arrah, April, my brother Amiel, and his girlfriend Michelle. I have also invited Phrixel but due to last minute work delays, he wasn’t able to catch up. I honestly wanted to invite my blockmates Noreen, Krishna, Ivy, Delna, Yarry, and the others but my budget was not so accommodating. I owe you something guys. I’ll make up for it someday.

After dinner, we headed to UP Cebu to party. It was the annual UP Cebu Cookout but what made it extra special is that it was the Centennial Cookout. I enjoyed the performances and though there were areas that could be improved, it was all in all a great Cookout. At the UP Grounds, I fell in love with Refrain (everybody did, too – or all the girls did) and saw my old friends and schoolmates in UP. I spent most of the time talking, actually. And while I ignored the pasimple hints that I should give a treat, they were nice enough to greet me at 12m.n.

The main attraction of the event was the performance of Manila-based Slapshock. While they performed and everybody flocked near the stage, my friends and I kept talking while one even slept! Pasaway. And in the middle of their performance, the sleeping Jason Baguia woke up and told us he was going home. Okay, I thought that was enough for the day. It was 2AM and I myself could barely keep my eyes open. I decided to go home, too. I still have to work the next day.

Though tired and sleepy, I had to stay awake for one more ceremony before dozing off: opening my gifts. Much love and thank you to Mark and Arrah who surprised me with presents. Mark even tried to throw off suspicion by telling me through text that the traffic was almost impossible to deal with and that he had no time to pick up a present for me. But when he showed up at the restaurant, he was carrying this Blue Magic paper bag. Mark gave me a very cute pink teddy bear named Monina. It smelled nice too. I had to keep it in the closet because I’m pretty sure if it stays on my bed, the pink color would magically turn grey after quite some time. Arrah gave me an original cd of my latest obsession – Daughtry! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I loved it.

Presents or no presents, I loved every minute of my birthday celebration. Despite sleeping late, I am thankful I still woke up just in time the next day to prepare myself for work. My officemates never found out it was my birthday until I told them late afternoon. But that’s a different story.

Reunion and Retreat

Reunions
Call it perfect timing that two of my batch mates and dear friends came to Cebu for a visit within two months. One of them, Athea, left the country six years ago when her whole family migrated to Alaska. Raissa, on the other hand, moved to Iloilo while we were still in first year high school.

I don’t know how it is with other batches but ours is a closely-knit one. Blame it on the numbers and the years we spent fighting and caring for each other. We were probably 45 when we graduated. Roughly 90% received a Loyalty Award, which means we’ve been together since we were still peeing in our pants. To date, we occasionally meet to eat out, catch up with other batch mates who aren’t Cebu-based, drink from dusk ‘til dawn, sing to our hearts’ desire, talk nonstop excitedly, and simply relish each other’s company. And those are exactly what we did when Athea and Raissa dropped by.

To sum it all up, I had fun. Who wouldn’t? I guess this text message from, coincidentally a batch mate gives the exact reason why: Your college friends know who you are. But your high school friends know why.

Retreat
In less than a month, I’m turning 22. Like all my other birthdays in the past, I look forward to it with much anticipation, anxiety, sureness, and uncertainty. Unlike my last birthday however, I felt that I lived most if not all, my 21st year living it – taking life as it comes and never being too busy to miss a lunch date with a good friend or just laze around on a Sunday morning enjoying coffee. I’ve experienced being overly stressed out in the past that there wasn’t just time for me to steal for myself or for my family. Perhaps that was one of the main reasons why I felt like I’ve lived for so long in this world. And I don’t want that to happen. Life is too short to not live it the way it should be lived.

So, as I was saying, it’s going to be my birthday in a few weeks. I must have a little hangover from the hospital because I’m eager to make an escape during my special day. Right now, I’m dreaming of the beach or the mountains with food, music, and friends. But as much as I would like it to be the reality, I can only drool over it. Apparently, the hospital experience dug a hole into my resources. And unfortunately, my birthday falls on a work day. What else is there to say but, “Let’s wait and see.”

Slow down, you’re going too fast

For the second time in five years, I was admitted at a hospital in Cebu. The diagnosis: classical dengue fever. For once, I was relieved that the cause of my latest distress in life was a blood-sucking Aedes aegypti and not because I couldn’t keep myself from chomping down contaminated food. The first time I was ever admitted at the hospital was when I was a freshie in college. I was admitted due to typhoid fever. Then on the summer before my senior year, I got mild amoebiasis (and nearly got hospitalized). Geez, bacteria love me so much they find a way to invade my system through the food I eat.

Anyway, what’s more important is that I’m well now and back to work after six days of bed rest, fluids, and anti-inflammatory pills (for the rashes). Although I feel a little bad of having to leave work for a couple of days, I somehow felt that it was a welcome respite for me. I’m not glad that I got sick. But boy was I glad to have taken a break from work. Some of my friends who visited me at the hospital actually envied me and would gladly take my place at the hospital bed. But well, I wouldn’t give up my slot either. Except for the incessant poking of needles in my arm to draw blood samples, everything else made me feel like I’m on vacation. Kudos to the hospital and its staff! If only the hospital was tucked somewhere in the mountains or near the beach, it would have been the perfect escape.

On a more serious note, being confined at the hospital gave me a good time for contemplation and reflection. I couldn’t help it, you know. My bosses were really understanding enough not to pester me with work and would rather check whether I was fine. So I had all the time mostly to myself. And I wondered what could have I possibly done this time to be in this situation. The answer: none. I certainly didn’t want to be bitten by a dengue-carrying mosquito in the first place and I could have gotten it in a lot of possible places – the boarding house, the office, the mall… But among all the people in all those places, it chose to bite me. Why me, I asked. Perhaps, I needed a little jolt.

For me, it was a natural roadblock. Unexpected, sometimes unwanted but almost always desperately needed. You see, most of the time we want to take full control of our life – driving it at topmost speed and making the most out of the little time we are given. And that’s not bad. It’s just that sometimes, we get so caught up with our job and our everyday struggles that we tend to miss the very little but very important details in life that actually matter – family, friends, love, and even life itself. In other words, it is simply life’s way of saying, “Slow down, you’re going too fast.” Life must have, at first, tried to warn me about it but I didn’t listen or I was too busy to even hear what it was saying. So it deliberately stepped on the brakes so I would stop. Stop and breathe. Stop and savor every single moment. Stop. And start all over again.

So today, I am back at the wheel, coursing through uncharted paths. I make right turns and sometimes bump into the wrong ones. Sometimes, I drive back. Sometimes, I speed up. But I’m fervently hoping this time, I’ll know when I need to stop.

meme from Tim

A friend from college Tim tagged me for a meme. So as a courtesy to the friend I haven’t seen for a long time, I’m involving myself in the tradition of answering it and passing it on to others.

If you are to leave an important memory, what would that be? You can answer the question either by posting a picture, a video, writing a poem or whatever you think would best describe the memory that you want to share.

A family picture taken three years ago, this picture was taken by my trusty Nikon manual SLR (single lens reflex) camera at our living room in Leyte after attending Mass on New Year’s Day. I was the photographer. I had everyone positioned, adjusted the aperture and the shutter speed, and set the timer. Then I rushed to my place and put on my biggest smile.

Like Tim, I am often stricken with nostalgia especially now that I am living on my own alone and at my own expense. My brother Amiel just moved out last week to live with his pregnant girlfriend and soon-to-be wife. My parents are in Leyte. My other brother Jake and his family are also in Leyte but in a different house. I just miss those days when we are all living in one house together, even if it means quarreling like cats and mice with my brothers. It would feel nice to see everybody you love after a stressful day at work and eat dinner together as one big family. But right now, I just have to accept that this is the way it’s supposed to be. It would give each and everyone of us the space to grow and the opportunity to be better and more responsible persons.

Copy the entire list and add your name below the person who tagged you. Then tag at least 5 friends (But you can tag as many as you like) and visit their blog to let them know you tagged them.

Bloggers who shared their important memories 1.) Kaptyurd 2.) and so I am 3.) Princess Vien 4.) Princess Bela 5.) Our Journey to Life 6.) My Planet Purple 7.) Women Xplore 8.) Crazy, Happy Arevalos 9.) MEComposing 10.) Hope This Helps You 11.) Raising Riel 12.) Chismis Today 13.) Dakilang Nomad 14.) Bits of Chocolate 15.) Add your site here…


I'm tagging Noreen , Inez , and Francis . (Pasaway! I’m passing it on to three people only.)

Do cats get claustrophobic too?

I have an uncanny knack of making feral cats my pets, especially if they exhibit outward signs of human sociability. I always pounce on that weakness. For instance, my first-ever pet cat Clovis was a wild cat which I slowly lured to domestication by appealing to its voracious appetite. The others that followed were drawn by basically the same motivation. But not Dr. Jinx.

Or maybe he was when our friendship started. The memory of our first meeting was lost in the blurry of my college years. All I remember was that as soon as I stepped on the topmost rung of the staircase that leads to the door of my boarding house, he sprinted towards me, meowing like crazy, and rubbed his white and orange head against my legs. I was a bit taken aback by his aggressiveness. Never have I encountered such behavior unless the cat and I are already friends, which we weren’t. But ever the diplomatic person who will not thwack any unfamiliar cat’s butt, I sweetly said hello. I could not remember if I shared some leftovers that night but my brief greeting further goaded him to come near me. The next day, he was at his antics again and this time, he was clever enough to get ahead of me in entering the room. Up to the present, I wrestle with him at the door as he futilely attempts to bypass my towering frame. I think his goal in life is to just set his furry paws in our cozy room.

Anyway, since it has been his habit to hang out in our room, I let him indulge in this desire every once in a while. In fact, I let him sleep there. And so far, he hasn’t chewed on my toes or peed on my shoes yet so it’s fine with me. One day, while I was watching a movie from the computer, a small rat tiptoed across the computer table right in front of me. I wanted to scream but the image of the rat jumping at me and landing right into my mouth shut me up. As I found out later from my brother, the rat George has been disturbing us for quite some time. (Yes, my brother and I name our mammal friends. The only creatures I don’t give names are cockroaches because one, they’re the grossest things on earth. Two, they’re not mammals. And lastly, they’re not our friends.) I decided it was payback time. I let Dr. Jinx inside the room and waited. I was about to drift off to slumber when I heard a crash. (By the way, I named the cat Dr. Jinx because I feel that our electric fan is at the brink of extinction every time he roughly brushes his head against it, as if he really plans to jinx it up.) Sure enough, George’s tail was wiggling like a lollipop outside Dr. Jinx’s mouth. Eeewww. Well, at least I’m happy and Dr. Jinx is happy. That’s all that matters. And I thought that was the end of the Georges.

One night, I was stripped down at the bathroom ready for a ritual evening bath, humming to my heart’s content when a George lurking somewhere popped its small pointed head and ran around the bathroom in squares. I instinctively jumped on the toilet seat and my soft humming evolved to natural screaming. I got dressed quickly, locked the bathroom door behind me, and called on Dr. Jinx for help. For some weird reason, Dr. Jinx was scared of the bathroom. No matter how many times I tried to shove him towards it, he would always find a way to evade the damn bathroom. Unmoved, I dragged him to the bathroom and locked him inside. As soon as I closed the door, Dr. Jinx started whimpering! Jinxie, find George and eat him alive, I pleaded through the door. The whimpering continued. Then I heard a scratch. I thought he finally caught George. Imagine my astonishment when I opened the bathroom door and saw Dr. Jinx, not on the floor but at the top of the thin laundry line wobbling for dear life with wide eyes. I could not imagine how he got up there, considering that the laundry line was way over my head. Being trapped in a bathroom seemed to pump some adrenaline into the poor cat. Seriously, are cats capable of getting claustrophobia? Anyway, I got Dr. Jinx out of the bathroom and forcefully shooed George out. (while shrieking, of course) The moment George skittered on the room premises, Dr. Jinx grabbed him and chomped him down. But the whole ordeal left indelible memories on Dr. Jinx’s system. After that night, he never dared go anywhere near the bathroom door and would rather lie down at the bottom of the double-decked bed near my shoes. No George has been pestering us since then and I’m almost looking forward to meeting another George. Why? Well, he might be the key to finding out another one of Dr. Jinx’s well-kept secrets.

Are you the perfect Pinay?

“Paglaki ko, gusto ko malaki suso ko…kasi yan po ang maganda at hinahangaan.” (When I grow up, I want my breasts to be big because that is what is beautiful and admired.)

My jaw dropped, nearly down to my knees. Although I did not hear the child say it herself, it was both a shocking and an enlightening piece of statement for me, for the host, and for the guest. I watched an episode of Media in Focus on ANC two weeks ago. Hosted by Luchi Cruz-Valdez, she talked about “The Perfect Pinay” with several guests from the media, most notably Emily Abrera, the incumbent Chairman Emeritus of advertising agency McCann Erickson Philippines. Abrera related to Valdez the results of a research they did on little kids aged five to seven. They asked the kids a lot of questions, one of which was what they want to be when they grow up. That was when a young girl dropped the bomb at their feet.

What the little girl said was not even close to what she should have answered but it definitely gave us an inkling as to how advertising has corrupted the most innocent of minds. We are raising a generation that is heavily exposed to mass media advertising. Television, print, radio, and the web all carry different kinds of messages that a young person absorbs, consciously or unconsciously each day. Due to the recurring nature of mass media, messages are reinforced, causing people to believe in them after several constant repetitions.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder but in reality, people generally have a common notion of what is beautiful and what is not. One of my teachers used to joke around saying, “If you don’t have good self-esteem, don’t look at the magazines. You’ll only get frustrated.” The beautiful image, the image of a “perfect Pinay” always presented by media is one who is fair-skinned, slim, booby, and flawless. No wonder people spend billions and billions of money on liposuction, breast enhancements, whitening products, and slimming pills just to fit the high standards of beauty that media has set. What the people don’t know and we probably never will is how much enhancement is being done behind the glamorous commercials and photo shoots. We will never know, for instance, how much of the pictures we see on the glossies are edited with photoshop or how the models were positioned against the camera to hide the wrong curves. So you see, the very industry that tries to promote the concept of a “perfect Pinay” is struggling to meet the standards of beauty, as well.

What I just don’t like about this whole distorted image of beauty is its effect on a child, like the child who was the inspiration for this article. Children are still at their formative years, trying to establish their own identity – trying to establish the kind of person they want to be. Exposing them to the image of beauty like the one currently projected by mainstream media will affect the way they want their own image to be. I wonder if in the future, we’ll see more people looking like they just popped out of a magazine. Even so, this view of beauty is so superficial I think God would complain that this is not the way He envisioned beauty to be. For such a deep word such as that being equated to merely being white, slim, booby, and flawless – oh my, we have a LOT of serious work to do.

The Miley Cyrus brouhaha

It’s not one of those art versus pornography debates. Posing bareback while clutching a piece of silk cloth to cover the rest of her body, 15-year-old teen icon Miley Cyrus is a far cry from the sweet and innocent character she plays in Disney channel’s top-rating Hannah Montana. Since 2006, Cyrus has been hitting the boob tube with her portrayal of ordinary girl-next-door Miley Stewart who has a secret life of a pop star in the person of Hannah Montana. The show was an instant blockbuster, thrusting Cyrus further into the limelight. Last year, Forbes named her as one of the top 20 earners under 25 and today, she has earned two multi-platinum records. But along with her rise to fame comes an expected price: a bout of controversies.

In her case, all of them were controversial photos that spread through the internet. There are pictures of Cyrus sharing what seems to be licorice with a female friend, causing rumors of her being a lesbian. Then there are pictures of her wearing underwear with pouting, seductive lips. There are also pictures of her and her boyfriend kissing. The most recent addition to her growing collection of controversial photos was the bareback one that Vanity Fair released, stirring the sensibilities of a culture that witnessed similar precedents. Parents were a bit shocked and grew concerned of their little girls aged 12 to 18, who adore and emulate Cyrus short of kissing her toes. Will Cyrus continue to be a “good” role model? Will she follow the career trajectory of former teen stars Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears?

I started watching Hannah Montana last year and I enjoyed the show for its wholesome and comical nature, which makes it very lovable indeed. Had I been younger, I would have worshipped Cyrus like a goddess. However, I’m way over my teen years and all this hullabaloo over one photo doesn’t affect me at all. In fact, I love the photo. Very artistic and beautiful. Question is, do teenagers think the same way?

After the controversy broke out, I decided to watch Hannah Montana a little more closely. Like most people, the young can easily fall into the trap of thinking that the actress in real life is the same person they see and adore on television. They forget that they are two different persons existing in two different worlds of television and reality. It doesn’t help that the character’s name Miley is the real life actress’ name and the father of the character is played by her real life dad Billy Ray Cyrus. How can we tell the difference between the Miley on TV and the Miley in reality?

I may never know the real Miley Cyrus – the one without the lights, the camera, and the heavy makeup. If the Vanity Fair issue gave away a part of who she really is, I certainly don’t mind. After all, she is 15 and counting. We cannot hold her back from growing up into a more mature person. Whoever she is, I will still love the Miley on TV. If she graduates from her teenybopper role and start taking on more mature characters, well, that’s a different story.

My little piece of paradise

So far, it has been one literal hell of a summer. Paranoid over coming down with heat stroke and dehydration, I have put into practice all the scientific and the unorthodox ways of coping with too much heat. That includes guzzling more than a dozen glasses of water per day, cutting my hair short, opening all windows in our living room, putting the air conditioning unit to maximum level, sweeping the floor of my bedroom every after 3 or 4 hours (I feel the room getting hotter when it’s messy. And if my parents are lucky, I would include their room in my cleaning agenda for the day.), wearing sunglasses inside the house, occasionally popping my head inside the freezer, and a whole lot more. Trust me, if the heat goes on longer, I swear I’m going to go nuts.

At times like these, all I really want is to be in this place – a little piece of paradise on earth.

This picture was taken on Black Saturday last Holy Week. Our clan was capping off the weeklong reunion, as we always do, on a small resort in Barili, Cebu. While the others were busy cooking food, eating, playing volleyball or mahjong, swimming, and singing (courtesy of the very trusty karaoke machine), I wandered off for a while and surveyed the beach. There, I found my place.

It was a shady spot where I could feel the soft billowing of the cool breeze, hear the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, and watch the blue sea stretching out to forever. I couldn’t resist the urge to bask in a glorious moment like that. I took my towel, spread it out like a mat, and sat cross-legged with a book, a pen, and a little notebook on my lap. I plugged some good music to my ears, drowning the sound of merrymaking in the background. Then, I got lost. Lost in all the beauty unfolding before me. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, slowly, painstakingly…like I was never going to breathe again. In my mind, I devoured the richness of life and pondered on the splendor of nature, making me realize I’m so lucky to be alive – to be able to see and feel how everything around me lives as well. It was, truly, a magical moment.

I would have stayed there the whole afternoon but you all know how our relatives are – always asking what we are up to. Turned out, while I was lost in my own world, the people from the real world were looking for me. Soon, I was tapped back to the present with them approaching and asking me, “What are you doing?” I just smiled and said, “Nothing.” Then I winked at them. If only they knew where I’ve been to.

Goodbye, Captain

I vividly recall the day Captain came into my life. The midday sun was scorching hot and we were in my high school Science laboratory working on some experiment. My classmate Christian arrived with a backpack, the main zipper of which was slightly open. Out popped the head of the cutest dog I have ever seen! He was a plump little Japanese spitz with white and brown fur. My classmates and I squealed in delight. I have been pestering my classmates to give me a pup of my own and on that day, my wish was granted.

When I first brought him to our house, he was a quiet little fella. He didn’t know where to go or what to do so he just followed me around. I sat on the floor beside him. After a few seconds, he gently put his head on my lap and slept. Such a sweet dog. Of course, he was a pain in the neck at times. Few days after, he became very hyperactive that he chewed on our carpet and crashed on my stuffed toys. That was just the beginning of his craziness. Months later, he would chase my cats and knock over our neighbors’ flower pots.

I remember how he used to hate my cats because he was jealous of them. Whenever my attention was focused on the cats, he would whimper loudly. But later on, he befriended the cats and even went as far as playfully biting their tails. (I suspect it was some sort of revenge)

Despite all that, Captain was my best friend. It didn’t matter to him whether I was the best or the worst master. He gives me a look of assurance telling me that no matter what happens, he will always back me up. At times when I am down in the dumps, all I really need to do is to sit down in silence. His presence would be comforting enough. Sometimes, I even feel guilty for leaving him when I had to study in college. But whenever I get back home, he would still be the same Captain I left behind – mischievous, playful, and loyal. Sadly, today, no faithful comrade would be standing by the door to meet me.

I miss stroking his fur behind his ear. I miss giving him a bath. I miss changing the water on his bowl. I miss purposely tickling his ear with a piece of dry leaf. I miss cuddling him with all my might. I miss him jumping at me whenever I arrive after how many months of being in school. Above all, I just miss him. But then again, he might be in a better place now.

Goodbye Captain, my Captain, I’m still missing you…

Cebuano music at its best

It has been over a month since the 28th Cebu Popular Music Festival but I still keep playing the songs over and over in my mind that I swear I don’t know when the last song(s) syndrome would end. I’m probably in awe because early this month, I ransacked music stores for a copy of the album. I finally found it in the music section of Metro Ayala. Anyway, I got the chance to hear and appreciate each song and I was awed not only by the entries but also by the arrangement of each piece. I rarely buy original albums because they cost a fortune for someone like me who’s used to coaxing friends into copying the songs or taking it the cheaper way – buy them from the streets. But since the album was locally produced and I couldn’t get a copy from my cousin Japril, (who by the way is the main reason why I even bothered to look for the album as she is one of the interpreters) I took the risk and shelved some of my savings that’s more than enough to buy myself a McDonald’s burger meal or a slice of Red Ribbon Chocolate Marjolaine. But upon hearing all those tracks in the album, I’d say it was all worth it.

Yeah I know that’s not really something new. To say that Cebuanos are musically gifted is like emphasizing a point that has already been underscored because a lot of artists who came from Cebu and other parts in Visayas and Mindanao are making it big in the industry. What amazes me is that the quality of the music is at par with those created in Manila. Musically speaking, we are ready to create and develop our own music industry right here in the south. But a greater and a more important question is: are we, the public, ready for it?

Personally, I am ready for it even if I was not exactly a fan of the language. Before, I would balk at the thought of reading something in Cebuano because I couldn’t understand the words. Even as a kid, I favored the English language in subtle ways. In the face of danger with a snake wriggling its tail at my feet, I could have shouted, “Bitin! Bitin!” Instead, I screamed, “Snake! Snake!” I was about five years old then. And when I talk in my sleep, my nanny would tell me in the morning I was speaking in English the whole time. But seeing how extremely talented our musicians, singers, and composers are and hearing how rich and sweet the Cebuano language sounds in a song, I’d say I’m looking forward to hearing more songs that would reflect our culture and our nature as a people. And it’s safe to say that I’ve changed my perspective about the language.

But there’s more to preparation than just appreciating the language. That’s just the first step. The next crucial step would involve asking ourselves how far we will go to support the industry. Because the music industry, as in any other industry, would still rely on financial returns. It may survive but it could struggle against people’s reluctance to buy the albums and the preference as well to buy the original copy than the pirated version. (Ouch, did something just hit me or what?) Well, that’s something to mull about. As for me, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

bicentennial man teaches social science

Flipping across channels on a Sunday night, I came across Bicentennial Man. The first few scenes seemed familiar but halfway through, I realized I haven’t watched the whole movie so I put down the remote control and watched it until the end. Bicentennial Man was played by the very talented Robin Williams, who happens to be one of my favorite actors of all time. The story was set in a futuristic era where robots coexist with humans. Williams plays a robot named Andrew. He was sent to a family, who treated him well as if he really was part of it. Then the unthinkable happened. Andrew started to acquire human emotions and intelligence. I doubt if that is technologically possible but anyway, this entry isn’t a review of the movie. There was one scene in the movie that keeps playing again and again in my mind.

It was the scene where Andrew’s master discovered that he had a potential. Andrew used to help around the house. Andrew’s master told him at that moment that he will no longer work and will just focus on reading and studying – which of course was one of the factors as to why he became a really smart robot. That scene reminded me of my social science class where my teacher Sir Mike asked us what we noticed about the kids in a milk commercial that promises to spawn “gifted” children. If you drink that milk, your child could have an IQ so high your kid can be a pianist, violinist, math whiz, or a chess champ. Impressive huh. So if a ratty kid from the street drinks that milk, will he have more chances of becoming any of those above? Well, the thing with that milk commercial, it portrays kids from well-off families.

If we watch the commercial closely, these kids are well-dressed, educated, and can spend all the time in the world focusing on becoming who they want to be because their parents can back them up. In contrast, the kid from the street does not have all the luxury and lives each day finding food for himself and his family so they can eat and survive. Translate that to psychology and we come face to face with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, which states that physiological needs come first before self-fulfillment. Of course, how would you expect a kid to pursue his talents with an empty stomach?

I’m not saying that underprivileged kids are doomed because a lot of people have proven that they can rise above the odds with patience and a lot of hard work. In the end, what matters more is how we cope with our respective situations. I just hope they know that.

sinfully sweet

Now this is supposed to look yummy. It's a Chocolate Marjolaine cake from Red Ribbon I indulged in last week when we stopped over at Ayala Mall before going home from training. It was really delicious but somehow in the picture, it looks kind of weird and when I showed the picture to my brother, he wasn't at all interested. (Said the cake doesn't look appetizing enough for him.) The lighting is a little bad. But while tinkering with the computer and all the wonders you can do with Picture Manager, I managed to make it more interesting.

Now this looks more tempting. Agree? Yum. Yum. Yum!

chopsuey for New Year

I didn’t exactly have chopsuey on New Year’s Eve.

I had pansit, sweet and sour fish fillet, beef, and lechon so small we suspected it was a Chihuahua in disguise. But my experiences during the months before the year ended were bursting with a variety of fun moments and bittersweet realizations that it seemed I just swallowed a whole bowl of chopsuey!

Let me start with the more serious part of this entry. Several months have passed since my last post. The last post I wrote was about my current occupation of answering calls from people at the other side of the globe. Well, I still do now. The only difference before and now is that I’m getting the hang of it – to the point that if my customer gets irate, I get irate too. Hahaha! Not that I advise it. I mean, we’re supposed to “care” for our customers. But when people get mad, their overwhelming emotions cloud their judgment and they say a lot of things irrelevant to the issue. I just want to give them a taste of their own medicine, so either I answer back or channel my anger in more subtle ways like putting them on hold longer. Newbies, you shouldn’t be reading this. Anyway, the good thing is I have fulfilled my end of the contract. But to be honest about it, I’m not only relieved. I’m anxious as well. Why? Because that means I have to face another crossroad: What next and where to? If there is one good thing about this current job, it is that it made me realize that you have to find a job that you’re really passionate about because you spend almost all your day working. If you’re unhappy about your job, you’re going to be unhappy for most of the day…and logically, for most of your life! Been there. Still am there. So if it all boils down to passion, what am I passionate about?

“I have decided to avoid employment in mainstream media because I do not want to be caught in a situation where I have to compromise my ethical values. The media is one of those places where you can most likely trade your ideals for money. I’d rather be employed in a corporation, whose nature is admittedly profit-oriented than be employed in a media institution, whose nature is also profit-oriented, hiding under the guise of public service. I was once fooled into thinking that if I become a part of mainstream media, I could affect people’s lives and fight for what is true. Well, that is partly correct. But it happens if and only if it will not collide with the personal interests of the media owners. Otherwise, it is best to shut up if you don’t want to be fired. At least in a private company, I know clearly what I am working for. No icing on the cake. No false guises. Just… reality. And just what I want at this point in my life…”

Shortly after I graduated, I boldly made a statement about being employed in mainstream media. Looking back, I realized that the way I wrote it, I gave the impression that it is media per se that I’m trying to avoid. But what I was only trying to avoid is the kind of inner conflict I’ve dealt with as a Mass Communication student. I thought that by getting away from the field I’ve been in for four years would mean getting away from all the conflict. But now, 6 months later and with more gray hairs on my head, I realized it’s not where you are – whether you’re in media or you’re in a corporation – that matters. Wherever you are, you will always and continually encounter struggles within and beyond yourself. Struggles that test you how far your principles and your personal values can go. But these are actually little details of life that make you scream and fight. And in the end, they make a stronger person out of you. It’s quite interesting, looking back at all these and wondering why I wasn’t able to see the grain of truth hidden behind all these. But then again, now that I’m already out in the real world, the hallowed halls of my school can no longer shelter me from causing myself further trouble. Whereas before, my teachers could just warn me of impending dangers ahead, now I have to steer the wheel and explore it all on my own while picking up my lessons along the way. It’s tough but it’s inevitable. Well, this is life, as what they all say…

I don’t want to turn this post into a melodrama of sorts so let’s get to the fun part. Whoopee! I’ve always been a fun-loving person. With all the unnecessary stress we get from our job, three of my batch mates and currently my colleagues in the call center industry, and I decided to go out after the last shift of the week before the year ended – probably to ward the stress and bad luck for the coming year. Mark, Jeiko, Raine, and I went knocking pins and pulling each other’s leg at SM Bowling Center. Then our childhood kept haunting us back that we couldn’t resist a ride in bumper cars. I guess what was a little embarrassing was that our competitors were little kids but we didn’t care and just stepped hard on the pedal, trying to avoid bumping into each other and the kids. We watched a movie next, ate pizza, and to top the big event… tadaaaa… karaoke galore with the drinks on the side! We sang and drank and danced to our hearts’ delight. We even wanted to go bar-hopping after that but the beer had already taken its toll so we decided to end the night with an after-drink dinner instead.

The Power Four at Yellow Cab

Strike! (Please don't embarrass me...)

I'm innocent! I was just singing and you accuse me of...drinking?!?

That’s just about it. Not exactly ending the year with a bang but lessons were learned and friends were made. So I’m just contented about it. The new year has come and I’m wondering what’s in store for me. I can’t wait to find out.

first stop: call center

"What?!? You’re working in a call center?!?" (Translation: Are you out of your mind?) "Well, it’s your choice…" (Translation: You are indeed out of your mind and you’re making a wrong decision.)

When I verbally announced my plans of working in a call center, I was swarmed with a lot of people – not to wish me luck or pat my back for a wise decision made, but to object and hopefully dissuade me from doing such. Truth of the matter is, it was an expected reaction from people. I mean, I too, was one of those people who’d rank a call center as the last in my list of prospective workplaces. Before, I could have almost sworn that I won’t ever work in a call center. Good thing I didn’t because, well, here I am. In the flesh. Working as a call center agent.

No, I’m not out of my mind (yet). The first few days of training were so fun that I actually looked forward to go to work everyday. Aside from it being a totally new experience for me, I met other people and learned a couple of other stuff. It was like going back to school but this time, it was all about our client and their products. It was all about the right things to say and being able to say it in a matter of seconds. Sounds pretty easy, right? But lately, we’ve been thrown to the dungeon of lions that it got me asking, "What have I gotten into?"

In layman’s terms, we’ve been taking in calls and that means being the target of upset and irate customers who’d do anything and everything to get on your nerves if you can’t give them what they want. Just like everyone else, I thought working in a call center meant an easy job – just taking in calls and answering people’s questions. I wish it was as simple as that. But customer service is not. On top of hitting specific metrics like how good the call was or how we treated the customer (even if the customer is yelling like hell) or if we ever attempted to sell products of the client, we are primarily the middle ground between our client and our customers. To the client, we are the voice of the customers. To the customers, we are the voice of the client. And sometimes, it’s hard to hold both of them on the same ground.

It’s been two months going on three and I’d be a real hypocrite if I say, without batting an eyelash, that I like what I do. That I never attempted to walk away from this job. That I never whined about the high stress levels I had to put up with. Charge me, I’m guilty. To make things worse, people kept on telling me I won’t get anything out of this job but stress and additional pounds and I actually started to believe it. I started to complain. And complained some more when I realized I can’t just walk away from my job because of the contract I signed. Damn contract. I could actually just walk away, you know, but I felt somehow liable for it. Even in my disappointed state, it felt so wrong to do that. So you see, I wedged myself in a very tight situation where the only reasonable option is to stay. I sulked, nagged, and screamed. I cursed my job and I abhorred my callers. Everyday was an agony to the point that I’d lose my appetite just thinking that I have to go back to work again.

I couldn’t remember how or when but it must have been the point where I was just too tired to complain when it dawned on me that I may not have full control of all the circumstances but I do have a choice – no, not a choice between staying and leaving, but a choice on how I’m going to live my life despite the fact that it didn’t take me to where I really wanted to be. A thought occurred to me that perhaps what I needed at this point in my life is a change in perspective. What if I just stop complaining? It’s doing me no good anyway. Besides, I presume it won’t be the first and the last time I’ll get myself into this sticky situation. What if I just look at all these in a different, positive light? Would my life now be any better? That thought lingered on my mind for days for the first time in four years, the saying I’ve long adored, "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul," gave me a new meaning. I may never hold the power to calm the maddening waves in the sea but I can change the way I maneuver my ship so I can still reach my destination safely. In this lifetime, circumstances and our own actions may lead us to places where we don’t want to go but let us consider them part of our journey and instead, turn them into opportunities for learning. Lessons. We can never have too much of them. In every situation and in every circumstance, there will always be little truths and little lessons that we can uncover. It’s just a matter of knowing where and how to find them.

So now, it’s been two months going on three. Yes, I’m still stuck in this job. Despite everything, I still consider myself fortunate. Many people would kill just to have a job. In this country where the jobless greatly outnumber the job opportunities, I’m one lucky dudette. Yes, I’m still stuck in this job but the lessons keep coming. And I’m staying – at least for now. Let’s just say that in the course of my career path, I’m taking my first stop. I’ll never know for sure. It might not be what I wanted but it might be the very thing I needed…

why media is not for me

“…and remember, dress properly, be courteous…” And so goes the litany of last-minute reminders. I was packing my things for my trip back to Cebu after a two-week vacation in my hometown in Leyte. (where all I did was to eat, maximize our cable television, surf the internet at wee hours, and sleep) My mother was going in and out of my bedroom, bringing my ironed clothes and checking if I forgot to pack any of my belongings. We managed to slip in the perfunctory mother-daughter conversation. Had I known better, my mother is as anxious as I am in entering the yet unfamiliar terrains of the real world – the world after university education, where one has to deal with real problems concerning survival, money, and career.

Fresh graduates have an edge over more seasoned workers when it comes to applying for jobs, a colleague of mine once remarked, because their minds are still teeming with much gusto and idealism. College students, when they graduate, set their gears in motion to put into practice all the years of theory that school has taught them. They are eager and excited to take on the new challenges of life.

Imagine them as little kids who have just discovered the power of their arms and hands. To their delight, they start to crawl around and crawl some more until they, too, find out about their legs and the marvels they could do with those two tiny feet. Fresh graduates are like those kids, trying to take a big plunge into that great career pool and testing the current if it is calm enough for one to be allowed to struggle in and across it, and if the circumstances are favorable, he or she may be swimming towards the other side in no time. But while others have gone diving – discovering their strengths and weaknesses in their fields, I have remained at the edges with much conviction, skittering…skittering…and skittering still.

When people leave the halls of the university, they have more or less conceived notions on how they will be spending most of their lives. I had my ideas, too. In fact, way before college, I was determined to pursue a career in journalism. My greatest ambition then was to work as a journalist in one of the nation’s daily broadsheets. The vision was simple: me, sitting on a desk, typing away words that come bumping into my head, and finding that article on print the very next day. I was so enamored by the thought that without hesitations, I told my parents I was going to take up Mass Communication in college. Even if I knew they wanted me to follow their footsteps and take an education course, they gave me their blessing. Back then, people prophesied that I’d be the next Korina Sanchez or Bobby Nalzaro. Though I was quick to dismiss their forecasts as premature, I still dreamed my childhood dream and I thought nothing could ever dissuade me from pursuing such. But then, reality took on an entirely different meaning in college. Reality was…REAL…so real that I could smell it, touch it, and grasp it with my own hands. So real that the little things I used to ignore were now larger than what my eyes could take in. So real that one by one, the pieces started falling into place – but not without first landing smack on my face.

One of the most frustrating moments in your life is when you realize how different and how great the difference is between reality and idealism. In the four walls of the classroom, you are taught clearly what is black and white but outside the confines of that room, you’ll see that the world is marked with a lot of grey areas. I’m one of those ordinary people whose ideas are not lived up to by reality. When one gets to see the starkness of reality, one would feel giddy about it on impulse – having seen something so close which others are not privy to. At first, one would feel an overwhelming sense of power that comes from the mere knowledge of it. But those first moments have long passed and now I am only left with one thing: reality, in its naked form.

In school, we have always been taught that media is the fourth estate of a democracy and an important catalyst of change. Media practitioners should be objective, fair, and at all times, ethical. But in this world where there is no equality, where money is powerful, and where greedy people run the political system, all those high-sounding words, remain to be words…and ideas in our heads. The great burning dream of mine was reduced to ashes that dissipated, piece by piece, to the wind and nevermore. Thus, I stumbled across one of the many roadblocks in life.

I have decided to avoid employment in mainstream media because I do not want to be caught in a situation where I have to compromise my ethical values. The media is one of those places where you can most likely trade your ideals for money. I’d rather be employed in a corporation, whose nature is admittedly profit-oriented than be employed in a media institution, whose nature is also profit-oriented, hiding under the guise of public service. I was once fooled into thinking that if I become a part of mainstream media, I could affect people’s lives and fight for what is true. Well, that is partly correct. But it happens if and only if it will not collide with the personal interests of the media owners. Otherwise, it is best to shut up if you don’t want to be fired. At least in a private company, I know clearly what I am working for. No icing on the cake. No false guises. Just… reality. And just what I want at this point in my life…

best place next to home

For the past twenty years of my existence, I have spent most of my Holy Weeks in Barili, the hometown of my father located at the southern part of Cebu. Save for that particular week during the year, my grandmother’s house is relatively quiet. But as Holy Tuesday steps in, people start pouring into the house, lugging baggages, appliances, little kids, and beautiful memories behind. My grandmother’s house would seem to glow from all the noise and bustle inside it – the sound of hammers fixing the wooden figures of the family caro, the music and the voices coming from the rented karaoke machine, the crying and screaming of little kids, the laughter of binatas and the dalagas talking about the latest happenings in their lives, the conversations of the mothers, fathers, aunts, and uncles on how the kids have grown, and so on and so forth. It is no longer the lonely house it was during most of the days of the year. For the next few days, it becomes our home.

Tradition has it that every Holy Week, all the eleven sons and daughters of my lola Guadalupe Alquizola-Yap gather in her house not only to observe the Holy Week but also to participate in a family-held custom – to decorate, arrange, and parade the family caro every Holy Wednesday. In a way, we are obliged to be there since it’s a family thing. But then, as the saying “the more, the merrier” goes, all the preparations we undertake can hardly be called tasks since we enjoy working together and catching up on each other in between. Amid all the fuss of arranging the flowers and dressing up the life-sized figures of Jesus the Nazarene, Simon, the Centurion, and the rest, we manage to pop in a little chitchat. Our efforts, after all, are not in vain. We are rewarded by delicious meals prepared by the mothers at home. And it’s no ordinary meal. In honor of the occasion, it’s almost like a feast.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays seem to roll by quickly with the busy schedule. But as Thursday morning peeps in, everyone can sit back, relax, and savor the rest of the week. I know Holy Week should be a time for reflection and prayer but it seems to be the only perfect excuse for everyone to leave their jobs and classes behind. We only meet once a year as a big family so we don’t let it pass without having some fun. This is where the karaoke showdown, the movie marathon, and the small trips to scenic spots come in. The week is usually concluded with a day or a day and a night at the beach, complete with the inuman sessions, night swimming, and eating.

On a personal note, here are the things that I really love most about staying in Barili for the Holy Week: (1) I like the feel of being united as a big family, despite the generation differences. Today, there are about three generations of our family gathering in my lola’s house and our family just keeps on growing! (2) I especially like meal times, even if we have to go by batches since the dining table can definitely not accommodate all of us in one sitting. I like meal times because aside from my obvious affection for food, meal times are usually accompanied by small jokes thrown at each other at the dining table. (3) Bedtimes are sometimes a headache. The house has only five rooms. Imagine trying to fit in eleven sons and daughters plus the children and the grandchildren in one house. Some end up sleeping on mats spread out on the floor. Just last Holy Week, the five of the older girl-cousins – that’s me, Japril, Pauline, Ella, and Julie Ann – had to make do with one bed. Three of us had to sleep sideways so we won’t all fall out of the bed. Hahaha! That’s actually a fun part of it. Since we girls are inseparable during those days, we push the limits harder. Even the smallest nook of the house can become a haven as long as we’re together and we can talk about our love lives and sing together. (4) Do you know that since time immemorial, (okay, that was just an overstatement) we girl-cousins take a bath together? I’m not really sure if it saves time and water. But we love it anyway. (5) Lastly, I love being with my cousins. I’m lucky that I have cousins who have (more or less) the same age as mine. I see how we have grown from awkward kids to mature adolescents. I can now recollect fond memories of my childhood in that house and I can see the difference between then and now. For instance, back then we really love riding the trisikad at night to get some fresh air and to tour around the town proper. Now, we do it because we want to be on the lookout for cute guys. Before, we play with our toys and we even cringe at the mere thought of us having boyfriends. But today, guess the main topic of our conversations? Mostly about the things we eewed and ughed before – boys plus relationship and dating. We really have grown up.

As I write this article, a wave of nostalgia hits me as I realize that as we grow up, our priorities change. For those who have finished college like me, our work becomes our priority. Some of my cousins cannot make it to the Holy Week gatherings because they work as seamen abroad. And with the looming crisis facing our country, some members of our family plan to leave the country for good. I hope that one day, I wouldn’t have to miss the gathering for other things in this life. But just in case I do, I still would like to go back to that house once in a while – Holy Week or not. It is, after all, the best place next to home.

Thank you

It has been over a week since I graduated. Yes, the ordeal is over. After what seemed like an eternity waiting for the verdict of the University Council, I finally donned my sablay, walked onstage, took the fruit of my four years’ hard work, and shook hands with the university president. Man, that was just overwhelming. I was nearly brought to tears as I was walking up the stage with my parents because it was only until then when the reality that I was actually graduating sank in! The problem with our curriculum threatened our chances for graduation but I was not overly worried about it. Well, my teachers were confident that the council would let us graduate, considering it wasn’t our fault to begin with and considering the consequence that we would probably sue them if they wouldn’t. Still, graduating was like a distant dream for me. All the time, I was hovering in my own little world of dreams that I didn’t notice one of them was coming true – for real. You see, after the final defense of my thesis, I temporarily shut myself out to the world. I was dead tired and drained to the last drop of blood and tears. I took a supposedly short break during the Holy Week and spent it with my musically-inclined family and relatives in my father’s hometown in Barili. But I missed vacation too much that I generously allowed myself to bum the week after that. The thought of graduation was far from my mind since I wasn’t sure I would be graduating anyway. So when the good news broke out that majority of the members of the University Council decided to let us graduate after the deliberations, all I did was to shout, in my half-drunken state, “Makagraduate ko!” I jumped up and down, sang my heart out, drank more than a little, ate a full meal after, and threw up. (I’m actually allergic to beer. My brothers say it’s in the genes.) In other words, it seemed as if I just heard a joke and I laughed it off. Silly me. But well, I did graduate and reality finally snapped me back to the present.


So now I’m standing at the door of a new chapter of my life. I’m about to join the country’s labor and tax-paying force. As of press time, I haven’t sent an application letter or résumé. Er, maybe I’ll bum a little more while planning my next moves in the chessboard of life. In the meantime, my heart is bursting with profuse thanks for the people who helped me course through my college life. For sure, they didn’t make the journey easier but they made the trip worth it. To my parents, for giving me the go signal in the times when I’m about to venture into something new and for knowing when to bring down the red light when my foolishness got the better of me. My brothers and my sister-in-law, for being my professional support system. You guys might suspect that I have more crazy bones in my body but you still backed me up whatever decision I made. To my teachers, whom I have cursed because I sometimes found them unreasonable and unjust, thank you – for all the things I’ve learned in the four years that I stayed in the university. To my block mates, who have seen me grow (and ehem, mature?) and practically grew up with me. You brought the best and the worst in me. I didn’t cry during graduation (it didn’t occur to me yet that from now on, we’d go our own separate ways) but I know that days from now, I’ll be sobbing on my own because I’ll be terribly missing our food trips, night-outs, even the casual conversations in class. To my friends and all the good acquaintances I’ve made, you made my college years rock and roll. You’re the best! Lastly, and definitely not the least, the Lord Almighty, whom I have doubted, trusted, doubted again, and trusted again but who – amidst all those weaknesses, always picked me up when I fell and never failed to teach me the right lessons. For embracing me with loving arms, Father, I thank you. Have Your will in me.

pre-graduation jitters

After going through several moments of despair over a backlog of thesis work set aside for other demanding short-term requirements, after crying over the spilled milk of an exam not answered well because you hung out at the local videoke stop-over with friends believing it would “energize” your already tired brains and muscles and help you in the next day’s exam, after working straight hours to beat the deadliest deadlines even if it meant missing baths and meals, I now sit here in front of our trusty computer, praying it would not shut itself down after being abused over the past four years of my college existence. I sit here while sipping hot Swiss Miss chocolate and reminiscing the past months of blog silence, wondering where I should start picking the pieces up to fill in what happened to me in those times. But truth to tell, I barely noticed those three months pass me by. Everything now seems like a blur and I am momentarily experiencing a short-term memory loss because I am just too overwhelmed to have been able to comply with my school requirements. I am now looking forward to graduation, which is set on the 26^th of April. But oh well, compliance to requirements aside, an unforeseen dilemma caught us all off guard. Our batch was supposedly the first batch to graduate under the new curriculum but along the way of the bureaucratic process, our college was not furnished with the formal notice regarding the implementation of the curriculum. Hence, our division continued using the old curriculum. After we processed our papers for graduation, we found out, to our dismay, that we lacked three units. Uh-oh. So as of the moment, our graduation is still pending. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a positive outcome.

In the meantime, while enduring the torturous wait for our fate, I have to do some editing for my thesis. While on the process of editing, I remembered my memorable experiences working on it. Once, I had to visit the Christ for Asia Foundation office for an important interview. There I was, looking dignified and all, waiting for my interviewee who was still on field. Christ for Asia has a shelter for street kids both boys and girls. Because it was break time, they were so busy running around, climbing, shouting, and all the other things a kid would normally do. I just sat there contentedly watching them and reminiscing my own childhood days while the wind was silently blowing in my face. I was ready to drift off to dreamland when a kid took special notice of my hair and remarked that I had a grey hair sticking out of my head. Without any further ado, he gathered all his guts and triumphantly pulled the gray hair out and handed it to me. Chuckling a little, I managed to mumble a word of thanks. But instead of dropping it, he was more motivated to go on. He pulled out another one. And another. And another. In my head, I pictured him as the eager kid scientist and I was the unwilling specimen. But the kid scientist, it seemed, wanted to consult other scientists of his latest discovery. He called on his other colleagues for help! What?!? Before I could protest, the kids who were once rambunctiously playing were swarming around me and started picking out my gray hairs. Some were even boasting that they could pull out three gray hairs in one picking. Oh dear! I wanted to grip the scrunchie that was holding my hair but one mischievous little boy took it off. My hair was all over my head and I could only smile sheepishly at the passersby who were probably wondering what on earth was going on. Despite everything, I initiated a little chitchat with the kids, telling them to remember to leave a little hair on my head. We talked a little more. I tried to make them guess my age. Gray hairs must be kind of deceiving. One kid confidently announced, “Ninety!” I was so amused I couldn’t stop laughing. The naughty kids I saw in them seemed to transform into young adults, even telling me things like, “Te, daghan kaayo kag uban. Ayaw anang daghan kaayo kag uban kay lain man tan-awon. Bata pa ra ba ka.” I could only nod and smile in agreement. It felt weird being told by little kids half my age. But I don’t know. I kind of liked it. Maybe because it made me feel younger than my actual age. Maybe because I felt good hearing the thoughts of those young minds. Or maybe, right then and there – I was simply struck at the care those kids showed. To think, they need it more than I do. Yet they were unselfish about it. An hour later, I left with lesser gray hairs and a bigger realization: Never ever underestimate kids in their innocence. Sometimes, they make more sense than we do. Sometimes, they give more than we do. And sometimes, they enjoy life more than we do because they see its simple joys and little rewards.

And oh, before I left, the little girls combed through my hair with their hands, smoothed my hair, and put back my scrunchie and hairpins on. Although I could have done my hair better, I never touched it until I got home.